Heart (3 page)

Ending
us
.

As bile rose in my throat, the strange voice disturbed me again. “Just knock back so that I know you’re alive.” As much as I didn’t want to engage with the voice on the other side of the door, I also wanted it to go away and leave me. Like Jake did.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I croaked out. If only.

“Well you don’t sound it. Open the door.”
What the hell?

“I said I’m fine, so you can go. Thanks.” The lack of sincerity in my voice was probably obvious, but I didn’t care. I just wanted her, whoever she was, gone.

“Open the door.”

“No.” My refusal was part belligerence and part vanity as I knew I looked like crap, having spent God knows how long crying.

“Look, I’ve got a degree in stubbornness, so you can either open the door now or listen to me knocking non-stop for however long it takes. Your choice.” Deciding the easiest option was to open the door, get rid of the crazy cow on the other side and then return to the foetal position for the rest of my natural life, I struggled up off the floor.

“Oh, my God, do I hear movement?” The voice had lost any pretence of sympathy and was now just pissing me off. Tightening my dressing gown around me, I took a deep breath and opened the door, ready to do battle with my vocal adversary. But she got there first, before I had even fully opened the door. “Thank fuck for that! What the hell do you think you’re doing, letting some wanker get to you like this? Get a grip. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Not knowing what else to do in the face of her onslaught, I allowed myself to be pushed back into my room. “Get some clothes on. We’re going for a walk.”

“What? Who are you?” Adopting the classic arms-crossed pose of the defensive, I gave her my hardest stare. “I’m fine. Now, thanks for your concern, but I don’t need your help. You’ve seen I’m still alive, so your job here is done. Bye.” From what I’d seen of her so far, I guessed she wasn’t good at subtlety.

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re here, alone, after some loser, probably your sad-sack-of-shit boyfriend from home, has dumped you. You’ve not made any friends yet. Mummy and Daddy are miles away. So, what are you going to do? Sit here crying? Put some sad songs on and relive your happiest memories with him? Bollocks! As I said, you need to get a grip. So put on some clothes. I draw the line at dressing you.” She sat on my bed, clearly meaning every word she had said. All without so much as a glimmer of a smile.

“Fine,” was all I could muster as I pulled together a pile of random clothes and took them into the bathroom. I heard a snort of laughter follow my melodramatic slamming of the door and wondered who on Earth the girl was. I saw my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I looked like shit: all swollen eyes, blotchy skin and matted hair. But I didn’t really care. After brushing my teeth and trying to pull my hair into a braid, I put the clothes on and returned to my room, only to find whoever she was looking through the photos on my windowsill.

“Umm, do you mind?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist; I was only looking. Is this him?” she asked, holding up a photo I had taken of Jake lay on my bed.

“Yes.”

“Kind of good-looking, I suppose, if you’re into the healthy, outdoors type.” I refused to take the bait.

“Look, thanks for your concern but I’m okay now. You can go.”

“Not a chance, girl. Come on, we’re going out,” she insisted, holding open the door. Picking up my keys and phone, and not knowing what else to do, I followed her.

The campus coffee shop was as busy as usual, but Snarky Girl managed to bag a table in the corner, probably by giving the death stare to the preppy girls who vacated it.

“Sit,” was her only comment before she went to the counter.

Snarky wasn’t exactly unfeminine but she wasn’t the type of girl you’d expect to find cooing over kittens, either. Her afro hair was tamed into Medusa—like curls which sprung in every direction and bounced as she moved. Wearing a vintage leather jacket, leggings and Dr. Martens, she stood out from the floaty, flippy skirts and opaque tights which surrounded us. Even from the other side of the coffee shop, I felt the assertive—some might say aggressive—vibes rippling off her. She didn’t look like the type of girl who was anyone’s friend; yet, here she was, the only person who had come to my aid. Who was I kidding? She hadn’t come to my aid; she had forced herself into my life, probably out of nothing but nosiness. As she walked back over, a cup in each hand, I felt myself bristling with annoyance at her method of intervention.

“I hope you’re not one of those mocha-frappa-crappy-ccino types. I got you an espresso.” She threw down a couple of sugar sachets before taking the seat opposite me.

“Umm, thanks. Espresso is fine,” I replied, stirring the sugar into the cup before taking a mouth-scalding sip. “What’s your name?” I bravely asked.

“Kema,” was her only response.

“I’m Neve.” Silence. Not much of a talker, then. I continued to burn my mouth as I needed to do something and chat was clearly not on the agenda.

“Look, I don’t want to hear the sad story of what happened between you and Romeo, okay?”

“Okay. Do you live in my house?” It was an embarrassing question which showed how little I had bothered trying to get to know people since I arrived in Brighton.

“No, I’m friends with Ruby. She’s across the hall from you.”

“The girl with the red hair?”

“Yeah, that’s her.” So, Kema wasn’t going to win any awards for conversation skills.

“Why did you come over?” I didn’t think it was because she wanted company for her coffee.

“Ruby and I were in the kitchen when you and Romeo started arguing. We heard him leave and you crying for ages. Ruby was worried so I said I’d check on you on my way out.”

“Oh, thanks. And say thank you to Ruby, as well,” I added. “Look, I don’t want to be rude, but why did you bring me out for coffee? You could see I was alive and not likely to do myself any harm.”

