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On Saturday morning Justin took one look at me and declared: “No. It is a wet weekend. You can’t be one too.”
“I’ve been up half the night working on cheering you up,” said Will. “To thank you for the cake, and the football, and the card.”
“She doesn’t need thanks for any of that,” snapped Justin. “She got to go out. She saw burly men in the village shop. It was me that ran up and down the stairs getting people to sign the fuckity thing.”
“Justin,” I said. “You do not have Tourette’s Syndrome. The constant swearing to pretend that you do makes light of genuine cases.” It had been happening a lot over the last few days.
“Oh, keep your politically correct hair on. What’s Hearst been doing to cheer you up? Hasn’t worked, has it? Darling. Was he really, really bad?”
“Quit being so mean to her, Bevan.” Will placed earphones in my ears. “Made you a playlist.”
It was such a sweet thing to have done that I immediately burst into tears.
Justin shook his head. “See, Hearst, you think I’m being cruel, but you just don’t get the Treadwell psychology. Times like this, she needs to be insulted.”
“I do not.” I sniffed, hoping it came off as haughty rather than pathetic, and turned my attention to the music. “Oh, I know this one, it’s…” A song about outdoor nudity. I laughed at his audacity.
“Are they all of this ilk?” I asked.
“Keep listening.”
Next came a love song of lots of girls’ names: Will’s many girlfriends. I laughed again but removed one earbud to listen to Justin’s “Dissertation on Phi’s psychological make-up: the breakthrough that will change her life.”
“I already know what my mother’s like, thank you, Just.”
“Yes, the daily putdowns. You’re never good enough. Everything you do? Worthless. There’s always someone done it better, bigger, sparklier. She tells you you’re fat, you’re ugly—”
“Is this going somewhere?” I asked.
“It’s why you can’t cope with people being nice to you, and here’s the life-changing clincher: once you see the reasons behind the dysfunction, you can start to heal and make better choices.” He paused for effect, fully aware that he had the attention of the whole room. “It’s why you’re attracted to men who treat you like shit. That feels normal to you.”
I kept my eyes on his face, careful not to even corner-peek at anyone else, and said: “Rubbish.”
“It’s subconscious. I know you don’t actually think, ‘Ooh goody, a total bastard.’ But it’s true. Let’s examine your track record.”
I gave him a hard, and hopefully meaningful, look. “Or, let’s not.”
He ignored me. “Face it. If they don’t push you around, eat worms, or flirt with every available bimbo, you don’t want to know. But there’s been an improvement lately. I’ve seen both anger and power in you, and we need to go with that and build upon good habits as they form.”
I took a bite of toast and chewed, hoping Justin would cease the annoying discourse if not responded to. He was right about things being different this time, though. I had been able to express my feelings to Aleks. I’d felt in a safe enough space with him to do that, but what difference had it really made in the end?
Simone interrupted my contemplation. “Maybe…” she said. “Amalphia would hold on to her boyfriends better if she ate less.” She laughed as if she’d said something hugely witty.
I smiled and added more butter to my toast.
“Go fuck yourself,” muttered Will, not quietly enough.
“What did you say, Will Hearst?” Simone spat his name like it was a bad word. “I know you lot speak about me behind my back.”
Will looked at her. “I said: why don’t you go fuck yourself, Simone.”
Justin’s mouth fell open, and I almost choked on my toast.
Simone stood, furious, and addressed the staff table. “Is he going to get away with speaking to me like that?”
Will gave the staff no chance to answer, on his feet as fast as her. “You can’t take it, can you? But we all have to listen to you. Every day you’ve got some snidey comment for her, and I know why.”
I gazed up at angry Will in amazement.
