Jojo Moyes - The One Plus One

Because, in that one moment, Ed Nicholls saw that he had been more like Marty than he was like Jess. He had been that coward, who spent his life running from things rather than facing up to them. And that something had to change.

‘Jess?’ he said, softly, into her skin, some time later, as he lay awake, marvelling at the 180-degree swings of life in general. ‘Will you do something for me?’

‘Again?’ she said sleepily. Her hand rested lightly on his chest. ‘Good God.’

‘No. Tomorrow.’ He leant his head into hers.

She shifted, so that her leg slid across his. He felt her lips on his skin. ‘Sure. What do you want?’

He gazed up at the ceiling. ‘Will you come with me to my dad’s?’

So Jess’s favourite saying, next to ‘It’s all going to be fine’ and ‘We’ll work something out’ and ‘Oh, Christ, NORMAN’ is that families come in all different shapes and sizes. ‘It’s not all 2.4 now,’ she says, like if she says it enough times we’ll all have to actually believe it.

Well, if our family was a weird shape before, it’s pretty much insane now.

I don’t really have a full-time mum, not like you probably have a mum, but it looks like I’ve acquired another part-time version. Linzie. Linzie Fogarty. I’m not sure what she makes of me: I can see her watching me out of the corner of her eye, trying to work out if I’m going to do something dark and Gothic, or chew up a terrapin or something. Dad said she does something high up in the local council. He said it like he was really proud, like he’s gone up in the world. I’m not sure he ever looked at Jess the way he looks at her.

For about the first hour after we got here I just felt really awkward, like I basically just acquired one more place to feel like I didn’t fit. The house is really tidy and they don’t have any books, unlike ours, where Jess has stuffed them into pretty much every room except the bathroom and there’s usually one by the loo anyway. And I kept staring at Dad because I couldn’t believe he’d been living here like a totally normal person while lying to us all the time. It made me hate her, like I hate him.

But then Tanzie said something at supper, and Linzie burst out laughing, and it was this really goofy, honking laugh – FOGHORN FOGARTY, I thought – and she clamped her hand over her mouth and she and Dad exchanged a look like it was a sound she should have tried really, really hard not to make, and something about the way her eyes wrinkled up made me think maybe she was okay.

I mean, her family has just taken on a weird shape too. She had two kids, Suze and Josh, and Dad. And suddenly there’s me – Gothboy, as Dad calls me, like that’s funny – and Tanze, who has taken to wearing two pairs of glasses on top of each other because she says the one pair isn’t quite right, and Jess going nutso on her drive, and kicking holes in her car, and Mr Nicholls, who definitely has a thing about Mum, hanging around and calmly trying to sort everyone out like the only grown-up in the place. And no doubt Dad has had to tell her about my biological mum, who might also end up on her drive shouting one day, like that first Christmas after I moved in with Jess where she threw bottles at our windows and screamed herself hoarse until the neighbours called the police. So, all things considered, Foghorn Fogarty might legitimately be feeling like her family isn’t quite the shape she expected either.

I don’t really know why I’m telling you this. It’s just it’s three thirty a.m. and everyone else in this house is asleep and I’m in Josh’s room with Tanzie and he has his own computer (both of them have their own computers, Apple Macs, no less) and I can’t remember his codes to do any gaming, but I’ve been thinking about what Mr Nicholls said about blogging and how somehow if you write it and put it out there your people might come.

You probably aren’t my people. You’re probably people who made a typo while doing a search on discount tyres or porn or something. But I’m putting it out here anyway. Just in case you happen to be anything like me.

Because this last twenty-four hours has made me see something. I might not fit in the way that you fit with your family, neatly, a little row of round pegs in perfectly round holes. In our family we’ve had to whittle at our pegs and our holes because they all belonged somewhere else first, and they’re all sort of jammed in and a bit lopsided. But here’s the thing. I realized something when Dad sat down and told me it was good to see me and his eyes got all moist: my dad might be an arse, but he’s my arse, and he’s the only arse I’ve got. And feeling the weight of Jess’s hand as she sat by my hospital bed, or hearing her try not to cry down the phone at the thought of leaving me here – and watching my little sister, who is trying to be really, really brave about the whole school thing, even though I can tell her world has basically ended – it all made me see that I do sort of belong somewhere.

I think I sort of belong to them.

Ed lay propped against the pillows, watching her do her makeup, painting out the bruises on her face with a little tube of concealer. She had just about covered the blue bruise on her temple where her head had bounced off the airbag. But her nose was purple, the skin stretched tight over a bump that hadn’t been there before, and her upper lip bore the swollen, oversized look of a woman who had ill-advisedly indulged in backstreet fillers. ‘You look like someone punched you in the nose.’

Jess rubbed her finger gently over her mouth. ‘So do you.’

‘It did. My own car, thanks to you.’

She tilted her head, gazing at his reflection behind her. He had this slow lopsided grin, and his chin was a giant bristly shadow. She couldn’t not smile back.

‘Jess, I’m not sure there’s really any point trying to cover it. You’re going to look bashed up whatever you do.’

‘I thought I’d tell your parents, sorrowfully, that I walked into a door. Maybe with a bit of a furtive sideways look at you.’

He let out a sigh and stretched, closing his eyes. ‘If that’s the worst they think of me by the end of today, I suspect I’ll be doing quite well.’

