17
It had been over a week since Izzy had told everyone about her night with Ruby, and it felt like most people had accepted and moved on, thank Christ on a bike.
Most people save Nat. Nat was doing her fucking best to pretend like Izzy was just part of the flat furniture.
“Good morning!”
“Hey.”
“What’re you up to today?”
“School.”
Done. Those were their conversations now. Nat avoided Izzy’s room like it was bloody Chernobyl. Was that rude to say, now that she knew Nick?
One night, Izzy waited up for Nat to come home only to fall asleep in front of the telly and wake up at two with a crick in her neck. Nat never emerged from her room the following morning, so she’d probably not come home.
Izzy only talked to Dex about his own crap. Jonny had tried to engage her in an awkward conversation about it once or twice, but Izzy immediately felt herself recoiling. Wasn’t she always the one who told everyone talking about stuff helped? She didn’t want to talk about it. Ever. Not with her friends. They all seemed to understand her anger better than Izzy could.
She felt utterly shut out.
Which led to her avoiding them all the more.
Which made her feel wretched and lonely.
It was all so fucked up.
She had considered talking to Kat once, but Kat was still not past her delighted shock at Izzy’s Surprise Night of Sapphic Romance (was what Kat had called it, because of course she had) and avoided the topic by flirting aggressively. As Izzy did not wish to cause any more strife with her friends, however peripheral, she began avoiding Kat, too.
She began judging her conversations with people. Did it pass the Isabel Is Tired of This Bullshit Test? If the conversation included the words you and Nat, it did not.
“Babe, you have got to snap out of it,” Dex said.
Izzy growled at him as she switched the channel.
Dex did not pick up on her signal and flopped down next to her. Nat was out—obviously—and Jonny had disappeared to wherever it was Jonny had begun disappearing to and coming back with hickeys hidden under clothes. Good on him. It was an excellent way of avoiding the house, too.
“Leave me alone.”
“Not a chance.”
She moved away from him.
Dex sidled closer. Tosser.
“Stop being so bloody annoying!”
“Shan’t.”
He wrestled the remote from her hands and turned off the telly.
“Oh my God! What the fuck d’you think you’re doing?”
“We are not going to talk about Natali.”
“Liar.”
“I swear to God.”
“I don’t actually believe you. What are we going to talk about, then?”
“You.”
“And?”
“Well, we could talk about me, too, but only afterwards, if you’re good. How’s your screenplay project coming along?”
Low fucking blow.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, I promise, but you just haven’t talked about it in a while. I’ve been sort of worried.”
He should have been. Hell, she should have been. It was pathetic, really, that she’d let whatever the fuck it was with Nat block her from writing, but every time she opened up the doc it would just blink at her until she found she’d spent two hours in a fugue state of backreading film blogs or down a makeup tutorial YouTube spiral. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to talk to her advisor, either, because it was so embarrassing. Like, what the fuck, pull your shit together, woman. They’ll say you’re too emotional to work in film.
“I know.”
“She—”
Dex broke off at her furious gaze.
“This will work out eventually,” he continued in a tone that was clearly meant to placate her. Because it was Dex’s soothing voice, though it actually was working. “But you’ve got to—”
“What.”
“Take care of yourself.”
God, she fucking hated the feeling of inevitability right before having a cry. She felt her chin drawing up, lip trembling.
“Iz…”
There she went. Hot tears leaking from her eyes onto her cheeks. God. It was the worst. She wiped at her face, but the tears kept coming, and then she was soaking Dex’s T-shirt with them as he gathered her up against his chest and let her get tears and snot all over him.
“It’s all right, babe. I’ve got you.”
It was both humiliating and so fucking comforting to have him on her side. The only other person who made her feel all right about herself was her mum.
Well. Nat did, too. Had. Before.
But now it was Mum and Dex.
Her friends loved her. She knew that. But it was different with Dex. A best mate meant you got to blubber on their chest and they made you feel like your mum was holding you. She trembled—crying always made her have the shakes, which she hated—and tried to think again, not just about She Who Shall Not Be Named, but for herself.
The weekend stretched ahead of her, and she thought, fuck it. Fuck everything.
“I think I’m gonna visit my mum.” Her voice hitched on its way out of her constricted throat. Another reason to hate crying, this wretched inability to talk like a normal person.
