The Cows Page 12

  They both sit quietly for a minute, sipping their pints, thinking about that. Then a big smile creeps across his face.

  ‘She looked so beautiful when she got pregnant with Tanya; I didn’t want to miss a minute of it. Sounds pathetic really, doesn’t it? But it’s true, I loved having a wife and a family. My old man didn’t want anything to do with me most of my life, and then your mum came along and she never let me out of her sight. Christ, she got jealous. But I think I’d been wanting that to happen my whole life. And then Angela and Mel, then you came along, and for once my life was all about family. It was hard work but I was so bloody proud of you all I didn’t mind working at the school. Everything was better than that basta—’ He stops himself from getting upset.

  Cam puts her arm around her dad. She hates to hear about her grandfather, he was such a brute. But he’s right, her mum is soft under that brittle surface. It makes Cam so happy to hear her dad speak so affectionately about her. As an adult she doesn’t have to deal with her mum every day, but he does. She likes to be reminded that their marriage is a happy one; it means she’ll always love her mum, no matter what.

  ‘I’m sorry your dad was mean to you,’ she says, putting her forehead against his.

  ‘Ah, what can you do? I think he made me a good dad. I know how much your parents can screw you up, I never wanted to do that to you girls.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Cam says, finishing her pint with one huge gulp. ‘My therapist said you’re totally the reason I’m so fucked up.’ She digs him in the ribs. He laughs.

  ‘Me and my sisters did a good job of trying to screw each other up though. Those fights!’

  ‘The fights! I had to pull you off each other so many times,’ her dad says, shaking his head at the memory. ‘Boys are rough but girls, girls are vicious.’

  ‘I know! Angela actually drew blood on my arm once. She grabbed me so hard, I still have a bit of a scar. But I’m grateful for it. I think having to defend myself to three older sisters made me tough in the world I’m in now. My sisters were nothing compared to some of the female journalists I’ve had to deal with over the course of my career.’

  ‘You’re right. Do you remember when that awful woman from the Mail wrote that piece about you, saying that you were a disgrace to feminism because you—’ he clears his throat, ‘because you write about boys the way you do. I don’t know what is wrong with women, the way they pit themselves against each other. You girls fought but you were a gang. Remember the time Tanya punched that girl who called you a lesbian at school?’

  ‘I do, but let’s be honest, part of that punch was frustration at me because she wondered if it was true. I love you, Dad,’ she says, putting her arm around him. ‘You’re my feminist icon.’

  ‘No matter the fights, you girls are a team. You will always have each other. That’s what family should be, the people who are there for you, no matter what you do.’

  ‘True that! One more for the road?’

  ‘Sure.’

  As the barman pulls their pints, Cam’s dad puts his hand on hers. ‘You haven’t really got a therapist, have you?’

  ‘No, Dad. No, I’m OK in my head. It’s everyone else that is crazy, not me.’

  ‘That may well be true, love. I can’t argue with that!’

  Stella

  It feels like the night Alice died. That night, I was completely alone too, and knew no one else was going to come home. I sat here, in the flat, and stared at the front door. I wanted to run at it as fast as I could and knock myself out. It wasn’t that I wanted to die, but I needed a pain I could understand. Something physical that could be treated, rather than the emotional agony that I had no idea how to fix. I ended up slicing a knife into my arm instead, right along the line of the scar I got that night in Spain. Like cutting through my memories, trying to make them into something else. It didn’t do what I thought it would do, but it did mean I ended up in A&E getting stitches again. I’ve never cut myself since. But that doesn’t mean I have found a way of coping.

  I wasn’t born to be alone. I came into this world three minutes after Alice and we weren’t more than a few feet apart until we could crawl. I spent my entire life, until I was twenty-six, with my sister. Even when we had our own rooms we chose to sleep together, it was only having boyfriends that meant we were apart. And then she died and there I was, in our home, looking into the abyss of my life, not knowing if I would ever have someone to be close to again.

  Then, a year later at Jessica’s wedding, my first big social outing since Alice’s funeral, I met Phil. Because a lot of the same people that were at the funeral were there, they all wanted to talk about Alice when they were drunk. So when I realised that Phil fancied me I locked myself onto him, and didn’t leave his side all night. He seemed to like me, despite my darkness. We met up the next day, and he made me all these promises and I stuck to them like glue. He wasn’t the guy I imagined myself with – he wasn’t Alice – but he was a ticket out of solitude, and so I went for it with all I had. And look at me now. Sitting alone at the kitchen table, half a bottle of red wine in front of me, the other half in my belly, and nothing but Facebook to remind me that I should have more people in my life than I do.

  I pour more wine and drink it quickly. I don’t have an addictive personality, but I can rarely deny myself the emotional freedom that drinking alcohol offers me. I log in to Alice’s Facebook account.

  When I’m feeling sad, and I really need to cry, this is the first place I come (after the wine). Her messages still feel so alive to me, her silly banter with friends. Arranging nights out, then laughing about them the next day. But there is one message that is really hard to read. The one she sent to all her friends to tell them she was dying. I never saw it until after she’d gone, because she didn’t include me in the list of people she sent it to.

