Page 49

Tom

I’m never enough. Her words echo in my head, and for a second I can only stare.

With that phrase my residual annoyance at having to take her home vanishes. Nobody should feel like that.

Before I can respond she ploughs on, sniffing between each sentence.

“My mum was furious we broke up. As if I even had any choice in the matter. When you’re the one being broken up with I don’t exactly think you can change the outcome. But when I called her earlier, instead of comforting me she made me feel like it was my fault for not trying hard enough with him.”

A spike of something I’m not proud of hits me. Alexander wasn’t interested, but I was.

I was so interested I texted multiple times into a silence so complete I almost checked whether my phone was broken. And right now Alexander isn’t here, but I am. Sat opposite her on a bathroom floor having taken her home from a party.

Claire looks miserable. Her mascara is running and my attempt at a bun is rapidly unravelling. Stands are loose, and a few are sticking to her forehead and her neck.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, when it looks like she isn’t going to say anything more.

She lets out a bitter laugh. “Oh, it was for the best. We would never have worked out anyway. He’s my mother’s picture of an ideal man, not mine, and he was never really that interested in me.”

I open my mouth to say something, then realise I don’t have a response. For the last few weeks thinking about Claire has just made me feel hurt, but it’s hard to stay wounded when I’m sat in a bathroom watching her cry. Hurt people hurt people, and all that.

Despite that, a sting of frustration still remains.

“And obviously it’s impossible to go against what my mum wants. Nothing I do is right. It’s exhausting.”

I wince. I don’t know if a fully sober Claire would be telling me these things.

“Everyone has breakups,” I try to reassure her. But it lands flat.

“Maybe. But at least you do other things. You’re good at stuff. Your hobbies are actually serious and impressive things. I don’t have any hobbies.”

I hate that she doesn’t see herself the way everyone else does. The Claire I knew when we were teenagers would’ve called Alexander an idiot and bounced onwards, but something has changed over the last few years. I wish I knew how to help.

“That’s not true, Claire. Your art was amazing at school, and I’m sure it’s still amazing. And anyway, there are no rules about hobbies. They’re meant to be fun, that’s the whole point.”

I don’t think anything I say tonight is going to stick. But some things you say for the record, not for the reply.

“Maybe,” she sniffs before lapsing back into silence.

“Are you ready to stand up?” I ask, and she gives a weak nod.

I lever myself upright before pulling her to her feet. She sways and I reach out a hand to steady her before tucking a stray tendril of hair behind her ear.

“I’ll go get you another glass of water and find your phone charger.”

A few moments later I hear her heading down the hallway to her bedroom. But by the time I manage to find a charger she’s already asleep on top of the covers.

I sigh and go back down the hall to get myself a glass of water. Standing by the counter I call Kath, but the phone rings out. Shit. I don’t think Claire should be left alone tonight, I’m pretty sure she might throw up again. I wait a few minutes before calling Kath a second time, but still nothing. Taking a seat on the sofa, I fire off a text to my sister and then message Sam as well. Nothing.

Claire’s words are still ringing around my head. I doubt she wanted me to hear any of that.

I text Kath again, and there’s no response. Part of me feels guilty I’m here, because even though Claire needs me, I’m not sure I’m the person she’d want here after what happened between us. Another part of me feels bad that I don’t actually feel that guilty, because I want to be able to help her. To be someone she can lean on.

Half an hour later there’s still no reply from my sister, and my yawns are becoming more and more frequent. I call Kath one last time before locating a blanket and throwing it on top of the sofa. I guess this will do for the night. At least Claire has a giant flat and fancy furniture. It could be worse.

***

The next morning I’m woken by a blaring alarm. I squint open my eyes and it takes me a moment to get my bearings. This doesn’t look like my flat. I blink, disorientated for a few seconds before my brain catches up with the fact that I’ve been here before.