One night, more than a month later, I was woken abruptly from a deep sleep by a sound like an alarm. In my confusion it took me several seconds to understand that it was the telephone. I opened my eyes and looked at my clock: half past two. The thought of why anyone would call at that time caused me a rush of panic that left me wide awake. I got out of bed and went out on to the landing, feeling my way along the banister to the top of the stairs. The phone carried on ringing on the table in the hall below, a siren in the quiet of the night. I was amazed Martha hadn’t been woken by it.
When I got downstairs I hesitated for a moment before picking up the receiver. If it was bad news – if something had happened to my parents or my brothers – I wanted a last few seconds in which I didn’t know.
‘Hello?’
‘Jo?’
‘Lucas.’ I sat down on the bottom step in surprise.
There was silence for a second or two. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Yes,’ I said. It was so good to hear his voice. ‘How are you?’
‘I miss you.’
I had no idea how to respond. My pleasure at hearing him started to evaporate as I realised that he was drunk. Of course he was, though. Why else would he call at that time of night?
‘How about you?’ he asked. ‘Are you happy now? With Greg? Did you make the right decision?’
‘Please don’t ask that.’
‘Aren’t I within my rights to ask a few difficult questions? Surely you can allow me that, Joanna?’ At the other end of the line there was a loud thump, and the sound of glass shattering on a stone floor. ‘Fuck.’
‘What’s that? What’s going on?’
‘Nothing. Nothing. I just knocked my glass over. Forget about it.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘I said forget it. It doesn’t matter.’ I heard him swallow awkwardly and then, very faintly, the sound of a sob. ‘I miss you, Jo. It hurts. It hurts so much.’
‘I miss you, too.’
‘Come back to me. I don’t care about Greg. We can forget it, say it was all a mistake. We can start again.’
‘Lucas.’ I stopped. How could I tell him without hurting him more?’
‘Please.’
‘I can’t. I’m with Greg now. I miss you as a friend.’
‘A friend?’ His voice rose. ‘How can you say that? What we had was different, Jo. You and me – it’s real.’
‘You’re one of my very best friends. You always will be.’ I found that I was in tears now. ‘But it didn’t feel right, not to me.’
‘What you’ve got with Greg can never be like what we could have, if you weren’t so blind you couldn’t see it. Can’t you see that you’re the most important thing in my life?’
I tried to speak but I couldn’t find the words and the tears were coming fast. ‘You’re really important to me, too,’ I said at last. ‘But it isn’t the same. I’m sorry.’
‘You and he will never be happy, not properly.’ His voice had turned spiteful. ‘You can’t see that you’ve got it wrong. I didn’t realise how stupid you were. You’re a fucking idiot, Jo, as well as a stupid bitch.’ Then he slammed the phone down and, as quickly and unexpectedly as he had come back into my life, he was gone.
I put my head in my hands and wept. I was just outside the door to Martha’s room but I didn’t care if I woke her up. I wanted someone to know now how much it was hurting me, being shunned and despised. If my friendships with them were over for ever, I needed to know. I couldn’t go on in this purgatory, punished every day.
Suddenly Martha’s door opened and she stood in front of me. It was the first time she’d voluntarily been in my presence since the night she’d shouted at me in the sitting room. Her stripy pyjamas glowed pale in the light through the glass panel in the front door. I looked down again, willing her not to have another go at me. Then to my complete surprise she knelt down and put her arms round me. Kindness finished me at the best of times but this, with the unexpectedness of it and my sheer gratitude, was the end. I put my arms round her, too, and cried and cried. Neither of us said anything for some time and my tears soaked through the shoulder of her pyjama jacket. Eventually I stemmed the flow a bit and pulled back.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and make some tea.’
The lights in the kitchen hurt my eyes after the darkness. I sat at the table while she made the drinks. The fridge hummed into the silence. There was a cardigan on the back of one of the chairs and I put it on, cold in only the T-shirt I wore to bed.
‘Forget tea, let’s have hot chocolate,’ she said. ‘I’ve got marshmallows.’
One of the lovely things about Martha was her ability to inject fun into even the most unlikely situations. I felt tears come into my eyes again and tried to blink them back. I wondered why on earth she would have marshmallows and then remembered: her diet was always terrible when she was unsettled. In the weeks that we hadn’t been speaking, I’d noticed that the fridge had been full of pizzas, rice pudding and bars of chocolate with little life expectancy. It was miserable.
