Page 22 of Jessica Beam is a Hot Mess
‘Jessica. Maybe you should sit down.’
And of course then I knew. Everyone knows whatmaybe you should sit downmeans.
‘Er, OK,’ I said, my legs turning to liquid. Sinking down onto the carpeted floor, I leant my head back against the books and squeezed the phone in my hand.
‘Jessica. I’m afraid I have some awful news,’ Pam said, sounding like someone on the telly. Like this wasEastEnders. ‘I’m afraid that Rose, I mean, your mum … she . . . she’s passed away.’
I held my breath and nodded very quickly, my stomach tilting as if I were on the top of a roller coaster. ‘When? H-how?’
‘It was late this morning. She … she … it was an overdose. I was calling round for my monthly appointment. The front door was ajar and …’ Pam trailed off, a wobble in her usually calm voice.
I droppedThe Canterbury Talesonto my lap and watched the image of it blur against the tartan skirt of my dress.
‘But she was all right the last time she did that. They used that pump thingy in the hospital. She was laughing last night. I don’t understand. Are you sure she’s … ? She sounded sowell. She was … happy.’
And then it hit me. I knew why Mum was so cheerful last night. Why she’d suddenly seemed bright and positive and like a normal mum. She’d known exactly what she was going to do. She’d known she was leaving, and she’d left the door open for Pam to find her.
I knew I shouldn’t have left her. IknewI should have stayed at home. She wouldn’t have done this if I were at home.
I dropped the phone onto the carpet and stared at the rows of books in front of me, heard the clicking of the keyboards and hushed murmurs of students, all of them unaware that here in the corner, on the floor, my heart had just fractured.
I bit my bottom lip until I tasted blood and felt as if I should start crying. That was the expected thing, wasn’t it? There were supposed to be tears and wailing and tearing of hair and a library assistant carting me out, shouting, ‘Everyone move out of the way, there’s nothing to see here, show’s over!’ But none of that came. Instead, I got up off the floor, gently slid the book back onto the shelf in its right place and left the building. I stumbled back to halls, and in my room I turned off all the lights and got into bed, where I stared at the dark and waited patiently for my insides to stop twisting. That’s pretty much where I stayed until Summer found me.
I didn’t cry the day my mum killed herself. I haven’t cried since.
