Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Four

Disappointment is inevitable in this life. But a Good Woman can overcome most things by weathering the storm with patience and good grace.

Matilda Beam’s Good Woman Guide, 1959

It’s weird, this crying business. It’s like Pringles – once you pop you can’t stop. And I literally cannot stop.

The taxi driver is polite enough to pretend that he doesn’t notice as I cry and snot and wail in the back seat. I don’t even have a tissue, so the sleeve of my dressing gown is now in a pretty gross state.

Eyes blurred with this onslaught of tears, I get out of the taxi at Edward Street, Bayswater, where Jamie is waiting outside his front door, huddled up in a blue towelling bathrobe. He looks at me in horror as I, in my dressing gown and trainers, hobble towards him, barely able to stand up because I’m crying so hard.

‘Jess? Are you hurt?’ he asks, leading me inside. ‘Are you in pain?’

Yes. And yes.

‘S-s-s-orry,’ I get out through shaky breaths. ‘I had a really bad n-night and haven’t cried in t-t-t-ten yeeeears, so there’s quite a l-lot of iiiiiit and it’s freaking me o-o-out.’

We enter a clean, plainly decorated living room, darkened by closed curtains.

‘Sit down,’ Jamie says, pointing to a floppy, comfy-looking couch. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on.’

I plop onto the sofa, noticing a box of tissues on the low coffee table in front of me. I grab the entire box of tissues, plonk them on my lap, pull a load of them out and press them all over my wet face to dry the tears. I repeat this, as needed, until soon enough all the tissues are used up. ‘Bring some bog roll,’ I call to Jamie in the kitchen.

Jamie comes back from the kitchen holding two steaming mugs of tea and a loo roll under his arm. He stumbles slightly on the edge of the rug and a bit of tea falls onto his bare foot.

‘Ouch.’

I accept one of the mugs from him and take a big slurp. The tears are falling so fast that they plop, one after the other, into the tea. Putting the mug down onto the coffee table, I grab the loo roll from Jamie and use it for more face-mopping.

‘I’m sorry,’ I sigh shakily, ‘to wake you. I didn’t know who else to phone.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he shrugs, sitting down next to me, hands cupped around his mug, stifling a yawn. ‘So you want to tell me what’s happened?’

I nod and take a deep breath. Then I tell Jamie the whole sorry story.

* * *

An entire roll of toilet tissue, three more cups of tea and an hour and a half later, I’ve told Jamie everything: about Mum, and my dad who I’ve just found out is called Thomas Truman and might not even know I exist, about Grandma lying to us. And then I tell him about the ball, about Leo finding out about the project, how he told me he loved me. I leave out the bit that I think I might love him too. When I’m finished, my face is almost red raw from the tears and my nose is full-on blocked.

‘What should I do?’ I ask him. ‘I don’t want to feel like this. I’ve spent my whole life protecting myself from feeling like this. How do I make it stop? I need to make this crying stop. I hate it! I’m Gwyneth Paltrow!’

‘You just have to let it happen. You’ll stop crying when you’re ready.’

‘What?’ I say in horror, a fresh round of tears squeezing their way out. ‘That’s it? I just have to wait for it to stop on its own? I’m going to get dehydrated!’

Jamie smiles slightly, stands up and holds out his hand. ‘Come on.’

‘What? Where?’

‘Let’s go to bed.’

I goggle at him. I knew he was randy, but wanting a shag now, after everything I just told him?

‘To sleep,’ he adds, noticing my irritation. He yawns and I catch it, my mouth stretching sleepily.

‘Ugh.’

‘You can’t sort any of this out until you’ve got some sleep,’ he says kindly.

I nod, wipe my nose and follow Jamie through a hallway and up some beige carpeted stairs. From one of the rooms, I hear the sound of a bed squeaking along with a bunch of muffled sighs and moans.

‘My room-mates,’ Jamie grimaces. ‘They sometimes start early. Come on, I’ve got earplugs.’

Jamie’s room is large and clean, with blonde hardwood floors and lots of medical textbooks lined up on Billy bookcases. It looks like a student bedroom, which, I suppose, is what it is, after all. I notice lots of pictures hung up above his desk. Pictures of Jamie with family members and friends, a few of him with his nephew Charlie. I feel a rumble of self-pity in my stomach. I wonder what it must have been like to grow up like that. Surrounded by a normal, loving, functional family.

Jamie takes off his dressing gown to reveal, underneath, his tartan boxer shorts and a grey T-shirt that says ‘Bazinga’ on it. He climbs into the bed and I crawl in beside him, noticing that the duvet cover smells nice, like washing powder. I curl up into him and he flings his arm over my body. It’s comforting and safe. Almost immediately he gets a boner.