She gave up on her face, and shut her makeup bag. He was right: short of spending the day pressed against an ice-pack, there was little she could do to make it look less battered. She ran a speculative tongue over her sore upper lip. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t feel this when we were … well, last night.’

Last night.

She turned and crawled up the bed until she was lying full length along him. She knew this man. She knew every inch of him. She couldn’t believe that they had not even properly met each other a week previously. He opened his eyes, sleepily, reached out and toyed lazily with a lock of her hair.

‘That’ll be the sheer power of my animal magnetism.’

‘Or the two joints and a bottle and a half of Merlot.’

He hooked his arm around her neck and pulled her into him. She closed her eyes briefly, breathing in the scent of his skin. He smelt pleasingly of sex. ‘Be nice,’ he growled softly. ‘I’m a bit broken today.’

‘I’ll run you a bath.’ She traced the mark on his head where it had hit the car door. They kissed, long and slow and sweet, and it raised a possibility.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Never felt better.’ He opened one eye.

‘No. About lunch.’

He looked briefly serious, and let his head fall back on the pillow. She regretted mentioning it. ‘No. But I guess I’ll feel better when it’s done.’

She sat in the loo, agonizing in private, then rang Marty at a quarter to nine and told him she had something to sort out and that she would now pick the children up between three and four. She didn’t ask. From now on, she had decided, she was just going to tell him how it was going to be. He put Tanzie on the phone and she said nothing about the evening but demanded to know how Norman had coped without her. The dog was stretched out in front of the fire, like a three-dimensional rug. She wasn’t entirely sure he’d moved in twelve hours, apart from to eat breakfast.

‘He survived. Just.’

‘Dad said he’s going to make bacon sandwiches. And then we might go to the park. Just him and me and Nicky. Linzie’s taking Suze to ballet. She has ballet lessons twice a week.’

‘That sounds great,’ Jess said. She wondered whether being able to sound cheerful about things that made her want to kick something was her superpower.

‘I’ll be back some time after three,’ she said to Marty, when he came back on the phone. ‘Please make sure Tanzie wears her coat.’

‘Jess,’ he said, as she was about to ring off.

‘What?’

‘They’re great. The pair of them. I just –’

Jess swallowed. ‘After three. I’ll ring if I’m going to be any later.’

She walked the dog, left him stretched out in the front room, and when she returned Ed was up and breakfasted. They drove the hour to his parents’ house in silence. He had shaved, and changed his T-shirt twice, even though they were both exactly the same. She sat beside him and said nothing, and felt, with the morning and the miles, the intimacy of the previous evening slowly seep away. Several times she opened her mouth to speak and then found she didn’t know what to say. She felt as if someone had peeled a layer of skin off her, leaving all her nerve endings exposed. Her laugh was too loud, her movements unnatural and self-conscious. She felt as if she had been asleep for a million years and someone had just blasted her awake.

What she really wanted to do was touch him, to wind her hand into his, to rest a hand on his thigh and yet she wasn’t sure whether, now they were out of the bedroom and in the unforgiving light of day, that was appropriate any more.

She wasn’t sure what he thought had just happened. And she was afraid to ask.

Jess lifted her bruised foot and placed the bag of frozen peas back onto it. Taking it off and putting it back on again.

‘You okay?’

‘Fine.’ She had mostly done it for something to do. She smiled fleetingly at him and he smiled back.

She thought about leaning across and kissing him. She thought about running her finger lightly along the back of his neck so that he would look over at her like he had the previous night, about undoing her seatbelt and edging across the front seat and forcing him to pull over, just so she could take his mind off things for another twenty minutes. And then she remembered Nathalie, who, three years previously, in an effort to be impulsive, had given Dean a surprise blow-job while he was driving the truck. He had yelled, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ and ploughed straight into the back of a Mini Metro, and before he’d had a chance to do himself up, Nathalie’s aunt Doreen had come running out of the supermarket to see what had happened. She had never looked at Nathalie in quite the same way again.

So maybe not. As they drove she kept stealing looks at him. She found she couldn’t see his hands without picturing them on her skin, that soft mop of hair travelling slowly down her bare stomach. She thought about the smell of him, the tough muscle and the smooth skin of him. Oh, God. She crossed her legs and stared out of the window.

But Ed’s mind was elsewhere. He had grown quieter, the muscle in his jaw tightening, his hands a fraction too fixed on the wheel.

She turned to the front, adjusted the frozen peas, and thought about trains. And lampposts. And Maths Olympiads.

I am the woman who doesn’t need a relationship, she told herself. I have simply confused myself by stirring up hormones, like a sort of needy soup.

I am the woman who does not get involved. And, frankly, there’s enough that’s complicated around here right now without this adding to it. It’s just a few days out of my life. Jess gazed out of the window and repeated the words silently until they ceased to have any meaning.

Ed’s parents lived in a grey stone Victorian house at the end of a terrace, the kind of street where neighbours try to outdo each other with the neatness of their window boxes, and the recycling bins are hidden when not in use. Ed pulled up, let the engine tick down, and gazed out of the window at his childhood home, the freshly painted gate, and the lawn that looked as if somebody had been over it with nail scissors. He didn’t move.

Almost without thinking, she reached out and touched his hand and he turned to her as if he’d forgotten she was there. ‘You sure you don’t mind coming in with me?’