Page 21 of Jessica Beam is a Hot Mess
‘They all agree. Everyone says you’re dragging me down. You’vebeendragging me down.’
I clasp my hands together and rub my thumb into my palm. Did our friends really say that about me? Is that true?
‘Look, I know I messed up at the launch. I feel like a real dick about it. But my writing? Isn’t that what counts? I’ve worked really hard on our site, Summer. I know thisparticularopportunity might have gone south, and it’s my fault, but I promise I’ll get us another one. I swear I’ll—’
‘Mysite.’
‘Sorry?’
‘You saidoursite. But it’s mine.’ Summer tilts her head to the side. ‘It’smine, Jess.’
‘But … but … I came up with the entire editorial calendar. I wrote practically every post, got us to 30,000 Twitter followers. I’ve spent every day, night and weekend of the last two years on this.Summer in the Cityis you andme.’
Summer chews her lip for a moment. ‘Technicallyit isn’t. You didn’t sign a contract.’
Oh my God, she’s right. I didn’t. She said she only needed my help for a few months, and when I mentioned that we should maybe sign something, she said that our friendship was the only contract we needed and did I want anything from the bar. It felt silly to push it any further than that, and so I didn’t. I didn’t think I needed to.
My chest burns with indignation.
‘Come on, Summer, that’s not fair! You said we didn’t need a contract!’
‘Did I?’ She squints for a moment. ‘I don’t think I did.’
‘You absolutely did. And either way, the website was shit before we partnered up. It was getting fifteen views a day!And they weren’t even unique!’
Summer gasps sharply as if she’s been scorched. ‘You liar. It was getting way more views than that!’ She scratches her nose. ‘You seem to have forgotten it, but this wasmylife you walked into. I did you a favour, employing you, giving you a place to live, and I was happy to. You’re a lost soul and I’m a really giving person. I was happy to give you a jump-start, but you never fucking jumped. You’re still here. Hijacking everything and making me look bad!’
‘What are you talking about, hijacking? I came back from Morocco to help you!
‘You were broke in Morocco.’
‘I was happy in Morocco. I … I thought I was doingyoua favour.’ I rub my eyes. ‘Where has this all come from? Just a few days ago we were going to sign a book deal together.’ With a heavy sigh, I plop down onto the sofa beside Summer. ‘Shit. I know you’re mad at me, I do. And I’m really sorry. Let’s just fucking … go out, all right? Talk this through. Do an all-dayer at the pub. Summer? We’ll have one of our random adventures and just forget this horribleness.’
Summer frowns, shaking her head. ‘You don’t get it. I don’twantto do all-dayers any more. I don’t want to get so drunk that we forget this conversation. You mess up every opportunity you get before it can really mean anything. You don’t even know you’re doing it . . . You’ve had a rough time with your mum, I know. But now your emotional mess is, like,affectingme.’
I swallow and lift my chin. ‘I think you’re going a bit over the top. Kicking me outandsacking me? It’s really harsh. We’rebest friends.’
‘You don’t know how to be a friend, Jess,’ Summer scoffs. ‘You know how to be a mate, and as long as it’s fun and daft and easy and a giggle, you’re great. But the minute things get serious, you just don’t want to know.’
That’s not true. OK, fine, I might notalwaysbe great at listening to her deep feelings and dramas and relationship quandaries. But I wanted that book deal as much as she did. I worked hard for it.
Summer’s eyes meet mine. She looks different. Colder.
‘Look, Jess. You’ve been a really useful and fun part of my journey as a person and I appreciate your help on the site. But … we’re going in different directions now and I feel like I’m destined for bigger things on my own. I feel like you’re grabbing my spotlight for all the wrong reasons and it’s time for me to cut the cord. I’m sorry, you know? But I’ve got to do what’s best forme.And … well, you’re no longer a part of that.’
I blink in disbelief. She doesn’t look sorry at all. What the fuck is happening?
My whole body vibrating with adrenalin and confusion, I get up from the sofa and walk calmly out of the living room, clicking the door softly shut behind me.
* * *
I’m ten years older now, but the feeling that comes with being left behind feels pretty much the same way it did the first time – like standing on the edge of something very high up and knowing that someone is behind you, just about to push.
I’d been at university for six months and was just about getting to grips with the thought that Mum might manage just fine without me − so far, so good and all that. When she didn’t answer my regular lunchtime phone call one wintery Tuesday, I wasn’t too mithered about it. Mum occasionally took to her bed and ignored my calls; it just meant she was having one of her days. And besides, last night she’d been in lovely high spirits; we’d chatted on the phone about my course and giggled over some ridiculous magician on theRoyal Varietyshow. But at about four p.m. I was at the library when I saw the number of Mum’s community psychiatric nurse flash up on my mobile. CPNs only ever called me when something was wrong.
‘Hiya, Pam,’ I said as I answered the call. ‘Go on. What’s she done now?’ I rolled my eyes, trailing my fingers along the shelf before selecting the copy ofThe Canterbury TalesI had to read for my course. ‘No, wait, let me guess. Drunk and cursing the man who broke her heart? Chucked her medicine down the toilet? Another trip to the loony bin? We’ve not had one of those in a while!’
I was kidding about − even Mum sometimes joked about her episodes − but behind the casual messing, my heart was hammering hard in my ribcage.
