Over You
An Extract
(It’s the morning after the night before: Josie, Nell and Lisa have all had a big evening out together and have spent the night at Lisa’s posh house)
Josie rolled over in bed, dimly aware of morning noises filtering into her mind. It was strange, not hearing the usual sounds of her boys shouting and fighting, the birds singing in the rowan tree outside her bedroom window, Radio 5 burbling from Pete’s bedside clock…
Lisa’s house sounded different. Josie could hear the faint buzz of traffic from the road outside instead. A bus rumbling as it slowed at the lights. Muffled voices from people walking along the pavements.
She was in one of Lisa’s guest bedrooms – there were two – at the front of the house, with wisteria branches framing the window in a woody tangle. If you were going to wake up with a hangover, this was about as soothing a place as you could hope to be in, Josie thought, with its cream walls and large antique bed, its thick oatmeal curtains and honey-coloured waxed floorboards.
She opened her eyes a crack to see sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains where she’d drunkenly only half closed them the night before. The light was dazzling, and she shut her eyes again immediately as a dull, heavy pain thudded inside her skull.
Ouch, that had been a bad idea. How much had she drunk yesterday anyway? Her own body weight in beer, wine and champagne, if the pounding of her head was anything to go by. Ugh. Ugh.
Her face felt hot. Her eyelashes were clumpy where she hadn’t bothered to take off her mascara. Her hair reeked of Nell’s roll-ups and her skin had a sour, sweaty tang to it. And to think she had to get all the way home on the train later! She was so going to throw up on it, she knew already.
Josie lay still for a few moments while the hangover raged around inside her. She could hear some kids shouting in the street outside and had a pang for her own two. How would they have got on, waking up without her this morning?
She smiled, despite her headache. They were probably loving it. They’d be sprawled out on the sofa, no doubt, still in their Spiderman pyjamas, watching Return of the Jedi with Pete and all doing their Chewbacca impressions.
Ahh. There was Lisa’s voice floating up from downstairs. She and Nell must be awake too. Josie rubbed her eyes, then sniffed the air, suddenly feeling more alert. Mmmm. That was definitely the unmistakable scent of bacon drifting up from the kitchen…
Bacon! All of a sudden, Josie was starving. A mug of tea and a bacon sarnie… just what she needed. She sat up, swinging her legs out of bed. The sudden movement made her head spin, and she clutched a hand to her temple, knocking her make-up bag over on the side table as she did so. “Oh shit,” she muttered, as her lipsticks bounced on the floorboards and rolled away under the bed. Her foundation, her eye pencils, her silver pocket mirror… they were cascading out of the bag like a cosmetic fountain. Bollocks.
She got down on her hands and knees to pick up all the bits and pieces. Ouch. It hurt, bending her head so low. In went the eyelash curlers and the tweezers and the eyeshadow pots and the nail varnish. Not that she’d used any of that lot last night: Nell had made Josie up with a load of freebies Lisa had donated to them. There was her foundation and perfume – phew, mercifully unbroken. Was that everything? Where had her little mirror landed?
Bending her neck stiffly, Josie peered under the bed. Christ, even the space under Lisa’s spare-room bed was tidy and ordered. Josie lived in horror of anyone seeing the cardboard boxes crammed with stuff, and fluffballs like tumbleweed under the bed she shared with Pete.
Not so in Lisa’s case, though. Of course. There were several rose-patterned storage boxes stacked up neatly right at the back, and a smart black suitcase. Was that her mirror next to it?
She stretched an arm under the bed, groping around for where she’d seen the tell-tale flash of silver. Her fingers closed around something – oh, it was the edge of another storage box – and then she managed to knock that over. God, what was wrong with her? She was a right oaf this morning!
She peered under the bed again and sighed. Now there were heaps of Lisa’s stuff all over the floor. Bloody hell. She was never going to get her bacon sarnie at this rate. She swept her arm around it, dragging everything out into the light. There was the mirror – oh, and another eye pencil she’d missed. And there…
She blinked uncertainly. There, in a small round frame, was a photo. Of Pete.
She stared in surprise, her brain racing to make sense of the discovery. Why on earth was there a picture of her husband under Lisa’s bed? How had it ended up there? It wasn’t even a photo she recognized. In fact, she was quite sure she’d never seen it before.
There he was, Pete, gazing up at her from her hand, as if he could tell the answer to the riddle, smiling into the camera, his eyes crinkling at the corners. The photo had been taken a few years ago, she guessed, because he was wearing a top that he’d loved to death one summer – when was it? She couldn’t think suddenly. His hair looked different in the photo too. Slightly shorter than it was now.
Josie frowned, confused. She didn’t recognise the photo. She was sure she hadn’t taken it. It had been cut small to fit in the tiny frame, so she couldn’t see the background, couldn’t give it a context. He looked happy, wherever he was. He looked really happy. Josie could tell by the brightness of his face that the sun was shining, and he had a wide smile, head slightly tilted, shoulders relaxed, as if on holiday.
But who was he smiling at? And why was it making her feel so unsettled to look at it?
Josie got to her feet. Still holding the photograph, she went downstairs to the kitchen, her head spinning with questions. She felt as if she were in a strange dream, where everything was muddled.
She opened the kitchen door, and Nell and Lisa both turned towards her, smiles on their faces.
The bacon was sizzling. The kettle was whistling. Lisa was at the hob, holding a spatula as she turned, and seemed to be saying something but Josie couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t take it in.
Josie stood there in her pyjamas and bare feet, hair standing on end. She held up the photo. “I found this under the bed,” she said, the words sticking to the sides of her dry mouth. “Why was this under your bed, Lisa?”
