Who's That Girl (38 page)

'Why? Because you broke up with your boyfriend?' Lottie is saying, trying to calm me down by rubbing my shoulder. 'By the sounds of it, he's a right idiot.'

'I'm not talking about my ex-boyfriend,' I hiccup, looking at her with red, puffy eyes.

'You're not?' She stops rubbing my shoulder. 'Well, who are you talking about, then?'

'Oliver,' I manage to gasp, before bursting into tears again.

Lottie looks at me in confusion. 'I think you need to come in and tell me all about it.'

'So, go on, fire away.'

We're sitting upstairs in my old bedroom, only this time the positions are reversed and now it's Lottie who's perched on the chair surveying me, while I'm curled up on the futon, sipping from a cracked mug containing black coffee, which she made me. My old room's a pigsty, in fact in the daylight it seems worse than ever, but whereas before it bothered me, now I find it comforting.

'I don't know where to start,' I sigh into my instant Nescafe.

'How about at the beginning?' she suggests.

Tucking my hair behind my ears, I shake my head. 'That's just it - I don't exactly know where the beginning is any more. It's like everything's all tangled up together.' I pause, trying to sort through the jumbled reels of my life, trying to put things into some kind of order. I start with Oliver. Well, it seems as good a place as any. I tell her how our paths crossed ten years ago. 'But nothing happened between us, as I didn't notice him, although now I wish something had,' I add regretfully, pulling at my tissue. 'And then out of the blue we bumped into each other again, and it seemed like something was
going
to happen between us, that maybe I was going to get a second chance.' I pause, reliving that moment just half an hour ago on my balcony, feeling a twist in my stomach. 'But then we had this big row,' I finish miserably.

'Don't tell me. He was a lying arsehole like Billy Romani,' she interjects angrily.

'No, not at all.' I shake my head sadly.

'Then why?' She looks at me in confusion.

I think back to standing outside his granddad's antique shop with Larry Goldstein. 'I let my head rule my heart,' I say quietly. 'I told myself that business was business, that personal feelings don't come into it. I tried to rationalise.'

'You mean you ignored your gut instinct?' she says, translating.

I glance up at her, her words registering. I hadn't thought about it like that, but she's right. 'I guess I've been guilty of ignoring a lot of things,' I hear myself saying. 'I ignored the doubts I had about my relationship with Miles. We were never right for each other from the beginning, but I tried to convince myself we were, because I wanted us to be. Just like I ignore that little voice inside that says I'm not happy. Because I
must
be happy: I've got the life I always dreamed of; I've got the lifestyle, a successful career, size-ten thighs.' Smiling ruefully, I hug my knees to my chest.

'And yet I can't help feeling as if there's something missing in my life.' As I say it out loud, I realise I'm admitting this to myself for the first time. 'But I don't know what it is. And the harder I look, the more I can't find it, because there's just too much pressure and not enough time.'

I've bottled up all this stuff for so long that now it's as if I've lifted off a lid and everything's pouring out.

'It's like I'm always playing catch-up. I'm exhausted and anxious and worried all the time, not to mention hungry.' I roll my eyes and pull a face, remembering I haven't eaten since the power bar I had at breakfast.

'But what's the point?'

'Sorry?' I stop talking and look at my younger self, not understanding.

'I mean, what's the point of worrying all the time?' She shrugs.

I stare at her, perplexed. Is that a trick question?

'Well, it's not about there being a
point
…'

'So why do it, then?' she asks simply.

'Because…' I open my mouth to explain, only I can't quite think of anything to say.

'It's a total waste of time.' She reaches for a pot of glittery nail varnish and tries it out on her big toe. 'If the worst is going to happen, it'll happen. Worrying can't protect you from that. And if it
doesn't
happen' - she raises her eyebrows - 'then you've missed out on all the time when you could have been having fun.' Smiling brightly, she puts down the pot of glittery nail varnish and picks up a bright purple one instead and starts doing the other foot. Meanwhile I'm looking at her in astonishment. How did I change from her to me? From this carefree person into someone who spends their whole time with a nervous knot in their stomach. What on earth happened to me?