‘Come on, Jo, stop crying now. You’ll be all right.’ She put the mugs on the table and sat down. The marshmallows bobbed on the top, ludicrously pink and white at three in the morning. ‘Was Lucas really unkind?’
‘A bit. No more than I deserve.’
‘Was he drunk?’
‘I think so. Yes.’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve got to tell you, he’s in pieces at the moment. He’s drinking so much and he gets really upset. We told him not to call you, in case he did something like this. He’s OK when he’s sober but when he gets pissed he gets out of control. Danny’s been looking after him really well but it obviously went wrong tonight.’
‘I think he hates me.’
‘He doesn’t. That’s the problem. He needs to go through a healthy stage of hating you and then come out the other side. Things would be a lot better that way.’
I wanted to reach out and touch her hand but I couldn’t. ‘Thank you,’ I said instead. ‘For talking to me.’
She pulled an exasperated face. ‘I’m not a complete cow. I couldn’t lie in bed and listen to you get screamed at then cry your heart out. I had to do something.’
‘Well, that’s what I’m saying. Thank you.’
‘You’re not off the hook.’ She picked up one of the marshmallows and put it in her mouth. ‘I haven’t forgiven you yet for what you did, although I probably will as long as you don’t do anything like it again. I’m prepared to admit that whatever you’ve got with Greg is pretty serious. He obviously makes you happy.’
‘Marth …’
‘And anyway, I hate the way we’ve been living here in the past few weeks. It’s shit. I can’t stand it much longer; I’ve been thinking about moving out.’
‘So have I.’ A couple of days earlier, I had been to see a room in another house. It had been nice but the thought of moving away from Martha had been so painful that I’d had to email the girl and say I’d changed my mind.
‘What about Rachel?’ I asked.
‘What about her? I don’t think she’ll ever forgive you, if that’s what you mean. I wouldn’t even bother trying to explain or apologise – she won’t hear it.’
‘Have you seen her? Does she go up to the house?’
‘She hasn’t been up, no, but Michael and I saw her last week. She had drinks at the shop for a new designer she’s launching.’
Melancholy washed over me again. In the past I would automatically have been on the guest-list for something like that. ‘Did she mention me?’
‘Why would she? I think she’d prefer to forget you’d ever existed.’
I took a sip of my drink to hide the fact that a new batch of tears had sprung into my eyes. I didn’t want her to get impatient with me.
‘I appreciate it that you haven’t brought Greg here yet.’
‘I wouldn’t have. It didn’t seem right.’ I blotted my eyes on the sleeve of the cardigan.
‘But if you want him to come round now, I don’t mind. I do like him, as you know. This is clearly how things are going to be, so it’s time for us to get used to it.’
I wished I could tell her about Greg and me. She was the one person to whom I always talked properly about my relationships. It was far too soon, though.
‘Look, there’s also something I want you to know,’ she said. ‘Something of mine.’ Her voice had changed. The kind but stern tone was gone: this was the old Martha, close and confidential. Her eyes were sparkling.
‘I’ve started seeing someone.’ She smiled, shy but proud. She folded one of her feet up under her, to cause a distraction.
‘Have you? Who?’
‘You’ve got to promise not to tell anyone.’
‘Why?’
‘He thinks we should keep it a secret for the moment. Just till we’re sure.’
‘Who? Tell me.’
She paused, about to burst the bubble of their exclusivity. ‘Danny.’ She laughed but a note of unease came into it as she saw my face. ‘Come on. It’s not that much of a surprise, is it? You know I’ve always liked him.’
I tried to rearrange my expression into one of neutrality. ‘No. I had no idea. I mean, obviously we know he’s charming. And good-looking.’
‘He’s gorgeous, Jo.’
‘When did this happen?’ Please God, I thought, not while he was seeing Michael.
‘Two weeks ago. At the house, of course. Lucas got really drunk and we’d put him to bed. Michael had crashed out as usual. I don’t know – we were in the drawing room pretty late and he just … leaned in.’
I searched my brain for what to say. I felt a strong need to tell her about Michael but I couldn’t think how, without sacrificing our rapprochement. I couldn’t be the one to stamp on her excitement, not now. She might never speak to me again.
‘We’re not doing anything wrong.’ She challenged my silence. ‘I know it’s going to take some getting used to, given how long we’ve been friends, but it’s fine.’
‘Martha, it’s not that.’
