Ryan, I’m sorry. For all of this. But I’m also sorry that I left you to deal with things on your own. You needed a friend as much as I did and now I’m not there, who do you have? (Please don’t say Kellan…) So. I thought maybe you could use some introductions. Just in case.
F x
“I absolutely do not regret having sex with you. I really really regret the timing, though…” Ryan closed his eyes and whispered a vehement “Shit” at his ceiling.
SOPHIE
Half an hour after collapsing into bed, hair grips digging into her scalp and what little make-up remained still clogging her pores, Sophie lay awake, caught in the crossfire between a body desperate for rest and a brain incapable of sleep.
With sweet dreams off the table, she’d been composing arguments for the benefit of her bedroom ceiling.
How could you do this to me?
Is it because I kept skipping out on going down to the river?
Or was it something worse?
I thought you trusted me – I kept ALL your secrets.
And I know I got a bit sick of you and Kellan and never knowing if you wanted me to hate him or like him, but COME ON, that didn’t mean you had to sneak around with Ryan.
I did everything I thought you wanted. I always messaged back. I said sorry every time I pissed you off. I tried, Freya.
I didn’t know I could get it this wrong.
No Freya there to answer.
That’s what Sophie had hoped for. Some explanation why Freya had never said she was going, why she simply disappeared, taking with her any chance Sophie had of a tearful goodbye and a promise to stay in touch.
130 days of uncertainty and she’d thought tonight that would end.
Maybe it could.
Sophie dredged up the last remnants of energy and reached for her phone. If Freya couldn’t be honest, then Sophie could. She could stop pretending that she was fine, that sending Freya a cheerful message every single day – even the days when she’d had no cheer for anything or anyone – hadn’t taken its toll the longer they went unanswered.
She could tell her the truth.
Typing was out of the question, but Sophie could leave a voice note. A literal cry into the void.
“Hey.” Her voice was low, but Sophie could hear the steel in that single word. “What the hell, Freya? Five months you’ve been gone and I’ve been here all this time, waiting for you to remember that you left, to send me something to let me know you still think of me that you still care – that you ever cared.”
A breath. This was too hard.
“Do you how excited I was to get that parcel?” Then almost immediately. “No. You don’t. You can’t even imagine. You know why? Because I’ve been sending you all these messages all this time trying to make sure you know I’m thinking about you, that I care – I’ve not even given you a chance to miss me.
“And you’ve not given me a chance to do anything else but miss you.”
Sophie closed her eyes, letting the tears trickle down her cheeks so she could keep them from her voice.
“You are – you were – my best friend. My person. When that parcel arrived I think my heart actually burst because it was from you and it was for me … and then it wasn’t. It was for Win. Then Lucas. Then Ryan.” The disgust was enough. “And I kept on going, because that’s what you asked, and I trusted you because I always did and you knew it and … I was wrong.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, the next words coming out on a whisper.
“You’ve broken that trust now. With everything you asked of me today. And that letter. That nothing little note. Friendship is supposed to work both ways. I guess I let you down when you needed me – and you’ve been doing the same every day since. Today you let me down for the last time.”
Sophie stopped. Watched the seconds of silence tick over.
What had she got to lose? Freya was already gone.
Sophie released her words and collapsed.
SOPHIE
Sophie’s brain didn’t get the memo about needing rest. Instead, she startled awake out of a dream that left all the physical traits of anxiety in its wake, piling in on top of the pain that was already there, more pervasive than yesterday’s. Lying on her right side to ease the discomfort of her left, waiting for the beats of her heart to reach a calmer rhythm and her nausea to subside, Sophie stared in despair at the digits of her alarm clock.
9:02 was an ungodly hour to wake on a Saturday. But that was it. While Sophie had trained herself how to nap, going back to sleep seconds after waking was beyond her.
Getting to the bathroom was a chore. Yesterday’s stress had triggered symptoms that had been dormant earlier in the week and the pain from last night had radiated from her shoulder down her back – tolerable for now, but not if she had to sit at her desk all day revising.
Mum was out on the landing, already dressed for the day.
“I’d have held off my morning yoga if I’d known you were going to be up this early. Could have joined me…”
God. Not the yoga thing again. Sophie wasn’t yet operational enough for conversation and she let Mum lead her gently back to her room, going on about breakfast, something about brain food to set her up for a day of studying. Exactly like she had been with Christopher.
As Sophie shuffled back to her bed, Mum remained in the doorway, fists planted on her hips like a land girl about to win the war by digging some potatoes.
“First thing we’ll have to do is tidy your room.” She surveyed the jumble of clothes and make-up and books carpeting the floor, frowning when she saw the lid of Sophie’s laptop, where she’d upended her box of earrings to look for something party-appropriate. “You can’t study in a pig sty.”
“Mum—”
“Don’t worry. I’ll do all the moving around, you can help with telling me where things go.”
“I don’t—”
“I’ll call you when breakfast is ready.”
As soon as she’d gone, Sophie closed her eyes and slumped sideways onto the bed.
Maybe she’d have been better off battling whatever it was she’d been fighting in her dream than waking to Maximum GCSE Mum.
“What’s this?” Sophie stared at whatever it was Mum thought passed for breakfast.
“Smoked mackerel and poached egg on a bed of kale.”
Sophie’s cheeks puffed out as she retched. Mum gave her a Look.
“Don’t you dare. Eat it. How was last night?”
“Fine.” Why was Mum trying to make her talk?
“You came home later than we agreed.”
“We didn’t agree anything.” And she’d been home early. The clock on Win’s radio hadn’t even made it beyond eleven.
“Sophie…” Mum’s fingers tensed a moment as she held her cutlery over her plate. “You need your rest.”
“I didn’t know I was going to wake up this early, did I?” Sophie had made little progress – the egg remained untouched, the yolk wobbling ominously under a flimsy bit of white. “Do I really have to eat all this?”
“Right!” Without warning, Mum’s cutlery clattered onto her plate a second before Sophie’s was snatched from under her nose, Mum spinning away across the kitchen to the organic recycling caddy. “Don’t eat your breakfast. Don’t tell me why you’re in such a bad mood. Why would you tell me anything? I’m just your mother.”