Virgin (21 page)

The next few days passed dismally. I texted Jack back, moaning about my work, but he replied with a simple
Cool, good luck x.
There weren’t even any questions to respond to. With each day that passed, my comedown got worse and I realized what it would be like to be a crack addict with no crack.

I’d been so ecstatic the whole weekend, but now, with the reality of uni, an AWOL best friend, another friend with a fabulous boyfriend and, most important, a semi-boyfriend of my own who wasn’t being as boyfriend-y as I wanted, things were officially shit.

I wasn’t a virgin. I was meant to be happy. So why wasn’t I?

Okay, I knew why.

It was because Lara and I weren’t speaking. Because Sergio happened. Because Jack wasn’t messaging me. He wasn’t exactly ignoring me, or cutting me out like men did on TV, but he was hardly being the dream boyfriend who should be making me mix tapes. Or at least a Spotify playlist.

I spent the next few days in exactly the same way. I woke up at eight a.m., I showered, I walked to the library and I stayed there till six p.m. finishing my dissertation. Then I walked back home, bought a reduced sandwich from the supermarket and ate it in bed while watching a crappy TV series on my laptop until I fell asleep. My pubes were growing back and they were itchy. They seemed to know I’d robbed them of more prime time in the spotlight, and were coming back larger and longer than ever. Even my pubes were on bad terms with me.

I had gone for one lunch with Emma, but our dreams of revising together with breaks were shattered by Sergio. Deep down, I was happy for her, but the timing couldn’t be more off. Double dates couldn’t have been further from my reality. Instead, I was a sad, spurned woman of the world living in a state of solitude. I didn’t even have my virginity to distract me anymore—all I had was a copy of my magazine column taped on my wall.

Sarah, the editor, had asked me to do another column for the following week. The theme was Romance. It felt like an ironic kick in the face. Initially I had wanted to write one based on Jack and me, but as the days went by and I still hadn’t heard from him, I changed my mind. Hours before my deadline, I cobbled together four hundred words on Jane Austen and the lack of romance in our modern lives. It was more “anti-technology” than “romantic” but luckily Sarah liked it.

The column was the only thing going well for me at the moment. I glanced over to the wall to look at Magazine Ellie, reminding me of my success, but my eyes caught on the clock. It was three p.m. and my dissertation was due in an hour. I jolted upright and grabbed my bag.

“TAXI!” I shrieked, waving my bound dissertation in the air. I probably had enough time to take a bus before the deadline, but on my tight budget I never got black cabs so it seemed like an opportunity to grab with both hands. All the black cabs ignored me but a dark red one pulled over. Great, the one time I wanted to take a black cab, a
red
one pulls over.

I climbed in, telling him where to go, and then on a whim, added, “And step on it!” I felt like I was in a movie. In a movie, he would have said “Yes ma’am” and slammed his foot on the accelerator. In real life, he spent the next eleven minutes giving me a lecture on road safety and following speed limits.

When he pulled in to Malet Place, I paid him a tenner and jumped out in relief. I ran up the stairs, pushing open the doors to the staff room, and dumped my finished dissertation onto a large pile. There were a couple of other students there, but I decided to make an early exit in case Hannah or someone worse came by. As I walked out of the door, I bumped into Luke, the painfully hipster guy who threw the Never Have I Ever Party.

“Hey, Ellie,” he said. “Just handed yours in?”

“Yeah, thank God,” I said, smiling way too much.
God, why couldn’t I just be normal around men?
“So glad to be rid of it.”

“Tell me about it. Now I can actually read Kerouac without having to think about his relation to the modernist movement.”

I laughed politely, relieved that I’d never be the kind of person who would reread Jack Kerouac for fun.

“Anyway,” he carried on, “are you coming to our big party tomorrow night? To celebrate handing in the dissertation?”

“Party? Um, no, I hadn’t heard anything about it,” I replied honestly.

“Oh, it’s just a Facebook thing . . . I’m sure you’ll have the invitation on there. We’re having a party at Matt’s, Opal’s and mine. It would be cool if you could come.”

I shrugged my acquiescence. “Sounds good. See you there.” I smiled at him as I edged towards the staircase. The essay was in and now I had time to focus on fixing my friendship with Lara. I’d wasted weeks avoiding this. Now it was time to get my best friend back. I walked quickly out into the quad and sat on my favorite steps, overlooking the front of the university.

Lara, are you free to chat? Really want to talk! xxx

I sent the text and sat waiting anxiously, tempted to imitate Lara’s childhood habit of biting her nails even though I’d never done it myself. A few minutes later, my phone beeped.

Hey, Ellie. Sorry but now isn’t a good time. I’m home in Guildford with the fam. Will speak soon though. xxx

My heart sank in disappointment. Why didn’t she want to talk? I hated that she was still avoiding me—our fight was so irrelevant. If I could get over it and try to be the bigger person, why couldn’t she? Then I reread her message. She’d responded quickly, and she’d sent the same number of kisses back. If she
was
mad at me, she wouldn’t have done either of those things.

She was in Guildford and she didn’t hate me. I suddenly realized that this was perfect. I could go to her place today, right now, and see her there. It was only an hour or so on the train. I grabbed my bag and headed for the tube.

