Just a Girl, Standing in Front of a Boy (25 page)

Philippa was right. Debbie Diamond is bonkers. She’s right out of
Ab Fab
. She doesn’t stop talking or drinking or asking Marge to stop the car so she can get out and have ciggie. Mum’s delighted by her and that’s nice to see. I’m in the back with my head against the window, staring out, miles away. But a stranger’s chatter is oddly comforting.

‘Hey’ – Philippa slides her hand in mine – ‘I went to Rose Cottage this morning.’

It’s a jolt to hear that, but I don’t show it. I don’t move.

‘I wanted to check the draft of my interview with Philip before I handed it in. Didn’t want to annoy the man who was reading my novel by misquoting him. He said the article was fine, and then he said that he had read my book and he really liked it.’

I whizz my head round to look at her.

‘That’s amazing. I’m so pleased for you,’ I say, and tears come into my eyes.

‘He’s suggested a few changes I need to make, but he really thought it was good.’

‘Wow.’

‘I didn’t see Joe,’ she says. I wasn’t going to ask. ‘But I heard him. Playing guitar upstairs. Sounded quite nice. Thought you should know that. At least he’s doing what he said and getting on with his music. At least he’s not…’ she trails off.

I nod. At least he’s not met someone else. At least not that we know of.

‘It will get better.’

I nod.

‘Your mother and I went to Glastonbury moons ago,’ Debbie Diamond says, she’s off again.

‘It was Reading!’ Mum corrects her, laughing.

‘I’m surprised you knew where you were, dear!’

‘Why?’ Philippa asks. ‘Was Mrs T off her tits?’

‘No, someone was on her tits though!’ She whoops.

‘Debbie!’ Mum gasps.

‘Ooh, she met a lovely man, didn’t you, Pam?’

‘Mum, you’re blushing. Is this that Lawrence chap?’ It’s the first thing I’ve properly said to everyone. My voice has shocked everyone else into silence.

‘Yes,’ Mum acknowledges.

‘Oh, he was a good ’un. Was that his name? Lawrence?’

‘Yes, yes, I think it was. Yes.’

‘Lost him, she did. Had a weekend of wicked sex and then couldn’t find his tent. My fault, though, really because I made you join me on the Sunday to see that terrible folk duo. Sorry.’

‘Oh, you know, that’s life.’

‘Hmm. Then she gets home and marries your father.’

‘We all make mistakes,’ I say and it occurs to me that I probably shouldn’t refer to my mother’s twenty-seven-year marriage as a mistake. But my comment makes my mum and Debbie laugh, no howl. But then they both stop suddenly and sigh in absolute unison and that makes them laugh again.

Philippa nudges me. ‘Is this what we’ll be like?’ She smiles.

‘I hope so.’ I smile back. Although without the twenty-seven-year lapse in friendship, I think. God, I shiver, life without Philippa, it actually doesn’t bear thinking about. I squeeze her hand.

My phone buzzes. Joe? That’s what I always think when my phone buzzes. When will that stop? I wonder. It’s from Matt.

He’s been texting a lot. I haven’t texted back. Yet.

‘You should try and find him again now you’re single!’ Debbie shouts. ‘Oh, Marge, services in three miles, can we stop so I can have a fag? Yes! Pam, let’s search for Lawrence the Lovely.’

‘Debbie, you genius!’ Philippa is bouncing up and down on the seat. ‘Pam, write down exactly what you remember about him and we can circulate it in an email, to be forwarded on and on to everyone’s friends.
Looking for Lawrence
, we’ll call it! I’ll bet we could get an article about it in the press somewhere, someone’s bound to know him.’

‘Philippa! That’s it!’ Debbie claps her hands together. ‘Oh, do you see the exit for the services there, Marge?’

Marge nods and flicks down the indicator.

We park in the service station car park, and just as Debbie puts her hand on the door handle to get out for a ciggie, my mum begins speaking. Her voice is quiet but her tone is strong.

‘Girls, I don’t want to find Lawrence. It’s passed and done now. We were obviously meant to lose each other that day, for whatever reason. Searching for him feels wrong. Some things are meant to be lost.’

Perhaps there is something in the certainty of her delivery, but no one tries to persuade her otherwise.

‘Ladies! Ladies! Ladies!’ I shout, uncrossing my legs and standing up. I wipe some grass off the back of my legs and sway a bit against someone’s guy rope. ‘I would like to make a speech.’

Everyone looks a little startled because I’ve only really spoken to Philippa today. But I’ve been listening to them all.

‘I just want to say, firstly, ladies…’ I sweep my gaze around the circle, looking at Debbie Diamond in the truly hideous Rasta hat she purchased earlier, as a substitute because she hasn’t been able to source any weed, at my mum glowing from booze and sunburn and dancing and catching up with an old friend, at Marge who’s already snogged the fella in the next tent, and at Philippa, my beautiful, beautiful friend, who’s held my hand all day while we’ve walked from stage to stage and from tent to tent and who is going to become a famous author. Woah, moving my head like that has made me a little wobbly.

‘First of all, let’s just toast this lovely pear cider!’

