Growing Up Twice (43 page)

‘Adem, that’s really kind of you. Thanks. Thanks so much.’

‘No need to thank me. Well, I must be on my way.’

This time I stand and follow him to the front door.

‘There is just one other thing,’ he says with his hand on the latch.

‘Oh yes?’ He’s not going to spoil it all by demanding sex in return for rent, is he?

‘There’s someone else who wants to see you.’

He opens the door and Selin is sitting on the stairs, a bottle of wine clutched in her lap.

‘Selin!’ I say with a smile.

She stands and takes a step towards me. ‘Jen, I’m sorry, mate. I said some horrid stuff.’

‘And me! Me much worse!’ We engulf each other in a hug and then stand back and smile stupidly.

‘Fancy splitting this?’ she asks, holding out the wine.

‘Yeah, I’d love to. Come on in, you two, I’ll get some glasses.’ I head back into the flat.

‘No, not for me. This is for you two. Enjoy your night,’ Adem says. He kisses Selin and waves over his shoulder as he heads down the stairs.

Back in the flat, Selin and I look at each other and burst into tears. It has been a tense few days.

A few minutes later we are sitting on the sofa, glasses of wine in hand, and Selin is reading through the college prospectus.

‘This is great, you should go for it. I’m so proud of you, actually being proactive for once.’

I smile sheepishly, noting the ‘for once’. ‘Well, I will go for it. But I’ll need to do more than just turn up. I have to show an “active interest”. I’d better get some work experience somewhere. I really wish I hadn’t left this until I was geriatric.’

Selin pats me on the head. ‘Better than leaving it until you’re dead.’ Her own words hurt her and she takes a deep gulp of wine.

‘How is everyone, your family and everyone?’ I had always imagined that grief like this would be so overwhelming that the whole world would stop, that it wouldn’t leave any time for thinking or feeling just exactly as you did before. But it does, and when you remember, you feel guilty for carrying on like normal.

‘The same,’ she says, obviously at a loss to find new ways to describe her pain. I nod and hold her hand.

‘I know,’ I say.

She takes another sip of wine and raises herself up in her seat.

‘I’ve got to say, Jen, I’d just about given up on you taking any initiative with your life. I thought you’d be stuck in that God-awful job for ever, just waiting until they promoted you to head of paper-clips or something. I actually thought you liked it.’

‘Yes, well, so did I for a while. It’s taken me a very long time to get motivated but well, here I am. Ready to give it a go. Knowing my luck I’ll probably have to go back to Georgie and beg for a job after six months and I’ll end up working for Carla, but well
at least I will have tried
,’ I say with mock sincerity, and at least I
will
have tried.

‘So, you go to the open evening. You network. You phone around the local newspapers and use some holiday time to get work experience. OK?’ Selin recaps for me, just in case I’m not capable of sorting this out myself.

‘Yes, sir,’ I say, performing a mock salute. ‘And I’ve got a driving lesson tomorrow,’ I add proudly.

‘Bloody hell, you really are going hell for leather, aren’t you. Have you got yourself lined up with a gig at Ronnie Scott’s too?’

I look at her sideways. ‘Whatever do you mean by that?’ I ask suspiciously.

‘All the things you want to do before you’re thirty. Decent career, learn to drive, nightclub diva.’

‘I’ve never told you about the singing? Have I?’ I say cautiously. Oh God, maybe she overheard me in the shower one time.

‘Yes, remember? That night when we were at your old place? We’d found a bottle of Jack Daniels that Owen had left behind after one of his binges, and we played truth or dare. Anyway, you told us about your dream to sing just once, in front of a proper audience, and then you did your version of “I Will Survive”. I’ve got to tell you, Gloria Gaynor didn’t have too much to worry about that night! Mind you, neat whisky probably doesn’t enhance one’s vocal chords too much, unless one is Janice Joplin or Bonnie Tyler. And then you cried for ages. Whisky makes you cry, doesn’t it?’

I laugh, but I really wish I hadn’t chosen to share that particular secret with my two dearest friends. I know it’s a pipe dream, but it’s one that had kept me amused for many years, and other people knowing just makes it seem all the more silly.

‘God, I hate people who remember what’s been said after a drunken game of truth or dare. I never remember, it’s so unfair. You could have told me you had a secret thing for wearing soiled Y-fronts and I wouldn’t know it. Anyway, I obviously made it up just for something to say.’

Selin shakes her head. ‘Of course you did.’

I share the last drops of wine between our glasses and reach for my purse to see if I have enough cash to get another bottle.