I jump away and turn round. ‘Jamie!’ I scold, wiping my nose. ‘Inappropriate much?’

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Natural reaction.’

I sniff and turn back round, snuggling my head into the pillow.

‘Unless . . . it might make you feel a bit better?’ he adds.

He’s right. It probably would make me feel a bit better. Things are easy with Jamie. There are no weird whizzy feelings, no heart thumps and melting. No . . . love.

‘Thanks, Doc. But I just want to get some sleep.’

Jamie leans down and kisses the back of my head. He hands me a packet of neon-yellow earplugs, which I eagerly shove in to drown out the noise of his amorous room-mates. Less than thirty seconds later, I’m asleep.

* * *

I wake up the next morning to the sound of my mobile ringing. My throat is raw and sore, my head is pounding. I feel like I’ve got a shitty hangover and I barely had anything to drink. I turn over, but Jamie isn’t there. I grab out onto the bedside table for my phone. It’s Valentina. Probably calling to see how the ball went. Shit.

‘Hey,’ I answer dazedly.

‘Jess, my lavender puff, how are you?

‘Er … ’

‘Listen, I’m afraid I’ve got some rather upsetting news.’

I quickly sit up in the bed, which makes my head pound even harder. Ow.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Unfortunately, first thing this morning we received an injunction notice from Rufus Frost regarding How to Catch a Man like it’s 1955.’

‘What? I don’t understand?’

Valentina’s voice comes crystal clear through the speaker of my phone.

‘He has said that if we try to release the book, he will sue the Southbank Press.’

‘But . . . we weren’t going to use Leo’s actual name in the book?’

‘Yes, but we were going to imply it – he was our “eternal bachelor”. Which would have been fine, but now there’s a picture of you together in the Telegraph, and after his public declaration last night – which is on all the industry blogs and before you know it the gossip columns will stumble onto it – it will be clear who we’re talking about. I’m afraid it’s just not worth the hassle for us. And even if we could slip past it legally, Rufus has said that Davis Arthur Montblanc would never want to be part of a company who upset his nephew. And Davis Arthur Montblanc is our most important author.’

My stomach sinks. After everything that’s just happened, there’s not even going to be a book? This whole thing was for nothing?

‘I can’t fucking believe this,’ I mutter into the phone, feeling the tears well up again. ‘Why did you not think of this beforehand?’

‘I know, pickle. It’s such a pain. I had such plans for the book, and you did such an amazing job on the scoundrel.’

‘He’s not a scoundrel, Valentina,’ I respond angrily. ‘He told me what happened with you guys. He behaved badly, I know, but he apologized to you. You didn’t tell me that. And you conveniently forgot to mention that he was completely honest with you about not wanting anything serious. You let me believe that he was cruel and heartless when he wasn’t. He was just a bit of a tit. He didn’t deserve this.’

Valentina gasps. ‘I truly thought that How to Catch a Man Like It’s 1955 was a fantastic idea for a book,’ she retorts. ‘I still do. I make all my publishing decisions with nothing but absolute integrity. I’m highly offended that you, my beautiful protégé, would think that I—’

‘But you chose Leo Frost as an example, Valentina. And that was purely because of your past with him. Admit it!’

Valentina goes quiet on the other end of the phone.

‘Fine . . .’ she sighs eventually. ‘I may have let my personal feelings about him cloud my judgement a little.’

‘You definitely did,’ I grumble. ‘And now we’re all paying the price.’

Valentina’s voice wobbles, less confident than I’ve ever heard it. ‘I . . . I really liked him, Jess,’ she says softly. ‘And, well, I’m afraid I’m not used to not getting exactly what I want. I don’t understand why he didn’t want to be with me. I’m super. A successful, strong and attractive woman with everything going for her . . . You’re right, he did apologize to me, but that didn’t change the fact that I was humiliated. Everyone in London knew we were dating, and everyone in London knew that he was screwing other women.’

‘And you wanted him to be taken down a peg or two. You used me to flaming do it! I was your Patsy!’

‘I didn’t think it would turn out like this,’ Valentina protests. ‘And you’re not exactly innocent in this! After your initial misgivings, you went along with fooling Leo very easily.’

I object to that statement, but she’s right. I was so quick to believe that Leo Frost deserved to be tricked. It all fitted in nicely with every theory Mum had about men and relationships. I was just as ignorant when Mum told me that my dad was nothing more than a lousy charlatan – I didn’t ever question that there was any more to it than that.

