I’m seeing Jack later 
Molly? From your old school?
That’s a weird person to be having breakfast with.
I mean, she’s right, but also … I’m kind of looking forward to seeing someone I’m not so close to. I feel like everyone knows me better than I know myself at the moment.
Yeah … she’s not so bad.
Except she’s running late, which is a thing I forgot people do.The audacity?! I would never! At least today’s new thing can be hanging out with someone who isn’t me!!!
Before I can reply, she texts again.
I’m seeing Jack later
I feel like she’s expecting me to say something about Cal in return, but I don’t. I’m not sure why.
Finally, Molly appears, her blonde curls bouncing as she sits down in front of me.
‘Oh my god, how are you?! It’s been ages!’ No apology for being late. This is fine, apparently.
‘I’m … doing OK, I think?’
‘Amazing!’
‘How about you?’
‘Yeah, I’m good!’ Molly nods eagerly, enunciating the words emphatically, like she’s learned this way of speaking from a TV presenter. ‘Do you know what you want?’ She cranes her neck to attract the attention of the waitress.
‘Uh, yeah, I think so …’
The waitress comes over, fishing in the pocket of her gingham pinafore for her notepad and pencil.
‘What can I get for you?’
‘Can I please have the blueberry pancakes and an orange juice?’ I ask, folding the menu and handing it to her. ‘Thanks so much.’
‘Excellent choice.’ She smiles as she notes it down. ‘We squeeze our orange juice fresh.’
‘I know you do! It’s wonderful.’
‘And how about for you?’ she asks Molly.
‘One poached egg on one slice of toast and a black coffee,’ Molly says, barely looking up from her phone.
‘Alright …’ says the waitress, as I give her an apologetic smile.
‘Brown bread,’ Molly adds, flatly.
‘Thanks again!’ I say, brightly, and the waitress gives me a sympathetic smile in return.
‘You must be hungry,’ Molly says as she slides her phone into her pocket. ‘The blueberry pancakes here are massive.’
I feel myself blush at the implicit judgement of my choice, and I suddenly remember how uncomfortable Molly always made me feel about my body, even when we were friends. ‘Yeah, I had a big night,’ I reply, wondering if that will provoke further questioning on the subject. It doesn’t.
‘When did we last see each other? I was trying to remember on the way here.’
‘I guess it was maybe last summer? I bumped into you on AS results night, right?’ I say, trying to cast my mind back.
‘Oh yeah! At Josh Patton’s party!’ Ugh. That party. I’d let Daisy drag me along because she really fancied Josh, and it paid off because they were together for a few months after that. Cassie said she didn’t want to go so went drinking on the beach with some people from college instead, and I later found out it was because one of Josh’s friends had forced her to kiss him at a party earlier that year. Obviously I did not enjoy myself and spent the whole time wishing I was drinking cans on the beach with Cassie.
‘What are you up to these days? Are you doing the whole university thing or have you got a job already?’ I ask as the waitress sets our drinks down on the table.
‘I’m taking a gap year,’ Molly says, blowing on her coffee. ‘Going travelling. I want to see the world, you know, before I get stuck in the whole cycle of uni and work and everything.’
‘Oh, cool! Where are you going?’
‘Well, I really want to do South America. I want to go to Mexico and Costa Rica …’ I let her go on without mentioning that neither Mexico nor Costa Rica are in South America. ‘And I want to do Colombia, Brazil and Argentina,’ she says, before taking a sip of her coffee. There is something about her use of the word ‘do’ that strikes me as arrogantly colonial, as if all of these amazing places are just items on a list to be ticked off and somehow conquered by her. Maybe that’s how she approaches everything.
‘That sounds amazing,’ I reply diplomatically. ‘I guess it’s going to be a big trip … are you working at the moment to save for it?’
‘Oh, no.’ She shakes her head. ‘My parents said it wouldn’t be right for me to go to uni without having some adventure first.’
‘OK …’ I say, not really getting her meaning.