‘But say that you hadn’t, and that you really were going up on stage to sing, what would it be? The ultimate song you’d really love to sing? “I Will Survive”?’

I laugh but get drawn in despite myself. ‘No, it wouldn’t be disco, disco is the best music in the world to dance to. But not as much fun to sing as say … some classic soul track, some Aretha Franklin. “Respect”. “Respect”, by Aretha Franklin. That’s a kick-ass song. That’s what I’d sing,’ I daydream.

‘Cool,’ Selin says. ‘I’d do “Total Eclispe of the Heart” by Bonnie Tyler.’

I shake my head at her in despair and before I can stop it Bonnie’s tune insinuates itself into my head, preparing for a tortuous night of replay on a loop. With an easy peace between us, I have to finally ask her.

‘Selin,’ I say tentatively. ‘You would tell me, wouldn’t you, you would say if you … What I mean is, if you blame me for Ayla’s death, you’d say, wouldn’t you? Because I’ve been blaming myself since it happened. I’d understand, but I just need to know.’

Selin looks at me in horror.

‘Blame you? God, Jenny, no, no.’ She blinks and shakes her head. ‘
Maybe
just after it happened and you were there and I didn’t really understand why, maybe then I got you and the accident all mixed up just for a moment, and I was angry at you, at everyone. But I’ve never blamed you. The more I thought about it – and I’ve done very little else recently – the more I’m glad that you were there. I’m glad the last face she saw was someone who she knew and trusted. She wouldn’t have felt so alone,’ she says softly, taking my hand.

Neither of us speaks. The weightless feeling of relief that floods through me takes the dull protective edge off my own grief and I see the world without Ayla more keenly than ever. We sit in silence for a long time, listening to the distance traffic’s boom. After maybe ten minutes have passed I have one more important thing to say to make things right.

‘Selin?’

‘Yes, love?’

‘I just want to say I’m sorry, you were right. I’ve been a terrible friend. It’s all been one way for so long. That’s not the sort of friend I want to be. I want to be the kind of friend that you have always been to me, and from now I will be. I’m sorry. If I ever act like that again just poke me in the eye and tell me to stop it, OK?’

Selin smiles indulgently at me. ‘OK, Jen,’ she says.

‘Selin?’ I say again, same tone.

‘
Yes
, Jen,’ she repeats.

‘Well, will you really kill me if at some point in the future, when everything settles down a bit, Josh and I give it a go? Because the thing is, as it turns out, I really like him a lot.’ I say the last bit in a rush. ‘Don’t tell him I said that.’

‘Well, let me see. Do you like him because he is a wonderful talented generous person or because he is the first grown-up man to be nice to you since Owen?’

‘The first option,’ I say sincerely. ‘Really, and because for no apparent reason I stopped thinking of him as your brother and started seeing him as a living breathing sex bomb.’

Selin giggles and puts her hands over her ears. ‘Jenny! He is still my brother! Yuck,’ she screams.

‘Soz,’ I say, and laugh. Filled with a startling rush of joy. ‘So you won’t kill me?’

Selin looks me right in the eye. ‘No, I won’t kill you if you two get together. If you ever,
ever
do anything to hurt him, or muck him around, then I’ll kill you. And the same goes for him too.’

‘How can we fail,’ I say with a cheery grin. We pause for a moment and look at our wineglasses.

‘Selin?’ I say again.

‘Mmmmm?’ She sounds as if she’s tolerating a three-year-old.

‘What am I going to do about Rosie? I mean, now you and I have made up. And you and her have made up. I should try and make up with her, right?’ I finally check my purse and find only small change. I get up to put the kettle on, probably best for my overworked liver.

‘Well, yes. Yes, you should. And I think you should do that playground rhyme as well while you’re at it, you know, the “make up, make up, never ever break up” one. Somehow it seems appropriate,’ she says dryly.

‘OK, OK, so maturity hasn’t been much of a factor recently, but it’s not actually my fault. It’s the pressure of being my age at the dawn of a new millennium, and that’s the truth, there’s a book out about it. Too many choices, that’s my trouble.’ Selin raises her famous eyebrow at me sceptically. ‘I don’t know if I can make up with her, though. I mean Chris.
Chris
?’ I say, as if my protests over the last few weeks haven’t made my views clear enough. I rise to go to the kitchen.