I walked down the familiar road to Lara’s parents’ home. The silver sports car was outside the house so I knew they were in. My feet crunched on the beige gravel of their driveway. My heart was beating nervously and my palms were sweaty. I told myself to calm down. I was visiting my best friend; I’d spent half of my life in her house, and her family was basically my second family. I could do this.

Biting my lip anxiously, I buzzed the bell and closed my eyes, saying a very quick prayer.
Please God, or Gods, or karmic spirit, help me. Make her not hate me. Make me brave. Alexander the Great, if you’re up there, can you help a bit, please? I know it’s not as big a deal as you conquering Asia Minor, but—

The door opened and Lara’s mum stood there, looking flustered. Her normally immaculate hair was tied up in a ponytail and she was wearing a fleece over leggings. I didn’t even know she owned a fleece. Her trademark pearl stud earrings were nowhere to be seen.

“Stephanie?” I asked cautiously. “Is everything okay?”

She looked at me, relieved. “Oh, thank God, Ellie,” she breathed out. “I was hoping Lara would come to her senses and call you. Come in. She’s in her room.”

I looked at her in confusion as I stepped into their marble hallway. “She kind of . . . didn’t call me,” I disclosed. “But can I just go up anyway?”

“Oh . . .” said Stephanie, her face falling. Then she shook her head gently and smiled at me. “Sorry, what am I doing? Come in, come in. You know the way.”

I shot her a smile and went upstairs to Lara’s room. I was officially confused. How come Stephanie knew about our fight? I knew Lara and her mum were close, but not
that
close. Lara and I always used to say mums and daughters who got on too well were creepy. I knocked on her door.

“Yeah?” she called.

“It’s me,” I said, tentatively pushing the door open. Lara was sitting on the bed, her long blond hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. She was surrounded by stuff. Clothes, makeup and books were spilling out of large brown boxes.

She stared at me in complete shock. “Ellie, what . . . what are you doing here?”

“We . . . I wanted to talk to you,” I said numbly. “But what’s going on? What’s with all the boxes?”

She looked at me and her face crumpled. She burst into tears. In all our years of friendship, I’d never seen her cry in front of me. I stood dazed, frozen in shock, before instinct kicked in and I ran over to hug her. We sat on the bed, my arms wrapped around her. I held her as she cried onto my striped gray jumper. Eventually her sobs subsided and turned into sniffles.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I . . . I didn’t mean for . . .”

“Lara, stop,” I interrupted. “Everything’s fine. We’re fine, I’m here, you don’t need to apologize. Cry as much as you want. And when you’re ready, explain what’s wrong and I’ll be here for you.”

She smiled at me gratefully and I squeezed her tight. “Ow,” she gasped. “Stop squeezing so hard.”

I laughed, and she joined in between her sobs. “Oh God, Ellie,” she breathed out. “Everything is officially shit.”

“What’s wrong, Lar?”

She sighed and started fiddling with her hair, which she always did when she was nervous. “My dad left my mum over a month ago. I found out about it a few days after we, I . . . after we went out that night to Mahiki. He’s sleeping with some skank. It’s so sodding typical. I don’t know if I hate him more for that, or for being a total cliché. Anyway, Mum’s freaking out. We can’t live here anymore so we’re going to move somewhere but we don’t know where, and we don’t know if we’re going to rent or . . . I’m so confused and it’s so complicated.”

“Oh my God. I’m so, so sorry, Lara. I can’t believe it. I’m so . . . shocked, and disappointed with your dad. How can he do that to you and your mum?” I asked.

“I know,” she said simply. “I can’t figure it out either. It’s too surreal.”

I hugged her again. “It’s going to be okay, babe. I know it is. You have your mum and she’s amazing.”

“I know,” she said. “But even though she obviously earns a fair bit as a barrister, it’s not enough for us to live here. Especially because she was the breadwinner so they have to split money in the divorce and it’s so messy. I think she also doesn’t want to live here anymore because of the memories . . .”

“I get it,” I said softly. “Is there a plan?”

“Meh . . . there are some options. We either rent somewhere in London, or go and stay with Aunt Charlotte and have some kind of girls’ pad, but I don’t know if I can handle the thought of living with my newly single mum and her single sister in Hertfordshire.”

“Oh my God,” I cried suddenly. “Why doesn’t your mum go and live with Aunt Charlotte—they’re like best friends anyway and she probably needs her sister right now—and you come and live with me?”

“Ellie . . . I can’t,” she said quietly. “I need a home. I can’t just crash with your parents, or with you in Camden, or . . . I don’t know.”

“Okay,” I said, disappointed that I couldn’t fix everything. “You’re right; it was a silly idea. But you’re always welcome, you know. I mean, I know you’re at Oxford during term anyway, and we only have a couple of months left, so this summer you could stay with me in Camden. We could have one last summer in London together before my lease runs out. Then by the end of summer, maybe your mum will have somewhere sorted.”

She looked up. “I . . . I mean, maybe that could work. I was dreading a summer in Hertfordshire. But, Ellie, I’ve been a shit friend.”