Who's That Girl (32 page)

I freeze. What am I doing? Snatching my feet out of the shoes, I hastily put them back on the rack. My younger self might have reminded me of the joys of shopping for clothes in flea markets, but there's one thing I
have
learned now I'm older. I make a mental note to add it to my list:

19. Cheap shoes suck. Save up and buy designer.

Because there are some things in life that are worth spending money on, and Jimmy Choos are one of them.

And happily slipping my feet back into my gorgeous sandals, with their full arch support and hand-stitched leather soles, I set off towards the park.

Chapter Thirty

Only when I reach my car do I finally glance at the clock on the dashboard and realise how much time has passed.

And get the shock of my life.

Bloody hell, it's nearly six o'clock! I stare at the electronic digits in shocked disbelief. I've been
hours
. I didn't just lose track of time, I lost a whole day! It slipped away without me even noticing.

Because you were having fun
, chimes that little voice inside ray head. Automatically I feel a sharp stab of guilt. I'm not supposed to be having fun. I'm not supposed to be rediscovering the thrill of flea markets, going on walks with cute barmen or getting whiskery kisses from granddads; I'm supposed to be mourning the loss of my relationship and looking for my watch.

Which is still missing, I remind myself.

I focus back on it. Where was I before I got sidetracked? Ah, yes, retracing my steps… My mind spools back. If it's not in my flat or the pub, then I must have lost it in the club - which will be closed now, I tell myself quickly, feeling relieved - or my old house. Turning the ignition, I stick the car into gear and pull away from the kerb. I'll drive over there now. Maybe it fell off my wrist when I was digging around in the fridge for some milk. I have a flashback to the unidentifiable foodstuffs lurking inside and a shudder runs up my spine. On second thoughts, please God don't let it be in the fridge. I don't think I'm brave enough to stick my hand in there again.

I start heading north towards the flyover and it's not long before I see the now-familiar signs for the diversion. Though of course I don't see any workmen, I muse, filtering into the single lane past the large diggers and cranes that are sitting empty. Typical. In the middle of cursing this peculiar habit of British roadworks appearing overnight in an explosion of orange cones and freshly dug holes and then just sort of sitting there for days on end, causing huge traffic jams, my phone rings.

'Hello?'

'I tried you at home, but you weren't there,' accuses the voice on the other end of the line.

'Oh, hi, Mum,' I say automatically. 'Thanks for the card, and the vouchers. I meant to call you last night when I got in, but it was too late.'

'So did you have a good time on your birthday?'

I think about last night. I'm not sure if 'good' is the right adjective. 'Yeah, it was, um…' I try to think of the right one and settle on '… interesting.'

'Any surprises?'

'You could say that,' I murmur, remembering me at the club, on the dance floor, talking to Oily, his tattoo…

'I knew it!' she gasps victoriously down the line, cutting off my train of thought. 'I said it to your father. Didn't I say it to you, David? Didn't I?' She's hollering at my father, who I can hear grunting in the background. I can picture them now, her on the phone in the hallway, him in the living room trying to read the paper in peace.

'Knew what?' I say in confusion. God, what is my mother going on about now? Holding the phone out from my ear, I pull up at the traffic lights on the diversion.

'Now, now, don't keep us all waiting!' She laughs shrilly. She sounds almost giddy and for a moment I wonder if she's been drinking. She has been known to have a couple of Bianco and lemonades before dinner. Or
tea
I should say.

'Mum, I don't know what you're talking about,' I say, a little impatiently. Oh good, the lights have changed. I put the car into gear.

'The proposal!' she gasps. 'What other kind of surprise do you think I'm talking about?'

Suddenly it registers. When Mum said 'surprise', she thought… and I thought…

Oh shit.

My heart sinks. I've got to tell her the truth. Only it's going to be like telling a lottery winner there's been a mix-up and actually they don't have the winning ticket.

'So?' Mum's voice nags. 'Are you going to keep your poor old mother in suspense?'

Deep breath. Here we go. 'We broke up.'

There's silence and then—

'What?' She's almost speechless with shock.

I quickly take advantage of the fact. 'Actually, I broke up with him. It wasn't right, Mum,' I try explaining quickly. 'I thought it could work, I really wanted it to work, but it didn't, it couldn't, and when I stopped trying to convince myself and took a moment to look hard at my relationship—'

She cuts me off. 'Have you gone mad?'

