So Ben’s trying to make us have a Halloween party but me and Holly are like no way, we’re not thirteen anymore, and Mila doesn’t seem to mind either way. But then I got thinking about my outfit and actually I reckon Halloween could be hot and maybe I could do some smoky eye make-up with that amazing eye palette I got from Urban Decay for my birthday. Like, I could go as Nicole Ritchie and Holly could be Paris Hilton. So maybe it is a good idea plus BRAINSTORM Mila has a crush on whatshisface so we could totally invite him and get Mila to ask him out ohmygod it’s going to be soooooooooo good I LOVE HALLOWEEN!
I’m chuckling at the memories as I rifle through the box. A troll with no hair on. Photographic evidence of that peroxide blonde era, never to be repeated. A picture that Ben took of me, Mila and Holly laughing our heads off on the school bus. A loo selfie before loo selfies became a thing. . . so basically a photo of some toilets, our legs and a huge amount of reflected flash in the mirror.
Those were the days.
But also, those weren’t the days.
I lie back on the bed and think about the moment I found out everything. It was the start of the summer holidays, right after A levels, and I’d been in central London trying out some new tricks with my camera. I couldn’t wait to show Dad the results and burst through the door to find Mum pacing up and down our kitchen, looking fraught. Mum was never usually home before me. Dad was at there too, head in his hands. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ he kept saying.
‘Saveit,’ Mum said through breaking voice. ‘Jasmine’s home now so you can explain yourself to her. Jazzy, I’ll be in the garden when you need me.’
Dad looked up at me, his eyes red raw from crying. He sat me down. He got me a glass of orange juice. And then he told me everything. How he’d met someone else. How he had to leave us. How he still loved me and he still wanted to be a part of my life but he just wouldn’t be living at home anymore.
Quite a lot of my friends had divorced parents and I remember thinking,this will be okay. I hated to see my Mum so sad and I was upset with Dad but I was only young and I didn’t really get it. I think I even said something unbelievably stupid like, ‘It’s fine. These things happen.’ Only that wasn’t the end of Dad’s story. And the worst part of it is that he didn’t have the guts to tell me the rest of it himself. He just gave me a hug, arranged to meet me that weekend, grabbed his suitcase from the hall and left. It was only when I went outside to find Mum, absentmindedly picking dead leaves from a plant by the back door, that I discovered the extent of what he’d done.
I pick up another photo, this one of Holly and me collecting a joint prize at primary school. She’d been my oldest, bestest friend and after what happened, I’d folded up my memories of her and sealed them up in the DO NOT OPEN part of my brain. Only, talking about Holly more recently has made me feel less angry about the whole thing. And it dawns on me that maybe, just maybe, Icanface what happened.
Putting everything back in the box, including a receipt from my first trip to the Tate with Dad, I take a deep breath and head back downstairs. Mum is right. It’s time to move on.
Right, shall we mother bluffing do this? I can be cool and collected. I can be calm and reasoned. I can handle the most life-changing moment of all time with strength and refinement. Can’t I? HELL YEAH I can!
I take 271 deep breaths and push open the door to a cutesy café. I already know that Holly is sitting in the garden out back because she texted me a few minutes ago, because we have each other’s numbers now, because I lost my mind and suggested we meet up, because apparently I’m an adult and I’m moving on, because. . . BALLS. Where was I? I think I might be freaking out. Just knowing that she’s in the same space as I am after all this time has me on edge. I use my hand to steady myself against a chair and push on towards the counter, where I order a cappuccino and take another million deep breaths.
My hot drink is handed to me in a saucer with a spoon, which I immediately pass back to the lady behind the bar just in case I try to use it as a weapon in a moment of blind rage. I’ve actively arranged to meet the women who ripped apart my entire family all the while professing to be my best friend. This situation has the teeny tiny potential to go badly.
Cappuccino Crisis: Photographer jams former best friend’s head into coffee grinder over family spat.
No stop it.
‘Be strong,’ I whisper to myself as I take my spoon-free coffee, push open the back door and step out into the sunshine.
Holly’s crying. She’s crying before I even get to her table and she’s sobbing by the time I tuck my new skirt under my legs and take a seat. She shakes her head and picks up her glass of juice then sets it straight back down again. She stands up and sits again. Shechanges her mind, leaps up and is round to my side of the picnic bench, folding her arms around me as I feel myself sag into her.
‘Jazzy,’ she pulls back, wiping the tears from my cheeks. Though I’m definitely not crying you guys. I’m being ultra-cool and calm like I told myself I would.
I look down at her through heavy lashes. Her own tears pool at the base of those sea green eyes I haven’t seen for so long.
‘I’d forgotten how short you are,’ I say with a half-smile. On reflection, it wasn’t the first thing I’d expected to say to Holly after all this time.
‘Sparrow,’ she says.
‘Do you remember. . .’ I start before catching myself. I was about to reminisce about what we were doing the first time we gave her that nickname. We’d been on a school trip to a bird sanctuary and Mila had pretended that her 7Up was vodka, which we drank on the coach and pretended to be roaring drunk when we got there. We spent the funniest day trying to hide our ‘guilty secret’ from the teachers.
‘That school trip?’ Holly’s saying gently. ‘I became sparrow thanks to my tiny legs, you were a heron because you’re so tall and Mila was an owl because that neck of hers was always swivelling.’ She lets out a forlorn laugh.
‘Nothing’s changed. She’s still unbelievably nosy. She’s practically taken charge of my love life because she didn’t think I was getting it right. . .’ I stop when I catch Holly’s reaction. She looks impossibly sad.
‘I’ve missed you both so much,’ her voice breaks over the last two words.
If I thought I’d bring the fire to this conversation I was drastically wrong. I’m completely overwhelmed by the strangest sensation right now. I miss Holly too. And I actually feel her pain. So much so that I almost want to make it better.
Isniff loudly in the hope that it will stop me from crying, and take a sip of coffee.
‘I need to explain myself, if you can bear it?’ Holly says.
Can I bear it? I’ve picked up small snippets of information about her life, like I know that Holly is a mum of two and she lives in south London now, but the whole sorry tale is a vast pit of sadness. I take a deep breath and say, ‘You were my best friend, Holly. How could you do that to us?’
‘Please believe me when I tell you that I didn’t set out with any intentions. Far from it. Both me and your dad tried to deny our feelings for a long time.’
