Page 4 of Sad Girl Hours

Chapter Four

Saffron

I’m beginning to descend down a helter-skelter of negative thoughts when I’m kindly interrupted by the sound of some absolute clomping up the stairs. I open up a box and pretend to be busy.

“OUCH.”

I turn round to be greeted by Jenna, Nell and a grimacing Casper, who’s clearly just bashed his head on a beam coming into the room.

“Oh, Casp,” I say sympathetically. “Do you see now why we didn’t let you have this room?”

“Maybe a little bit…”

I’m on the tall side too, but at least I’m not six foot three and very unaware of the space my body occupies in a room.

In fact, I’m chronically very aware of that.

And, besides, I fell in love with the attic when we went to look round the house.

Sure, the bathroom may be slightly mouldy on account of the lack of a fan and the landlord’s lack of interest in installing one, and the kitchen was built in the seventies in a dated, rundown kind of way, rather than a funky, mid-century-modern, viral-on-Pinterest one.

But I saw the potential in the attic, with its skylights and wood floors and, yes, very little headroom.

And we have a pretty big lounge with double doors out into the ‘garden’ (a courtyard just big enough to store the bins and approximately three people: standing, of course).

“Sweet idiot boy.” Jenna pats Casper’s head, resulting in a pink flush rippling across his cheeks. Nell and I exchange a look.

“Are your parents coming back up?” Nell asks, flopping on to my bed.

“No,” I say breezily. “They’re heading home now. They’ve got a long way to go.”

“Fair. All right, so,” she says like an announcement. “Let’s discuss the plans for the evening.”

“Which are?”

“Oh, we don’t have any. I’m asking for ideas.”

“Debauchery?” Jenna suggests. “There’s got to be a bit of debauchery.”

“There’s always debauchery when you’re invited, Jenna,” Casper says. “It would frankly be redundant to put it on our itinerary at this point. We may as well save the ink.”

“I didn’t realise you were printing off a schedule.”

“I’m not. Calligraphy, darling. I’m a classy boy.”

“I have photos from nights out that would disprove that last statement.”

Again, Nell and I exchange a look. We don’t know exactly what’s going on between those two, but we know there’s something .

They pretty consistently disappeared from every ‘classy’ night out we had last year with excuses like Jenna ‘helping Casp out with his geoscience coursework’ or Casper ‘running lines’ with Jenna.

Or, memorably, Casper had ‘just got a new jigsaw and he was simply dying to get puzzling’.

At 1 a.m.

With a blood-alcohol content I don’t think the Puzzler’s Guild would exactly endorse for maximum puzzle efficiency.

“I have videos,” Nell says. “There’s a lot that hides behind the posh-boy facade, Casper Fortescue-Thomas .”

“The Fifth,” Casper mutters resignedly, hanging his head in shame.

“Casper Fortescue-Thomas the Fifth .”

A laugh escapes me. “You’re all ridiculous,” I say fondly. “I love you guys so much.”

“We love you too,” Nell says, while Jenna hugs Casper to her side.

“Is there room for a jet-lagged bitch to join the lovefest?” A voice comes from the doorway.

“VIVVIE!” I leap up and run to hug her as tightly as I can. Vivvie was the first friend I made at uni, and I’ve really missed her – not that she would ever tolerate me saying that out loud.

“I believe there’s exactly room for one Viviana to join, yes,” Nell says, smiling.

“Good job I left my evil clone in the car then,” she says, squeezing me back for a second before she caps out her affection tolerance.

“Jet-lagged?” Jenna inquires. “You drove here. From Sheffield.”

“Did I really?” Vivvie feigns intense shock. “It feels as though I’ve been travelling for days. Are you sure I’ve not come from overseas?”

“You don’t look damp.” Casper pokes her arm.

“ Over seas, Casper. Not through , my sweet himbo prince.”

“Getting back to our original point.” Nell laces her fingers together in front of her. “What’s the plan ?”

“I need to go help my parents unpack my room,” Vivvie says. “If I don’t go and intervene, then my mum will be rifling through my clothes and telling me I’m going to catch my death because I packed too many crochet crop tops and silk dresses and not enough jumpers.”

I hold out the hem of the cropped jumper I’m wearing over flared jeans.

Vivvie made it for me as a Christmas present out of different-coloured crochet flowers.

We spent many hours last year crocheting in our halls of residence after Vivvie taught me how.

I found it quite soothing – it was a good distraction for a while before things got too dark to be distracted from. “Recognise this?” I ask.

“Claro. I believe it’s from the Viviana Castillo fall collection.”

“It’s pretty,” Nell says, scanning my ensemble. “The vibes, as always, Saff, are impeccable.”

“Thank you. So few people comment on the impeccableness of my vibes. Your vibes are also wonderful, Eleanora. As per usual.”

“Why, thank you.”

She shuffles into a pose, lounging on my bed like a Regency lady reclining on a chaise longue after receiving a letter about someone committing a scandalous act.

She’s wearing a white shirt, caramel-brown corset waistcoat over the top and soft-looking belted brown trousers.

She looks like she should be wandering round the countryside with a cloak and a quill.

I relay this information to her and Nell smiles.

“It’s so nice that you always see me in my truest form, with my true essence. ”

I smile back at her as she stays posed, looking very comfortable in my new room already.

Vivvie coughs. “Apologies to ruin the essence appreciation but I really need to stop my parents seeing my underwear.”

“Go.” I usher her away with my hands. “Stop the rifling.”

Casper narrows his eyes, looking shifty. “Did your parents perhaps bring any of those delicious pastelitos with them?”

“Pastelitos and an entire giant flan.”