‘I am sorry, Jess,’ Valentina says eventually, her tone sincere. ‘I truly am. I think you’ve got a bucketload of talent, and I truly hope that somehow we’ll get to work together in the future.’

I sigh a heavy, sad sigh. ‘Please will you tell Matilda about the injunction? I . . . I can’t face her right now.’

‘Of course. It’s the least I can do.’

‘Thanks.’ I swallow hard. ‘Bye then, Valentina.’

I end the call quickly and immediately burst into tears once more.

* * *

I cry into the pillow for another twenty minutes before I get the energy to go downstairs and find Jamie. He’s sitting at the big kitchen table, sipping coffee and poring over a notebook. I glance at the clock on the wall and notice it’s eleven a.m..

‘Are you not supposed to be in work today?’ I ask.

He shrugs. ‘I pulled a sickie.’

I pour myself some coffee and join him at the table.

‘You didn’t have to do that.’

‘Ah, any excuse I can get.’ He smiles. ‘How you feeling?’

‘Rotten,’ I answer, telling him all about the phone call I just had with Valentina.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ His face is sympathetic. ‘Anything at all.’

Instantly, a thought occurs to me.

‘There is something, yes,’ I say, draining the rest of my coffee.

‘Whatever you want.’

‘Will you drive me to Manchester?’

* * *

Half an hour later we’re zooming up the motorway. Due to the fact that I don’t have any of my clothes, I’m wearing my pyjama bottoms and one of Jamie’s T-shirts. Jamie is trying his best to cheer me up with a selection of horror stories from his course at medical school, and by singing me Led Zeppelin songs because his car radio is broken. I try my best to lighten up. I hate not being light. But I can’t do it. All I can do is cry, and when I’m not crying, I think about how shit my life is, then I eat crisps, then I cry again.

When my phone rings, my heart leaps as, for a split second, I think that it might be Leo returning one of my many missed calls. ‘Hello?’ I say, my voice squeaking.

‘Jess, where are you? Are you all right?’

It’s Peach. Her voice is all croaky. She sounds as rough as toast.

‘Yeah, I’m all right,’ I say. ‘I’m just sorting out some stuff. Are you OK?’

‘I’m so sorry about last night. I feel like such a jackass. I only woke up about an hour ago. I’m never drinking tequila again. And now Matilda is crying. She won’t stop crying. What the heck is going on?’

I give Peach the highlights of the events that have played out over the last twelve hours: about Leo and mum’s diaries and Valentina. When I’m finished, she starts crying too.

‘Lord, I’m sorry, Jess. I could have helped you last night. Instead I was passed out in bed like a damn fool. I am a terrible friend.’

Ordinarily I would take the piss out of her for getting so wasted, for drooling all over Gavin. But I just haven’t got it in me today.

‘We’ve all been there,’ I say instead. ‘Is . . . is Matilda all right?’

‘I don’t know. She’s locked herself in her room. I can hear her crying in there and listening to old doo-wop songs. I don’t know what to do. You need to come back.’

My neck itches. ‘I can’t, Peach. Not right now. Will . . . will you look after her for me?’

‘Of course.’

I swallow.

‘And Mr Belding too.’

‘Sure. He’s right here on the bed with me, snug as a bug.’

‘I’ll be in touch soon, OK. You go and get some Berocca. And some Monster Munch.’

‘All right.’

She sounds sad.

‘And Peach.’

‘Yeah?’

‘You’re not a terrible friend . . . you’re, well, you’re my best friend.’

And the realization that that’s the truth, that, out of all this, I have met Peach, is enough to stop me from crying. For fifteen minutes, anyway.

* * *

When, around three hours later, we pull up at our destination, Jamie turns off the engine and unlocks his seat belt as if to get out of the car with me.

‘I need to do this on my own,’ I tell him with a small smile.

He nods, opens up his glove compartment and pulls out a textbook called Cardiac Imaging. He holds it up. ‘I’ll be right here.’

My whole body vibrating with nerves, I open the car door and climb out. I walk through the huge cast-iron gates and down a path bordered with trees and neatly tended shrubbery. I’ve only been to this place once in my life − ten years ago − but many times in my head. I walk the route as easily as if I’d been here just yesterday.

When I arrive at Mum’s headstone, my chest squeezes. My neck and scalp start to itch so much that it burns, and my heart seems to slow right down.

I plop down on the grass and reach forward to touch the smooth marble of the stone. It’s warm from the afternoon sun.

I take a breath.

