Just a Girl, Standing in Front of a Boy (16 page)

Matt lives in Nunstone Square, a development of new apartments on the outskirts of Nunstone. They are sandy-coloured flats built around a gravel square with potted trees in the middle. The more expensive flats have tiny navy blue balconies and you have to go though security gates, which are also navy blue and need an entry code. It was built shortly after they introduced the ‘high speed’ rail line from Nunstone to King’s Cross. If you mention Nunstone Square I lay down money someone will go ‘oooooooooh’ in quite a high register. I don’t go ‘oooooooooh’, I’d never say this to Matt but I think Nunstone Square looks like an asylum for posh people.

I know the code to get in the gates, but I need to be buzzed into the main building. It’s Friday night, and there’s only a small window when Matt will be here before he goes out. He brings his car home after work every Friday, has a shower and then he goes out again and meets some workmates for beers and an Indian. This has been the routine throughout the whole year we’ve been together. I think the only Friday we’ve spent together was when we went on the London Eye.

I press the buzzer.

‘Who is it?’ Matt sounds wary of whoever it might be.

‘It’s me.’

‘Fan?’

Matt is a creature of habit. He won’t appreciate me turning up unannounced. I can’t blame him. When I’m on my own I am generally wearing odd socks, a dressing gown, hair removal cream on my upper lip and blubbing at a chicklit novel. I’m not at all chuffed when someone pops by. Unless it’s Philippa, obviously.

‘Yeah, sorry, can I come up?’

‘Fan, what are you doing here?’ He sounds annoyed.

‘Matt, sorry, but I really need to talk to you.’

‘Fan, listen, gorge, I’m just out the shower and I’m late to meet the boys.’

‘Matt, I’m sorry, but it’s really important. Can you let me in?’

‘Hang on!’

I wait with my hand on the door, ready for him to buzz me in. But he doesn’t. I call again on the intercom, just as I see him walking across the hallway in his towelling robe and bare feet. I look at his calves. I always liked his calves. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell him that right now.

‘Is your buzzer not working?’ I ask when he’s opened the door.

‘No, I thought I’d come down.’

He’s got a girl up there, is my first thought. That’s rich, you slept with Al, is my second.

‘Matt, you might prefer to do this upstairs,’ I say quietly.

‘What?’

‘I’ve got to tell you something.’

‘So you said. Come on, out with it,’ he says, he’s sounding more cheerful now and smiling at me affectionately. ‘You’d be disastrous in business where time is money.’

‘I’m disastrous in most areas.’

‘So what is it?’

I can’t say it. Maybe I should just go.

‘I… I… I…’

‘Fan?’

‘I slept with someone else last night.’

Matt steps back. ‘Say that again,’ he whispers.

‘I’m so sorry.’

He shakes his head and steps further away from me. He looks as though I’ve winded him. He takes another step back and then starts moving his neck as though he’s going to say something but doesn’t. He’s starting to look a little Jurassic.

‘What? Fan? What do we do now?’ he asks. ‘Do I cancel the golf club? What do we do, Fan? Fan?’ He looks lost.

This is the first time Matt has ever asked me what to do.

‘I don’t know, Matt, I don’t know.’

‘I can’t look at you!’ He sounds so shocked.

‘I’m so sorry.’

He shakes his head and turns away.

‘Fan,’ he says, with his back still to me.

‘Yes.’

‘This has broken me.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Why did you tell me?’

His question takes me aback.

‘I had to tell you.’

‘I’ve never felt like this.’

‘Matt, I’m so sorry.’

‘Sorry!’

‘Matt, do you want me to come up?’

‘No, I don’t want you to come up and tell me how you screwed some guy. I feel sick. You know, one thing I thought I knew about you was that you were loyal. I didn’t realise you were a slut!’ He’s still got his back to me.

‘Go on,’ I say.

In one of the many books Philippa and I read about bullying, one of them said that if someone’s abusing you, you should encourage them to elaborate. So if they say ‘I hate you,’ the perfect answer is not, ‘I hate you too,’ but is actually ‘Tell me more.’

‘No, I don’t want to go on.’

It really does work. Philippa will be pleased.

‘Why are you so calm?’ he asks.

