I start to explain, even though I’m not fully sure exactly what I’m going to say, and she cuts me off. I can barely look at her face, which is creased with hurt. I can barely standto see it. I’m blanketed in guilt, making this woman, who deserves none of it at all, feel like this.
Violet must have sent her screengrabs of absolutely everything. Why? I start to seethe with indignation. I want to contact Violet immediately, but Naomi is here in front of me, and I need to sort this first. Do I come clean and say this was an elaborate ruse to meet Ted, who I had thought of mainly as a potentially professional contact, but it somehow got out of hand? Do I tell her that we sort-of met back in London? Do I heap another lie on top of the rest, figuring another can hardly hurt?
Naomi is Baltic-cold, waiting for my response. I didn’t think she could even get this icy as a person. I stand there with my gums flapping, and I hate myself for it.
‘There was no baby, was there?’ she whispers as though she is afraid to hear the answer. ‘That was all made up, right?’
‘Of course there was a baby!’ I say emphatically, but something in my voice, something hesitant, seems to betray me.
‘What about Hiroshima? Was that all bullshit too?’ Her voice is low and even, as though she is dealing with a full-blown psychopath.
‘It wasn’t! I swear! Why would I—’
She processes it all, closing her eyes, disgusted.
‘The things I have told you in this house,’ she whispers. ‘All those times we talked about losing our children, my DEAD fucking children, and how we would never get over it, and you’re in my daughter’s bedroom? And I find out that, all the time, this was about Ted? Trying to get with my step-brother? This is beyond disgusting.’
She rifles through the papers, finds a comment I’ve lefton the Tedettes Facebook page. ‘This one was written over a year ago. So you’ve been in this group for a while. This fan thing.’
Her breathing is starting to sound agonized. ‘You don’t truly believe that my brother is going to be your… boyfriend or something?’ she spits. Seeing her look at me anew is a special kind of agony. But also, I don’t like what I’m hearing, either.
‘You say that like I wouldn’t stand a chance with someone like him,’ I snap back, the words forming out of nowhere.
She barks an incredulous laugh. ‘Have you seen his girlfriend? The actual, literal supermodel? Sorry, that guy is as shallow as they come, always has been. He only ever goes for Size Two hotties. Size Two hotties THAT AREN’T FUCKING INSANE.’
I’m torn between wanting to stand my ground, but also salvaging all of this. How do I get her back on side and convince her I am not insane, but just a woman who genuinely feels that Ted and I would be a good fit, and I’m just trying to make that happen? Will Naomi and I look back on this moment in years to come and laugh? About how I met her brother, how attracted to him I initially was, and how I admired him so much from afar that I went to extraordinary lengths to try and become his lover? Lengths that required, sure, a bit of deception and cunning in the moment, but were genius nonetheless?
Naomi starts pacing. ‘What have I done?’ she says to herself. ‘I’ve invited a psycho in here.’
At this, something in me boils up and over. ‘You invited a “psycho” into your house because you needed a drinking buddy! You’re a total pisshead, and it suited you completely fine to have someone to drink with here, night after night.You also got a free live-in therapist into the bargain. You got plenty out of this, and you know it.’
The way she looks at me feels as though someone has taken a samurai sword and split me evenly down the middle. ‘You need to pack your shit in the next hour,’ Naomi is close to growling. ‘You don’t pack anything in this house that belongs to me or my family.’ She moves to the door, breathing shakily as I trail along behind hopelessly.
‘I have booked a one-way flight to London for you and it leaves tonight,’ she says in a low, even voice. ‘We are going to drive to the airport together. Don’t see this as an act of generosity or friendship. I am going to walk you to the security gates, to make sure, beyond a doubt, that you are going to be out of my life, and my step-brother’s life, and you’re going to stay out of it. And once that happens, I will not call the cops. I will not press charges. If I hear so much as your name mentioned in passing around here, I will change my mind on all of that.’
Something in me breaks. I don’t want to fight for any of this. It feels over, and I deserve for it to be over. I nod my assent and turn to leave.
‘There really was a baby, you know,’ I tell her. ‘I wouldn’t dream of lying about something like that.’
But Naomi doesn’t want to know. ‘Your flight’s at seven. I want to be on the road by three.’
It takes no time at all to pack as I dump clothes into the suitcase without folding them. Bottles are thrown in askew. It feels almost calming to be doing this, like being caught out and being moved on unceremoniously to a new phase is a relief. I momentarily consider taking something, anything, even a spoon from the kitchen that she wouldn’t miss. But something in Naomi’s voice, the hurt and anger, stops me.
Naomi takes my suitcase down the driveway and throws it into the back of her car in one quick motion. Being this angry has given her a kind of superstrength. I’m aflame with shame as a neighbour across the street, washing his car, watches this all unfold as he sponges his windscreen uncertainly.
In the car to the airport, we are utterly wordless. It is like being in a taxi driven by a stranger, although it’s slightly worse because Naomi was at least once a friend. Despite the heat around us, she is stony-faced, looking nowhere but straight ahead. Talking about what has just happened will likely only serve to make things worse.
‘I might try and eat in the food court, if I have the time,’ I say breezily as though we’ve been chatting for the whole car journey. ‘Depends on what’s going on in security, I suppose.’
Naomi’s eyes fall into a heavy blink but aside from that, she doesn’t bother with a response. She doesn’t care if I eat or starve.
Naomi parks at the British Airways terminal and gets out of the car, waiting for me around the back like I’m a tardy schoolchild. As soon as I have my suitcase and bags, she walks in front of me, urging me to keep up with her pace.
Checking in and dropping my suitcase takes a lifetime, and Naomi doesn’t drop her coldness, keeping her eyes on the face of the person checking passengers in. All around me I can feel the weight of people watching, wondering who this woman is next to me, not letting me out of her sight, but also as hostile as a prison guard. She’s like someone official from immigration; in a weird way this feels as if I am being deported. We move in silence to the security gate, Naomi walking as briskly as her pinned, scarred leg will allow her.
‘Are you going to tell Ted about any of this?’ My voice is small in the asking.
She gawps at me, incredulous. ‘I’m hoping that I will never have to utter your name for as long as I live.’