But before I've even finished asking myself the question, deep down inside I know the answer. Because you see, I haven't told Lottie the whole story. There's more. A lot more. I've just kept it buried deep inside of me for so long now, I'd almost convinced myself that none of it ever really happened. Almost, until a few days ago when I saw myself again with Billy Romani and all the painful memories came rushing back.

Of course Lottie doesn't know any of this. I haven't told her the real reason why I tried to stop her sleeping with Billy Romani. I haven't explained to her what really broke my heart. And how can I? How can I tell my younger self about the sequence of events that followed? About how I thought I'd bounced back, got over it, only to discover a few weeks after my birthday that something was wrong.

My period was late.

Well, you can guess the rest. Disbelief. Panic. Tears. I can still remember that moment as if it was yesterday, sitting on the toilet, looking at the two little blue lines, feeling my whole world collapsing around me. I was twenty-two years old and had no idea what to do. Emotions threatened to overwhelm me: anger for being so stupid, for letting this happen, for getting myself into this situation. And fear. A cold icy fear that had tightened its grip around my heart leaving me scared and afraid.

The only person I told was Vanessa. She didn't judge me or admonish me, she didn't say anything, just gave me a hug and promised to be there whatever I decided to do. It was Vanessa who lent me the money and came with me to the clinic. If it hadn't been for her, I don't think I'd have got through it, but in a few hours it was all over and I consoled myself with the thought that now I could put it all behind me.

Except I never really did put it behind me. I don't think anyone ever does, do they? From that moment on it was as if something had changed inside of me. I'd crossed a line and I never crossed back. Of course I've changed gradually over the years, people do, it's all part of growing up. But if I look back, it's almost as if that was the moment the old Lottie disappeared. A lone tear spills from my eyelashes and trickles down my cheek. Because it's only now I realise that I've never really forgiven myself. It was ten years ago but there are still times when I wonder if I did the right thing. Unguarded moments when I see Vanessa with Ruby and Sam, and I see how much she loves them, that I ask myself if I made the right choice. Wondered 'what if. But now I know.

Because if spending time with my younger self and seeing Billy Romani again has made me realise one thing, it's that I made completely the right decision. We were so young, so wrong for each other, so not ready, we would have made terrible parents. We weren't even together - to Billy Romani I was just a one-night stand - and I couldn't have brought a child up on my own, I was still practically a child myself. I was silly. I thought I was in love, and it was an accident. It happens to millions of women. It had happened to me. But now I need to finally accept that and stop blaming myself. It's like I said to Lottie, that day as she sat crying on her doorstep: acceptance is the final stage. I need to reach that to be able to move on. And now I have.

'Hey, are you all right?' Lottie looks up from painting her toenails.

'Yeah.' I brush away the lone tear. 'I think so.'

'You know, you've got to stop worrying about the past, forget about the future and start living for the moment.' Finishing painting her toes, she wiggles them with a satisfied expression.

'I know.' I nod and take a moment to let it all sink in, before smiling ruefully. 'But how?'

She rolls her eyes as if I'm a total moron, then realises I'm completely serious and fixes me with a considered look. 'Loosen up a bit more, be spontaneous, enjoy yourself.'

'Enjoy myself?' I repeat, as if I'm speaking a foreign language.

'Like the other night on the dance floor.' She does a little impression of what I can only assume is me dancing and I feel myself blush. 'You looked like you were having fun.'

'Yes, I was,' I admit. My mind spools back to dancing at the club, walking through the park with Oliver, eating shortbread fingers with his granddad, shopping at the flea market… I haven't realised it until now, but I've had more fun in the last few days than I can remember having in the last few years.

'Here, I know what will cheer you…' Jumping up from the table, my younger self scrabbles around in a spangly bag hanging on the back of the chair and pulls out a Kit-Kat. 'Chocolate.'

She pulls a delighted face and, snapping it in half, holds out a finger.

'Um, no, thanks.' I smile, shaking my head. 'I try not to eat chocolate.'

'Seriously?' She stares at me agog. 'God, no wonder you're depressed.'

