Authors: Jenny Colgan

The Boy I Loved Before (26 page)

BOOK: The Boy I Loved Before

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âCheesy bacon bits down the front of my Ronit Zilkha. Selina was sobbing in the corner â¦'

âSelina always cries at parties,' I said dismissively.

â â¦ my sister is whispering something in the ear of a very panicky stripper â¦'

We paused for a moment to try and work out what that might be.

âAnyway. Then it happened.'

âWhat happened?'

âWell, everyone else was just throwing food, right?'

âAre we at the meltdown yet?'

âDo keep up.'

âOK. Yep.'

I could hear her swallow hard.

âI dropped a plate on the floor.'

I tutted. âSee! It's always something really minor.'

She ignored me. âI threw an entire tray of plates on the floor. Just to get everyone to shut the fuck up. Then I screamed, “Shut the Fuck Up!!!” Then I shouted, “Look. All men aren't bastards! So get over it, Heather. And believe me, if you're trying to ruin my wedding, you really don't have
to try so hard. Some men are just wrong. And that's just as sad. So cut me some slack, OK? I'm doing a brave thing and all I get is abuse and food thrown at me. And, YOU, go to the chemist's.” Only, maybe I wasn't as concise as that. And I swore a lot.'

âWhat happened then?'

âI was manhandled out the building by the suddenly much less friendly-looking staff. They were no longer interested in my having a good Friday.'

âAnd?'

She sounded sorrowful. âI legged it as fast as I could down Haymarket.'

âYou're joking!'

âNope. I was out of there. I was at home tucked up cosily in bed with a cup of tea crying my eyes out by nine thirty.'

âResult! Um, was Max there?'

âHe was out on his stag.'

âOh,' I said.

âHe came home at three o'clock in the morning, tried to have sex with me, I threw him out of the bed, he called me a bitch then he immediately fell asleep on the floor. When I got up to go to the bathroom I â¦ I â¦'

âWhat?'

She choked up a little. âI accidentally on purpose stood on his hand.'

âYou did what?'

âIt was an accident. Pretty much.'

âYou know,' I said, âwhen the physical violence starts, that's about time to sort out a few things about your relationship.'

There was a furious knocking at the door.

âFlora! FLORA! DISASTRO!!!!'

âWhat the hell â¦ ?' said Tashy, jumping up from her reverie.

I ran to the door. âWhat the hell are you doing here?' Stanzi's face dropped about sixteen miles when she saw Tashy.

âThat's my seat,' she said in a small voice.

âDidn't my dad tell you I was having counselling?' I said.

âYour dad, he's just left. In some big hurry for something.'

âWHAT?' Tashy and I jumped up and ran to the front window.

âWhere's he gone?' I said, an uncontrollable panic grasping at my throat. âHas he got a suitcase?' Oh God. What was he trying to say this morning?'

âShit, what did I say to him?' said Tash. âJesus, our entire fucking lives are one big meltdown.'

Stanzi hadn't followed us out. She was sitting down on the bed, looking forlorn.

âWhat's the matter?' I said briskly, breathlessly pulling on my coat. Thank God Tashy had the car outside. He couldn't, though, could he? Surely he wouldn't. Not with that girl â¦ ?

Stanzi stood up. âIt's awful,' she said. âIt's so awful what is happening to me.'

âOh, petal,' I said, âwill it keep? It's just â¦ there's this thing â¦'

âYes, there is always time for your BIG FAT friend,' said Stanzi hotly. Her face was red and white and she looked as if she was about to explode.

Tashy looked at me.

âOK. What is it?' I said.

Stanzi gulped back a sob. âIt is Kendall,' she said. âHe does not â¦ he does not love me â¦'

âOh, for fuck's sake,' said Tashy, âcan we get going? And I'm not fat.'

âSsh,' I said. âThis is very important when you're sixteen.'

âI shall
never
get over him.' The tears were dribbling over her hot cheeks. She looked five years old as she started to cry properly.

âCan you tell us about it in the car?' I said, putting an arm round her and propelling her towards the door. âSomeone else is never going to get over something either if we don't get a bit of a fucking move on.'

I tried to give directions to a frustrated Tashy whilst comforting a frantically miserable Constanzia with the remnants of an old tissue I found under the seat.

âHe said we were too young to get serious!' she wailed.

In the front, Tashy snorted. I shot her a look.

âMaybe you are,' I suggested. âIt is possible.'

âYou don't understand,' she wept. âYou've never been in love.'

âYou'll get over it,' I said desperately. âLeft here. Past the horrible little pink office that looks like a tanning salon.'

Tashy snorted again.

âIt does too look like a tanning salon,' I said.

âYou're misinterpreting my snort,' she said.

âLook.' I grabbed Stanzi by the shoulders. âNothing that happens at this age should be so awful it bothers you for the rest of your life. Nothing.'

Tashy attempted another snort. âBecause if it does,' she
said, twisting her head round to the ball of tears in the back seat, âyou can let it poison your whole life. And when that happens, all hell can break loose.'

âYes, OK, Buffy the Vampire Slayer,' I said. âCan you keep your eyes on the road?'

Tashy's phone started ringing.

âIt's illegal to drive with your phone,' pouted Stanzi, not too sad to get one in.

âSssh,' I said. Then I took her in my arms and gave her a big cuddle.

