The Debt & the Doormat(45)

My mouth drops open. Did I just hear her right?

‘Do you think?’ Izzy asks, almost jumping up and down in her seat.

‘Completely,’ she smiles smugly. ‘He’s been giving me the eye all day.’

‘Sorry? Did I just hear you right? You and Ryan are going to....’ I swallow the lump in my throat. ‘You’re going to...sleep together tonight?’

Her expression instantly changes to a nasty disgusted look, as if she’s just smelt bad fish.

‘Sorry, but who invited you into the conversation?’ she sneers.

‘Err, it's a bit hard to ignore when I’m in the same car as you,’ I retort defensively.

‘Well maybe you should mind your own business,’ she snaps.

‘Then maybe you shouldn’t talk about it in front of people!’ I say, my voice erupting in an angry growl. I should be angry, but instead I feel I could burst into tears.

‘Gracie, she was just asking,’ Izzy protests. I smile gratefully at her.

‘For your information, me and Ryan used to have a thing,’ Grace says, pulling out a mirror and inspecting her reflection.

‘Yeah I know that.’

‘Well, then you’ll know that things have been hotting up recently.’ Her voice is rising in conviction. ‘I keep catching him looking at me and I just know he’s picturing me naked.’

Oh my God. Have I really been that much of a fool to think that he’d been staring at me? He’s obviously into Grace. I mean, who wouldn’t be? She’s like a beautiful movie star. I’ve even imagined her naked a few times – in a very heterosexual way of course. Just purely from envy. That's why Ryan let me down gently this morning.

‘What about Tabitha?’

‘Please,’ she smiles, ‘as if she’s any competition for me. They haven’t even slept together.’

‘Well, good luck,’ I say under my breath.

‘I don't need luck honey,’ she smiles smugly. ‘Look at me.’

She's probably right. She might just snap her fingers and he’ll run into her bedroom and strip naked. Then I remember his cruel words about her last night. Surely he can't be into her if he’s talking like that? For some unknown reason I suddenly feel sorry for her. She can't help it that she’s obsessed with him. Hell, if I can't help it how could she? I should open a support group. Call it ROL – Ryan’s obsessive losers.

‘OK. I just don't want you getting hurt.’

Her eyes bulge open and her throat physically retracts, as if she was taking a large intake of breath.

‘Me get hurt? Oh, don't worry honey. I know Ryan, unlike you. If anyone’s going to get hurt it's you.’

‘Me? What have I got to do with it?’ I ask in a flush of embarrassment.

‘Oh, don't pretend I don't catch you looking at him, all pathetic and puppy eyed,’ she says, in mollifying tones. ‘It's quite amusing actually. Me and Ryan laugh about it sometimes.’

‘What?’ I ask, swallowing the second lump in my throat. ‘First of all I don't know what the hell you’re talking about and second, you and Ryan are laughing at me behind my back?’

‘Let’s just say we find you very amusing,’ she smirks.

Oh my God. Paranoia sweeps over me. I’ve been so naive. Such an idiot.

‘Gracie! Don't be such a bitch,’ Izzy says shortly.

‘Well, I’m sorry if the truth hurts,’ Grace snaps. She turns back to the front just as Ryan opens the door. He smiles at me, but I turn my head.

‘Pops, I know you said you didn’t want anything, but seen as you are the birthday girl, I got you a little present.’ I turn my head in intrigue to see him holding out a pack of jelly babies.

I still feel sick from his betrayal. I can barely look at him. I turn to stare out of the window; ignoring him completely as a feeling of complete empty sadness takes over my body.

‘O...kay. I take it you don't like jelly babies then,’ I hear him say under his breath as he starts the engine.





When I get home I run to my bedroom and spend a good couple of hours crying alone in my bedroom. Happy fucking birthday. Why is it every year I get a terrible day? Normally I just injure myself, but this year it's far worse. To have my feelings hurt this badly. I mean, I thought I knew Ryan. Little did I know he just finds me amusing to have around. Like a stupid little jester or something.

I stare at my phone, declaring myself pathetic that no-one has text me to wish me happy birthday. Not even my parents. Does no-one in the entire world love me? I scroll down to Jazz and press dial. She’s bound to have planned something for my birthday.

‘Hello?’ she shouts, loud rock music playing in the background.

