‘I don’t have a job,’ I tell him, whether or not he wants to listen. ‘Currently.’
He nods once.
Out of the passenger window, rows of semi-detached brick houses pass us by, all identical in shape, in size, the front doors and front gardens presenting a glimpse of individuality. Life here would certainly be different to anything I’ve ever been used to, but what does that matter if I’m happy? If I’m loved?
‘I’ve had loads, though,’ I go on. ‘Jobs.’
‘Boss,’ Jim says.
‘Once I had to dress as a cheerleader to promote these new overpriced hot dogs and guess what?’
‘You never got a free hot dog?’
‘I never got a free hot dog.’
Jim returns to his tap-tap-tapping.
‘Would you mind not doing that, Jim?’
‘Doing what?’
‘That tapping.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s making me really anxious.’
He stops.
‘Thanks. I’m just nervous.’
He doesn’t ask why.
‘I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve had the most awful twenty-four hours … well, twenty hours, to be precise. God, it hasn’t even been a whole day since everything fell apart. It’s funny how time plays tricks on you, isn’t it? Like how some days just go by in a flash, and some drag on forever, like everything you thought can change in the space of just a few hours, minutes even. Do you know what I mean, or am I just chatting shit?’
‘I know what you mean.’
‘I can shut up if you want. It just feels better to talk. Makes me less nervous.’
Jim still doesn’t pry.
‘Don’t you think it’s worth trying to get answers though, rather than spend your life wondering? I do. I’d rather just know. I’d rather get the facts. Move on. Otherwise there’ll always be a niggle, a sort of unsettling buzz in my brain. And also, there’s two sides to every story, right? I like to think that most people in the world are good people, that there’s always an explanation for their actions. I might seem like a terrible person to some people – like to you, I’m sure you think I’m a terrible person – but, despite my faults, I’m not. I never mean to hurt anyone, or annoy anyone, it just seems to come across the wrong way. Like when my friend Katie threw a baby shower for her sister. All the girls were cooing over the bump and Katie said to me, ‘What do you think, Zara?’ and I said, ‘Wow, it’s huge!’ Which was the absolute worst thing to say, apparently, except I’d worked with a woman once who got upset whenever people told her that her bump was tiny, she was so anxious that she’d have an abnormally small baby. Okay, that’s a really bad example, but—’
‘I don’t.’
‘You don’t what?’
‘I don’t think you’re a terrible person.’
‘Oh. Thank you.’
The city sights are long behind us and the rundown independent shops and warehouses have disappeared, replaced by more appealing rows of houses with an almost quaint cottage look about them.
‘You familiar with around here?’ I ask.
Jim shakes his head in disapproval, as if he’s just sniffed a fart.
What’s his problem? This place seems pretty nice; there are even horses in the field we’ve just passed. I bet he lives in a huge apartment, ultra modern and gleaming with sharp greys and blacks and whites. A real bachelor pad.
We stop at the traffic signal. A red light. If only Jim would talk to me, engage with me, keep things moving.
‘I guess we’re both just having a bad day, huh?’ I say, in an attempt to sound upbeat.
It sort of works. Jim laughs.
‘Can you remember your worst bad day?’ I ask.
‘You serious?’
‘It helps.’
‘How?’
‘Because, Jim, it reminds you that things aren’t as bad as they seem right now.’
‘Quite the philosopher, aren’t you?’
‘Mine’s when my parents split. I mean, it was so obvious for months, but, God. The news hit me like … whoa. I can’t even imagine them being together now, but that day sticks in my mind as being fucking awful. I knew I was about to lose a lot more than just a set of parents. And I was right. Gut instincts, eh? Are your parents still together?’
Jim’s eyes glance across at me and back to the road ahead.
‘Oh, Jim. Forgive me. Please. That was not appropriate.’
‘Me dad died.’
I close my eyes, try to disappear.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I whisper.
‘It was a while ago. But it doesn’t feel like a while ago.’
I tell myself to shut up. Just shut the fuck up. Now.
‘What happened?’ I ask. Why? Why did I just ask that? What’s wrong