‘So, they’re paying.’ She shrugs, as if that’s extremely normal.
‘Right … wow, OK,’ I say with a nod, as our food arrives. I wonder if my mum would pay for me and Daisy to have a jolly for several months, even if she could. Probably not. She’s too sensible.
‘Ugh, those pancakes look amazing,’ Molly says enviously. ‘But I want to get really skinny for travelling.’
I’m about to tell her that she already is really skinny, but I know that’s what she wants me to say, so I just eat my pancakes in peace while wishing I was back at home eating breakfast with Mum or on the big, squishy leather sofa at Cassie’s house eating Pop-Tarts and watching cooking programmes while her parents go over the week’s accounts for the shop. I don’t care much whether Molly means to be fat-shaming me or not, but I want my life to be populated with people who see things the way I do: people who see beyond bodies. I don’t want to have to listen to this from anyone.
‘So … do you see much of anyone from school? Any excitement I’ve missed?’ I ask. Seems like fairly neutral conversational territory to distract us from her casual campaign against my body.
After swallowing down a mouthful of her one poached egg on one slice of toast, Molly takes a deep breath before her features arrange themselves in a smug smile. ‘OK, so where do I start with all the news! Did you hear about Georgia?’
‘Georgia Reid?’ I’m instantly concerned – Georgia was always a bit of a magnet for mess and disaster. You know, getting a bit too drunk at parties, being a bit too loud in class. Most famously, she once had to get rescued by the lifeboat when the tide came in and she was out for a walk, which is the one thing you’re taught to be wary of when you grow up by the sea. But she was always kind to everyone at school.
‘Yeah, Georgia Reid,’ Molly replies, taking a sip of her coffee. I can tell she’s loving this, whatever it is.
‘No, what’s happened to her?’
‘Apparently she’s “bi” now,’ Molly says, waggling her fingers exaggeratedly either side of her head.
‘What’s with the air quotes?’ I ask, my tone prickly.
Molly frowns at me, a look of infinite superiority on her smug face. ‘Come on,’ she begins, a look of cartoonish skepticism on her face. ‘She was always a bit of an attention seeker, wasn’t she?’
I have to pick my battles, and decide to overlook Molly’s classification of Georgia’s previous escapades as attention-seeking. But there are some battles I want to fight. Like those of an absent person who can’t defend themselves. ‘Can you elaborate on how her being bi’ – I feel my face grow warm – ‘works in this “attention-seeking” narrative?’
‘It’s just a cool thing to do now, isn’t it? It doesn’t even mean anything! It’s just what people say when they’re desperately trying to seem more interesting.’
I squint at her like I don’t understand. ‘It means she’s bi. That’s what it means.’
She widens her eyes at me. ‘Alright, alright … it’s not a huge thing, I just wanted to update you on the St Josephine’s news.’
I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Talking about Georgia behind her back is bad enough, but knowing that this is how Molly feels is even worse. I wonder if this is what everyone thinks.
We make conversation over the rest of our breakfast, largely about Molly rather than me, but my heart isn’t really in it. I did try, though! I come away from the whole encounter feeling very secure in my decision to only hang out with Cassie. I had tried to remember the good things about Molly but in the process had managed to forget all the reasons I wasn’t keen to stay in touch with her in the first place. And that includes not hanging out with people who make me feel uncomfortable. There are so many things in life that I can’t control, so I might as well control the things that I can.
On the way back from breakfast, I decide to swing past Daisy’s football game with her informal gang of sporty girls who play five-a-side (or however-many-a-side depending how many of them turn up) on the playing field every Sunday morning, indiscriminate of season. I figure we can walk home together and I can shake off my bad Molly vibes. As I approach the park, two middle-aged men pass me on the pavement. ‘Bunch of dykes,’ one says to the other, nodding towards Daisy and her friends.
‘They’re not bad-looking birds,’ the other man replies, shaking his head. ‘What a waste.’