‘I think I’m a bit in shock myself.’

‘You definitely weren’t drugged?’ He turns his head and looks at me.

I smile sadly and shake my head.

‘Oh God, I can’t even look at you,’ he hisses and walks back to his flat.

I watch him go. His hair doesn’t look at all wet for someone who’s just had a shower. Once he’s out of sight, my shoulders slump forward and my eyes fill with tears. This is such a mess. What have I done?

On the whole, I think it would be fair to say that my life has imploded in a spectacular fashion and I am entirely to blame. Nice work, Jenny Taylor. Pat on the back. I had a man, not just any man, but one with arm muscles who was driven and who wanted to marry me. Things were good, very good, bloody marvellous, in fact, but no, because I am Jenny Taylor and a total idiot when it comes to men, I ballsed it all up by sleeping with my flatmate. And it’s not like men are growing on trees for me. It took me twenty-seven years to come up with Matt. And Joe King is probably writing songs for Felicity now.
Oh, Felicity your boobs are so nice and you make me laugh. It’s like I’m in a movie. Like it’s meant to be.
But still, still I think of him.

And Mother was behaving very oddly this morning. The buzzer went at 7.20, obviously I heard it because I sleep in the lounge. It was a man delivering a big box for Mum. I signed for it. I took it in to Mum. ‘What is it?’ I asked. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘Oh, I love it when I get sent big heavy boxes of nothing,’ I said. ‘Hmm, hmmm,’ she said, all mysteriously. ‘Seriously, Mum. What is it?’ I asked. And she said, ‘I’m not telling you!’ I dread to think what’s in that box.

Marge and I, the love blunders, sit with downturned mouths drumming away at our keyboards. Marge is so fed up she can’t even muster enough energy to try to get me to make the tea, it is unimaginably sad.

‘Here, let me make you a cup of tea,’ I say, getting up.

She shakes her head. ‘No, let me do it.’ She pushes her chair back and heaves her weight to standing.

I don’t even feel like reading. We are all doomed. There’s only one person who can save us. Miranda Hart. I open my desk drawer and pull out
Miranda
. Series 1. I slide her smiling face into the surgery DVD player. I’ve done this since I was a girl. Ever since I first laughed until I choked at an
Only Fools And Horses
Christmas Special I’ve sought solace in laughter. I’ve always craved the comfort of comedy. A tiny smile almost flickers at the corner of my mouth to think of it.

‘Do you take sugar?’ Marge asks, poking her head out of the kitchen, even though we’ve worked together for four and a half years.

‘One, please. Thank you.’

We reseat back behind the desk at the same time. We pick up our cups of tea. We clasp our hands around them, like you see ladies in cat food adverts do. We blow.

‘Oh, good grief, what on earth’s happened to you two?’ It’s Doris.

‘Doris!’

‘Ladies! Ladies! What is the cause of your pain and can I kill him?’

‘Yes, Doris, you certainly can,’ Marge says, with quite a lot too much venom.

‘And Fanny, where’s that lovely smile gone? Your smile makes my day, love, it’s worth being in my eighties and falling to pieces to come in here and see that smile. Yours is a mouth for smiling, Fanny.’

My mouth starts to obey Doris, but only because I completely adore her.

‘Well, I’ve had more thoughts about my Big Send Off. After I worked out the dress code…’

Oh, uh oh. My bottom lips starts wobbling at the mention of a dress code.

‘Fanny, love, what’s happened?’

‘We were going to have a sixties-themed wedding and I’ve got the dress but now the wedding’s off.’

I do a bit of antenatal breathing to stop myself from crying. Not that we were ever actually going to have a sixties-themed wedding, because he’d booked the golf club.

‘What a bastard,’ Doris cusses.

‘Well, it was her fault, really, she slept with her flatmate,’ Marge fills in helpfully.

‘Oh, I hate it when that happens!’ Doris claps her hands together. ‘Now do you like the flatmate or the other one?’

‘Oh, Doris, I don’t know.’

‘Well, if you don’t know, then you don’t want either of them. You’ll know when you want someone, believe me. It will box you between the ears. And then some. Now, I’ll just sit myself here,’ she says, taking the prime spot for telly watching. ‘Oooh, you’ve got
Miranda
on, I’ll have a little watch of Miranda. She does make me laugh. I hope Dr Flemming’s not running to time. I don’t think I’ve seen this one.’

