Page 25 of Isn’t It Nice We Both Hate the Same Things

We’ve moved on to careers now. Sally’s pushing for a promotion, Cordelia is considering full-time influencing, Francine dislikes her new boss – calls him a slob, and a battler – whilst Lily dislikes her job altogether.

Or maybe it’s Francine who dislikes her job, I think I might be getting the names mixed up.

Alannah feels like she’s been cheated in her career, because she was an overachieving child and now she’s just an average employee working five days a week.

Someone asks me where I work, and then show pity when I tell them about the station and the breakfast show. They join the dots and remember Graham has been let go.

‘He’s not gone yet .’ I am quick to clarify.

‘Still horrible,’ Cordelia says.

‘Agreed,’ Francine (potentially Lily) adds.

‘Do you know who’s going to replace him?’ Lily (could be Francine, who the fuck knows) questions.

‘Not yet.’ And I won’t find out until the rest of the country does – the station is secretive like that.

‘What a job though,’ Sally says. ‘Graham Jackson is a media legend.’

I’ve learnt from my attempt at joining a craft club that I shouldn’t tell these women I live with Graham.

Not yet, anyway. Because the conversation will be dominated by questions and fascination.

What does his house look like? How many rooms?

Tell us about the furniture and the pools and the tennis courts.

Tell us how big your bedroom is. Tell us how many cars he owns.

Are you two dating? Is he holding you against your will?

Blink twice if he keeps you locked in his wine cellar.

It feels like a betrayal to gossip about him like that.

And, also, it really isn’t as marvellous as people might think.

It’s remarkable how we can live in that place, together, without actually seeing each other.

Bedrooms and car ports on opposite sides of the property, a wine cellar he won’t reveal the entrance to, and three separate living rooms I never seem to find him in.

Some days, I wonder if he’s in the house at all.

Some weeks, my only glimpse of him is his car triggering the front gate.

And, despite living in what will probably be the grandest house I’ll ever encounter, I am reticent to spend long stretches of time there.

I thought living with Graham would be a dream.

I thought I’d love it, and that it’d be easier than living alone, but I fear it’s made no difference.

It’s too quiet – too empty. Too easy for me to feel completely and utterly alone.

Too easy for me to miss Genevieve – to ring her, text her, bother her when she’s busy forging a new life.

The marathon runner places a hand on my shoulder. ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine.’

I’m wondering when we’ll start discussing the book, because I’m on my third glass of wine and am starting to feel woozy. Tired, with achy shoulders. Aware I’ll have a headache tomorrow, because I haven’t drunk enough water.

Then, Cordelia says terrible person mid-sentence when discussing a colleague, and it reminds me of Genevieve. Like a punch to the gut, I’m alert.

You’re not a terrible person, you just left a terrible marriage.

I’m thinking about her again. What’s she doing right now? Have they settled on a baby name or are they still on the shortlist of four? Above all else, I wonder if she, too, is trying to find a replacement.

My phone pings with a message from Naya.

Checking you’re still breathing?

And then a follow-up text.

Also, meant to ask. Have you booked your flights home yet?

‘Shit.’ I’d completely forgotten.

Sorry, soon.

At some point, conversations break off and I’m alone with Lily. She’s someone I could slip inside my pocket – tiny and timid. Voice like a bird, she cannot stop rubbing the ends of her hair.

‘I like it,’ I say, pointing. ‘The bob.’

‘Oh. Thank you.’ She folds in like she’s wounded. ‘My boyfriend broke up with me.’

I stifle a laugh. Drastic hair change – I should’ve known there was context.

‘It was blue on the ends,’ she adds, hands level with her collarbones to signal where the colour would’ve altered.

‘ Blue ?’

‘When I arrived tonight, no one recognised me,’ she says.

‘Me neither.’

She frowns, then clocks the joke. Chuckles. ‘Oh, right. Because you’re new. I get it.’

‘You’ve been here since the start, right?’

‘The book club?’ she clarifies. Then nods. ‘Since day one.’ Then she looks down and away, and won’t stop touching her goddamn hair. I suspect the blue looked ridiculous anyway, but I can’t tell her because I sense she might just topple over and die.

I’m wondering if we have anything in common, or if this conversation is going to be a struggle. ‘Did you like the book?’ I ask.

After a moment, her mouth twists. ‘Not really.’

And I realise we have a chance. ‘Me neither.’

She is instantly relieved. ‘I don’t really understand what it meant. I felt stupid reading it, like everything was going over my head.’

‘ Yes .’ Instinctively, in a moment of finally being able to relate to her, I reach forward and grab her wrist. Then retract. ‘Oh. Sorry.’

She waves it off, then touches her hair again. ‘I feel naked.’ She runs her fingertips over the back of her neck.

‘How recent was the breakup?’

‘Couple of weeks. This is my first time out, since it happened.’

‘Were you together long?’

She nods. ‘Quite a while.’

She doesn’t elaborate, so I’m left pondering what quite a while could mean. A few years? Or less? If I think quite a while , I’d guess minimum four.

‘Do—’

My phone vibrates, and our conversation is temporarily halted.

It’s Naya, again.

Mum’s so excited to see you. Please don’t bail.

