Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Save your tears for the pillowcase.

Matilda Beam’sGood Housewife Guide, 1957

Three days later there had been no word from Valentina Smith or anyone at the Southbank Press. On day two, Summer locked herself in her bedroom and refused to come out. I set up camp outside her door and tried to convince her that everyone at the publisher was probably still hung-over from all that free party champagne and simply not up for making celebratory phone calls. Summer didn’t answer, though, just sent Holden back and forth for organic nut snacks and elderflower cordial and an instruction to absolutely ignore me no matter what I said, even when I sang ‘Please let me in, I’ve been a massive turd, but I’m a turd who is soooo sorreeee!’ in my best singing voice. I tried to bribe her out by telling her how much Mr Belding was missing her, even though the truth was that he seemed to be much happier prowling around our flat in the nude.

Five days after the launch, and with still no word from the publisher, it eventually sinks in that I may have fucked things up in a massive way. I can’t believe it. Valentina was so enthusiastic about everything. Could that really have changed so quickly? Leo Frost is a really big deal in London. Maybe he’s like a sort of mafia don and, by offending him, all the doors I try to get through for the rest of my life will be mysteriously shut in my face, and one day, who knows when, the head of a noble stallion will be resting on the foot of my bed.

‘I’m going to ring up Valentina,’ I say determinedly through Summer’s door at lunchtime on Tuesday. ‘We had a rapport, I think. I’m going to try and fix this, OK? Apologize to her for my stupid behaviour. She can’t punish you for what I’ve done − it’s not fair.’

I take out my iPhone, but before I can look up Valentina’s number online, Summer’s door clicks open and she emerges at last. She doesn’t look dishevelled and tear-stained like I thought she would after holing herself up for almost a week. She looks fresh. Bright-eyed and clean and sparky and … happy?

‘Have you heard something?’ I ask, getting up from my spot on the hall floor, my heart leaping. ‘Oh my God. You have, haven’t you? Good news?’

I’ve not messed it up. We’ve got the book deal. Summer’s fine. I’ll have enough money for a decent flight!

My body floods with hot, bright relief.

‘Jess … we need to talk,’ Summer says.

‘God, we really do!’ I agree, following her downstairs to the living room. ‘It’s been five days! Feels weird us not speaking for so long. I don’t expect you to forgive me straight away. I know how mad you are. But I’ll make it up to—’

‘We didn’t get the book deal,’ Summer cuts in, perching neatly on the huge leather sofa.

‘We – we didn’t? Oh shit. Shit.’ I plonk down beside her. ‘Let me ring Valentina, Sum. God.’

‘I’ve already spoken to Valentina.’

‘What? When? When did she ring? What did she say? Why don’t they want us? They loved us last week!’

‘She said the decision wasn’t just down to her … that a whole team has to decide these things.’

‘Oh God. Did she say it was my fault?’

Summer looks me squarely in the eyes and nods. ‘Yes. She did.’

Fuck.

‘God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to call Leo Frost a knob-prince. He just completely rubbed me up the wrong way. He talked to me like I was crap on his overly shined shoe. It made me so cross, I couldn’t help myself.’

‘Yeah, that’s why we need to talk.’

‘To figure out a plan? Good idea. We can do that. Shall I get my laptop? We can approach another publisher, can’t we? I’ll write a better pitch. I’m sure I can fix—’

‘Jess, I want you to move out.’

My throat tightens. ‘What?’

‘And I don’t think you should work on Summer in the City any more.’

Whaaaat?

My head snaps up. ‘You’re – you’re sacking me? And kicking me out? On the same day?’

Summer slowly shrugs one shoulder. ‘I just want you to know that it’s not been an easy decision for me. I’ve been thinking about things super hard these past few days. I talked to everyone about us, and they all think—’

‘Talked to everyone? Who? I don’t understand.’

‘They all agree. Everyone says you’re dragging me down. You’ve been dragging me down.’

I clasp my hands together and rub my thumb into my palm. Did our friends really say that about me? Is that true?

‘Look, I know I messed up at the launch. I feel like a real dick about it. But my writing? Isn’t that what counts? I’ve worked really hard on our site, Summer. I know this particular opportunity might have gone south, and it’s my fault, but I promise I’ll get us another one. I swear I’ll—’

‘My site.’

‘Sorry?’

‘You said our site. But it’s mine.’ Summer tilts her head to the side. ‘It’s mine, Jess.’

‘But … but … I came up with the entire editorial calendar. I wrote practically every post, got us to 30,000 Twitter followers. I’ve spent every day, night and weekend of the last two years on this. Summer in the City is you and me.’

Summer chews her lip for a moment. ‘Technically it isn’t. You didn’t sign a contract.’

Oh my God, she’s right. I didn’t. She said she only needed my help for a few months, and when I mentioned that we should maybe sign something, she said that our friendship was the only contract we needed and did I want anything from the bar. It felt silly to push it any further than that, and so I didn’t. I didn’t think I needed to.

My chest burns with indignation.

‘Come on, Summer, that’s not fair! You said we didn’t need a contract!’

‘Did I?’ She squints for a moment. ‘I don’t think I did.’

‘You absolutely did. And either way, the website was shit before we partnered up. It was getting fifteen views a day! And they weren’t even unique!’

Summer gasps sharply as if she’s been scorched. ‘You liar. It was getting way more views than that!’ She scratches her nose. ‘You seem to have forgotten it, but this was my life you walked into. I did you a favour, employing you, giving you a place to live, and I was happy to. You’re a lost soul and I’m a really giving person. I was happy to give you a jump-start, but you never fucking jumped. You’re still here. Hijacking everything and making me look bad!’