‘Hey Jazz, it's me. Listen, I know I said I didn’t want to do anything for my birthday, but I’ve changed my mind. Do you want to go out?’

‘Huh? Sorry Pops, I can barely hear you! I’m still stuck at this stupid festival. To be honest, I don't actually think I’ll be able to make it back tonight. Jake’s talking about staying for another night.’

I know her game. She’s planned a surprise birthday party for me, I know it. As if she would stay at a festival just for Jake. Surely I’m way more important?

‘Oh yeah, is this your fake ruse?’ I say smiling to myself. ‘It's ok Jazz, I want to celebrate my birthday now. You can tell me all about the surprise party. I promise I won't get mad. I’m kind of looking forward to it actually.’

‘What party? Chick, you told us not to do anything for you. There’s no party. I’m really sorry babe, but why don't we go out for lunch tomorrow to make it up to you?’

My stomach drops and the same depression begins to creep over me again. No-one cares about me.

‘Oh...OK. Yeah I suppose that's great.’ I try not to sound ungrateful.

She doesn’t even have her usual high pitched Oxford acting voice on to make me doubt her. She must be telling the truth.

‘Great. Can I call you tomorrow then?’

‘Yeah, fine.’ I just want to get off the phone so I can cry.

‘OK, love you babes. Happy birthday.’

‘Thanks,’ but she’s already hung up.

I bury my head under the duvet and let out some loud sobs, hoping no-one can hear me through the wall.

My phone rings again and I pick it up before checking who it is.

‘Happy birthday darling!’ my mum’s shrill voice sings down the phone, before I’ve even had a chance to say hello.

‘Hi Mum,’ I say, my voice flat and boring.

‘Hi darling. Well...are you running late or what?’

What is she talking about?

‘Huh?’

‘Your birthday lunch round Auntie Beryl’s. We’ve all been here for about half an hour and I just wondered where on earth you are?’

‘Lunch? I don't remember any mention of lunch?’

‘Darling I sent you an e-mail,’ she sighs heavily, as if I’m a massive inconvenience to her.

‘E-mail? I never got an e-mail?’

‘Really? I’m sure I pressed send?’ She doesn’t sound too convinced herself.

‘Well you obviously didn’t Mum. Did you not get Ollie to help you?’

‘Excuse me Poppy, but I am more than capable of sending an e-mail. Since the college course, I’m what they call a whizz kid at computers.’

Meaning she can just about turn it on.

‘OK, whatever. Look, I didn’t get it so I’m not sure if I can make it.’

‘Don't be so ridiculous! I’ve baked a cake! Well, I’ve bought one. I’ll tell them you’ll be here in half an hour.’

‘But the train will take me at least forty-five minutes!’

‘See you soon darling!’ she sings, ignoring me. ‘Oh and do me a favour and be careful will you? We don't want any more accidents on your birthday.’

‘Bye mum.’





Chapter 17




When the taxi pulls up at the familiar white terrace house my stomach starts getting butterflies. Why on earth are we having a birthday lunch round here anyway? Probably Mum not wanting a mess at her house.

‘Thanks again Tony,’ I say to my regular taxi driver as I get out.

‘No probs love. But remember, be careful today. I don't want to be picking you up tonight and taking you to hospital like last year.’

‘I’ll try my best.’ I slam the door a little too hard and run up to the familiar yellow front door.

Auntie Beryl swings the door open. She’s wearing a floral pink and yellow dress which is far too short for her age group, and holding what looks like a flower vase full of wine.

‘Darling! What took you so long?’

‘Sorry Auntie Beryl.’ I hug her tightly, suffocated by her strong floral perfume. ‘But Mum forgot to tell me about it.’

‘Why am I not surprised?’ she smiles at me before throwing her head back laughing.

I follow her through the house and breathe in the stir fry smell which always seems to linger in the kitchen, even though I’ve never actually seen her cook. Her cookery books are dusty and yellowed at the edges from the sunlight, never seeming to have been touched.

Despite this, I love her house. Even though the yellow wallpaper is peeling at the edges, with patches of damp, and the ceiling is just as yellow from the years of smoking, it reminds me of being younger. It was modern then, everything brand new. She used to get these massive sheets of paper, almost as tall as me and I’d spend entire afternoons drawing wedding dresses while her and Mum smoked and drank coffee.