dear, perhaps you’re not well. Only I could make a doctor’s appointment if you want. I only mentioned it because I was phoning anyway.’
Why ask questions if you’re going to supply your own answers? Why ask questions if you know the answer but will accept a different one? I remember Eliza’s questions when she was about three. ‘Why?’ was enough to keep the conversation going. Any answer would do.
‘I knew you were worried about my stomach,’ I explained. ‘I didn’t want you to worry any more. I’m fine now.’
‘I knew there was a simple explanation. Eliza’s fine, by the way—her rehearsals are going well.’
‘Great.’
‘What are you up to today, then?’
If you have a dry, gristly piece of meat, cover it with pas-try or sauce or aromatic herbs. Disguise the feel of it, the flavour, the quality. Maybe nobody will notice. But I always do.
I needed to make a list. No, two lists. A list for the day and a list for the week.
List One (Tuesday):
• Wash hair.
• Buy magazine.
• Text Scarlet.
• Cook tea for Dad.
• Shave legs.
• Sew button on shirt.
• Try on new top.
• Read through chemistry curriculum.
• Find scales and weigh myself.
• Do fifty sit-ups.
List Two (Weds—Sat):
• Weigh self every day.
• Send postcard to Scarlet.
• Go to library and look at university prospectuses/ career books.
• Run every day.
• Measure waist.
• Start a novel.
• Bake a cake.
• Get money off Dad.
• Get hair cut.
• Make a plan for a better life.
The day was my own again. I had reclaimed my space. I started at the end of my list. After fifty sit-ups I lay back on the lounge floor. It didn’t seem enough. I did another fifty.
I went to The bathroom but there were no scales. I went into Dad’s bedroom and opened the cupboard. Suits and shirts, dresses and skirts hung there like a row of headless people waiting in a bus queue. I glanced over at the bed. The bed where Dad and Alice slept. And didn’t sleep. The middle-aged having sex is a thought to be pushed aside. Especially if a parent is involved. I was a sixteen-year-old virgin. I didn’t want to save myself for love, I wanted it over and done with. Like an exam. But I was frightened of failing. I swotted up on it by talking to Scarlet. I studied magazines. I thought I would need to do it before I was eighteen—if I was to keep on schedule. But eighteen would roll around too quickly. The spin of the earth had speeded up, surely it had speeded up.
The scales were lying at the bottom of the cupboard, like a slab of concrete. They looked heavy and cumbersome but they were deceptively light. I weighed myself. I had lost another three pounds. Was it good enough? Was anything ever good enough? Were my results good enough? Probably. Would my next set of results be good enough? Good enough for who? Was I a good enough daughter, a good enough friend, a good enough sister, a good enough citizen? And who decides?
It’s your own thoughts that try you, judge and condemn you. I wanted thoughts out of my head. I wanted to put my hand in and pull out what I didn’t want. Give my mind a wash and a rinse. Being on my own made my thoughts my only company. I phoned Scarlet. No reply. I went to the shop for a magazine. I decided to smile at people on the way. I would pass a comment to the girl in the shop. I would discard the real me and be a friendly shopper. Everybody loves a friendly shopper.
I made the week pass slowly. I was a Time Lord. Or maybe that should be Lady. I worked out that when I got back home, there would be two days before term started. That was fixed. Not even a Time Lord could change it.
Mum looked nervous. I went upstairs and Mum, Dad and Eliza followed me. Like bodyguards. The room was green and everything was back in its place. It was like I’d been burgled or something. Worse than that—molested, violated. The space around me had been raped. It could never be the same. I had to be in that space and it was no longer mine.
‘Do you like it?’
Did I? I didn’t really know. The colour was OK. It didn’t really matter.
‘It’s great. Thanks, Mum.’
I could hear the relief. We all knew it could have gone the other way. We all had a cup of tea. Everyone was happy. I sat in the lounge to read.
I felt sick again that night. Mum said she would phone the doctor. Just to be on the safe side.
The next day I wanted the house to myself, like it was at Dad’s. But it was Sunday and Mum and Eliza were there. They take up a lot of space.
I phoned Scarlet. She was bored.
‘I’ve got no money but we could go and sit in the park.’
So we did. We sat on the grass. The sun shone down on us. We talked. We laughed. We just sat. Doing nothing. Being us.
‘What’s it like, going to your dad’s?’ Scarlet asked again.
‘It’s cool.’
‘I’m going to my dad’s new place next weekend.’
‘It’ll be fine, honestly it’ll be fine.’
‘It’ll seem odd, though, him in a different place. At the moment, it’s just like he’s away on business, but living somewhere else…I can’t imagine it. I don’t think he can even cook. And what will we talk about? We can’t really talk about Mum, but I want to tell him about her, how she’s crying and everything. Do you think he still cares? I don’t want him to be bitchy about Mum. Can men be bitchy? Anyway, it all seems so shitty, you know—awkward.’
‘You get used to it. Don’t worry.’
Scarlet looked into me, pleading with me, wanting more than I could give.
‘Sorry, I’m being a shit friend,’ I pointed out. ‘It’s just I don’t know what to say, everyone’s different.’
‘You’re right, Jo. If you told me about how it is with your dad, I’d expect the same, but it won’t be the same, will it? I think what you’re saying is that I’ve got to work it out for myself.
