“Hi, Garrett.” How I wished his wasn’t the voice at the other end of the line.
“Hey. How was your lecture?” Really? He wanted to talk about a class that wasn’t even on his course?
“Fine, I guess.”
“Uh oh, it’s that ‘fine’ word again,” he started.
“Did you want something?”
“Um, no. I just thought I’d see how you were,” was his reply, clearly surprised by my abruptness.
“Well, I am fine. In the proper sense of the word. I just want to get back to my room and chill. My brain has had enough for the day. Sorry if I seem a bit snappy.”
“That’s okay. I understand. See you tomorrow,” he added before ringing off. Did he understand? Did I care?
Friday night, sat on the sofa, Cass casually braiding my hair while we watched Made in Chelsea, things seemed something approaching normal. Well, pre-Jake normal. Flynn and Cass were already here when I arrived and, after a dinner of Mum’s lasagne followed by chocolate ice cream, the three of us were sat in the lounge, watching TV and not mentioning Jake’s name.
I tried hard not to be jealous at the relaxed intimacy shared by Cass and Flynn: the little touches which took place whenever everyone else was otherwise occupied. The love I felt for both of them meant I didn’t deny they deserved to be happy, but I missed what they had. I missed the time we had spent double-dating, best friends in love with best friends. I missed the physical side of being loved.
That was probably why Cass had angled herself away from Flynn and started playing with my hair. Flynn had shifted slightly, allowing us more space, as if following her unspoken instructions. By the time my hair was finished, I felt relaxed enough to try sleeping.
“I’m going up,” I said, also wanting to give the two of them some time to themselves.
“Do you want me to come up?” Cass asked.
“No, I’m knackered after the drive so just want to get some sleep. Honestly. You stay here. Sleep in Flynn’s room. I’ll be fine.” I was probably trying to persuade myself as much as Cass, but it worked and she let me make my way upstairs. Alone.
By the time I had taken off my makeup and changed into my pyjamas, the sleepiness had gone. Not wanting to go back down and disturb whatever might be going on, I sat in bed and got my phone out. Big mistake. As I scrolled through the photos of Jake and me, reviewing the visual history of our relationship, I couldn’t stop myself crying.
How could he do this to me? To us? I explored the close-up details of our selfies, looking for clues in his eyes. Uncertainty? Doubt? Unhappiness?
Nothing.
Nothing which hinted at what was coming. Even in the most recent pictures, he looked as in love, as infatuated, as ever. As me.
Why?
I threw my phone to the end of my bed and cried into my pillow.
Why?
I felt Cass’s hand stroke my back through the duvet until the crying subsided. She didn’t say anything, knowing no words could take the pain away, staying until the emotion and exhaustion overtook me.
Thanks to Mum, the following afternoon found Cass and me at a posh hair salon in town. After promises not to go for the clichéd post-breakup gesture of getting all of my hair chopped off, Mum pre-paid for our appointments and left us to it. We sat in the lounge, quietly over-awed by the trendiness of the black-clad staff and all-white surroundings. Even the bass-heavy dance music playing over hidden speakers suggested we were way out of our comfort zone.
A girl around my age called my name and looked for a response. I stood and followed her into the salon. “You’re with Emma, over here,” she said, shepherding me over to one of the chairs which looked more like it was built for space travel than comfort.
Helping me into the chair was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. She looked like she should be on the red carpet in Hollywood, not cutting hair in a Midlands town. Her white-blonde hair fell in perfect waves onto lightly-tanned skin, covered only in a black-lace tee shirt and skinny jeans. Cowboy boots and long, silver earrings completed the look.
“Hi, Neve. I’m Emma. What are you after today?”
“I don’t know. I want it to look a bit different but nothing too radical. Any suggestions?” Let’s be honest, her style suggested she knew more about this than me.
“Well, it depends what type of different you’re after. I could put a few lights through it and take a bit off the length. Or we could go a bit more edgy, you know, grown up? Safe or take a risk?”