I stop dead in my tracks as they keep walking in the opposite direction. I feel a white-hot fury rise in my body. It’s anger as well as confusion – firstly the assumption that they must be gay because they’re playing football, secondly that it’s fine to use a slur against them even if they are, thirdly that they’re just out here, roaming the streets looking at every woman they come across through the lens of whether or not they find them sexually appealing, and finally, that they’re disgusting old men turning that lens on literal teenagers. I want to chase after them and beat them up, or at least yell at them. But I don’t. Instead I just stand there for a second, feeling my palms get slick with sweat and listening to my breathing deepen. I don’t want to share a world, let alone a town, with those men.
I want to unload my outrage on Daisy but there’s no point, they’re long gone. I just wait for her to say her goodbyes and bounce sweatily over to me.
‘Fun?’ I ask her as we head in the direction of home.
‘Really fun! Too hot though,’ she says, before taking a swig from her water bottle. ‘I wasn’t expecting to be escorted home!’ She nudges me playfully with her hip as we walk.
‘Yeah … I just wanted to get back to Planet Earth as soon as possible …’
‘So Molly was …’
‘Exactly as I should have known she would be.’
‘Damn.’
I take a moment to arrange my thoughts. I steel myself. ‘So … there was something I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Uh … about, like, dating, I guess …’
‘Oh my god! Little Lily is all grown up! Tell me your troubles, I can advise you,’ Daisy crows, triumphantly. I hate it.
‘Ugh, I don’t need advice!’ I bite back, feeling my pulse quicken and years of resentment bubbling up beneath the surface.
‘Alright!’ Daisy says incredulously, like she can’t imagine why I would find her reaction annoying. ‘Chill out!’ Has anyone who’s ever been told to chill out managed to chill out rather than become increasingly furious?
‘It’s fine. Whatever,’ I say, quickening my pace to walk ahead of her.
She jogs to catch up with me. ‘Ha, as if you could ever outrun me!’ Because of course a little dig at how unathletic I am is what I need to feel like opening up to her. ‘So?’
‘Ugh, why do you even have to bring that up?’
‘What?’
‘All I wanted was to talk to you about some personal stuff and you still have to drop in some little comment about how much better you are than me.’
‘That’s not—’ Daisy falters. ‘I didn’t! Look, just talk to me?’
‘No. It’s fine. I’m not bothered.’ She knows to drop it. My irritation subsides bit by bit on the walk home, but it doesn’t change the fact I still haven’t told her about Cal.
I’m grateful to spend the afternoon on the sofa with Mum and Daisy watching endless reruns of Come Dine with Me. It’s exactly the kind of normal I need right now.
‘So …’ Mum asks when Daisy’s gone to make us cups of tea. ‘How was the date?’
I can’t help smiling, but know I can’t talk about this too much with Daisy around. I guess Mum knows it’s something I don’t want broadcast, otherwise she wouldn’t have waited until now to ask. ‘It was good.’
‘That’s all you want to tell me?’ Mum raises her eyebrows expectantly.
‘For now, yes.’
‘Hmm.’ Mum turns back to the TV. ‘I don’t like it but I accept it.’
In no time at all it’s Sunday evening and we’re at Gran’s, reprising an old tradition that we’ve let slip for the past few weeks. Sunday night dinner, with me, Daisy, our mum, our Uncle Michael, his husband Mark and my gran. We used to rotate the hosting duties, but our dining table is really too small to fit six people around;, we figured Michael and Mark probably deserve a break from being the perfect hosts at the pub;, and besides, everyone just wants Gran’s Yorkshire puddings anyway. Who wouldn’t. They’re perfect.