  Hello to all of my wonderful friends. I have some news.

  As you know, I’ve not been well. Some of you know why, but some of you don’t. It’s time for you all to know that I have cancer, and it’s not going away.

  I know you’re going to find this sad and it is, it is so so sad. I haven’t had time to come to terms with it because it’s all happened so fast. I’m in shock, I feel cheated, I feel angry and sad and all of those things. But I also feel grateful. Grateful that I didn’t die in an accident and not get the chance to tell people how I feel about them, or say my goodbyes.

  I’m sorry for the group message, but typing this more than once isn’t something I want to spend my very short time left doing. But I wanted you all to know a few things.

  1)I am dying really happy. It’s been short, but I’ve had a good life. The one I wanted.

  2)Even through the sadness of losing my mum, my friendships and my sister have given me so much joy. If you received this message, you gave me joy, so thank you.

  3)I got to work at an animal shelter for five years and simple as that might sound, it was all I ever wanted to do. Please look after your pets and donate to animal charities in my honour.

  4)I’m not scared. This is happening quickly, and I am in pain, but I am not scared. Apart from one thing; my sister. I want to ask you all to do something for me, because I need to know she won’t be alone. Stella isn’t dealing with this very well and I understand why, because if it was her dying, I wouldn’t deal with it well either. But I’m going to die and we can’t avoid it. She’s going to go into a hole when I’ve gone, and she’s going to cut you all out and do her best to suffer alone. Please don’t let her. Please go and see her, talk to her, make her get out. She will get through this if she has people to help her, so I am asking you, my friends, to help her. For me. Thank you.

  That’s it. That is my parting message – on Facebook, how modern! I’m sure I’ll see you all before I go; let’s deal with that however we feel in the moment. But my hope is that we laugh about our past rather than cry about my future.

  Also, don’t be shocked. I look like I’m fucking dy
ing.

  Alice x x

  I wipe tears from my cheeks and pour more wine. I was so loved. So protected by her. Right up until the last minute, Alice’s life was wrapped around me, making mine OK. But as soon as she died, that was gone. It took no more than a year for all of those people to stop bothering with me. Sure, I turned down every invite, I rarely answered my phone, but weren’t they supposed to push through that? Understand that my healing would take time, guide me out of my ‘hole’? They think writing public messages on my Facebook page on my birthday is what she asked them to do? It’s pathetic. They call themselves her friends, but they never committed to her dying wish. I hate them. Fake, soulless shits who use her death to get attention on this stupid website.

  I pour the rest of the bottle into my glass and drink it. I click on Melissa Tucker’s profile and scroll down her page. She’s received so much sympathy for the post she wrote on my birthday about missing Alice.

  ‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ says one person.

  ‘You are so strong for building your life around this,’ says another.

  I look at her photos, there are countless ones of her and Alice that she’s posted recently with messages like, ‘Still miss this lady’, and ‘I had the best nights of my life with Alice’.

  God, she’s so annoying. I come out of photos and just as I’m about to leave her page I accidentally click on the ADD FRIEND button.

  I’m logged in as Alice. Oh shit. I quickly open a new Internet window and type, ‘How to cancel a Facebook friend request’. My connection is being slow. Hurry up! OK, there it is … Go to their page, hold cursor over FRIEND REQUESTED and click CANCEL on the drop down menu.

  Right, I go back to Facebook. I see the FRIEND REQUESTED button, but just as I am about to click it, PING, a notification pops up saying, ‘Melissa Tucker has accepted your friend request’.

  Oh, God.

  A message comes up instantly.

  ‘What is this, some sick joke? Who is this?’

  I panic. If she looks at the page, she’ll see that I left a message on it just a few days ago wishing Alice a happy birthday. That will make me look mental, or she’ll know it’s me. What can I do?

  I deactivate the account.

  It’s gone.

  No more green dot.

  Wednesday

  Tara

  I’d been awake for four minutes before my left eye opened this morning. Eventually I had to prise my eyelids apart with my fingers. Four-day-old mascara had welded it so tight that at minute three I almost accepted that I would never be able to use it again. I wasn’t even bothered.

  Since yesterday, I have slept in my bed once and the rest of the time I have sat on the sofa watching TV and Googling myself. I’ve eaten both frozen pizzas, most of the cheese and the Pringles. My tongue has turned a weird shade of yellow and I feel like I’ve drunk an entire glass of salt. I keep going into the kitchen to get water but forgetting what I went in for, so then I just sit back on the couch again, wishing I wasn’t so thirsty. The air is hot and thick, it’s like I’m wading around in a bowl of sad soup.

  I have told repeated lies to my mother about being sick so that I don’t have to face the reality of life. And I live in hope no one at the school gate would utter a word to her, if they have seen the video. Hopefully I will be protected by their own embarrassment to say what I did out loud. But I miss my daughter, so, so badly. And I need some vegetables. I’m going to have to leave this house soon.