“Yeah?”
Yeah. She nodded, resolved. “Need to get away, I think.”
“D’you want company?”
Going on a seaside adventure with Dex. That sounded lovely. But mum would be easier with no witnesses.
“Thank you, but I think I’ve got to do this on my own.”
Dex kissed the top of her head again. She loved that he was so outwardly grumpy but such a bloody marshmallow on the inside. “Thanks for putting up with me.”
“Well, same to you.”
“God, we’re a wretched pair, aren’t we?”
“Eh.” She felt him shrug against her. “I like us well enough. I even like your snot.”
She sniggered. “You do not.”
“I do, actually. It’s comforting.”
“God, you weirdo. Let’s see if maybe Friends is on.”
“All right, Snotface.”
“Shut up.”
+
Alex handed over the keys to his beat-up Peugeot without question. “Take care, all right?” He peered at her in a way that meant he wasn’t talking about the car. Alex. She loved Alex.
“Thanks, mate. I’ll return it with not a scratch on, promise.”
He pulled her into a hug. Alex had always been closer to Nat, so Izzy appreciated him not taking sides.
It was odd that despite them both being basically the only straight people in their entire friend group, nothing had ever happened between them. Alex was too gorgeous for Izzy, and she was probably too Izzy for Alex. It had historically been the reason why she was dumped—You’re just, you know. A lot. So it was probably for the best. But the hug was lovely.
Oh God, how she’d missed driving. It wasn’t until she was out of the London gridlock and on the A12 that she felt the freedom of it, and when it hit, it was so bloody good. She’d forgotten the feel of it, how the car would roar underneath her, horsepower and mechanics and zoom, zoom, zoom. She passed the slow drivers, lowered the windows, felt her hair fluttering about.
Her and Alex were the only ones who could drive, and she didn’t know what had made him decide to get his licence, but for Izzy it had been her mum’s stuff that made her realise she needed to take some control. She was so glad of it now.
Countryside. It really did feel like coming home. That surprised her every time. She loved the rolling hills, and it felt both like a homecoming and a hard pressure over her chest, all at once.
Ironically enough, she had to use the SatNav the closer she got, since the last time she’d driven had been years back, but she switched it off rather violently once she was three streets away from Mum’s place. Chip shops, a rundown Boots, a Nando’s—that was new. But still.
This, she remembered.
+
“Isabel? Rocco, sit. SIT. Isabel, is that you?”
“Yes, Mum, who else are you expecting?” Izzy threw her keys in the bowl under the mirror, unwound her scarf, undid her coat, and dropped it on the bench, all the while adjusting to the gloom.
Mum came forward like a ghost figure, but once she fully materialized in front of Izzy, she looked just like she always did these days. Too thin, too pale, but still so beautiful. Her hair was a touch grayer, maybe. It was hard to tell. Rocco’s nails click-click-clicked as he followed immediately behind.
“Mum.”
“Izzy, what’s happened?”
She breathed in her mum’s scent: Boots shampoo, coffee, smell of home. Since she never left the house, Mum smell was always home smell. “Coffee? I’ll tell you everything, it’s fine, just needed a weekend away.” Mum pulled back and looked her in the eye. For, like. A really long time. “Mum, I’m not dying, I just wanted to see you.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.” She looked out the front window. “Did you drive?”
“Yeah.” Izzy leaned down to scratch Rocco’s head. He panted in her face. Doggy breath. “Alex let me borrow his.”
Mum looked like she wanted to ask more questions, but let it go.
They made their way into the kitchen, Rocco jumping up and down and wagging his old tail. Izzy stole a biscuit from the jar and fed him underneath the table.
“You know I can see you both, right?”
Izzy shrugged and let Rocco lap at her fingers until the biscuit taste was gone. He curled up at her feet and looked at her like, Biscuit? What biscuit? I’ve never had a biscuit before in my life. Feed me a biscuit?
She fed him another biscuit.
“All right, all right, that’s enough.” Mum walked over to the table and sat opposite Izzy. “He’s a right spoiled old beast as it is.”
Mum looked older in this light. Izzy supposed that’s what staying indoors did for you, but still, it hurt. It hurt like it had hurt every time she would ask her mum to walk the dog with her and Mum would refuse, find an excuse. And then she’d dropped the pretence. Don’t like the outside, love. Best stay in, I think.