‘I know. I know, but well, Rosie and I had a good talk about it earlier on today,’ she calls after me as I pad down the hall. ‘She’s aware of what’s she’s doing and well, they seem to have sort of bonded again recently and anyway she wants to give it a go and not spend her life wondering if it might have worked out. If I’ve realised anything recently it’s that life is too short for crap like this. I think we have to swallow our reservations and just hope it works out for her. And anyway, I think Chris might actually have changed.’ She follows me into the kitchen.

‘And what if he hasn’t? What if it doesn’t work out? Will you reopen the doors of your therapy centre for her?’

‘Of course I would, we’d all do the same for each other. It’s not my fault I’m the only one who’s not fucked up.’

I flick her shoulder with a tea towel and smile. ‘So you’re really happy with Adem then. You really, really are?’

‘What you mean is, is he any good at sex, right?’ she asks me with a sideways look.

‘Right,’ I say. Obvious really.

‘It’s fucking fantastic. It’s fucking
Company
magazine 101 ways to achieve orgasm in one fucking go. I’m telling you, Jen, I may not have been around as much as you, but I know quality when I come across it. So to speak.’

We break down in a fit of schoolgirl giggles. Selin starts opening the cupboards.

‘Oh God, I’m starving. Got any junk food?’ she asks me. I open a drawer to display six untouched Mars Bars.

‘Here you go. Take your pick.’

Despite the prospect of an empty weekend watching the afternoon film on BBC2, putting on my going-out make-up for a trip to Sainsbury’s, and finally trying to finish that book I’ve been reading for the last year or so, which according to everybody else is the best book ever written about anything ever, I feel that today, Friday, has been a pretty positive day.

First of all, being friends with Selin again has made me feel much better. Of course, it doesn’t mean she’ll be around this weekend, Adem is taking up most of her time, but it means that at least some of the old order is back as it should be. Secondly, I closed my office door this morning and composed a speculative letter requesting work experience, copies of which I sent to
Time Out
, the
Hackney Gazette
and all the other localish newspapers I could think of, hoping they won’t laugh too much when they see my age. Then I wrote my personal statement to send to the college, mentioned all the places I’ve had work experience at (creative licence) and posted my reply slip.

The rest of the afternoon at work was made slightly easier by the fact that Carla has fallen in love and so her usual Friday trip to Ann Summers or wherever it is she gets her outfits has been curtailed. Instead she went to the supermarket and came back with a selection of gourmet pre-prepared food. Tonight is their first date ‘in’ and she told me she was feeling quite nervous as she piled a packet of rocket salad, fresh pasta, ready-made carbonara sauce, a bottle of Pinot Grigio and a tiramisu that looked as though it would benefit from going back in the freezer any time soon, on to my desk for my appraisal.

‘I’ve never cooked for a bloke before, see,’ she told me. ‘Do you think it’s all right?’

‘Mmmm, looks delicious.’ I smiled at her.

‘I just don’t want anything to go wrong, not tonight!’ Her voice almost trembled.

Bless her, I thought, she’s obviously quite fragile underneath it all. ‘Tonight going to be “the night”, is it then, Carla?’ I asked her with the confidential tone of a slightly older sister.

‘“
The
night”? Oh, you mean are we going to shag? Oh no, I already shagged him. This is just the first night it will be in a bed. At least, I hope we’re going to bloody shag, it cost me nearly fifteen quid, this lot.’

Like I said, fragile.

On the way home I had a good think about Rosie and Chris, trying to sort out my feelings. Everyone else says I’m wrong about this. Even Selin, who is never wrong, has eventually come around to the idea. Everyone says we should give Chris a chance, even Jackson, Jackson who tried to whisk Rosie away to another continent. Even Jackson who cared so much for her and stepped down in the end; he wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t think it was for the best. And even Michael, bless him, didn’t seem to think he sounded like the personification of evil I have him pinned down as.

If I really force myself to think about it – and you know how much I hate that I think my main objections are still valid; Chris really messed her up. But really, deep down, I think I’m jealous. I think that I didn’t want Rosie to have a second chance with Chris. I didn’t want her to have the opportunity to make right the dreadful wrongs of their relationship when I couldn’t. Even Rosie who I love so much, I didn’t want her to have the chance to heal all the same wounds in her that I thought I could never heal in myself – the damage done by Owen and, yes, by my father too. I wanted us both to carry our scars for ever. It’s still hard to adjust to the idea, for sure, but now that I realise I can make myself whole without either of them I can begin to see Rosie’s side. I think I might have been wrong about Chris, and first thing tomorrow I’m going to swallow my pride and call and tell her so. I just need one more night to make sure I’ve got everything straight in my head, to make sure we get it all sorted without yet another bust-up.