‘It doesn’t hurt anyone,’ she said pointedly. She snatched up the empty cups. ‘Can’t you be happy for me? I’m getting together with someone I’ve always liked. I know you don’t like him, for whatever ridiculous reason. You should just let it go. There are enough problems already between us all.’
‘I am happy for you. I want you to be happy. Just be careful, that’s all.’ I decided to try and mask the message a little. ‘You know he’s wild.’
She smiled again. ‘Part of the reason I like him.’
‘Look after yourself.’
‘I will but it’s fine. You know, even the wild child has to settle down sometime. It’ll be cool. Just don’t tell anyone for now, OK?’
‘Given that no one speaks to me, I think your secret is pretty safe.’
She looked at me for a moment and then we both laughed.
A fortnight later it happened again. Greg and I had been into the West End to see a film and got back to my house at about eleven. I could hear the phone ringing inside as we got out of the taxi. I fumbled for the key in my bag and pushed it into the lock. I dashed in and picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’
‘Jo, it’s me.’
Greg came in behind me and closed the door. He saw the look on my face.
There was silence on the phone for a second or two and then the scratch and flare of a match. I pictured Lucas turning his head to light his cigarette. ‘I wanted to apologise for the last time we spoke,’ he said at last.
‘It doesn’t matter. Let’s just forget about it.’
‘It does matter. I shouldn’t have done it. It’s no excuse but I was really drunk.’
‘I know. Honestly. Forget about it.’
Greg mouthed at me, asking whether I was OK. I nodded yes and he went through to the kitchen to give me some privacy.
‘It’s not the only thing I feel bad about,’ said Lucas. ‘That last night at the house. I don’t know what came over me. To grab you like that… When I think about it now, I just can’t believe it. It was like being possessed or something, out of control.’
I remembered how he had launched at me and how frightening it was. He had looked out of control. But although I had been very frightened I knew that he had been pushed to it: it wasn’t the Lucas I knew. ‘It was my fault,’ I said.
‘No,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t. I scared you and I am so sorry for that. I’ll never forgive myself.’
Some of my unease began to dissipate. My first thought when I had picked up the phone, especially given the time, was that he had called to give me hell again.
‘I’ve forgiven you,’ I said. ‘You were provoked and you didn’t hurt me.’
‘I am so glad about that.’ Lucas paused. ‘Weekends don’t seem right without you. Jo, I want you to come back.’
I closed my eyes, glad he couldn’t see me. ‘I can’t. I’m with Greg now.’
‘I don’t mean that. I mean, I want you to come to Stoneborough again.’
Greg padded back up the hall and crouched in front of me. ‘OK?’ he whispered. He stroked my hair and stepped round me to go upstairs.
‘Was that him?’ asked Lucas.
I considered not telling the truth but thought better of it.
‘I’m lonely, Jo, for fuck’s sake. I want you here again.’
‘Let’s give it time. I don’t think any of us is ready yet.’
‘I’m ready.’
‘Lucas, it’s too soon. Trust me. When we’ve all calmed down, then we’ll come up to the house but not until then, OK?’ I’d feared it but now it happened and there was the sound of tears on the other end of the line. ‘Please don’t cry,’ I said.
‘I can’t help it. I miss you.’
The words clutched at my stomach but there was nothing I could do. There was no solution and nothing honest I could say would make any difference. I murmured platitudes as he wept. And I am ashamed to say it but as I did so I realised that I had another feeling towards him: annoyance. Greg was upstairs in my room and I wanted to be up there with him, not sitting at the bottom of the stairs again listening to Lucas cry. I wouldn’t let myself hurry him or try to chivvy him off the line, though. That would have been unforgivable. Instead I waited and listened. Above me, Greg went along the landing to the bathroom and there came the buzz of his electric toothbrush. It was his way, I knew, of telling me that he was there and waiting for me, without putting pressure on me. In the end, Lucas cried himself out and hung up and I was free.
There were further calls after that and they started to become more and more frequent. I answered two of them and was rewarded once with an earful of abuse, where, raving drunk, Lucas called me a slut, and then, the following night, with tearful apologies. The night after that Martha picked up for me and told him I was out. Eventually we started taking the phone off the hook after ten o’clock and, if the mobile rang, I checked the caller display before answering. It was a horrible way to treat someone who had once been one of your closest friends but it had come to feel like the only way to deal with it. Somehow it felt kinder than listening to him and letting him say things that I knew, if he was sober, he would bitterly regret.