1
There are some things you should never communicate by text message. The end of a relationship, the death of a loved one, they all deserve the emotion that only a voice can give them, the space to breathe that only a conversation can lend. As I stare at the photograph of my boyfriend kissing another girl, I can’t help but think that this is another thing to add to the list.
We’ve been together for eight years, on and off, since we were both fifteen-year-old school kids. He’s been my first everything—first kiss, first love…
First heartbreak.
I unfold my legs from beneath me and stretch my body out on the bed, flinging my phone onto the cluttered table beside me. It's covered with books and magazines, half-used lipsticks, plus four empty coffee cups that I haven't bothered to take downstairs. There's a photograph of Luke, too. Leaning up against his BMW, hand shading his eyes. Tequila curls his lips, making them pink beneath the sun. The same lips that kiss me, whisper sweet words, tell me lies.
A sharp pain stabs in my chest as I think of the latest lie. Dinner with his family that turns out to be a party in Shoreditch. My thoughts wander to the phone again; to the blurred photograph of him kissing another girl. His strong hands grasp her hips as he stoops into her, the same way he has to lean down to kiss me. I think about confronting him and I wonder about deleting the text. An argument or a simple press of the button? At the end of the day it all comes down to the same thing. He believes he can swan back like nothing ever happened, and I'll forgive him and pretend that it didn't.
Just like I always do.
Maybe it was understandable when we were school kids. Trying on love like it was a new pair of jeans, struggling to see what fitted. Now I'm twenty three it's pitiful, yet it's a habit I can't seem to shake. I can sit here and say it won't happen again, but I'll end up forgiving him. I know it, Luke knows it, even my family knows it. My mum's way past thinking it's romantic. My brother Alex won't even let me mention Luke's name. And my big sister, Andie, only wants me to be happy.
I'm not happy. I haven't been for a while. Luke blames my college studies, keeps telling me to give them up, to go and work in a hair salon like my friend Sophie, or as a secretary, like Ellie. From the start he was against me going to university. He couldn't understand why I wanted to spend three years of my life in a classroom.
Going to college is something I've dreamed of since I was a teen. Since my year seven maths teacher told me I had a gift. And for once I ignored Luke's tantrums and the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach and signed up for a degree in business studies.
He didn't speak to me for a month after that. Not until he came crawling back on my birthday, his lying fingers clutching a huge bouquet of flowers, his traitorous lips making promises we both knew he wouldn't keep. Though I refused to accept them, his persistence was astounding. He wore me down, one sweet gesture after another.
Luke can be sweet, he can be kind, and when he looks at me it's as if I'm the only girl in the room. He builds me up with love and passion, ready to break me down all over again.
It's like playing with Lego.
“Amy?” Mum calls from downstairs. Though our house is tiny, she still shouts loudly. A legacy from the noisy days of my youth when Alex would play music at the highest volume he could get away with, and Andie would scream at him to turn it down. Mum couldn't be heard without a voice like a foghorn, and unfortunately she's long since forgotten it has an off switch.
“Yeah?”
“Alex is here with Max and Lara. Come and say hello.”
Smoothing my hair, I stand up and glance around my room. It still looks like a teenager lives here. Posters of groups are Blu-tacked to my pale pink walls, their corners curling away with age. Boy bands that have long since split up, actors who have grown old and complacent; it’s a testament to my lost youth. It makes me feel wistful, remembering long hours spent in Luke's eighteen-year-old arms. Back then the future was laid out before us.
“Hey.” I run down the stairs. Alex is kneeling in front of the radiator in the living room, his rusty blue toolbox by his side. His wife, Lara, is sitting on the sofa with their toddler playing on her lap.
“Maxie!” I reach out and tickle his chin. He makes a grab for my fingers with surprisingly strong hands. “Who's a gorgeous boy?”
Leaning down, I press a kiss to Lara's cheek. I love my sister-in-law so much. We first met when I was a fifteen-year-old brat, and she was lost in the misery of her mum's death. Somehow we hit it off.
“At home on a Saturday night?” she murmurs. “What's that all about?”
I shrug, trying to affect nonchalance. “I'm tired, and I start work on Monday. I thought I'd have an early night.”
From the look on her face, Lara doesn't believe a word of it. She shifts Max about as he tries to scramble off her lap, reaching for Sam, our fluffy ginger cat who’s dozing on the sofa.
“Leave him alone,” she chastises mildly. “His tail isn't a toy.”
Sam barely bats a whisker; he simply curls up and goes back to sleep. He's lazy, pampered and overfed—the last of my mum's babies. She's always happiest when surrounded by her kids, even if they're of the furry kind.
“Are you looking forward to it?”
I snap my eyes back to Lara. “What?”
“Starting work. Are you nervous?” She says it slowly. I’ve earned the reputation of being the family airhead. Always daydreaming, not in touch with reality. I blame the fact that I can never get a word in edgeways.
“A bit nervous,” I admit, underplaying the way my stomach is churning. I've read the joining instructions about twenty times, and made the journey to work on at least five different occasions, just to make sure I know what I'm doing. I don't think those are the actions of someone with their head in the clouds. I could be wrong though.
“You'll be fine, they're going to love you. Like a breath of fresh air.”
“Or a bad smell,” I joke.
“Either way they'll never be able to get rid of you.”
A loud clang catches our attention. Alex swears loudly, grabbing his toe where the wrench landed. When I glance at Lara she's trying not to laugh. I bite my lip to stop the giggles.
“Are you okay?” In spite of her best efforts there's humour in her voice.
“That fucking hurt.”
“Alex!”
He rolls his eyes and mutters an apology before picking up the spanner and
going back to his work. I don't bother asking him why he's messing about with the central heating in the middle of summer. Some things are better left a mystery.
“How's Luke?” Lara asks. Alex rolls his eyes again.
“He's fine.” There's no way I'm going to fill them in on his latest stunt. Alex hates him enough as it is. I've seen my brother when he's angry—it's scary, and quite frankly dangerous. “Having dinner with his parents.”
Mum walks in carrying a tray of mugs. Tea sloshes over the rims, pooling around the bases. When I take mine, pale brown liquid drips onto my jeans, staining them a dark, dark blue. “Oops, sorry.” She flashes me a grin and I send her one right back. She may be crazy, but I love her to death.
“It’s okay, they need a wash anyway.” Greedily, I gulp down what remains of the tea, quenching a thirst I didn't realise I had.
“Have you decided what to wear on Monday?” Lara asks.
“I bought a dress from Next.” I wrinkle my nose. “Grey, with a matching jacket.”