Page 47 of Sad Girl Hours

Chapter Forty-seven

Saffron

I don’t sleep. There are a few moments where I come close but I always jerk awake, feeling like I’m falling, and remember.

Tomorrow, I’m going to be leaving here, and going back to Exeter with my parents.

I’ve let them down by coming this close to being kicked out.

I’ve let myself down by not going to that stupid meeting and allowing things to get this bad.

I know the morning will arrive, and I’m going to have to look at Nell and tell her that I’m leaving.

And after we’ve just had the most perfect night together.

Everything inside my body feels as though it’s twisting painfully, trying either to wrench these horrible, sickening feelings out of me, or to weave them even more intrinsically into every cell.

And her family as well. I’m going to seem so rude, just leaving without even a day’s warning after all the kindness they’ve extended to me, welcoming me with open arms and making me feel like one of them.

It gets to ten in the morning and I can no longer bear just lying here. Nell looks so peaceful in her sleep, her shoulder rising and falling as she breathes, facing towards me with closed eyes, slightly parted mouth and messed-up hair that – I remember with a pang – was very much my doing.

I don’t want to leave her. But what are my options here?

Tell my parents no thank you when they arrive and risk them not letting me come back ever?

I really wouldn’t put it past them, and on the one hand yay , but I have to be practical.

They are still my parents, and I couldn’t burden Nell’s family or anyone else by just camping out at their house the entire holiday.

And what about after uni? I need somewhere to go back to as a sort of safety net.

And I don’t want an ugly confrontation. I don’t want Nell to see how awful my parents can be, or, worse, I don’t want her parents to think I’m being ungrateful by refusing to spend time with my family.

Plus, my parents might be right. It might be good to have the time to focus on preparing for the meeting and studying, rather than just having fun up here.

God, it has been fun.

There are tears in my eyes as I get up carefully so as not to rouse Nell and start packing my bags.

“Hi,” Nell says, getting back from the bathroom a little later when she’s finally awake.

“I’m sorry to be insufferable but I just remembered I wrote you something last night at the party and then forgot to show you when we came back up.

” She’s grinning, her cheeks plump and red, and I know she’s remembering what made her ‘forget’.

“You did?” I say, glad she doesn’t notice how quiet my voice is (or my bags packed and ready to go behind me).

“Uh-huh. Here.” She hands me a piece of paper clearly torn from a notebook.

“Paper. Old school.”

“Sometimes thoughts come out prettier on paper and I really wanted this one to be pretty for you.”

It’s New Year’s Eve and it’s you and me.

We’re making promises into the unknown

stretching our hands into tomorrows

like we can touch them

like we can taste them

like the champagne fizzing in the flutes we curl our fingers around

gold swilling down our oesophaguses

plummeting into our stomachs in a heady haze of ‘I’ ll love you through all of whatever’s to come,’ of ‘what are you doing next year? Any plans?’

of ‘Just more of this. If you’re willing.’

We pour another glass.

Happy New Year, my love.

Drink up.

I read the last line and tears immediately start pouring, much more a storm than a shower.

“Saffron?” Nell’s voice is spilling over with concern. “What is it?”

“I have to leave,” I say, my eyes boring into hers in a desperate attempt to make her understand.

“You have to…” Her confusion is worse than if she’d immediately gone, ‘All right then. Safe travels,’ and not given it a second thought. How am I meant to explain this to her?

“My parents are coming to get me. They should be about—” I check the clock. “Ten minutes away now.”

“But…” She takes a step back, and I feel something snap. “Why?”

“It’s a long story,” I say. “If your dads aren’t around, will you tell them I’m so sorry to just leave like this and thank them, really thank them, for their hospitality. Hug the twins from me and tell them I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

I turn round under the pretence of going to grab my bags so I don’t have to look at her while everything feels as though it’s falling apart.

“Just hold on a minute,” Nell says, skirting between my retreating back and her dresser so that she’s facing me again. “You’ve not said why you’re leaving. You were meant to stay this whole time. I thought you didn’t want to be with your parents.”

“I don’t. But they’re still my parents.”

“And you were suddenly filled with a sense of familial obligation?” She’s saying it like it’s ludicrous, but it still stings. I haven’t been very loyal to them, have I? “This doesn’t make sense. If I knew you loved them, then sure, of course it’s OK for you to go back to them, but—”

“I do love them,” I say automatically. “They’re my parents.”

“But this doesn’t make sense. You’re not telling me something, I know you’re not. I know you , Saffron, whether you want me to or not.”

“I do want you to, and that is the truth. I just thought we should spend time together.”

“So, this has nothing to do with the fact that things happened between us last night? It’s all one big coincidence?”

“Yes,” I say desperately.

“I don’t believe you.” Her voice starts to harden slightly.

“I think you got scared. I think you let someone see you for the first time in maybe your entire life, and even though I’m telling you that I love you –” she laughs – “ I love you, Saffron , you still refuse to believe that it’s possible for someone to know you so completely and still want to be with you. ”

“That’s not it,” I say. “That’s not it at all.”

“Then what is it? Tell me, please.”

“I have done, Nell. I don’t know what more you want me to say.”

She’s quiet. “Do you just not want to be with me? Is that it? Do you regret what happened yesterday? Because if that’s it, I think it’s really cruel of you to just leave instead of telling me that.”

