Nathan, the responsible, reliable man who never broke his rules had broken them for me.
Yep. Besotted.
23
Stop Being a Loser Programme
Day Sixty
Monday was 5 November. Bonfire Night. Gunpowder, treason and plot. Or, in my case, hot chocolate, warm hat and watching the Brooksby Grace Chapel firework display from the back garden. Joey brought me back a toffee apple – pretending to leave his friends early because of training the next morning, but in reality carrying another kitchen chair outside to join his mother.
‘Looks better from out here than the upstairs window,’ he pronounced, grinning at me from behind his scarf.
I breathed in a deliciously chilly lungful of smoke that had drifted over the fences, blended with the faint aroma of popcorn and hot dogs, and turned to gaze at my gorgeous son, cheeks rosy, eyes bright. ‘It certainly does.’
‘It’s even better from the field. And a lot warmer if you get near the bonfire.’
Pink and green and blue rockets of light whizzed above our heads with a loud crackle.
‘Maybe you’ll come with me next year?’
I blinked, hard, and vainly tried to swallow the broken lump of love wedged in my throat. We watched another rapid succession of whooshing explosions.
‘I don’t think so.’
Joey tensed in his chair.
‘Mum tags along with fourteen-year-old son and his friends at a bonfire display? I can find my own friends to hang out with, thank you very much.’
He let out a relieved laugh. ‘Well, I thought it was only polite to ask.’
‘Maybe we’ll go on holiday or something together instead.’
There was silence for a few moments. When Joey replied, his voice was soft enough to crack my heart. ‘That would be awesome.’
It truly would.
24
Stop Being a Loser Programme
Day Sixty-Two
The car was there again, in the leisure centre car park. Crouching in the furthest space from the building, half-hidden in the shadows. I’d walked over to meet Joey after his early morning swim, another success to tick off on the Programme, but hadn’t managed to cajole myself as far as the swimming pool window this time, sticking to the bench instead. I checked the time – nearly eight. Late enough to message Lisa:
What make is the car hanging around school?
Black merc. That’s why people noticed it. Think you’ve seen something?
I peered through the darkness. Quickly googled Mercedes, to double-check.
Leisure centre car park. Joey says it’s been here a few times
Report it
I knew I should report it. The school had asked us to call the non-emergency police number. I thought about that while switching my gaze from the car to the leisure centre door and back again. Thought about the police arriving, asking me to wait. Imagined an interview, a methodical police officer going over things, one careful question at a time, as the strip of pinky-blue peeping over the horizon spread. Thought about how much I hated being this person, still so weak and messed up, as I turned and hurried home.
Once Joey had gone to school, I phoned the leisure centre and left an anonymous message. The guilt held me hostage in the house for the rest of the week. I scuttled between my desk and the duvet, my anxiety jeering in the background the whole time. My shame piled even higher. My self-loathing rose to lung-deep.