And suddenly it hits me. Our roles have completely reversed. It's no longer me giving my younger self advice; it's her giving
me

advice. And I'm fast realising that actually I don't know better at all. About some things, yes - I glance at that terrible silver eyeshadow - but not about everything, far from it. Age and experience haven't made me this wise old master - they've made me this anxious, strung-out thirtysomething who worries about everything. Whose life is completely out of balance. Who's forgotten how to have fun. And who spends the whole time reading self-help books and trying to find herself when she's been here under her nose all along, I think, glancing at Lottie and seeing this smart, confident, vibrant person.

Honestly, what was I worrying about? She's going to be just fine, I suddenly realise. I can't wrap her up in cotton wool. I can't stop her making mistakes, just like I couldn't stop her and Billy and the inevitable result that came from that. But you know what? I don't want to. There's a saying

'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.' And yes, she's going to have some rough times ahead of her, but she's gonna be OK.

I'm going to be OK.

Because it's true: there has been something missing in my life,
I
was missing in my life. I lost sight of who I was. I lost myself. And now here, in this bedroom, I've found myself again.

'Actually, pass me some of that Kit-Kat.'

And my sweet tooth.

After polishing off the rest of the Kit-Kat, my appetite reawakens and I suddenly realise I'm starving. Lottie kindly offers me a Pot Noodle, but I decline. While I might have had the right idea about a lot of things when I was younger, this definitely wasn't one of them. Instead I suggest going to eat at the Wellington Arms. My treat.

Which seems like a great idea until we enter the pub and I suddenly see the young Oily. I stiffen. With everything that's been happening, I'd totally forgotten he'd be working here, and seeing him now brings my argument with Oliver whooshing back.

Apprehensively I walk towards the bar.

'Hey, how are you?' As he sees me, he smiles in recognition. 'It's Charlotte, isn't it? We met the other night at the Canal Club.'

'Yeah. Hi, Oily.' I smile awkwardly. It seems weird him being so nice, when only a few hours ago we were standing in my living room, screaming at each other.

'So how are things?' he asks cheerfully, and as I look into his familiar pale grey eyes, my insides tug.

'Great,' I say brightly, forcing myself to sound cheerful. If I felt bad before, now I feel worse.

'And you?'

'Oh, I'm good.' He nods, then pauses and plays with the woven bracelets round his wrist, as if he's got something on his mind. 'Um, actually, I was going to ask you a favour,' he says after a moment, and glances at me nervously.

'Sure, anything.'

Anything to try and make things up to you, I think, looking at him behind the bar and feeling myself almost sag under the weight of regret.

'Well, the thing is' - he swallows hard - 'I'm cooking dinner tomorrow night for a few friends and I wanted to invite Lottie. Do you think she might come?'

He smiles nervously, his face infused with hope. And I know, right here and now, that this is my second chance. I might have messed things up, but it doesn't mean Lottie has to.

'Of course she will,' I reassure him.

'Really?' His face flushes with delight. 'You think so?'

'Leave it to me.' I smile. 'Just give me your address.'

'Oh, OK…' He scrambles for a piece of paper, as if hardly daring to believe his luck. 'Hang on, there's a notepad around here somewhere…'

'Don't worry, use this.' I dig a crumpled piece of paper out of my bag. It's my list of advice. Nineteen dos and don'ts. Funny, I never got to number twenty. 'I won't be needing this any more.'

I glance at it for a moment, thinking how much I got it wrong, before passing it across the bar.

'Just write on the back.'

'Thanks,' he mutters, and scribbles his address. 'Tell her it's at seven thirty, and she doesn't need to bring anything. Just herself,' he adds, with a small smile. He passes it to me.

'Consider it done.' I smile back, slipping it into my bag.

'Now, what can I get you?' he asks. 'Drinks are on the house.'

I order two halves of cider and two packets of salt-and-vinegar crisps as an appetiser - well, if I'm back on the chocolate, it seems only fitting I go the whole hog - and walk back to the table, carrying a couple of menus, where Lottie is waiting.

'Hey, Lottie,' I say casually, handing her the cider and crisps, and sliding into the seat next to her.

'I'm going over to a friend's for dinner tomorrow night and I wondered if you wanted to come along.'