“Come on, Barbie.” I bristled at the nickname and all it signified. “You were a mess. If I hadn’t forced you to come out, you’d still be in that dressing gown tomorrow. I knew making you leave the room would mean you at least made friends with your deodorant and toothbrush again.”

“If you care so much, why do you have to be so nasty about it?” I couldn’t stop myself asking the obvious question.

“I don’t care
that
much, just enough. And I wasn’t being nasty, just honest. I’m not one for sugar-coating crap. I don’t do fake.” The way she maintained eye contact with me whilst talking made me believe her. “Seriously, though, you can’t let a guy, however much you think you love him, fuck you up like that.”

“You don’t know anything about him, or us,” I started but was stopped by a dismissive hand being held up to my face.

“I said that I don’t want to hear the details. I don’t give a toss about him. But you need to look after yourself first. He’s not here now, is he? You need to make the most of your life; not his, not some happy-ever-after future you thought you’d got planned. Your life. Now. Be a woman, not a girl.” Wow. I was speechless. “Seriously, if you rely on a man, you’ll end up being disappointed. Use them, fuck them, do what you want with them, just don’t be dependent on them. Okay?”

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

Kema snorted in response. “Uh, no! Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve been saying?”

“Yeah, but surely you can have a boyfriend without it being like that?” I had thought what I had with Jake was something different.

“I think you can have a relationship based on being equals, but it’s more difficult to have with a guy. I’d like to think that what Ruby and I have is different, but I suppose everyone thinks that.” And that’s when it clicked. Kema was
with
Ruby.
Oh
.

“So, what do you think I should do now?”

“Only you know the answer to that but, as I’ve said,
several times now
, don’t make it about him. Sort yourself out. Right, I’ve got to go to work. See you around,” was her tokenistic goodbye as she left.

Thinking about Kema’s advice, I determined to take control. This was now my life, whether I wanted it to be or not. I spent the evening at the campus launderette, washing away any lingering traces of Jake from my bedding, before putting all physical signs of him into a box under the bed. Out of sight, out of mind.

If only.

When the activity stopped, and I was doing everything in my power to persuade my body to give in to sleep, my brain had time to regain the upper hand. Thoughts of Jake and the time we had spent together crowded my head: an endless montage of clips from the film of our love story. The first time he held my hand and the electricity that surged through me. The look of utter adoration in his eyes the first time he told me he loved me, making me physically stumble into his arms. The way it took him months to fully open up about why he hadn’t gone to uni, and how special I felt, knowing he trusted me enough to share the reason behind his tears.

Jake was my first kiss, my first love, my first everything. He had now become my first heartbreak, my first soul-destroyer. As my head flip-flopped between the desperate urge to ring him and beg him to change his mind and the desire to rip his cock off if he ever got within twenty feet of me again, sleep remained elusive.

After a couple of hours of brain-ache, I gave up and got out of bed. Looking out of the window, I wondered what Jake was doing. Was he also watching the moon, equally unable to close his eyes on the day, unwilling to let it end like this? Or was he sleeping the easy slumber of relief?

Taking heed of Kema’s advice, I resisted the urge to wallow in sad music and opened up my Kindle. I bypassed anything remotely romantic, eventually opening up
Birdsong
and scrolling through to the section in the trenches. Blood, guts and misery were what I needed. Preferably Jake’s. Maybe. Maybe not.

Maybe.

I woke up the next morning, in that all-too-familiar Kindle-kissing pose, and resolved to make a friend on my course. Yes, I know how sad it sounds that I had been at university for two weeks and hadn’t really done more than have the occasional conversation about the work set.

The truth is I don’t like going up to people I don’t know and trying to talk to them, waiting for
that
moment: the moment when their eyes zero in on my neck and then cloud over with something like pity. Maybe the childhood taunts have long since ended, but in many ways, they were better than the sideways glances and unspoken questions it raises.
Were you born with it? Why don’t you cover it up? Can’t you get it removed?
Jake can nickname it my heart-mark as much as he wants, but I’m still the one who has to live with people looking at it, not into my eyes.

So I don’t know why I was surprised that, since starting at uni, I had felt lost without Cass. When she had opted to go to Birmingham instead of Brighton, I completely understood her reasons after everything that had happened. But that meant I found myself alone, without someone who understood me. She was my conspirator, my confidante, my best friend who could be relied on to tell me what I needed to be told.

Me:
Txt me when u r up x

Cass:
I’m up. Got lecture at 9. You okay? Bit early for you! xx

Me:
Not really. Can I ring? x

My phone vibrated with Cass’s call. Her shock at hearing about me and Jake took me by surprise. I had expected that Jake would have been in touch with Flynn. Clearly he didn’t have the balls to tell his best friend, my brother, what he had done. I thought he was better than that. However upset I was with him, I couldn’t deny that the Jake I knew had strong principles and had never before shied away from doing the right thing, even when it cost him personally. Like the promise he had made his dad: he still kept it, even though it was the naïve promise of a child, desperately trying to make his dad’s last moments happy.

Cass ended the call with a promise to ring again that evening, giving me something to focus on as I fought to get through the day.