Her place is pristine, the surfaces shiny, with a permanent smell of bleach and every little thing in its place. She says it’s because of her past.
‘I was a bit of a tearaway, slept with a lot of guys,’ she once told me. ‘I was underage and wild. I did it to get at my dad. He was so strict, he’d try and lock me in my room, so I’d climb out the window.’
‘At least he cared?’ I’d offered.
‘Too much,’ she said, and I’ll never forget the look on her face. ‘That’s why I don’t have a door on my bedroom.’
I remember putting my arm around her, and it was then I realised that, in very different ways, we shared lost childhoods. Hers was spent escaping home, and mine was spent searching for one.
I was nine years old when I moved into my first foster home. Mum couldn’t cope, but I believed it was my fault, and living with strangers was my punishment for causing her distress. I didn’t understand then that her drug addiction was the reason she couldn’t function as a mother, it’s only now I realise how my life was blighted.
Meeting Alex last night gave me a little glimmer of hope that I could meet someone with whom I could make a life I’ve always dreamed of, and even a real home. I just have this feeling he wants the same things I do, and I finally have the chance of having something good in my life. If only he’d call.
‘Go on the app, prove me wrong and find Mr Right.’ Jas had laughed through a haze of alcohol that night weeks ago in The Orange Tree. As the evening had worn on, she’d become more tipsy, and more keen for me to try it out. I distracted her for a while by putting ‘Wonderwall’ on the jukebox and singing along to it with her, but she’s like a dog with a bone, is Jas.
‘As your boss, I’m here to tell you that you work too hard, so it’s time for you to chill, have sex and have fun.’
‘I do have fun,’ I’d protested.
‘Oh yeah, I’m sure you do, sitting at home every night writing up reports, checking up on teenagers to make sure they’re in their own bed and not someone else’s?’
‘That’s why I’m in this job, to try and keep them safe.’
‘Well, I think you should get out more. Ooh, he’s hot.’ She pointed to a photo on the app. ‘A handsome solicitor, living minutes away and gagging for a thirty-something woman to complete his life? Yes please,’ she gushed. ‘Hannah, he’s only just gone on the app – it’s like buying a house, when a great one goes on the market, you need to pounce.’
‘I’m not pouncing.’ I laughed. ‘I’ve online dated before – and it’s not for me.’
‘Look, just click “yes” now,’ she yelled impatiently (she’s always loud in bars), ‘and if it doesn’t work out, I’ll have your sloppy seconds, he’s gorgeous!’
So, fuelled by her enthusiasm, and alcohol, I clicked, and about fifteen minutes later he clicked on me. I suddenly felt nervous. What was I letting myself in for? I told Jas I’d changed my mind, but – typical Jas – she wasn’t having that.
‘Just give it a go, Hannah. You’re going on a date, not marrying him for God’s sake.’ She’d laughed. ‘Have some fun, and then, when we both get to sixty and we’re still single and childless, we’ll move in together.’
I laughed, hoping against hope that wasn’t all I had to look forward to. I love Jas, but she isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. She has so much energy but sometimes doesn’t know when to stop. She can take over if you let her, which is often irritating, but sometimes in life you need someone to take over, to pick you up and brush you off and tell you in a loud voice to your face that it’s going to be all right. And after my break-up with Tom, she did all that, and she fixed me.
I’d been so crazy about Tom at first, I asked him to move in with me after a few weeks. But I realised pretty early on that this had just been infatuation on my part, and once I’d got past the blue eyes and the killer smile, there was little else. He’d wander in from work, turn on the TV, spread himself across the sofa, open a beer and be on his