‘I just . . . I just thought it was going well . . .’ I say lamely.
‘So what? You thought that was boring or something? You should have wanted to hear about it if it was going well or not.’
‘That’s not fair,’ I protest, but weakly, because I’m worried she’s got a point. ‘I always listen when you talk about boys you like.’
‘No, you don’t,’ she says bluntly. ‘You think you know what I’m going to say, so you don’t listen. God, Steffi, just because I talk more than you, that doesn’t mean the extra words don’t mean anything.’
‘I know that! You know I know that!’
‘Do you? Then where were you? Why didn’t you find out why I wanted to talk to you? It was important, and I needed you, and you weren’t there.’ Her hands have clenched into tight little fists, the strained skin around her joints turning white.
Tem and I have never been the fighting kind. Not since we were kids, when it was clear that she was capable of walking all over me if she wanted to, so we both made a kind of unspoken agreement to not get ourselves into the kind of situation where that could happen. Plus, we’ve never really had anything to argue about. I’m too grateful for her to get mad at her, and I’m too easy-going and pliable for her to get mad at me.
At least, that’s what I thought. But maybe I just never gave her a reason before.
‘I’m here now,’ I say. ‘So why don’t you tell me?’
‘Because I don’t want to tell you now,’ Tem says.
A wave of frustration is starting to build in my stomach. I can feel it burning up into my throat. ‘For God’s sake, Tem,’ I say, even though I know it won’t help the situation, because I can’t help myself.
‘Oh for God’s sake yourself,’ she snaps. ‘Look, why don’t you just go? I’m sure Rhys needs you, or something.’
I think of the way Rhys looked at me on his doorstep. Like I’m the last person in the world he needs.
‘Tem,’ I try. My voice is all thin and pathetic. I open my mouth to tell her this, to tell her that Rhys and I might have broken up, that I might have ruined everything. But her face has closed, and even though Tem is standing right there, my best friend has gone.
‘Go,’ she says again. Her voice is hard.
So I do.
I walk home in tears.
I should really get the bus, but I can’t bear the thought of having to speak to anyone, even – especially – strangers/bus drivers. It takes me forty-five minutes to get from Tem’s house to my dad’s house, but even in that time I’m not done crying, so I circle back round, looping through the streets until I’m done.
I could say I don’t understand what happened or where I went wrong, but that wouldn’t really be true, would it? I do know. I came out of my comfort zone and it was just as uncomfortable as I’d always known it would be. This is what happens when you come out of your shell. You get rocks thrown at you by the universe. I tried to be brave and bold, but fortune didn’t favour me – it laughed in my face. It waved a boyfriend in front of me then snatched him away, taking my best friend as an extra-mean bonus.
I should never have tried to prove myself this year. I should have just stayed how I was. Being quiet isn’t the worst thing in the world. It might not make my life exciting, but at least it makes it less scary.
Except, that’s not quite true either, is it? I still found everything scary. Oh God, what’s the point in anything? Why do I even bother?
I kick a pebble off the kerb and watch it skitter across the road. I’m all cried out and now I just feel desolate. If I can’t even handle something as ordinary as a trip away with my boyfriend, how am I ever going to manage a huge life change like university? Maybe my parents have been right all along. Maybe it really is too much for me.
I shove my hands into my pockets and take the turning on to my dad’s street. I see almost immediately that Mum is already there from the sight of her car parked outside. When I let myself into the house, I can hear her clattering around the kitchen – she tends to do this when she visits my dad’s house, as if her mind regresses to the point when they were living together – while she lets out random exclamations of . . . what? Shock? Anger? I can’t tell from the hall.
But when I walk into the kitchen, I’m faced not with shock or anger. Instead, Mum is all smiles, sitting across the table from Dad, her hands around a steaming mug.
‘Oh, there you are,’ she says. ‘We were just talking about you.’ Her smile fades a little when she sees my face. ‘Oh, love. Have you been crying?’
I pause in the doorway, confused. Where’s the outburst of rage and disappointment? I shake my head at the question, even though I clearly have been crying, and hover in the doorway, trying to think of what to say.
‘Come and sit down,’ Dad says. He points to a cup of tea. ‘That’s for you. Excellent timing – your mother just made it, so it’s hot.’