And I guess Gran is sort of perfect, too. We spent so much time around here when we were little, before we could take care of ourselves after school, when Mum was still at work. Gran only worked part-time then, doing the mornings at the visitor information centre near the castle on the edge of town. She would pick us up from school and walk us round to her house and watch children’s TV and game shows with us give us Garibaldi biscuits and let Daisy help her in the garden. When I look at it now, I realize how small it is, but Gran takes such good care of it and makes the most of the space she has, so it used to feel like acres. That’s what made Daisy love gardening so much. Whereas I showed no interest and was allowed to stay inside with colouring pencils and a pile of paper. That’s what’s so good about Gran. She just let us be who we were and helped us become those people without forcing it. I know teenagers are meant to crave independence but, in a way, I missed my afternoons at Gran’s when it was decided we could walk home on our own and look after ourselves for the couple of hours between school finishing and Mum coming home from the vet’s. Back then, Uncle Michael was running a pub in London, which is where he met Mark, and they only moved here a few years ago, so for a long time it was just me and Daisy and Mum and Gran.
When we arrive at Gran’s it’s hugs all round before piling into the small, cosy living room overflowing with pot plants and china. My mum and Uncle Michael start laying the table while Gran pulls trays with steaming, crispy, golden roast potatoes out of the oven. Mark asks me and Daisy questions about what we’re up to this summer (‘not a lot’) and we make him tell us about all the badly-behaved patrons of the Lighthouse until it’s time to eat. He refuses to name names, but we know that at least one of our old teachers is on his shit list and we’re going to make it our life’s work to find out who.
We crowd around the big dining table that takes up almost half the room and start eating the perfect roast beef and those roast potatoes I saw emerging from the oven, cooked in goose fat and semolina.
A few seconds later, Uncle Michael leaps up. ‘Oh, I don’t want to forget!’ He dashes from the room and returns with two copies of the same book. ‘For you two, so you don’t starve.’ He hands a copy to each of us. 100 Recipes For Hungry Students.
‘Thanks so much,’ I say as enthusiastically as I can manage. Not that I’m not grateful for the book. It just feels like all around me are reminders that I really am going. I really am leaving. That’s what’s happening. I really am being given the autonomy and the independence I thought I should be craving.
If I look flustered, no one notices, because Daisy is delighted at the chance to talk about how she’ll be studying physics at Bristol Uni. ‘As long as I get the grades!’ she always adds, as if there’s any doubt. Much like the football and the gardening, I don’t exactly understand what Daisy sees in physics, or even in science in general, but I’m happy for her that she seems to have found her calling.
‘Still can’t believe you backed out of your twin dream plan, Lily!’ Uncle Michael says good-naturedly, between mouthfuls of potato. ‘It’s going to be such an adventure for you!’
A tension descends on Daisy and me. A Daisy’s-prickling-with-irritation-at-my-uni-choice-flavoured tension. I realize no one’s saying anything, so I fill the silence. ‘It won’t be so bad … not so different from now …’ I venture. ‘We’re not at college together or anything.’
‘Well, I mean we probably won’t see each other much, will we?’ Daisy asks me. I’m a little taken aback by the question. I guess because I’m using a lot of brain energy on trying not to think about the fact I’m going away from everything. And Daisy is so carefree and independent, I’m surprised she’s even thinking about it at all.
‘I guess not,’ I say. ‘Leeds and Bristol are quite far apart.’
‘Yeah, and I guess I’ll come home to see everyone. Maybe we can time some visits so we’re in sync?’
‘Maybe, yeah,’ I say, non-committally. I feel like if I even think about going home in term time, I’ll want to go home every weekend. And I can’t do that. I mean, for starters, I probably wouldn’t even be able to afford the train fare. I certainly won’t be having dinner with my lovely family every Sunday night. I thought I was so ready for a big adventure, but really all I want is this.
Daisy gives me a strange look and Mark mercifully chooses that moment to change the topic.
‘You’re going to have a lot of time on your hands at the end of the summer, aren’t you, Lucy?’ he asks Mum, pouring gravy on his plate.
Uncle Michael pipes up, ‘Maybe now’s the time to think about …’ He wiggles his eyebrows. ‘A boyfriend?’