‘Lovely pear cider!’ they whoop.

‘So, I would just like to make a little speech, because I haven’t said much up till this point and this isn’t normally how I am. But, ladies, I would just like to say, thank you. Thank you for forcing me to come away, and thank you, Al, who isn’t here, for lifting me into the car earlier, and thank you all for putting up with me and making me feel soooooo much better. Marge, thank you for insisting we sit and talk about all the awful things men have done to us and thank you Debbie, for holding the floor on this particular subject for so long. Much obliged. Feeling so much better.’ Debbie has never been afraid to love and, blimey, she’s loved some toads, one bloke got her pregnant, pressured her to have an abortion because he said he didn’t want kids, then left Debbie and had a baby with someone else. Debbie’s never had children. She held my face, with tears in her eyes, and said, ‘I never had a beautiful daughter like you, Jenny,’ and then she kissed my forehead. Debbie is the awesomest, I am so glad she’s Mum’s friend. I could hang out with her all the time. ‘And Philippa, the amazingest, wonderfullest person on the planet, I love you sooooooo much, and Mum, my lovely mum, I never, ever in ten billion years – whoops, sorry,’ I shout to the people whose tent I’ve just lurched into. ‘Mum, never, ever did I think we’d be here at a festival having this much fun. And I love this little army we have created. So, ladies. Lady army, I thank you, I love you and now I’d better sit down or I am liable to have these poor people’s tent over.’

I’ve had a bit of an epiphany today. When I took to my bed before, when Steve Wilmot had humiliated me and Dad made me feel worse, when I took to my bed in Philippa’s house for ages, it was only really Philippa that kept me going. But now, I have Mum and Philippa and Marge and Al, and Debbie, I hope, she’s invited me to come and stay at her house in Edinburgh any time and I’m going to take her up on that, and go to the Edinburgh Festival one day. But I realised today that I’ve got a pack of lovely people around me now. And that’s what life’s all about, and even though I won’t be falling for any gorgeous musicians again, the likes of Joe King and Steve Wilmot can’t hurt me, not when I’ve got Mum and Philippa and so many great people about me. God, I love pear cider.

Everyone is oo-ing and ah-ing after my speech.

‘Right drink up, and then we go and see the Arctic Monkeys!’ I command. Then Philippa and I scream. We
love
the Arctic Monkeys.

‘Oh, no, I’m too old,’ Mum protests.

Debbie shakes her head admonishingly.

‘Mrs T, did you or did you not used to like the Stones.’

‘Still like the Stones, Philippa.’ Mum corrects her.

‘Well, the Arctic Monkeys are the Stones of our generation and you will love them.’

‘We saw the Stones at Reading.’ Debbie sighs. ‘With that chap. What was his name again?’

‘Lawrence,’ Mum says quietly.

‘Lawrence! That’s it, thank you. We danced to the Stones with Lawrence and he had you on his shoulders. Oh, he was a funny dancer, did a brilliant Mick Jagger impression. Marge!’ Debbie Diamond is serious suddenly, and wagging her finger at Marge. ‘That chap, the one whose mouth you had your tongue in, get his number, do it. Now! Go on, off you go, don’t lose him, don’t do a Pam and Lawrence on us.
Now!
’

Marge does as she’s told and gets right up and pops into next door’s tent. She hauls her fella out, types his number into her phone and then drags him along with us as we all make our way to the main stage.

I almost can’t remember the old Mum. The one who Dad would shhhhhh and shout at. Someone has swapped her for this laughing, dancing woman.

‘Philippa, can I use your camera?’

Philippa smiles and nods and turns her back to me so that I can extract it from her rucksack. She points towards Marge, as I zip it back up.

‘I know! Unbelievable,’ I holler over the music. ‘You’d think they’d need to come up for air at some point.’

Marge has been snogging the chap from the next tent whose name I’m still not sure of for the whole of the Arctic Monkeys’ back catalogue. We’re onto the encore songs now. That’s how long they’ve been at it. While they’ve been snogging, Mum and Debbie Diamond have been dancing, well, jiggling.

Before the Arctic Monkeys came on stage Debbie Diamond took a sip from her hip flask.

‘Girls,’ she declared. ‘We won’t embarrass you. Of that I promise you.’

‘No, there’s nothing worse than an over-fifty making a fool of herself on the dance floor.’

‘Well, there is, Pam, it’s two over-fifties making fools of themselves.’

‘Oh, please!’ Philippa snorted.

‘If you want to dance, dance!’ I shouted, holding my arms wide and stomping along to the warm-up music, and because I’d had a lot of pear cider it struck me as a good metaphor for life.

Anyway, after approximately half a song they adhered to my advice and have been engaged in some pretty awesome rock jiggling ever since. They stand with their feet rooted to the plastic-cup-littered ground, their arms out at forty-five-degree angles from their bodies, frantically nodding their smiling heads to the beat. It’s quite something to behold. They look as though they’re being driven down a bumpy street at great speed.