Taking the same short cut as always and turning into the side street, I reflect upon the past week's events. Bumping into my twenty-one-year-old self, hanging out together at a concert, going clubbing, turning into a cougar, breaking up with my boyfriend…

'Quite possibly,' I admit, whizzing past the parked cars. Maybe Mum's right. Maybe I have flipped my lid and lost the plot. Maybe I'm making a total and utter mess of my life and I'm going to really regret this.

'What on earth has got into you?' she reprimands hotly. 'I'm sure if you call him up now, he'll take you back.'

'I don't want him to take me back!' I exclaim. And if there was any doubt in my mind, there isn't now. 'I'm not in love with him, and I don't think he's in love with me either,' I add, remembering how concerned he was to be losing the house and the survey money, not me.

'But he seemed perfect for you.'

'On paper, yes,' I admit, 'but not in reality. Miles is a great guy, but not for me, Mum. He just never really understood me.'

'Do you think I understand your father?' she butts in. 'Thirty-five years we've been married and that man's still a mystery to me.'

'Mum, that's different. You love Dad.'

'But, Charlotte—'

As I zoom under the bridge, the line suddenly goes dead. I feel a beat of secret relief and, chucking my phone on the passenger seat, I put my foot down.

As I turn into my old street, I spot my vintage VW parked back outside the house. Well, I use the word 'parked' loosely, but it's about three feet away from the kerb and left at a jaunty angle, as if someone was just driving along and got bored and abandoned the car in the middle of the road. Which, now I come to think of it, I was wont to do, I reflect, pulling up behind the shiny new bumper. Obviously it's just come back from the garage, I note, turning off the engine. Hopefully she followed my advice about taking a male friend with her to pick it up. That way, she won't have got ripped off, like I did.

Feeling cheered up, I climb the steps to my old house and reach for the brass dolphin door knocker. I rap loudly. There's the sound of footsteps and then the door swings open.

'Hi, it's me again.'

I'm expecting my younger self to be hung-over, I'm expecting her to be suffering from the worst headache of her life, and I'm expecting her to look like shit. What I'm not expecting is for her to be crying her eyes out.

'Oh my God, are you OK?'

Tears are streaming down Lottie's face, and her eyes are all red and puffy. In between gasping snorts, she nods vigorously. 'Yes… fine…'

I was always a crap liar.

'What on earth's happened?' I ask anxiously.

Blowing her nose on a crumpled length of damp toilet roll, she looks at me with total despair. A fist of worry clenches my stomach. Oh my God, what can it be? She looks utterly distraught. Panicked, I start flicking through my stash of memories. I can't ever remember being this upset. What can it be?

'Billy Romani,' she manages to hiccup, before dissolving into more heartfelt sobs. At the mention of his name, I feel myself stiffen. Of course.
Now
I remember being this upset. It was when I discovered he'd gone off with another girl.

'What about him?' I demand, feeling like the protective big sister. Her chest is heaving up and down, and she begins stammering between hiccups, 'He's been seen… with that posh girl… who looks like a rabbit…'

'liberty the trustafarian,' I say grimly.

Her face screws up like a crumpled paper bag and she lets out a pitiful wail. It takes a few moments before she can speak, and then it's more of a stammer. 'Apparently, they are seeing each other. Apparently, he's in…' she hesitates, as if unable to say the words '…
in love with her
,'

she gasps, and then buries her face in her piece of toilet roll.

'He's in love with her trust fund,' I console, putting my arm round her. I'm rewarded by a brief smile, but then she starts sobbing again.

'Hey, come on, it's not so bad,' I soothe, giving her a squeeze. 'Look on the bright side - at least I warned you about him.' I feel a swell of relief that I managed to do that. 'At least you didn't go home with him after the concert. Now that would be much worse.' I see Lottie's expression. 'Oh my God, you did go home with him, didn't you?'

She nods mutely.

'After everything I said?'

'I know, but I thought…'

'You knew better,' I finish.

Her face flushes.

And my heart sinks. I should have known. I've always been crap at taking advice. I've always been stubborn. And when I was younger, I was so headstrong. I always did exactly what I wanted. I never listened to anyone.

