For a moment, Sean is confused as to whichhimshe might let down, then, as she moves back to the bed, he sees one suitcase is already packed and standing by the wardrobe and another is on the bed, spilling over with underwear and socks.
“You’re going, then.”
She nods and swallows hard. “Ben and I are finished either way. If I stay, I will hate myself. And when Petey dies and I’ve abandoned him, I will hate Ben too, for what he made me do. If I go … Well, Ben has made clear, it is over for him.”
Wordlessly, Sean hugs her again.
“I would do the same for you,” she mutters into his shoulder.
“I know you would.” They stand there together for some minutes until, once more, Jasmine steps back.
“I’ll continue to pay my share of the rent, but if you could find someone who wants to take over the lease, I would be grateful.”
“Don’t worry about stuff like that,” Sean says, but Jasmine knows she is richer than he is. Despite her scorn for inherited wealth as the cause of social inequality, she has access to a regular income from the Larkford Estate trust. Her intention has always been to donate it to a charity as soon as she starts earning a living, but its existence means she can act now without regard to the harsh realities of financial restrictions.
“You can have anything I leave behind.” Jasmine throws her arm out to include the bed. Although the flat came furnished, they had supplied their own bedding and a few extra items in the kitchen and bathrooms. “I’m only taking some clothes. If you don’t want my things, please take them to a charity shop?”
“Of course,” Sean says with emphasis. “Don’t worry about that stuff. I’ll sort it.”
They stand awkwardly for a minute. Finally, he asks, “When are you leaving?”
“I’ve booked a seat on the train tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll come with you. Help you with your bags.” Sean feels like he should be doing more.
“You don’t have to.”
“Don’t be daft,” he says. He picks up his tea and takes a sip. “You’re never going to fit all of it in there.” He gestures with his mug at the pile of clothes still on the bed and the overfull suitcase. “Hold on a minute.” He spins around and exits the room before reappearing with a hold-all in his hand. “Dad was given it as a freebie,” he says, to lessen the gesture in case she refuses.
But Jasmine is touched. She recognises Sean is trying to help in whatever way he can, planting his flag squarely on her side, and somehow it does help. There is a chasm of grief inside her, caused by Ben’s words, but this little act is the first step to building a bridgehead to cross it. And cross it, she must. Because tomorrow, when she arrives in Larkford, there must be no sign of the pain Petey’s request has cost her. The only gift she can give Petey now is that he dies in peace, well-loved. And that alone is her goal. If she were to understand how much it would eventually cost her, she might well have blanched at the step she is taking. But it is the same with all great journeys – an element of blindness at the start is the reason they are undertaken.
The following morning brings evidence of how much of a friend Sean is, for Jasmine wakes to the smell of vegan bacon frying, although yesterday there was none in the fridge. Sean must have made an early trip to the supermarket in order to cook her a goodbye breakfast. Despite the heavy mood of the day, Jasmine smiles. It is so like her friend to express his caring through food. Since she stayed with him in the summer, she has realised it is a trait he gets from his mother, although mercifully, it seems to be the only one.
She ambles into the kitchen in her cosy flannel pyjamas and waffle dressing gown to find a feast on the counter. Coffee, made just the way she likes it with a large slug of oat milk, sits waiting for her. Hash browns, baked beans, fried mushrooms, sliced avocado, and toast are all spread out.
“Thought you might need something substantial today,” Sean says, taking the pan off the heat and sliding the vegan bacon onto her plate. Jasmine, never overly demonstrative, pulls him into a hug as he swings the hot pan out of her reach. Then she releases him and grabs a plate. When she has mopped up the last lovely drops of sauce with her crust, she turns to him to say goodbye.
“Don’t!” he warns. “I’m coming with you to the station.”
True to his word, he helps load her bags into the taxi and even goes so far as to flirt with the guard to let him onto the platform to help with her suitcases. When there is no longer any postponing it, he wraps his arms around her and, as the train screeches to a stop behind her, whispers his parting words into her ear: “Stay strong.”
Strength is hard to find. It is a bedraggled Jasmine who finally steps onto the platform at Bridgetown, the nearest station to the village of Larkford, for she has forgotten to pack an umbrella. The rain is sheeting down as she crosses the overhead walkway, jostling two suitcases, a holdall, and her laptop rucksack. She is relieved to see Flora, nearly unrecognisable with her anorak hood pulled tight around her head but still wearing her trademark jaunty leggings.
Jasmine is nearly bowled over when Flora throws herself at her, flinging her arms around her neck. “Thank God you’re here!”
Jasmine waits until her friend releases her and steps back. She has always been surprised by Flora’s friendship – that they had become friends in the beginning she had put down to Petey’s influence. She had expected Flora to melt out of her life when she left Petey, but Flora had maintained contact, visited in the aftermath of the break-up to check Jasmine was alright, and has sent regular messages about her life since. Somewhere along the way, Flora has become a friend in her own right, but Jasmine has never understood why. Her friend lives in emotions and has probably never had a serious political thought in her life. Jasmine has few enough friends not to reject one on the basis of frivolity, but why Flora, who is well-liked by everyone, bothers with the earnest, fun-less Jasmine is a mystery.
“You managed to get off early, then?” Jasmine notes the dark shadows under Flora’s eyes even as she says the words. Nannies work longer hours than their bosses, who often have high-powered jobs, including overtime as routine in order to afford them. She had been hoping Flora would meet her off the train but it had not been guaranteed. Although she was prepared to take a taxi, this is so much better – Flora could give her the background to everything, including anything Petey had not wanted to admit.
“You’re soaked!” Flora has been carrying out her own assessment while Jasmine has hers. “Get in the car. It’s got heated seats.” Since she left sixth form, Flora has been working and has already begun to accumulate grown-up accoutrements: a car, a fiancé, a mortgage.
By the time Jasmine and her luggage are installed in Flora’s little car, there is no room for much else besides the driver. Flora takes her place but doesn’t start the engine. She loosens her hood and pulls it off her head before turning to face Jasmine. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” she says. “It’s been awful.”
“You should’ve said,” Jasmine chastises gently, referring to Flora’s messages last term. Apart from theShit happeningone, they had all depicted a land of happy bunnies.
“What good would that have done?” Flora gives a rueful smile. “Made you feel crap about how badly Petey was taking the break-up? How would that have helped? You both needed to move on. Talking of which, tell me about the new man!”
“Over,” Jasmine says shortly.
