Page 122 of Who’s That Girl?

‘So, go on, fire away.’

We’re sitting upstairs in my old bedroom, only this time the positions are reversed and now it’s Lottie who’s perched on the chair surveying me, while I’m curled up on the futon, sipping from a cracked mug containing black coffee, which she made me. My old room’s a pigsty; in fact, in the daylight it seems worse than ever, but whereas before it bothered me, now I find it comforting.

‘I don’t know where to start.’ I sigh into my instant coffee.

‘How about at the beginning?’ she suggests.

Tucking my hair behind my ears, I shake my head. ‘That’s just it – I don’t exactly know where the beginning is any more. It’s like everything’s all tangled up together.’ I pause, trying to sort through the jumbled reels of my life, trying to put things into some kind of order.

I start with Oliver. Well, it seems as good a place as any. I tell her how our paths crossed ten years ago. ‘But nothing happened between us, as I didn’t notice him, although now I wish something had,’ I add regretfully, pulling at my tissue. ‘And then out of the blue we bumped into each other again, and it seemed like something was going to happen between us, that maybe I was going to get a second chance.’ I pause, reliving that moment just half an hour ago on my balcony, feeling a twist in my stomach. ‘But then we had this big row,’ I finish miserably.

‘Don’t tell me. He was a lying arsehole like Billy Romani,’ she interjects angrily.

‘No, not at all.’ I shake my head sadly.

‘Then why?’ She looks at me in confusion.

I think back to standing outside his granddad’s antique shop with Larry Thompson. ‘I let my head rule my heart,’ I say quietly. ‘I told myself that business was business, that personal feelings don’t come into it. I tried to rationalise.’

‘You mean you ignored your gut instinct?’ she says, translating.

I glance up at her, her words registering. I hadn’t thought about it like that, but she’s right. ‘I guess I’ve been guilty of ignoring a lot of things,’ I hear myself saying. ‘I ignored the doubts I had about my relationship with Miles. We were never right for each other from the beginning, but I tried to convince myself we were, because I wanted us to be. Just like I ignore that little voice inside that says I’m not happy. Because I must be happy: I’ve got the life I always dreamed of; I’ve got the lifestyle, a successful career, a decent set of abs.’ Smiling ruefully, I hug my knees to my chest.

‘And yet I can’t help feeling as if there’s something missing in my life.’ As I say it out loud, I realise I’m admitting this to myself for the first time. ‘But I don’t know what it is. And the harder I look, the more I can’t find it, because there’s just too much pressure and not enough time.’

I’ve bottled up all this stuff for so long that now it’s as if I’ve lifted off a lid and everything’s pouring out.

‘It’s like I’m always playing catch-up. I’m exhausted and anxious and worried all the time, not to mention hungry.’ I roll my eyes and pull a face, remembering I haven’t eaten since the power bar I had at breakfast.

‘But what’s the point?’

‘Sorry?’ I stop talking and look at my younger self, not understanding.

‘I mean, what’s the point of worrying all the time?’ She shrugs.

I stare at her, perplexed. Is that a trick question?

‘Well, it’s not about there being a point …’

‘So why do it, then?’ she asks simply.

‘Because …’ I open my mouth to explain, only I can’t quite think of anything to say.

‘It’s a total waste of time.’ She reaches for a pot of glittery nail varnish and tries it out on her big toe. ‘If the worst is going to happen, it’ll happen. Worrying can’t protect you from that. And if it doesn’t happen’ – she raises her eyebrows – ‘then you’ve missed out on all the time when you could have been having fun.’ Smiling brightly, she puts down the pot of glittery nail varnish and picks up a bright purple one instead and starts doing the other foot.

Meanwhile I’m looking at her in astonishment. How did I change from her to me? From this carefree person into someone who spends their whole time with a nervous knot in their stomach. What on earth happened to me?

But before I’ve even finished asking myself the question, deep down inside I know the answer.

Because you see, I haven’t told Lottie the whole story. There’s more. A lot more. I’ve just kept it buried deep inside of me for so long now, I’d almost convinced myself that none of it ever really happened. Almost, until a few days ago when I saw myself again with Billy Romani and all the painful memories came rushing back.

Of course Lottie doesn’t know any of this. I haven’t told her the real reason why I tried to stop her sleeping with Billy Romani. I haven’t explained to her what really broke my heart. And how can I? How can I tell my younger self about the sequence of events that followed? About how I thought I’d bounced back, got over it, only to discover a few weeks after my birthday that something was wrong.

My period was late.

Well, you can guess the rest. Disbelief. Panic. Tears. I can still remember that moment as if it was yesterday, sitting on the toilet, looking at the two little blue lines, feeling my whole world collapsing around me. I was twenty-two years old and had no idea what to do. Emotions threatened to overwhelm me: anger for being so stupid, for letting this happen, for getting myself into this situation. And fear. A cold icy fear that had tightened its grip around my heart, leaving me scared and afraid.

The only person I told was Vanessa. She didn’t judge me or admonish me, she didn’t say anything, just gave me a hug and promised to be there whatever I decided to do. It was Vanessa who lent me the money and came with me to the clinic. If it hadn’t been for her, I don’t think I’d have got through it, but in a few hours it was all over and I consoled myself with the thought that now I could put it all behind me.