‘What are you talking about, hijacking? I came back from Morocco to help you!

‘You were broke in Morocco.’

‘I was happy in Morocco. I … I thought I was doing you a favour.’ I rub my eyes. ‘Where has this all come from? Just a few days ago we were going to sign a book deal together.’ With a heavy sigh, I plop down onto the sofa beside Summer. ‘Shit. I know you’re mad at me, I do. And I’m really sorry. Let’s just fucking … go out, all right? Talk this through. Do an all-dayer at the pub. Summer? We’ll have one of our random adventures and just forget this horribleness.’

Summer frowns, shaking her head. ‘You don’t get it. I don’t want to do all-dayers any more. I don’t want to get so drunk that we forget this conversation. You mess up every opportunity you get before it can really mean anything. You don’t even know you’re doing it . . . You’ve had a rough time with your mum, I know. But now your emotional mess is, like, affecting me.’

I swallow and lift my chin. ‘I think you’re going a bit over the top. Kicking me out and sacking me? It’s really harsh. We’re best friends.’

‘You don’t know how to be a friend, Jess,’ Summer scoffs. ‘You know how to be a mate, and as long as it’s fun and daft and easy and a giggle, you’re great. But the minute things get serious, you just don’t want to know.’

That’s not true. OK, fine, I might not always be great at listening to her deep feelings and dramas and relationship quandaries. But I wanted that book deal as much as she did. I worked hard for it.

Summer’s eyes meet mine. She looks different. Colder.

‘Look, Jess. You’ve been a really useful and fun part of my journey as a person and I appreciate your help on the site. But … we’re going in different directions now and I feel like I’m destined for bigger things on my own. I feel like you’re grabbing my spotlight for all the wrong reasons and it’s time for me to cut the cord. I’m sorry, you know? But I’ve got to do what’s best for me. And … well, you’re no longer a part of that.’

I blink in disbelief. She doesn’t look sorry at all. What the fuck is happening?

My whole body vibrating with adrenalin and confusion, I get up from the sofa and walk calmly out of the living room, clicking the door softly shut behind me.

* * *

I’m ten years older now, but the feeling that comes with being left behind feels pretty much the same way it did the first time – like standing on the edge of something very high up and knowing that someone is behind you, just about to push.

I’d been at university for six months and was just about getting to grips with the thought that Mum might manage just fine without me − so far, so good and all that. When she didn’t answer my regular lunchtime phone call one wintery Tuesday, I wasn’t too mithered about it. Mum occasionally took to her bed and ignored my calls; it just meant she was having one of her days. And besides, last night she’d been in lovely high spirits; we’d chatted on the phone about my course and giggled over some ridiculous magician on the Royal Variety show. But at about four p.m. I was at the library when I saw the number of Mum’s community psychiatric nurse flash up on my mobile. CPNs only ever called me when something was wrong.

‘Hiya, Pam,’ I said as I answered the call. ‘Go on. What’s she done now?’ I rolled my eyes, trailing my fingers along the shelf before selecting the copy of The Canterbury Tales I had to read for my course. ‘No, wait, let me guess. Drunk and cursing the man who broke her heart? Chucked her medicine down the toilet? Another trip to the loony bin? We’ve not had one of those in a while!’

I was kidding about − even Mum sometimes joked about her episodes − but behind the casual messing, my heart was hammering hard in my ribcage.

‘Jessica. Maybe you should sit down.’

And of course then I knew. Everyone knows what maybe you should sit down means.

‘Er, OK,’ I said, my legs turning to liquid. Sinking down onto the carpeted floor, I leant my head back against the books and squeezed the phone in my hand.

‘Jessica. I’m afraid I have some awful news,’ Pam said, sounding like someone on the telly. Like this was EastEnders. ‘I’m afraid that Rose, I mean, your mum … she . . . she’s passed away.’

I held my breath and nodded very quickly, my stomach tilting as if I were on the top of a roller coaster. ‘When? H-how?’

‘It was late this morning. She … she … it was an overdose. I was calling round for my monthly appointment. The front door was ajar and …’ Pam trailed off, a wobble in her usually calm voice.

I dropped The Canterbury Tales onto my lap and watched the image of it blur against the tartan skirt of my dress.

‘But she was all right the last time she did that. They used that pump thingy in the hospital. She was laughing last night. I don’t understand. Are you sure she’s … ? She sounded so well. She was … happy.’

And then it hit me. I knew why Mum was so cheerful last night. Why she’d suddenly seemed bright and positive and like a normal mum. She’d known exactly what she was going to do. She’d known she was leaving, and she’d left the door open for Pam to find her.

I knew I shouldn’t have left her. I knew I should have stayed at home. She wouldn’t have done this if I were at home.

I dropped the phone onto the carpet and stared at the rows of books in front of me, heard the clicking of the keyboards and hushed murmurs of students, all of them unaware that here in the corner, on the floor, my heart had just fractured.

I bit my bottom lip until I tasted blood and felt as if I should start crying. That was the expected thing, wasn’t it? There were supposed to be tears and wailing and tearing of hair and a library assistant carting me out, shouting, ‘Everyone move out of the way, there’s nothing to see here, show’s over!’ But none of that came. Instead, I got up off the floor, gently slid the book back onto the shelf in its right place and left the building. I stumbled back to halls, and in my room I turned off all the lights and got into bed, where I stared at the dark and waited patiently for my insides to stop twisting. That’s pretty much where I stayed until Summer found me.

I didn’t cry the day my mum killed herself. I haven’t cried since.