The neighbours walked Rocco whenever Izzy wasn’t around.
“At least open the windows.”
“It’s November. The wind is something else.”
“It’s sea air, it’s good for you.”
She used to yell and shout about why they should even live by the sea if Mum never went out, but she’d had to stop for her own sanity. Now she walked over to the kitchen window, the sill cluttered with knickknacks and heavy with dust, and cranked it open. The faded paper crane she’d made back at school fluttered immediately to the floor. Izzy picked it up. She settled it on the table next to the biscuit jar.
“How’s Aunt Claire?” she asked as Mum watched her silently.
“Same as always, I s’pose. Well enough.”
The kettle boiled and clicked over. Izzy rose before Mum could, fixed them two cups of coffee. The fridge was in a right state, but at least the milk smelled fresh when Izzy sniffed it.
“Honestly, d’you think they wouldn’t deliver fresh milk out here?”
Mum sounded cross and worried, so Izzy decided milk would not be the hill she would die on. “Sorry, habit,” she lied. “Jonny’s forever letting the milk go bad, and I’m forever forgetting to get fresh.”
Back at the table, they sipped their coffees.
“You look good,” Mum said after a minute. “Bit tired, maybe.”
Izzy sighed. “It’s all the uni stuff. Getting to me. Been knackered.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“Mmhmm.” She didn’t look at Mum as she said it.
“All right.” Yeah, she wasn’t buying it. Oh, well. They had all weekend, anyway. “Well, since you’re here, we might as well have coffee on the sofa.”
Rocco jumped up immediately. He always knew his treats. Izzy laughed and realised it had been a while since anyone was that excited to be around her. She’d take it.
Mum had the sofa buried under a thousand ratty blankets, and Izzy curled up on one end of it, with Rocco immediately attempting to climb into her lap until she forced him down onto her feet. “Warm those,” she told him. He huffed. She rewarded him with a scratch to his ear while Mum settled herself opposite.
“Want anything to eat?” she asked. “Should have asked earlier, shouldn’t I?”
Izzy shook her head. She hadn’t actually felt hungry in a while, she realised. Weird, that.
“How have you been?” she asked.
Mum took a sip of coffee and muted the telly. She did look all right, nothing to really worry over. Mum was Mum. But when you had only the one parent who wouldn’t go outside, you couldn’t help but worry. “I’m well, love. I promise. Don’t look at me like that, haven’t I been fine always?”
Well, not always, but they never really spoke of the Year from Hell, aka 2007, aka when Izzy had almost been taken away because Mum couldn’t get out of bed.
“You opening your mail?”
“Isabel. I’m an adult, stop treating me like I’m infirm. Yes, I’m opening the mail.”
And she was, actually. Izzy could see it scattered on the sideboard by the telly.
“Sorry.”
They sipped their coffees. That, too, tasted like home. Douwe Egberts instant, farm milk, and sugar. She could use the car to do a proper big shop for Mum, she realised. She could maybe go and get Mum something from Asda, a new cardi or even pyjamas or socks or something. Fresh flowers for the kitchen. Stock up on food for Rocco.
Maybe. Maybe she could take Mum out for a drive to the coast.
“It’s fine,” Mum sighed.
+
Later, Izzy took her holdall into her room. She flung aside the curtains, slid open the window. Thank fuck, fresh air. Turned around, hands on hips, and surveyed her old domain. The wallpaper was a bit yellow around the edges, and lighter where her posters had been—nothing new there. Ikea dresser she had got to replace the battered one, her bed. Her duvet. Chair and desk, everything in its rightful place. It made her uneasy. It wasn’t as if her room was terrible; it wasn’t. It was small, but it was cosy, homey. Still, she didn’t want to linger, so she changed into comfier clothes and went back downstairs.
Mum was watching telly again, but she looked up as soon as Izzy walked in. “Oh, it’s good to see you, love.” Her smile was the part of home that Izzy missed. She plopped down and wormed her way under Mum’s arm, wrapping her own arm around Mum’s middle. She mumbled missed you right into Mum’s jumper.
“So,” Mum said, carding her fingers through Izzy’s hair. “Tell me about your life. It’s not the same over the phone.”
