up on my legs. I drop my bags to the floor and groan.
Megan turns around from her spot on the sofa. ‘You look like someone has vomited you up.’
‘Everything hurts. I’m too old for this. I was too old for this even when I was the age it was considered the appropriate thing to do. Why is it so fucking hot? When will this fucking heatwave ever end?’
‘In a good mood, are we?’
‘No. Is it that obvious?’ I kick my shoes off and flop down alongside her. I must smell bad because she inches away slightly. I look at the television. ‘Oh, it’s the episode where Joey loosens up and becomes Other Joey.’
‘Yep, she’s about to sing “Cheap Tricks” and act slutty.’
‘God she’s annoying.’
‘The actual worst,’ Megan confirms. ‘I mean, they call her “Other Joey”, like you can compartmentalise the fun, cool parts of a girl away from the tricky bits … Hang on … come to think about it,’ she points at the screen with the energy of someone who doesn’t have a hangover. ‘How many times have we seen this scene in other incarnations?’ I twist my broken head to where Joey’s singing on stage and taking her clothes off, while Pacey looks on adoringly. ‘There’s always the woman who is too tightly wound or whatever, because she wants to do well in school or her career or whatever the hell else it is that’s actually probably a pretty good aspiration to have. And then some slightly-fucked-up dickwad turns up and starts getting her to realise her “true self”. But her “true self” is always some drunken, slutty, fun-loving twat who takes her clothes off and dances on stage while everyone cheers.’
‘True,’ I say, and then I can’t say anything else. All other words seem impossible. I cuddle up to Megan’s legs. ‘Megs?’ I start.
‘Yes?’
‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
Sensing something in my voice, she picks up the remote and Dawson’s Creek comes to a standstill. ‘What is it?’
‘If I tell you, you have to promise not to say anything.’
‘You haven’t killed a man, have you?’
I scramble so I’m upright, fold my legs into a crossed position, sitting across from her. ‘No, I’ve not killed a man.’
‘Then what is it? You can tell me.’
‘I’ve … I’ve …’ I savour this last moment where my weird little secret is still just that. Safe within the realms of only my knowledge. I close my eyes, open them. ‘I’ve met a man … That Joshua guy.’ Her eyes widen. ‘But it’s complicated. Because, well … he’s my boyfriend now, except he isn’t because I’ve been pretending to be this fictional woman called Gretel.’ It sounds even worse out loud than I thought it would.
Megan’s eyebrows lift, crinkling her forehead. ‘Right,’ she says slowly, picking up a cushion and hugging it. ‘Right.’
‘It’s bad, isn’t it?’
‘I think I need a bit more explanation. Though last night, I got an inkling. You called me, do you remember?’
The moment she brings it up, I do. The fog from last night lifts and I’m smacked with the memory of my knickers down, wailing to Megan about not being known.
‘Shit. Yes. Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry.’
She waves the apology away. ‘So, who’s Joshua? And, who is Gretel? Isn’t she that girl you used to work with?’
I take the cushion from her, clutch it to myself, and it all spills out. She listens, stopping me only once to say, ‘I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were going through all of this.’
‘… and, yeah, so now he’s my boyfriend. I’m crazy, Megan. I’m actually fucking certifiably insane.’
I don’t realise I’ve fully hidden behind the cushion until she pulls it away, forcing me to look up at her. She doesn’t say ‘no you’re not insane’. She asks, ‘So you’re doing all this for what?’
‘Well, initially for revenge?’
‘Right, on who?’
‘All men.’
‘And that’s all?’
I yearn for the cushion to be back over my face, muffling my shame. Talking about it has made it real and the reality of my behaviour is terrifying. It’s like I’ve slapped myself across the face with myself. ‘I thought that was all it was,’ I admit. ‘I was so fed up and just wanted to feel like I had some power. Any power … But now. I’m not sure. I kind of like him. He doesn’t seem so bad. I keep wanting to spend time with him; I think about him a lot. Ironically, it’s the closest I’ve felt to any