Mum rolls her eyes as if that’s the most ludicrous thing she’s ever heard from her brother.
‘Come on, Luce! I know you’ve got loads going on with work and looking after the girls, but now …’ Michael shrugs and raises his hands in a gesture of open contemplation. He’s right. We’re pretty much all grown up, and I know that Daisy and I are uncharacteristically united in our desire to see our mum happy. Her time can be her own again for the first time in years.
‘Alright, alright … it’s not like I’m not thinking about it,’ she concedes.
‘Well there we are!’ my uncle says triumphantly.
‘Jade’s got me on the apps. All of them. I’m not used to getting this many notifications, it’s stressing me out a bit …’ At that, Mum slips her phone out of her pocket and looks at it with an expression of fear before putting it back again, out of sight.
‘Tell me one more time: what’s an app?’ Gran asks.
Uncle Michael leans over and whispers an explanation to her. Gran frowns but seems to accept it.
‘So, any luck?’ Michael asks.
‘Well …’ Mum blushes and looks down at her plate.
‘Oh my god!’ Michael gasps with glee.
‘It’s not a big thing! Just one date. I want to try new things.’ Mum glances at me and smiles.
‘Yeah! No pressure, Lucy. I wish you the best of luck!’ Mark says.
Mum furrows her brow and says, ‘It’s funny, you know, it seems like most men my age don’t know how to take a photo of themselves.’
‘What do you mean?’ Gran asks.
‘Somehow they all end up looking like thumbs?’ Mum shakes her head, perplexed. ‘Like they take a selfie from below in bad lighting and think that’s enough to get them a date!’
‘I don’t think that’s a men-your-age problem, I think that’s a straight-men problem!’ Mark quips.
‘You’re meeting him in a public place, being sensible and all that, right?’ asks Uncle Michael, with the intensity of an only sibling.
‘Bloody hell, Michael, I’m not going to meet him at his house or in a dodgy car park or anything!’
‘Not on a first date anyway,’ I mumble into my glass of lemonade.
‘We’re meeting at the Rat and Parrot if that makes you feel any better!’
‘The Rat and Parrot?’ Uncle Michael squints at her in sheer disbelief that those words could have come out of her mouth. ‘That’s literally the most random choice of date venue I’ve ever heard – what is he, eighty years old?’
‘It is a bit of a weird choice, Mum,’ I agree. Every pub in Weston Bay has its own unique quality, and the Rat and Parrot’s is that it’s very much an old man pub. A very old man pub. If you can call that a unique quality. It’s dark and poky, smells a little damp, is nowhere near the town centre and is, as you can probably guess, largely frequented by old men.
‘Weird or not weird, that’s what’s happening, and I assure you I will be telling you no more about it if you’re going to be like this!’ Mum throws up her hands defensively.
‘Well, I think it’s great,’ says Mark, smiling broadly. It’s good to have a non-Rose in the mix. A moderating influence to stop us yelling excitedly at each other for hours. ‘I hope your date goes well and the Rat and Parrot turns out to be surprisingly conducive to romance.’ He tilts his wine glass in my mum’s direction.
‘Mark, how did you, a kind and gentle soul, end up married to someone as annoying as my little brother?’
‘Sheer good luck,’ Mark says, smiling at Uncle Michael as if he’s the best thing in the world. They’re the most normal couple I know. Well, they’re one of the only couples I know. But they make it look like good fun. They’re always laughing together, like they’re in their own little world, and seem to make the perfect team in managing the pub together. I’d like something that easy. That assured. Maybe that’s what Cal will be for me? At least for this summer, even if it won’t be forever?
We polish off our roast and somehow still find room for Gran’s sticky toffee pudding, which is absurd but no one can resist. We all leave there feeling full and warm and happy, and I hope my Gran feels that too, even though she’s been left alone in her little house. But through that warm glow of family is a feeling that Daisy’s definitely been a bit off with me since I chickened out of telling her about Cal.