Izzy tensed again. It wasn’t as if she was going to keep it from Mum. She just didn’t want to get into it now, not when she’d just arrived. “It’s fine, I guess. Just, you know. Stupidly busy. Last year and all that.”
“I remember that,” Mum said. “Well, you’re my doer. You’ll be all right.”
It was weird to think of Mum the way she had been before she’d had Izzy. Mums sort of weren’t really supposed to exist on their own, were they? They were your mum. They were put on this earth to care for you and love you and maybe be a bit barmy. It was all tremendous bullshit forced on women by the patriarchy, society measuring a woman’s worth by her uterus and femininity instead of doings and brains, but it was still impossible for Izzy to picture her mum at uni. Outside, out in the world. Laughing with her friends, revising for exams, meeting men. Men like James. Izzy never called him “dad” or even “my father.” He’d never done anything to earn that title.
“Yeah. I know.”
“Any plans for after, love?”
“Mum.”
“Sorry, sorry, I know I’m not supposed to ask that. All them off the telly are forever saying that.”
Izzy snorted. “Who off the telly? Why would you be listening to them talking crap?”
“Well, you never call, you never write. Who else am I meant to talk to?”
“Mum.”
“Sorry, sorry.”
“You’re the worst, oh my God.”
“But I’m the only one you’ve got.”
And that was true enough.
+
She had to get out of the house, so Izzy took the Peugeot for a spin. She drove out to Harwich and spent nearly two hours at Asda, wandering from aisle to aisle, not really knowing what to get Mum that would be useful. In the end, she returned with six bags filled with all sorts, from frozen curries to sad-looking avocados and even a pint of currants. She’d used her own card, painfully aware of the money she’d just spent, but she couldn’t really regret it. Mum’s disability benefits only got her so far; the rest they eked out between them from the money Nan had left. It wasn’t insubstantial. It was just not enough to feel all that comfortable spending it willy-nilly.
“What is this?”
Izzy grunted as she hefted the bags through the door and dropped them down at her feet. Rocco immediately nosed into the one with his food in it. “Shopping.”
“Yeah, for who, an army? You do realise I’m just one person?”
“I’m here, too!” Izzy made an offended face as she scooped up three of the six bags and dragged them into the kitchen.
“Until tomorrow, and then what do I do with all of this?” Despite her protests, she began peering into the bags with curiosity. “Currants!”
Izzy grinned. Mum’s favourite. “Obviously.”
“All right, you can stay.” Mum squinted at her. Izzy mostly did take after Mum, but apparently she had James’s eyes, which was a pity. Mum had glorious eyes—bright green, large, a colleen’s eyes. Izzy’s were a boring brown.
She busied herself with putting away the shopping while Mum ordered her about, telling her where to stash what. Rocco kept tripping her until she yelled at him to get off her arse and, chastened, he whimpered and lay down at Mum’s feet.
With the last prepared curry put away, Izzy straightened and turned around.
“It’s beautiful outside, by the way.”
“Mmm.”
“I was just thinking of driving down to the pier, you know, take in a bit of fresh air.”
Mum was studying the back of the Muesli box.
“Want to join me? It’s just a short drive down. We can even sit in the car, if you like.”
Mum dropped the pretence but still didn’t look at her. The doorbell rang.
“Oh,” Mum said. “That’ll be the Dawdles to take Rocco out. I forgot to ring them and tell them you were home.”
Izzy was already striding to the door, putting on her best smile and fixing her hair simultaneously.
She opened the door. “Oh, hi, Mr and Mrs Dawdle!”
“Izzy, well!”
They were both grey-haired but fit-looking, the sort of middle-aged people she had once thought her mum should have been like. They probably jogged regularly, made Sunday roasts that were proper roasts, and watched the Bake-Off together.
“Hiya! I popped down for the weekend, Mum didn’t get a chance to tell you.”
They were wearing matching tracksuits. They were unbearably sweet. “We did wonder about the car. You look well, love.” Mrs Dawdle had always wanted Izzy to date their son, but Izzy could barely spend five minutes with the guy before wanting to spork her eyes out. He was a complete and utter bore.
“Thank you.” She smiled.
Then the three of them stood there for a moment.
“Well, would you like us to—”
“So, I think I’ll take him out—”
“I mean, maybe give you a break—”
“Sorry!”
