I half-want to exclaim, “So this is all your fault!” But of course it’s not. Nor Suze’s fault. Nor any of them. I look up to see both Jess and Luke watching me anxiously and feel a sudden prickle in my nose.
“When everyone pulled out, I felt…I thought…” I swallow hard. “I didn’t know what to think.”
There’s silence, then Jess comes and puts a hand on my shoulder.
“We didn’t know what to think either,” she says. “If it’s any consolation, we’ve all been beating ourselves up.” She summons WhatsApp on her phone and shows me a group entitled Is Becky OK??
I knew it! I wasn’t paranoid. There is a secret WhatsApp group.
I begin to scan the messages—and feel little prickles of shock as I read them.
Janice
This is all my fault. I should NEVER have invited Flo to Becky’s house. I blame myself.
Jane
It’s MY fault, love. We shouldn’t have moved to Shoreditch.
Janice
We don’t need a piñata!!! Why couldn’t I see what I was doing with my endless unreasonable demands???
Suze
We all put so much pressure on Becky. I feel REALLY bad that we invited ourselves for Christmas. I never even thought about it.
Jane
It’s come back to me now—when I asked Becky to host Christmas, she said she was terrified by the idea. She said it would give her “sleepless nights.” Those were her ACTUAL WORDS, Janice, love. “Sleepless nights.”
I pause, puzzled. I’m sure Mum’s invented this. I’m sure I didn’t say it would give me “sleepless nights.”
Jane
I didn’t listen to my OWN DAUGHTER IN HER TIME OF STRESS.
Janice
Love, don’t feel bad. We’re all guilty.
“Jess…” I raise my head. “This is insane. We have to put everyone right.”
“Yes.” Jess nods and takes the phone. She swiftly types a message, then looks up. “You’ve had enough hassle, Becky. We’ll sort it. And just to double-check…” She hesitates. “We’re back on for Christmas at yours, yes?”
“Yes,” I say firmly. “Yes!”
As Jess types a follow-up message, I watch her fingers, feeling a bit overwhelmed that all these conversations have been going on.
“On the plus side, at least everyone’s talking again,” I say as she finishes, and Jess meets my eye with a little grin.
“Even better, your mum and Janice have totally bonded over fretting about you. Flo’s out of the picture.”
“Really?” I say, my spirits lifting. “Well, there’s a silver lining!”
“I’ll make some tea,” says Luke cheerfully. “Come on, Minnie, you help me. You can bring the iPad,” he adds as she opens her mouth to protest.
“This Nadine character sounds…” Jess shakes her head wonderingly. “Vindictive.”
“I think she’s a really, really entitled person,” I say, frowning in thought. “She thought she was entitled to Luke’s money. When she couldn’t get that, she decided she was entitled to us having a miserable Christmas. Anyway,” I add hastily, as Jess winces, “let’s not dwell. We found out in time, so…no harm done.”
“Thank God you came round.” Jess gives a sudden massive yawn and claps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. Sorry.”
“Oh God,” I say, stricken by remorse. “Are you tired, Jess? Are you not well?”
I’ve been so obsessed by Christmas I haven’t paid proper attention to Jess. But now I survey her, she looks terrible. Pale and thin. And kind of agitated. Her eyes keep flicking away from mine, as though there’s some massive distraction in her head.
“Jess, speaking of well-being…” I say in softer tones, “how are you?”
Jess gazes at me. “You’re still worried about me, aren’t you?”
There are huge shadows under her eyes, I notice with a twinge. Just like under Steph’s. Oh God, here am I, selfishly worrying about Christmas, when it’s Jess who looks as if she’s on the edge.
“Yes,” I say bluntly. “I am. Jess, I know it’s none of my business, but I was just talking to a friend who’s had…difficulties. She said you might be feeling so vulnerable you couldn’t open up. And I want you to know that if you’re hurting—”
“You think I’m hurting,” Jess cuts me off in a weird, constricted voice, “because of Tom’s infidelity.”
I stare back at her, breathless. Is she going to lower her defenses, finally?
“Becky,” she continues in the same weird voice. “Haven’t the events of today taught you anything about making assumptions?”
“What?” I say, not following, and there’s another strange beat of silence—then she seems to relent.
“I’ve got something to show you.” She gets to her feet and beckons to me to follow. “We’re coming upstairs,” she calls.