I turn on Philippa’s camera and take a few shots of the band on the stage. Philippa starts pouting in the direction of the camera so I get a good one of her too. I catch a sneaky one of Marge and blokey and then turn to Mum and Debbie Diamond. Debbie sees the camera and immediately puts her arm around Mum’s shoulders. Mum opens her mouth and smiles. Her eyes are shining and her cheeks are rosy from fun and sun. She looks beautiful. Debbie accidentally jiggles onto Mum’s foot, Mum pretends dramatically that she’s in agony. The Arctic Monkeys launch into a Rolling Stones cover and they both leap into the air. I keep snapping away taking pictures of the two of them, my mum looks so full of joy and life, I don’t want to stop.

‘What are you having?’ Matt asks.

It’s just a drink! I said yes to a drink, that’s all. It doesn’t really mean anything except that I felt bad that he was texting all the time. Although, I won’t have a drink drink, because I’m still hungover from Reading, even though I’ve been back three days. He looks tired. It quite suits Matt to look tired, somehow. There’s something a bit terrifyingly driven about him when he looks in the peak of health and fitness. Something indomitable. The vulnerability he has when he’s tired and a little low is endearing.

We’re in a pub I’ve never been to before, the other side of Nunstone. A country pub, with real ale and pork scratchings on the table. I tried one. It nearly broke my jaw.

‘Oh, um, just a Coke.’

He nods and heads to the bar, leaving me fiddling with a beer mat, hoping my jaw will recover.

He comes back with a Coke and half a bitter and sits on a stool opposite me. It seems such a small seat for a big man.

‘Thanks,’ he says, ‘for meeting me.’

‘Thanks for the drink.’

‘Pleasure. How are you?’

‘Um, all right. How are you?’

‘All right.’ He nods and then sips his drink. ‘I miss you.’

I nod. ‘Hmmm.’ I smile sadly.

I don’t suppose these sorts of drinks are ever a laugh a minute.

‘So, are you and Al…?’

‘No.’ I shake my head.

‘Right.’

He takes another sip. He should have got a pint really.

‘How’s work?’ I ask after an uncomfortable pause.

‘Busy, you know. Got the big yearly bash soon. You could still come with me…’ He tails off and looks out of the window. ‘How’s your work?’

‘I’m off work at the moment. There’s an enquiry into whether I accidentally killed an old lady.’

He looks so shocked I laugh. But then I think of Doris and I stop.

‘Hopefully, it’ll all be OK.’

‘Yes.’

I look at him. My Matt. Funny old handsome Matt, with his unbelievable drive and work ethic. His unshakeable notions of how things should be done and ordered. And I smile at him.

‘What?’ he asks.

‘Nothing.’

I feel incredibly calm. Oddly so. Perhaps it’s the quiet old pub. Or perhaps it’s because the storm has passed. Perhaps it’s because although we’re totally different, I feel safe with Matt. Who knows? I’m sure Philippa would have a theory.

‘I’ll get to the point, Fan. I haven’t cancelled anything. Partly because I just couldn’t bring myself to. Partly because this all seemed so not you that I hoped, I hope’ – he looks straight at me with his tired eyes – ‘We might be able to salvage us.’

I nod.

OK, here goes.

‘The thing is.’ I stop and look down. ‘It wasn’t just Al. There was someone else too.’

‘Bloody hell, Fan, is there anyone you haven’t shagged!’

I don’t know why I’m laughing.

‘I don’t think it’s very funny. Who was this one?’

‘The – oh, God, just someone I met.’

‘And is it serious with him?’

‘It isn’t anything any more.’

He nods. He’s finished his drink already. He puts his glass down and shuts his eyes.

‘Oh, Fan,’ he says. ‘Why do I want you so much?’

I shrug. ‘I really can’t imagine.’

‘I must be mad.’

‘Bonkers.’

‘Anyone else I should know about?’

I shake my head.

‘You get me, Fan. No one’s ever really got me before. What did I do?’

‘Nothing, Matt. It so wasn’t you. It was all me. Well, maybe you booking the golf club when you knew I didn’t want you to.’

‘Fan, your idea was sweet and I thought about it, but who’d clear up? Who’d set up? It would take a week to sort it all out and then we’d start our married life having to take down a marquee and give people back their potato salad bowls. And I rather fancied being on a beach with a cocktail looking at my wife in her bikini.’

I smile. He’s got a point.

‘So what do you reckon?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Shall we have another go?’

‘But…’

‘Or do you think there’s still more for you to get out of your system?’

‘No.’ I laugh sadly.

‘Shall we just have a go? I don’t want to marry anyone else.’

‘But can you forgive me?’

He looks at me and nods. ‘You hadn’t really slept with anyone before me, had you? I’m thinking it was a reaction to the proposal. Like you said, it was a shock, we hadn’t even lived together.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘But I think if we do this, you should move in with me. I don’t think I’m cool with you living with Al.’

‘What about my mum?’

‘She can stay with Al.’

He reaches towards me and takes my hand. ‘I want to make you happy. Let me make you happy…’

I look into his eyes and I think about the days I spent in bed after Joe King dumped me. I never want to feel like that again.

I nod.