The Other Us. Fiona Harper
all that, but I had that same sudden shock in the pit of my stomach – I wasn’t going the way I was supposed to be going. I know it seems drastic and all, but I had to do something before it was too late.’
I look at her, begging her to understand. She sighs and then we fall into step beside each other, making an unspoken decision to change direction and head for the bar. I know she’s confused and angry but I also know she’ll stand by me. She’s only being like this because she’s trying to protect me, trying to steer me down the path she thinks leads to happiness for me. Somehow, I’m just going to have to convince her that path doesn’t always lead to Dan.
I creep into the flat. It’s gone eleven and the lights are off in the hallway. I start to tiptoe past the living-room door when I hear a voice.
‘So who is he, then?’
I press my hand to my chest to stop my heart galloping right out of it. As I walk towards the slightly open door, I see blue light flickering on the walls. I push it open and find Becca inside, watching The Word with the sound turned right down, which, in my mind, is the only way to cope with it. I sit down beside Becca on the sofa and watch Terry Christian interview a scruffy-looking rocker whose name I can’t remember. ‘Who’s who?’
I can feel her looking at me. ‘You know who. The guy … the new guy.’
I keep my mouth closed and continue to stare at the TV. Maybe I should have sneaked around more with Jude. Maybe I should have waited a little longer after ditching Dan to dive straight into a new relationship. I can’t even use the excuse that I’m young and impulsive. On the outside, maybe, but not on the inside. It’s just that I spent a whole lifetime waiting to feel like this, a whole life of waiting, full stop. Waiting to feel important. Waiting to feel special. I can’t wait any more. I just can’t.
While most people have no idea I’m seeing anyone, I should have known it wouldn’t take Becca long. It’s been two weeks now since I split with Dan and I’m spending a lot of my free time at Jude’s. Partly because he lives with Dom, whose parents pay for his rent and it’s a heck of a lot nicer than this dump, and partly because I’ve been avoiding having exactly this conversation with Becca.
‘Maggie?’ she prompts softly when I don’t answer.
I breathe in deeply. I’m not sure if I’m ready for this. I was only just feeling we’ve been getting back to normal after I turned Dan down. She seems to have become very protective of him all of a sudden.
‘Take a wild guess,’ I mutter, keeping my eyes trained on the singer on the television, who is now yelling at the audience. He makes a few choice hand gestures and then throws his drink over the people in the front row.
Even though the TV’s turned down, the air seems to become even more still, more quiet, all of a sudden. ‘Please tell me you’re joking,’ Becca finally says.
I shake my head and risk looking her direction.
‘No,’ she says, her voice firm and low, as if she can change the truth by being determined enough about it. ‘You are not seeing Jude the Jerk again!’
‘I am,’ I reply, just as firm and determined. ‘And he’s not a jerk.’
She lets out a dry laugh. ‘That was your name for him, remember? Not mine!’
‘This time it’s different, Becs.’
She shakes her head wearily. ‘You chose him – the guy that broke your heart then used it to mop the floor – over Dan? I really don’t get it.’
‘I know,’ is all I can say back. I know she doesn’t get it. I also know if I try to tell her the truth, she’ll have me locked up in a mental asylum. Becca’s a really down-to-earth sort. She doesn’t believe in ghosts or God or even horoscopes. She won’t even watch Quantum Leap, for goodness’ sake!
‘Poor Dan,’ she says, shaking her head.
That’s another reason I’ve been avoiding the flat recently. Every time she looks at me, I get the sense I’m guilty of something. And I’m not. I realised Dan wasn’t the one for me and I broke it off. Even without the whole insane time-hopping thing, it was the right thing to do.
I know I won’t be happy with him.
Not properly. It’ll look that way for a time, but then it’ll die. Not quickly and cleanly in a nuclear bust-up but slowly, almost imperceptibly, until we’re drowning in our own stagnation and we don’t know it. ‘I don’t expect you to understand,’ I say calmly, ‘but I would like you to respect my choice.’
Becca closes her mouth and her jaw tenses. ‘He’s going to break your heart again, I hope you know that. Once a selfish womaniser, always a selfish womaniser …’
I stand up and glance at the TV screen. The scruffy rocker is gone, replaced by a group of desperate wannabes who are trying to prove they’ll do anything to be on TV by having a full body wax on camera. ‘I’m sorry if you don’t understand, Becs, but he makes me happy.’
She stares at the unfolding horror on the TV as long as she can, before wincing and then looking away. ‘It’s up to you if you decide to flush your life down the toilet, I suppose.’
‘I’m not,’ I say softly, but I know she doesn’t believe me. To be honest, I can’t blame her. If you’d talked to the real twenty-one-year-old me back then, she’d have said exactly the same as Becca.
She turns and looks at me full on. Really looks at me. I start to feel uncomfortable under her scrutiny, as if she can see past the youthful varnish to the real, older me underneath, but then she turns away. ‘Lately, I feel as if I just don’t know you any more,’ she says as I stand up and head for my bedroom.
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