‘Have you not, it’s classic! Wait till you get to the bit where…’

Oops I nearly gave it away there. But there’s a scene in this episode where Miranda is dancing in a nightclub and her trousers fall down and she doesn’t notice. If I know Doris, and I think I do, she’ll find it hysterical. Actually I should take it home and show Mum. Wow. My mum. When I think about Skegness I feel warm and calm and, funnily enough, excited about spending more time with her. What a difference a day makes.

I watch Doris and the other patients enjoying the telly. And then let my mind wander to Joe King. But he’s there in my mind with pretty Felicity and her humungous breasts. They get bigger and bigger with every daydream. I shake my head clear of them. Ooh, it’s the trousers round the ankles scene already. I glance at Doris, she’s rocking with laughter.

‘I thought you’d like that bit,’ I call to her.

She’s still rocking with laughter but she’s not making a sound. This is unlike Doris, she normally howls. She hasn’t acknowledged me either. And she’s still rocking. She looks a bit odd.

‘Doris?’

She flaps an arm in my direction. She’s still rocking. She doesn’t look right to me.

‘Doris?’ I say, getting up.

She’s still rocking but now she’s going red. This isn’t good. I walk towards her. She makes a choking sound.

‘I’ll just get Dr Flemming for you, Doris,’ I say, calmly. It’s very important to stay calm in the surgery. We once had a man slip away quietly whilst he was waiting for an appointment and we all had to be very calm as we carried him into a side room so as not to disturb the other patients.

‘Dr Flemming,’ I say, knocking on his door. ‘We need you for a second in the waiting room.’

Dr Flemming moves very quickly, which I think is what keeps him wiry. He pokes his head out. He knows I wouldn’t interrupt a session with a patient unless it was important.

‘It’s Doris,’ I whisper. ‘In the waiting room, looks like some sort of seizure. She was laughing.’

He takes one look at her. She’s still rocking. She’s almost purple in the face now.

‘Call an ambulance,’ he tells me quietly as he strides quickly towards her.

They took her away in the ambulance. I’m watching the back of it get smaller and smaller as it drives down the street. She’d stopped breathing and gone purple. I’ve never seen a face go purple before. It’s horrible. I’ve always loved the colour purple too. It doesn’t hold the same allure now I’ve seen one of my favourite faces sport it. Lovely Doris, nearly done in, by me and Miranda Hart. It’s awful.

I sit on the pavement and put my head in my hands. What have I done? I’ll have to call her next of kin. A tear springs into my eye. More tears. I let them fall even though, as ever, I have rather a lot of mascara on. Oh, please be all right, Doris, please. They’ve taken her to Nunstone Hospital. Sometimes these elderly patients go into hospital and they never come out. Another tear slides. We spoke about her Big Send Off but it was just banter. Not something that had a chance of happening at any time soon. I put my head back in my hands. Another tear. I know you shouldn’t love patients. But I love Doris. I’ve known her for years through the surgery. We buy each other Christmas gifts and everything. Last year she gave me a vintage handbag of hers that I’d coveted once. It looks like something that Jackie O would have used. I gave her
The
Vicar of Dibley
box set. Oh me oh my, I hate to think of her in hospital, in pain. I really must stop crying.

I’ve been crying almost solidly for two days. I generally try to avoid crying. It started with crying last time, then before I knew it, I couldn’t get out of my bed. But I’m not going back there. Nope, I’m not. I sniff. I hear footsteps along the pavement next to me. I keep my head down, hoping they’ll pass. They don’t. Whoever it is has stopped right by me. I don’t look. They’re sitting down next to me. Oh, please leave me alone. With my head still in my hands, I open my eyes and turn my head slightly to see who it could be. All I see is a leg of grey tight-ishly fitted jean with a black biker-type boot on the end. My breathing deepens instantly.

It’s Joe King. Although he doesn’t speak for quite some time and when he does first open his mouth, it’s not a word that escapes, more a groan of frustration.