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(It’s the morning after the night before: Josie, Nell and Lisa have all had a big evening out together and have spent the night at Lisa’s posh house)
Josie rolled over in bed, dimly aware of morning noises filtering into her mind. It was strange, not hearing the usual sounds of her boys shouting and fighting, the birds singing in the rowan tree outside her bedroom window, Radio 5 burbling from Pete’s bedside clock…
Lisa’s house sounded different. Josie could hear the faint buzz of traffic from the road outside instead. A bus rumbling as it slowed at the lights. Muffled voices from people walking along the pavements.
She was in one of Lisa’s guest bedrooms – there were two – at the front of the house, with wisteria branches framing the window in a woody tangle. If you were going to wake up with a hangover, this was about as soothing a place as you could hope to be in, Josie thought, with its cream walls and large antique bed, its thick oatmeal curtains and honey-coloured waxed floorboards.
She opened her eyes a crack to see sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains where she’d drunkenly only half closed them the night before. The light was dazzling, and she shut her eyes again immediately as a dull, heavy pain thudded inside her skull.
Ouch, that had been a bad idea. How much had she drunk yesterday anyway? Her own body weight in beer, wine and champagne, if the pounding of her head was anything to go by. Ugh. Ugh.
Her face felt hot. Her eyelashes were clumpy where she hadn’t bothered to take off her mascara. Her hair reeked of Nell’s roll-ups and her skin had a sour, sweaty tang to it. And to think she had to get all the way home on the train later! She was so going to throw up on it, she knew already.
Josie lay still for a few moments while the hangover raged around inside her. She could hear some kids shouting in the street outside and had a pang for her own two. How would they have got on, waking up without her this morning?
She smiled, despite her headache. They were probably loving it. They’d be sprawled out on the sofa, no doubt, still in their Spiderman pyjamas, watching Return of the Jedi with Pete and all doing their Chewbacca impressions.
Ahh. There was Lisa’s voice floating up from downstairs. She and Nell must be awake too. Josie rubbed her eyes, then sniffed the air, suddenly feeling more alert. Mmmm. That was definitely the unmistakable scent of bacon drifting up from the kitchen…
Bacon! All of a sudden, Josie was starving. A mug of tea and a bacon sarnie… just what she needed. She sat up, swinging her legs out of bed. The sudden movement made her head spin, and she clutched a hand to her temple, knocking her make-up bag over on the side table as she did so. “Oh shit,” she muttered, as her lipsticks bounced on the floorboards and rolled away under the bed. Her foundation, her eye pencils, her silver pocket mirror… they were cascading out of the bag like a cosmetic fountain. Bollocks.
She got down on her hands and knees to pick up all the bits and pieces. Ouch. It hurt, bending her head so low. In went the eyelash curlers and the tweezers and the eyeshadow pots and the nail varnish. Not that she’d used any of that lot last night: Nell had made Josie up with a load of freebies Lisa had donated to them. There was her foundation and perfume – phew, mercifully unbroken. Was that everything? Where had her little mirror landed?
Bending her neck stiffly, Josie peered under the bed. Christ, even the space under Lisa’s spare-room bed was tidy and ordered. Josie lived in horror of anyone seeing the cardboard boxes crammed with stuff, and fluffballs like tumbleweed under the bed she shared with Pete.
Not so in Lisa’s case, though. Of course. There were several rose-patterned storage boxes stacked up neatly right at the back, and a smart black suitcase. Was that her mirror next to it?
She stretched an arm under the bed, groping around for where she’d seen the tell-tale flash of silver. Her fingers closed around something – oh, it was the edge of another storage box – and then she managed to knock that over. God, what was wrong with her? She was a right oaf this morning!
She peered under the bed again and sighed. Now there were heaps of Lisa’s stuff all over the floor. Bloody hell. She was never going to get her bacon sarnie at this rate. She swept her arm around it, dragging everything out into the light. There was the mirror – oh, and another eye pencil she’d missed. And there…
She blinked uncertainly. There, in a small round frame, was a photo. Of Pete.
She stared in surprise, her brain racing to make sense of the discovery. Why on earth was there a picture of her husband under Lisa’s bed? How had it ended up there? It wasn’t even a photo she recognized. In fact, she was quite sure she’d never seen it before.
There he was, Pete, gazing up at her from her hand, as if he could tell the answer to the riddle, smiling into the camera, his eyes crinkling at the corners. The photo had been taken a few years ago, she guessed, because he was wearing a top that he’d loved to death one summer – when was it? She couldn’t think suddenly. His hair looked different in the photo too. Slightly shorter than it was now.
Josie frowned, confused. She didn’t recognise the photo. She was sure she hadn’t taken it. It had been cut small to fit in the tiny frame, so she couldn’t see the background, couldn’t give it a context. He looked happy, wherever he was. He looked really happy. Josie could tell by the brightness of his face that the sun was shining, and he had a wide smile, head slightly tilted, shoulders relaxed, as if on holiday.
But who was he smiling at? And why was it making her feel so unsettled to look at it?
Josie got to her feet. Still holding the photograph, she went downstairs to the kitchen, her head spinning with questions. She felt as if she were in a strange dream, where everything was muddled.
She opened the kitchen door, and Nell and Lisa both turned towards her, smiles on their faces.
The bacon was sizzling. The kettle was whistling. Lisa was at the hob, holding a spatula as she turned, and seemed to be saying something but Josie couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t take it in.
Josie stood there in her pyjamas and bare feet, hair standing on end. She held up the photo. “I found this under the bed,” she said, the words sticking to the sides of her dry mouth. “Why was this under your bed, Lisa?”
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