“Oh no, sorry!”
They proceeded to laugh awkwardly, as English manners required. Then Izzy took a breath and said, “Thank you both. I can take him out, no worries. I’m leaving tomorrow early evening, so maybe?”
“We’ll come back tomorrow night, then.” Mrs Dawdle sounded relieved. “It was nice to see you, dear. If you get a chance, do pop in for a cuppa, won’t you?”
“I will, thank you,” she said, door already halfway closed. Mr. Dawdle waved wordlessly, and they were gone.
Izzy sagged against the door.
The Dawdles had always liked Mum, and the next-door neighbour was a close friend. Maybe Izzy wasn’t giving Mum enough credit. Maybe things were better here than she always imagined.
“Did you tell them to come back tomorrow evening?” Mum asked once Izzy was back in the kitchen.
“Yeah. Mum, let’s go to the sea.”
This time, Mum met her gaze, and there it was, the anguish. Izzy was so familiar with that look, and still it took her breath away every time. She had to stop pushing, she knew she did. Why would she be able to help her over doctors, over therapists, over all the social workers who had been through this with her? Pushing Mum had only ever upset them both. But it was so hard to stop. Hard to stop hoping.
“I’m sorry.” She sagged down. “You don’t have to.”
“Darling.”
“No, really. I’m sorry.” She came to sit beside Mum at the kitchen table. “It’s unfair of me.”
“It’s not you. I want to go to the sea with you. I want to see where you live. But every time I have to take a single step outside the house—”
“I know, Mum.”
“I can’t breathe. And a person’s got to breathe to live, don’t they?”
They sat there in silence with Rocco restlessly threading in between their feet.
+
It was late at night, the telly showing Graham Norton on half mute, when Izzy did it. She had longed to do it on the wall by the sea, with the wind whipping in their faces and sunlight reflecting off of the water, but Mum wasn’t making it to the sea anytime soon.
So Izzy poured them both a generous helping of wine. “Mum, I’ve got to tell you something.”
Mum looked at her like she’d only been waiting for it.
“You knew.”
“Of course I knew. You don’t just show up out of nowhere unannounced, love. What’s happened? Is it school? Friends? A boy?”
Ha. She was just trying to find the words. For all she imagined telling her mum, she hadn’t actually lined up the way to do it.
“So.” She paused. “I found something out. About myself.” She fiddled with the stem of her glass for a bit. “All right, so apparently, I’m not entirely straight. It turns out.”
Mum’s face was worth it. Surprise, confusion, relief. She really put my Mum through it on this one. “Oh, darling. Is that what’s got you all upset?”
“Well.”
“So, you like girls now?”
Izzy took a deep breath and let it out. “I had no idea.”
“And you think it’s a bad thing?”
“God, no! It isn’t—” Words got stuck in her throat.
“C’mere, love.”
Izzy set her wine glass down on the coffee table and shooed Rocco out of her way before stretching out into her mum’s arms. Her lip wobbled. Oh God, no. “Mum,” she said, and her voice cracked.
“Love, there’s nothing wrong with that. Were you worried to tell me?”
“I guess I was.”
“Did you want to tell me by the water so you could throw yourself in if it went badly?”
“Maybe.”
She felt Mum chuckle. “You muppet. Don’t you know I love you always?”
First tear, and then it was a steady leakage from her eyes. She sniffled as quietly as she could manage, but Mum always knew.
“You’re my pride and joy, aren’t you?” she went on. “Don’t cry now, Isabel. It’s all right. Have you got a girlfriend, then?”
Izzy shook her head and attempted to stop the tears to the best of her ability. “Nah. There was a girl. A one-off. She was great.”
Mum searched her face. “Did she not want it to continue?”
“It wasn’t that. It isn’t that. It’s not the main issue right now, I guess.” Izzy swallowed, thick mucus building up in her windpipe. “It’s … I told my friends, and they were cool, obviously, you know, but … Nat.”
She was quiet for so long that Mum finally asked, “What about Natali?”
“She’s not speaking to me.”
“What, because you’re gay now?”
“Mum, it’s called bisexual.”
“Whatever it is, what’s got in her bonnet? Not talking to you? What nonsense is this?”