‘Something wrong?’ Lily asks, and I realise she’s clocked my expression.

The way my shoulders have sagged, and I’m biting my lip.

Maybe she’s sensing my guilt, because it’s been almost two years since I’ve seen my mother, even longer since I was home for the holidays, and I’ve always known how much that pains her.

‘My sister,’ I say. ‘Asking if I’ve booked my flights home.’

Lily nods, pensive. ‘Do you head home often?’

‘No, not really.’ When I look up, I see how inquisitive she is now. For the first time since we’ve started speaking, she’s dropped her hand. ‘My father, he …’

‘Oh.’ She glances down. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I find it hard to go home. Reminds me of him.’

I say nothing more – I’m not one to divulge much about my father. The only people I really spoke to about him were Genevieve and Dave.

I think I was lucky, perhaps, that Dave had not yet gone through a great loss.

For most of the time that Dave and I were together, he didn’t know what that felt like and couldn’t possibly relate.

And I think I preferred it that way. He knew enough about my father to help me when I needed, but also did his best to distract me.

On Dad’s birthday, or the anniversary of his death, Dave would plan a drive somewhere, or tickets to a musical.

Something long that had at least two acts, and a longer interval.

He’d get spirits from the bar, rather than something milder, because the more I drank the easier it was to forget what day it was and how long it’d been since I’d seen my father.

‘My brother talks about it all the time. Death,’ Lily says, pushing her wine glass aside. ‘He’s a nurse, sees it often.’

‘What does he say about it?’

‘How it can look, and smell. How slowly it can happen, when life is being particularly cruel.’

‘Does he ever talk about how fast it can happen?’

By the soft, understanding expression on Lily’s face, she has realised that my father did not die slowly.

‘It has the biggest impact. The ones you don’t see coming.

The operations that should go smoothly and don’t, the car crashes that wouldn’t have happened if someone left their home one minute earlier or even thirty seconds later.

Because people aren’t expecting the worst, and so there’s this distinct before and after.

Before, someone was alive, and now, they’re not. ’

I think of my own before and after. Before, we were a family. Loud, chaotic, bustling. After, it was silent. All the time. And I did everything I could to escape.

I don’t realise I’m cracking my knuckles until Lily winces. ‘I’m sorry about your father,’ she says.

‘We were never really the same after that.’

‘No, I imagine you weren’t.’ And then she straightens, goes back to touching her hair.

If Genevieve were here, she’d know I need a laugh. She’d say something witty, poke fun at someone. ‘Maybe we should go back to complaining about the book,’ I suggest. ‘Alannah and Francine really liked it.’

Lily groans. ‘They all liked it. I asked as soon as I walked in. Couldn’t believe it. I’m glad there’s someone else here who struggled.’ Collecting her wine, she takes a generous sip.

‘I didn’t buy the relationship,’ I say. ‘The boyfriend was thick. I don’t really know why she was with him.’

Lily is brushing away a tear, and I’ve been too slow to notice that I’ve upset her.

‘Oh god, I’m sorry.’

She waves it off. ‘Totally fine, totally fine. Every now and then I just remember, you know?’ She points behind her. ‘Francine got engaged over the weekend and I cried when she told me. And she thought I was crying because I was happy for her, but I was actually just really sad for me.’

‘Don’t think too much about her engagement.’ I hold up the book. ‘She likes this . Her taste is questionable.’

Lily laughs, covering her mouth with her hand.

‘It helps if you remember things he never liked doing, and then go do them. Don’t know why, but it works.’

‘He didn’t like threesomes.’ Then she looks me up and down.

Not at all where I thought the conversation was headed. The room feels like it’s quietened, somehow. ‘Oh. I—’

‘I’m fucking with you,’ she says, smiling. ‘He was sugar-free and it was depressing. I’ve been eating candy nonstop. You’re right, it does help.’

I laugh. Really laugh – a loud cackle. It’s so unexpected that a couple of the other girls glance our way.

Lily delivered that quip so quickly, so effortlessly, and it was exactly what I needed.

It’s the kind of joke Genevieve would make, and I feel like this could be something.

Could be someone . I could ask for her number, suggest a coffee.

Maybe go see a film. Propose seeing a play or a musical.

And then she ruins it.

Well, Alannah ruins it. Walks over to us, wraps an arm around Lily’s shoulders and dons a sad expression. ‘Did Lily tell you she’s leaving us? Travelling overseas for two years – we’re all devastated.’

Lily smiles, raises her hands in a sorry kind of way. Casual though. Like she doesn’t really care that she’s leaving book club – leaving the country.

And there goes my chance.

‘Oh. How exciting,’ I say. ‘When?’

‘Monday,’ she replies. ‘Bags all packed. Came here to say goodbye.’

The other girls join us now, each hugging Lily. They tell her they’re going to miss her, that she better keep in touch. That she can read the book club selections from afar.

She promises the group that she won’t be a stranger – that they’ll talk every week – and I think of Genevieve. How she reassured me as well, in the beginning. And I look at these other girls and I see that they believe Lily. They think things aren’t going to change.

But everything is going to change.

Plucking out my phone, I send Genevieve a text.

Miss you.