Page 44 of The Truth About You and Me
It turns out that Tess’s prediction of cracks starting to show on the fourth date was right.
I need to help Jack find his way, to find the answers he needs before I tell him. I know we can be nothing more than friends, despite the way my heart feels like its folding in on itself every time I take in the small idiosyncrasies that make JackJack.The way the right side of his mouth arches higher when he teases me. The way his eyes glint as if he’s challenging me. How he runs his hands through his hair, like he’s trying to repair his mind beneath it. How he says my name, like it’s something only he knows.
‘Mags? Hello? You look like you’re away with the fairies.’
‘Sorry.’ I swallow down the images. ‘Just that it was a surprise. To say thank you, for helping him. It’s no big deal.’ I shovel a mouthful of cornflakes in.
‘And that was it?’
‘Yep.’ I take another big spoonful. ‘He’s being, you know… kind.’
‘Hmmm.’
‘Hmmm?’ I say, milk dribbling down my chin. I wipe it away with the last of my kitchen roll.
‘This screams romantic date vibes.’
‘It’s not like that – I’ve told you. I don’t think it can be like that. He’s picking me up at Riz’s in’ – I glance at my smartwatch, a TikTok Shop spesh – ‘an hour, shit. I’d better get going in a min.’
‘How is she doing?’
‘She’s good. She’s such a character and the more I work my way through her things, the more amazed I am at the life she’s had. She had this photo, right, old-school, black and white in a fancy hotel and the woman on the sofa was Jackie O.’
‘You’re kidding?’ Tess leans back in her chair and begins twisting her blonde hair into an artfully arranged messy bun.
‘Nope. She said she was on the photo shoot for aLifemagazine interview… post JFK dying. Honestly, the woman is a legend.’
I think of the way Riz told me the story, how that photo was the one that changed the trajectory of her career, but the glamour, the places she went to, all of it, she tells it like it’s the backdrop to her life with her husband Art. I can only imagine how hard it must have been for her when he died, to have that part of her taken.
‘I’d like to meet her, sometime. I’ll come over in a few weeks? Just got to finish this circuit.’
‘How did last night go?’
She sighs, and leans away from the camera and flicks her eyelashes with mascara. ‘Not great. I’m thinking of knocking the whole thing on the head to be honest.’ My heart sinks. Tess has always wanted to be a comedian.
‘But I thought things were going well?’
‘If you call’ – she dips the wand into the tube and continues applying her mascara – ‘getting booed off the stage “the dream”, then yeah. I am living it. Maybe I’m not cut out for this amount of rejection, you know? There’s only so many times you can keep repeating the same thing and expect a different outcome. I think it’s time I stopped trying to chase “the dream” and became a bit more practical. I’m almost thirty-two and… it’s time for a change, I think.’
I let her words sink in. ‘Shall we have a brainstorm later? Pros and cons?’
This is something we used to do a lot when we were younger.
‘That sounds great, but I’ll be out till late and besides, you never know where tonight is going to lead you.’ She frowns at me. ‘I know you’re both skirting around the friend-zone thing Mags, but how do you really feel?’
I pause. I don’t even know how to begin to navigate this question, but I try regardless. ‘Happy because I have him in my life, terrified that I’m going to lose him, guilty for lying to him – take your pick.’
‘Just remember that you are perfectly you, and if he can’t handle that, then he doesn’t deserve you.’
‘Let’s talk more tomorrow. We need to sort out your career first.’
* * *
‘What do you mean I can’t look!’ I turn to Jack.
‘It’ll ruin the surprise.’ He shifts the gear stick and passes me a ridiculous bright-purple eye mask with closed eyelids embroidered onto the material. He also passes me a pair of brown leather gloves. ‘You did say you trusted me…’ He raises an eyebrow.
‘I did.’ I hesitate. ‘I do.’ I shake my head and pull on the gloves first then with a faux-exasperated sigh, put on the eye mask. My senses are heightened. The fear of not seeing where my hands are should be more terrifying. I’ve always been afraid of the dark. I can’t even sleep without nature programmes playing and the warm dulcet tones of David Attenborough in the background. I guess that comes with the territory of always needing to see where I am, or rather where other people are. Instead though, with Jack beside me, with the windows down and the smell of cut grass and warm sun on the leather of the seats beneath me, I feel… safe. Still, my heart is crashing inside my chest like one of those battery-operated monkeys clashing symbols between its hands. ‘But if you take a photo of me in this, that is it. Friendship over.’