“She—” And that was the thing. Izzy just didn’t know. After weeks, Izzy didn’t know, only she kept hearing Nat’s voice in her mind, telling her over and over that sexuality wasn’t defined by a single kiss. Do you want a parade? “I dunno. I think she thinks I’m trying it on, you know. Like an experiment.”
“And are you?”
“No!”
“I didn’t think you were, love. Then why does she think that? Have you spoken to her?”
“I’ve tried, but she’s avoiding me, like. Hardcore.”
“Not even a single conversation?”
“Not for days. She’s not talking to me. Hi, bye, that’s it. It’s like she’s determined not to hear me, and I don’t know what to do. And things are so bloody awkward with everyone now, and fucking hell, we’re housemates, she can’t avoid me forever, but she’s definitely doing her best. Dex is telling me to be patient and whatnot, and everybody’s looking at me like … with this … this pity, and I don’t want pity. I want my mate back. She’s being the stroppiest cow you’ve ever met, and I just can’t handle it. Mum, I can’t write.”
“Oh, love. That sounds like a right nightmare.”
The look Mum gave her was pitying, but somehow it was all right coming from her. It was all right to spill her guts all over the sofa because Mum would always care and clean it up in the end. It felt safe to do here on this ratty old sofa that Mum kept covered up with blankets. When Izzy had been younger, Mum had told her that the blankets were there to protect the sofa. It was only later that she realised the sofa wasn’t some precious antique left over from her mother’s grandmother, but a secondhand bit of tat that was the only thing they could afford at the time. The blankets were protecting them from the sofa, it turned out. But even after Nan died and left them money, Mum kept it, because it was theirs. Izzy bloody loved this sofa.
“She’s not being fair to you,” Mum finally said.
“Mum.”
“No, listen. I know what it’s like to get swept up in something and let it take over your life, but you’re not me, and you’ve got goals, all right?”
Oh God. Izzy couldn’t look at Mum when she was being this earnest. She stared at the ceiling instead, watching the single cobweb in the corner shift in the telly light.
“I know, but you just told me you can’t write, and Isabel, this is not a reason to get blocked.”
“That isn’t how it works, Mum,” she said, exasperated.
“Well, I wouldn’t know, I was never a writer, but remember I told you about that one guy, Matthew?”
“Yeah?” Vaguely. He’d been the one before James.
“I was mad for him, and stopped revising. I nearly failed two classes because of him, and let me tell you, he wasn’t worth it.”
This wasn’t helping. Still, Mum so rarely talked about her past, Izzy couldn’t really interrupt her.
“I know your life is different, I know you aren’t in love with Natali or anything, but you owe it to yourself not to get caught up in this.”
Was that how she thought of what happened to her with Matthew? Or James? Or after Izzy was born? That she got caught up and never escaped? “I don’t know what to do.”
“I know.” Mum gave her a smile and said, “It hurts. You haven’t done anything wrong, and she’s shut you out.”
Izzy sniffed. God, that felt good to hear. You haven’t done anything wrong.
When Dex had come to her the night after she told everyone, she got this feeling as if he was maybe even siding with Nat. Not in a mean way, just that he understood things better than Izzy. That his queerness made him understand Nat better. But wasn’t Izzy queer, too, apparently? Mum was right. She hadn’t done anything wrong.
She hadn’t led Ruby on. She’d loved their night together. She wasn’t in love with Ruby, but she had her number just in case. She had told her friends.
Whatever was going on with Nat, it wasn’t Izzy who was the main problem. It couldn’t be. She hadn’t done anything wrong. It felt like a boulder had been lifted from her chest.
Fuck it. She was done with this pity party.
She hoped.
She let Mum talk her into remembering she was the girl who was going for her film degree. She was going to be an award-winning writer-director, and she didn’t have time for this bullshit. Surely, this would be behind her soon enough.
“Yeah. Fuck that. Sorry. Sod it, I won’t let her make me feel bad.”
A new emotion surfaced, spread through her blood. She was angry. She was, now she thought about it, properly cheesed off.
She didn’t need Nat. She had other friends. She wasn’t going to let this crap get in her way. So she was bisexual. So what. It just opened up a whole world of possibilities for her. Girls! Who knew! Girls were wonderful. Girls were lovely. And Izzy was coming for them. As soon as she caught up on her writing.