“Excuse me, ladies.” Casper practically lunges for the door. “I have sudden important business to attend to in the, erm, kitchen vicinity.”

Jenna sighs a world-weary sigh and follows Vivvie and Casper downstairs. “I’ll go stop him wolfing them all down before any of us other flan fans get a look-in.”

“Good luck!” Nell calls after them, shaking her head before turning back to me. “So. How was your summer?”

“Oh, it was … good,” I say. “Lovely.” I sense a follow-up question so I cut it off by turning things back to her. “How was yours?”

“It was nice, pretty chill. I spent most of it languishing down by the creek with my books, bemoaning the weather.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. We had great weather down south.”

“Oh no, it was sunny up here too. I just abhor the heat. I’m not built for it. Both chronic-illness wise and spiritually. I’m built for hearty meals and stomping through leaves and snuggling by the fire.”

“I respect your commitment to your personal brand, and that does all sound nice,” I allow. “But it’s not really my thing. I’d take the heat over the cold and grey any day.” It feels simplistic to reduce my feelings down to the weather like this, but I daren’t get any deeper.

None of my friends know about the way I feel sometimes. I want to be happy and kind and someone they enjoy being around. They don’t even know the real reason I vanished at the beginning of the year for two months.

After New Year, I spiralled. Big time. I felt more desperately, achingly low than I maybe ever had before.

I couldn’t focus at uni, even though I love my course so much .

My absolute dream is to become an astrophysicist and be part of a team uncovering the secrets of the universe, and my course is the perfect one to help me get there – that’s why I chose to study up here in Lancaster.

That and the fact that it was far, far away from home.

I think part of me hoped that the further away I got from my hometown, the more distance I’d put between myself and the way I felt before.

But, of course, all the same feelings hitchhiked right back up here to me along with the lengthening nights.

“Cannot relate,” Nell says.

“Well, you are autumn in human form, so I think legally you have to say that.”

“I did sign a contract, yes.”

I laugh as I think, It’s so easy with Nell. With all of them. It’s never been this easy before. That’s why I’ve not told them about my depression, and why I try my best to keep that side of things hidden from them.

I can’t risk ruining whatever kind of magic it is that brought them into my life, and losing it all.

“We should discuss our joint birthday plans soon,” I say.

“Ah, yes, the Libra ladies’ big birthday bash. Definitely.”

We discovered that we have the same birthday (October 14 th ) last term, and Nell immediately insisted that we have a joint celebration.

I’ve never done much for my birthday before, but she was so excited that of course I agreed.

There aren’t many things I wouldn’t agree to to make Nell happy. To make anyone happy really.

“I think I’m just going to unpack now, maybe put up my decorations, make it feel like home. You can go hang with Casp and Jenna if you want,” I offer, beginning to remove things from my decorations box.

“Nah.” Nell sits up properly and shuffles over, pulling fairy lights out of the same box. “I’ll stay and help. I don’t want to interrupt whatever’s going on down there and, besides, when I tried to put my fairy lights up on my own I nearly garrotted myself.”

“Are you sure?” I frown.

“Did you not hear what I just said? Garrotted , Saffron. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Well … thank you. I was going to make a time-lapse of me decorating to post, though,” I add. “And I know you’re not a fan of all that.”

Nell grimaces. “Not exactly. I love watching your stuff but the idea of putting my own face on the internet makes me come out in hives.” She shakes her dark hair back, starting to unwind the lights from their cardboard.

“I’ll survive, though. I may look like a goblin but if it’s a time-lapse then at least I’ll look like a speedy, productive goblin. ”

“You always look lovely,” I insist. “I should be so lucky to be a goblin as pretty as you.”

“Weirdly, that’s very sweet, thank you. But I refuse to hear anything even resembling self-slander coming from you. You’re a perfect goblin lady too.”

I laugh, partly because Nell always makes me laugh with her particular brand of Nellness, partly because I’m thinking if only she knew .

I lied and said that my grandma was dying when I had those two months off.

Both my grandmothers are already dead, so it felt like a mostly harmless lie (except for the gnarled-gut sensation I get whenever I don’t tell my friends the truth).

But I can’t do that again this year. Not only because I’m going to run out of fictional grandmas, but also because I literally cannot take more time off university.

They only just let me stay on this year because in first year our grades don’t count towards our final degree, and I managed to catch up on enough stuff when I came back to scrape a pass.

But this is second year now. There’s no getting round the fact that I will definitely be kicked out if I have any more time out and I can’t let that happen.

I need to get a good final grade for everything – I want to be taken on by the best astro research team I can, and I can’t expect to just slide in based on passion alone.

And, even more importantly, I need to stay up here.

If I have to go back home, and especially back home indefinitely as I would if I’m kicked out of uni, then I don’t know what I’d do.

And not just in a pensive, I wonder kind of way.

I’m genuinely scared of what might happen if my dreams have been dashed and the only people around me are my parents.

My friends might not know all of me, but they at least like what I’ve shown them, and they make me happy.

I’ve never had anything like that before.

I keep thinking over this, feeling the pressure tugging harder and harder, making me feel like a main sequence star rapidly running out of hydrogen and becoming more and more unstable.

My phone camera is set up on its tripod, documenting as Nell and I move round the room.

We hang up my fairy lights, zigzagging them between the beams above my bed, put up my tapestries and posters.

I arrange my clothes in colour order on my clothes rail, and we make a start on the gallery wall of postcards above my desk.

The feelings of pressure don’t dissipate but I smile, I laugh, I make jokes with Nell, even though only the music and voiceover I edit over the top will be audible.

That’s the thing. I don’t want anyone to really see me. So I make sure they’re only looking when I tell them to.