Not even myself, I realise, suddenly feeling a burst of anger at Lottie for not taking my advice. I mean, how the hell am I supposed to help myself if I won't listen? But it's not just her I'm angry at; I'm angry at myself. For not stopping her, for not being able to prevent her from making the same stupid mistake as me. After all, isn't that what I'm here for? To protect her? To prevent her from doing all the things I wish I hadn't?

Regret stabs. I've let Lottie down. I've let myself down. I had a chance to put things right and I blew it. Feeling like a complete and utter failure, I glance at Lottie, her face puffy and blotchy with tears, and unexpectedly my anger vanishes as quickly as it appeared. Experience has taught me to stay away from players like Billy Romani, but it's also taught me compassion, I realise, feeling a rush of sympathy. Because if anyone knows how bad she feels right now, it's me, isn't it?

'Do you want to talk about it?' I ask gently.

She glances at me with surprise, then blowing her nose loudly, nods and sits down on the front doorstep. I sit next to her. Hugging her knees to her chest, she stares down at her bare feet. 'After you dropped me off, I went back to the pub to see if he was still there,' she says sheepishly.

'And was he?' I ask, although I already know the answer.

'Uh-huh.' She nods. 'He was still hanging around outside with the rest of the band, so I went with him to the party…' She trails off and falls silent for a moment as she thinks back. As do I.

For me, that night seems like a lifetime ago, and it's hard to think about it without also thinking about everything else that followed. The pain of rejection, the embarrassment, the regret… If I really try, though, I can isolate that evening, focus in on my feelings, remember how I felt. Young, happy,
invincible
. God, I felt like a completely different person back then.

'It was amazing,' she sighs, and despite herself, her eyes flash with excitement.

'I know,' I murmur.

'You do?' She glances at me in surprise, her brow furrowed.

'Er, I mean, I know what that feels like,' I say quickly, snapping back and correcting myself. 'To have an amazing night with someone. Anyone,' I add.

She looks at me suspiciously - as if she could never imagine someone like me having a night of amazing sex with anyone, let alone a leather-clad rocker.

'Well, anyway, the next morning when I left, he promised he'd ring me as he was doing a gig in Leeds that night, which is why he couldn't be at my birthday party.' She pulls a face and takes another drag of her cigarette. 'Butthatwas all lies. Hewasn'tdoing a gig. He was with that girl.'

Her eyes fill up again and tears spill over her eyelashes and down her cheeks. 'How could he?'

Because he's a selfish, egotistical prick, that's why
! I want to cry, but of course she's not going to take too kindly to that. I know, because when Vanessa said the same thing, we had a huge row and I ended up defending him and stomping home in a huff. But if I can't tell her that, what can I tell her? The truth?

I hesitate, contemplating how much I can say, when the phone rings and a voice from inside shouts, 'Lottie, it's your parents,' and someone I don't recognise appears at the door, trailing a phone on a long extension lead.

'Oh, thanks.' She nods, taking the receiver, then glances back at me. 'Sorry, I won't be a minute.'

Now this will be interesting, I muse, watching as she presses the phone to her ear.

'Mum! Hello, how are you?' she exclaims, a wide smile bursting over her face. I look at her with astonishment. I don't know what I was expecting, but I wasn't expecting this. She seems so pleased to hear from Mum.

'Billy? No, he hasn't called.'

I'm aghast. What? I told Mum about Billy Romani? I can't believe it. I never confide in Mum about anything any more, certainly not anything to do with my love life.

'No, I'm fine,' reassures Lottie, before shooting me a look. 'I'm here with a friend.'

I stop staring and manage a smile.

'OK, well, give my love to Dad, won't you? And remember, I'm coming up next weekend, so I'll see you then… Yes, I'm really looking forward to it. We can go shopping together. I'll spend the vouchers you bought me.' She laughs, and I'm sure I can hear Mum laughing on the other end of the line. 'OK, bye, Mum! I'll call you tomorrow. Love you too.' She hangs up and turns to me, her face still suffused with a large smile.

I feel a beat of regret. I never have those conversations with my mum any more. Nowadays ours are so snatched, so abrupt, so much less intimate. Like our relationship, I realise, trying to remember the last time we went shopping together.