Not a single part of me regrets anything that happened yesterday.

I wish I did – it might make this easier.

I’m lying to the person that I love more than anything else in this world because – yet again – I’ve fucked up.

I don’t want her to know that the person she loves is such a mess that she might not be able to rejoin her in Lancaster next week.

And that, yet again, she’s bowing to the demands of her parents to try to prove… I don’t even know what.

“I do want to be with you,” I say. “More than anything.”

“That can’t be true, or you wouldn’t be leaving.”

Something contorts in my face at her words and she stops, running her hand through her hair. “I’m sorry. That’s not fair. Of course you should go home if that’s what you want to do. I just … I wish I believed that it was.”

She looks sad now, in a way I ache to undo, to wrap my arms around her and pull her close, to kiss her all over her face so I can make her know I’m trying to fix all the things that I’ve broken.

But. My parents are nearly at the door.

And I’m not half as brave as Nell is. She managed to beat everything trying to pull her down. Mine always comes back to me.

“I’m sorry.” The words spill out of me. “I really am. It’s not you. You’ve been perfect – you are perfect. I wish I could stay but I can’t. It’s too hard to explain, I just can’t.”

It’s not that hard to explain, not really. I’m just not brave enough to.

“All right,” Nell says, sounding tired. “If this is what you want to do, then fine. When will you be back at Lancaster?”

“I’m not sure. Definitely for Vivvie’s showcase, though.”

“OK. I’ll see you then, I guess. Do you need any help packing?”

I gesture to my bags. “I’m done. But thank you.” The stiltedness between us is making me want to scream. Why do I keep doing this to her?

We mill about in silence until the doorbell rings and then make our way downstairs.

“Saffron. You’re packed. Good.” My dad stands in the doorway, surveying me for a second, before reaching for one of my bags. “Let’s go.”

I lug my remaining bag forward, spotting my mother in the passenger seat of the car, watching us.

“Is everything OK?” I turn and see Eric and Xander coming down the stairs, looking perplexed.

“Saffron’s parents are here,” Nell says flatly. “She’s leaving with them now.”

“What?” They still sound confused. Xander is the first to recover, coming up to the door. “Oh. Hi, I’m Xander, one of Nell’s dads. Nice to meet you.” He extends a hand. “We’re big fans of your daughter.”

“Warren,” Dad says curtly.

“Would you like to come in?” Eric says. “You’ve got a long drive ahead of you again. Would you like to stop for a drink or a rest?”

“I appreciate the offer but no. We’d just like to get back.”

“Right. Sure.”

There’s quiet. I feel the urge to break it by being absolutely useless. “Thank you,” I say, directing this to Eric and Xander, “for having me. It’s been lovely. You’ve been so kind. I’m sorry to leave so abruptly.”

My father interrupts Eric’s response. “As you said, long drive ahead of us, and I’d really like to get moving. Come on, Saffron.”

Tossing a look that I hope is apologetic enough (although I doubt it ever could be) back at Nell’s dads, I turn away.

I know Nell is still standing in the doorway as I get in the car, but I can’t look.

I can’t look at the girl I love, knowing I’ve hurt her. But, as the car rolls down the street, I know I’ve hurt her more by not saying even that goodbye, and it makes tears slide down my cheeks again, my upset bobbing at the back of my throat.

“Come on.” My dad sounds irritated. “It’s not as bad as that. So long as you put your head down this week, you’ll see her soon.”

A week doesn’t seem like enough time to fix everything I’ve messed up and figure out how to convince uni that I can be in the right headspace to learn. But then, when I think about seven days and seven nights without Nell, it also feels like an eternity.

“Happy New Year,” I whisper.

“Yes, well,” my mum says, speaking for the first time, “not exactly my idea of the perfect New Year’s Day, being in the car for nearly ten hours.”

“You could have come tomorrow. You didn’t have to come .”

I don’t normally answer back like this but I’ve just lost out on seven more perfect days, and I didn’t ask them to do this. If I thought it would have made a difference, I’d have asked them not to.

“We thought we’d better give you the best chance possible to focus on your work, get you away from any distractions. We’re doing this for you and the sooner we did it the better. So yes, we did have to come today.”

That wasn’t what I meant. And God forbid I be distracted from being depressed, or from the weight of the knowledge that I will never have a family like other people’s.

I realise that, still crumpled in my left hand, is the poem Nell wrote me.

I reread it countless times on the drive home until I know it off by heart. The phrase feels apt because that’s exactly where it feels like the words have settled – in the cracks of the splintering going on inside me.

We get back home at about seven o’clock. Kenneth, the sweet boy that he is, wags his tail so hard at me that his whole back half is wiggling from side to side.

“Hey, good boy,” I say quietly. “How’ve you been?”

“Kenneth. Down,” my dad calls sternly, walking past us to get to the kitchen. Mum goes straight to her studio at the back of the house, and I’m left here on my own in the hallway, my suitcase by my feet.

“C’mon, boy,” I say to Kenneth, and he follows me upstairs, still wagging his tail.

I sink down on my bed, Kenneth immediately tucking his entire giant body into the crook of mine and trying to wiggle himself even closer. I hold him like this and let him lick the tears off my chin.

I know now. This week isn’t going to help me focus – it was never intended to. It’s a punishment for not being the person I’m meant to be.

And I know this too:

I’m not going back to Lancaster next week.