âHi,' Tashy was saying. â â¦ No, no, I'm fine. Look, I can't really â¦ I can't really â¦ No, it's not a good time.'

âWho's that?' I asked her with my eyebrows. She shook her head at me fiercely.

âNo, we're going to see Flora's dad.'

âShut up!' I yelped at her. Stanzi's tears were wetting my bosom.

âSsh. No, don't come â¦ Don't! No! I mean it. No!' She hung up the phone.

âWho the hell was that?' I demanded as we swerved round a corner.

âNobody,' she said.

My dad's car was parked outside his office.

âShit, I said, under my breath. My dad never worked on a Saturday. Workaholism isn't something you'd think when you looked at him. All I could think of was my mother's face the night I got home from the party.

Next to it was a car, and straight away I just knew. It was something about the prissiness of it. It was a cheap car, but
with high-end specs â black leather seats, alloy wheels, all that useless crap. It was red, but not a shocking, bright red. More an orangey hue which hinted at danger without being remotely threatening. It was spotlessly clean. I knew it was hers. I knew it immediately.

Tashy came forward.

âNo,' I said. âLet me. I have to.'

She nodded wordlessly.

âStay and look after Stanzi.'

âShe can fuck off!' shouted Stanzi, still in the back of the car. âShe can't tell me what to do.'

Well, at least they weren't having sex. I couldn't have coped with that. I would have had a big old primal episode right there and then, and it would have scarred my adult life for ever. Although it might have made a good conversation piece for those future student conversations about whose parents are more of a fuck-up.

My dad was talking to her urgently in the office. She looked like she'd made a massive effort: the roots of her hair were freshly done, and she was wearing a bright flowery blouse. She was a big plain girl, not a tart at all.

âLook, Steph, I don't thinkâ' he was saying.

I summoned everything I had ever learned from
EastEnders
and burst through the door.

My dad's face was a comic picture of shock, as if he'd just won an Oscar or something.

âFlora Jane!'

âYes, that's right. It's me. Your daughter.' I turned to the woman. âHi.'

But I could tell by her face she already knew exactly who I was. She was burning up and staring at the ground.

âUm, Flora, what are you doing here?' said my dad, clearing his throat. He was clearly hoping to carry this off as an innocent Saturday business meeting. Maybe he thought I just didn't have so much insight into the future.

He wanted me to say, âMum forgot to tell you to get bananas yesterday, and I didn't know you were working.' He wanted me to say that so much.

âYou can't do this,' I said desperately. âYou can't do this to Mum. Or me. You can't. You'll ruin everything. Can't you see?'

âBut, Iâ'

âI mean, after everything Mum does for you â¦ for this, this â¦'

I'd been meaning to say tart, or slag, or whatever word I felt like about this woman who was condemning my mother to a life of clinging, desperate misery, daily fretting, terrifying loneliness; and her daughter, the same way, jumping about, never able to make up her mind; to settle, to be happy and make someone else happy.

But then I looked at her and the heavily applied makeup, and I just saw an unhappy-looking woman. Who had missed the boat and knew it. Who had (I knew this later) been married to a horrible man; divorced and alone, conscious of her clock ticking out and her looks nearly gone completely. Could I really blame her for grabbing her last chance? Her kind, jovial, fundamentally decent last chance, and damn the consequences, because this was her life, the only one she had, and she just couldn't bear to face it alone, unwitnessed, unattended and going out slowly like an untended fire? But he was ours first.

âDad,' I begged. âPlease.'

âLook, Flora, you have to believe me,' my dad said, wild-eyed. âI came here to break if off, honest.'

Stephanie looked shocked

âThat is a coincidence,' I said, my heart beating wildly.

âEver since you â¦ started going off the rails a bit â¦ I've been speaking more to your mother, and I realise, you do need me, you both need me. More than anything.'

I looked at his face. He was choking on each word as if he was spitting out glass.

âI'm so sorry, Flora,' he said.

He was crumpling up like a little boy. Does no one ever grow up?

âI don't blame you, Dad,' I choked.

But as I said it, I realised that I did blame him. I always had, for far longer than I should. I'd taken that summer and made it into the story of my whole life. I couldn't commit because Daddy had left. I couldn't get over Clelland because I was all alone. I couldn't do the things I wanted to do because I had to look after my mother. I had taken their commonplace everyday tragedy and turned it into my great Grand Guignol; my defining cause; my explanations for my own unhappiness. One normal, average, weak man who happened to be my dad, and one lonely, average girl, who just wanted to be loved, here in the shoddy setting of a local office, pink pinboard detailing rotas and instruction dates; tawdry carpets and a smell that didn't seem as non-smoking as it ought to have done. So small, after all.

Oddly, I suddenly felt strong. This wasn't my fault. It wasn't my problem. It was just one of those things that happened. And it had happened to me, and I'd let it screw up my whole life. I'd used it as an excuse to stick with men I didn't love;
to refuse to grow up. I pitied my first-time-round self again. And resolved: whatever happened, whether I was here for good, whether I got to go home; whatever happened, I was going to be alright, and I wasn't going to end up like this.

âBastard,' muttered Stephanie under her breath, looking between us. I was moving towards my dad, and I realised I wanted a hug, very badly.

âWhat?' said my dad.

She swallowed hard. âYou never meant to leave them, did you? You were lying all this time, weren't you?'

BOOK: The Boy I Loved Before

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