‘Hey, Mum,’ I say, placing my hands back in my lap. ‘Sorry I’ve not been for so long. Or ever, really. It’s been . . . well, everything’s been a bit fucked–up, to be honest.’

I pause. The silence is deafening.

‘I’ve been staying with Grandma Beam. I know now that you didn’t want me to, and after reading your diaries last night, I understand why you never talked about her or Granddad Jack. But I found something out and I thought you should know . . .’

The tears start to fall again, and this time I don’t try to stop them – I’m getting pretty used to them now.

‘Grandma told me that Thomas – my dad − came back for you. He didn’t take that money. Four days after you left, he returned and tried to give it back. Granddad Jack sent him away and told him you were living with his family in America. Otherwise I’m pretty sure he would have found you. And then, who knows how things would have turned out.

‘I’m not sure yet, but I thought that maybe, at some point in the future, I might try to find him. Would you mind that? I mean, it seems that he’s not exactly the shithead we thought he was, and, well, I feel like maybe he should know that I exist. I don’t know . . .

‘Mum, you always told me that love ruins you. That relationships are dangerous, that I mustn’t open myself up to hurt. And I’ve carried that with me for my whole life. I’ve been so frightened of ending up like you that I’ve always tried not to care about anything or anyone. But then I moved in with Grandma, and I know she’s crazy, but I started to care about her. And Peach, her assistant, who’s also a bit nuts, well, I care about her too.

‘And then I met a man. Someone that makes me feel the way I’m guessing Thomas made you feel. Like there was something to look forward to. Someone who I really, really just wanted to know. I fought against it, I told myself it wasn’t possible, because I didn’t want to end up like you. But it all went wrong and I feel properly like crap anyway. But I also feel something else too. I feel alive. Not because of booze, or parties, or sex, which − don’t get me wrong − are still on the top of my list of favourite things, but because I allowed myself to feel so many good things about another person. And he, even if just for a little while, felt that way about me too.

‘So anyway, I just wanted to come here to tell you that Thomas loved you. I think if you’d known that, things might have been different. And I hope that wherever you are now, you feel better.

‘I love you, Mum. And I miss you. I miss you fucking loads. But it’s time for me to live by my own rules. Love might end up breaking me. But I need the chance to find that out for myself, in my own way.

‘Well, that’s it, I guess. It was . . . It was really nice to talk to you, Mum. I won’t leave it so long the next time.’

I touch the pale grey marble one more time, rubbing the tips of my fingers against the indentation of Mum’s name carved into the stone. Then the sky rumbles and I jump slightly as it starts to piss it down for the first time since this summer heatwave began. As the heavy raindrops soak through my T-shirt and pyjamas, my breathing starts to calm, and then, all at once, I feel something inside me slot back into place.

I think it might be my heart.

* * *

On the way home, I gaze out of the window at the other cars driving alongside us and feel calmer, lighter than I have done in a very long time. The ring of Jamie’s phone brings me out of my dozy trance. He flips a switch so that the phone call goes through to his headphones.

‘Hello,’ I hear him say. His eyes flick to me for a moment. Then he says, ‘Oh, nothing . . . just going for a drive . . . no-one . . . I don’t know when. Um . . . yeah, maybe. I’ll call you soon. Bye.’

He ends the call. The tops of his ears have turned pink.

‘Who was that?’ I ask.

‘Oh, just, um, Kiko,’ he shrugs casually.

Kiko? He just totally palmed her off.

‘I can’t wait to meet her,’ I say lightly.

He gives me a look. ‘Really?’

I nod. ‘Really. I . . . I want you and me to be friends.’

He chews his lip for a moment. ‘Friends . . . with benefits?’

I smile, despite myself. ‘No. I meant what I said the other week. And . . . well, I kind of have feelings for someone else. Not that anything’s going to come of that, but . . . I want to be honest with you, and the truth is, I really like hanging out with you. And I’d really like it if we can be friends. Proper friends.’

He sighs long and low. And then he coughs: ‘Does that mean we’re going to have to brush each other’s hair and talk about, um, Jared Leto and stuff?’

‘Yes. If it were 1998 . . . Actually, those sound like awesome friend activities in 2014, too. So yes. We will have to do those things.’

‘Well, that’s fine by me, Jess,’ Jamie says, pulling into the inside lane and speeding up. ‘To be honest, I never really fancied you anyway.’

I can’t help but laugh.

‘Thanks, Jamie.’ I grin, putting my hand on top of his and giving it a squeeze.

And then, when he starts up with a rousing chorus of Metallica’s ‘Enter Sandman’ , I join in.