‘I thought when I saw you I’d be really manly and I’d ignore you, because I made a right plonker out of myself that afternoon by singing you a song, and all the while you were about to marry some bloke…’ He stops and sighs. ‘But now, look, here you are… and all I want to do is to put my arm around you and say, “What’s the most beautiful girl in the world doing sitting on the side of the street crying?”’

I twist my head a fraction more so I can see his face. But I try to hide my own.

‘Hey,’ he says softly, and he bumps his bottom a fraction towards me, then he leans forward too and puts an arm around my shoulder. He presses himself against me, laying his head on top of mine. ‘Don’t cry, beautiful,’ he whispers. ‘Can I help? Can I do anything to help?’

I shake my head. He lifts his head from mine then and turns it round, crouching down a bit further so he can see into my eyes.

‘Is there anything I can do?’ he asks again, seriously, kindly.

‘I think I just accidentally nearly killed my favourite old lady,’ I whisper.

For a moment, Joe King looks like he might laugh. Then he looks frightened.

‘It wasn’t just me. It was mainly Miranda Hart.’

He’s looking baffled now.

‘The comedian.’

‘You know, Jenny Taylor. When I’m with you I feel as though reality ups it, and leaves the building.’

‘Hmmm,’ I agree, looking into Joe’s eyes again. ‘I tried reality and it wasn’t much cop.’

‘I’m really pleased to have met you, Jenny Taylor.’

I’m blushing. I like his arm around me. It feels like the most natural thing in the world for his arm to be across my back, for his hand to be clasping my upper arm. I could tilt my head and kiss that hand, press my nose to his skin and breathe him in to me. Or I could kiss his mouth. Our faces are so close, I’d barely need to move. Oh, why do I feel as though kissing this man might be the end of one life and the beginning of another?

‘So,’ he says, squeezing my arm a touch as he does. ‘Do you realise that this is actually the fifth time I’ve met you. I’ve seen you on your knees singing in a chemist, dancing to my music at a gig, fighting monsters in a colander, musketeering with a balaclava. And now on the street crying. I hate seeing you cry.’

‘Sorry,’ I say, and I straighten myself up. ‘I should head back to work.’

‘Where do you work?’

‘In the doctor’s surgery.’

‘Yeah. I knew that. I was just trying to be cool. I’d already asked Al.’

I smile. He doesn’t join me.

‘Why don’t you wear an engagement ring?’

‘Oh, well, at first it was too small and now because well, it’s all off. The, er, engagement is off…’

‘Is it?’

‘Hmmmm.’

‘Like off off?’

‘Off off, yeah.’

‘Oh. I don’t know what to do.’ He sighs, more to himself than to me.

‘I should go in.’

‘My uncle and I are having a party,’ he suddenly blurts. ‘Will you come?’

‘Course.’

‘And Philippa and Al?’

I nod and smile. ‘When?’

‘Um. Um. Saturday.’

‘Where?’

‘Oh, it’s called Rose Cottage, on the main road once it gets a bit quieter on the way out of town.’

‘I know the one.’

‘Come. Anytime you like.’

‘OK.’

I stand up. He remains on the curb. I turn away. My heart pounds.

I push open the heavy surgery doors. Back to business.

‘Doctor Flemming thinks you should go up to the hospital and see Doris,’ Marge informs me.

‘Oh, oh, OK. But I should try to get hold of Doris’ family before I go up there.’

I sit in front of the computer and bring up the details of Doris’ next of kin. The information flickers onto the screen. I read the words, then I stare at them and then I blink and blink again.

Stephen Wilmot.

I close my eyes tightly for quite some time. I reopen them. The same name swims into focus.

Stephen Wilmot.

I imagine calling this landline number, either Michelle or Stephen picking up the phone, me having to introduce myself. My heart beats like a bass drum. I shake my head.

‘I can’t make this call,’ I announce to Marge. ‘I’m sorry, could you telephone him and explain about Doris. And I’m going to take my lunch now and get some air and then I’ll take some flowers up to the hospital if you don’t mind.’

I don’t wait to ascertain if she minds or not. Sorry, Marge. I push my chair back and I bolt for the door. Stephen and Michelle Wilmot. Now, there’s an icy cold blast from the past.