  I feel like the entire Internet is obsessed with me. I’ve been trending on Twitter for days, and I’ve been discussed and written about by almost every female-focused TV show and website. People think I’m mentally ill, that I did this because I’m crazy. Women who know nothing about me are discussing how I was probably abused and how they ‘shouldn’t judge’ (even though they are), ‘as you never know what a woman has been through to get to the point that she does something like that’. They think I’m broken. That I did this as a cry for help, or because I’m deviant, or a pervert. I’ve read reasons for my actions that I could never have thought up in my wildest dreams, they’re writing everything but the truth: that I thought I was alone, I felt horny, so I masturbated. I mean, why can’t anyone just take it for what it is?

  In the whole Internet I have only found one article that’s on my side, written by Camilla Stacey. I nearly died when I saw it. I’m such a massive fan of hers, it’s so bizarre reading about me on a blog I’ve been reading for years. But even she is getting shit on Twitter for supporting me. People really hate me.

  The video has had over three million views. I’m a meme that’s been shared over 500,000 times. It’s a picture of me with my head rolled back and my hand in my crotch with the words, ‘WHEN YOUR PHONE RUNS OUT OF JUICE’ across it. I read an actual article explaining why this meme was so ‘powerful’, how the human race has become so wildly addicted to smart phones that they ‘panic wank’ if they run out of battery. When you are the subject of a juicy topic of social scandal, you realise how fucking crazy everyone has gone. Any moron can get an article published giving their hot take on something like this. It’s only a matter of time until they know my name, what I do. Or what I did, should I say. I’m never going back to that office.

  The weird thing about the past twenty-four hours is that I’ve had no contact with a single human but I’ve felt completely surrounded. I don’t think there is a corner of the earth that isn’t talking about me. I’m trying to be logical. I remember when Pram Push Woman was the biggest thing. A video went viral of a woman pushing a pram into the middle of a motorway and then running off and leaving it there. It caused a pile up of three cars because the drivers obviously thought there was a baby in it. It turned out, there wasn’t. She’d just done it to trick people. Even she couldn’t explain why she had done it. The only thing she managed to squeak out when asked by a journalist outside her house was, ‘I just wanted to see what would happen.’

  Luckily no one died, so I think she got away without any criminal charges, but God knows what she’s doing now. Who would employ her? Who would date her? Who would leave her alone with a child? She was the biggest story on social media for a whole week, but then it was gone. You never really hear about Pram Push Woman any more, but that isn’t to say she’s alright.

  I keep telling myself this will pass, that people will move on, because nothing stays interesting for that long. I didn’t try to kill anyone, or pretend to try to kill someone. But the problem is, sex trumps everything. I think what I have learnt is that men get treated like individuals, no matter what they do. But when women do something like this they get spoken about like they’ve let the side down, like they have personally set feminism back a peg or two. It’s all about the why. Why did she do this, what led her to it? What does this say about women? Rather than just accepting it was a moment of sheer joy and ecstasy that has been turned into a moment of deviant madness. My video is the greatest study of female sexuality of the past year.

  Maybe there is something wrong with me. I wonder what I’d think if I saw the clip of someone else doing what I did. What presumptions would I make? I’d certainly laugh about it, send it to a few friends, be aghast and make judgements. Then what would I do? I’d probably get on with my day and not really care, but be thrilled if someone brought it up so I could laugh about it and judge her some more.

  But would I care? I don’t think so. So why should anyone else care about me?

  But they do. I know they do. Everyone who doesn’t know me thinks I’m a lunatic. God knows what the people outside my front door think. But I have to go out there. I have to see my daughter. I can’t just lock myself away and not deal with that.

  I text my mum.

  Mum, I’m feeling better. Maybe I should pick Annie up later?

  I try to sound as un socially shamed as possible, not wanting her to suspect anything is wrong. I’ve been analysing her replies to see if I detect any hints that she knows about what’s happened, but I’m pre
tty sure she hasn’t. I’m sure it’s just a matter of time, though.

  She would love that darling. She missed you very much x

  I honestly believe that if I didn’t have the responsibility of a daughter I might never step outside the front door ever again. I’d have to earn money, but I’m sure as hell never going back to work again. I’d probably just capitalise on my new brand and wank on a web cam for truck drivers in America. At least I’d be utilising all of my skills.

  Adam has been emailing constantly and I have about forty missed calls from him. I can’t even look or listen to them.

  Another text pops up from my mother.

  Oh, while I have you. I’m just finalising the details for your dad’s birthday party on Friday. Let me know if you have any last minute suggestions?

  Oh fucking hell, I had totally forgotten about that! My dad. Oh God, my dad.

  I’m at such a loss of what to do. How do I make this go away, when the world is so against me? How can I turn this around? I look back onto www.HowItIs.com and read Cam Stacey’s article again.

  ‘There isn’t a single news outlet in the country that isn’t either laughing at this woman, calling her insane, or making her out to be some pervert. But that isn’t what I see at all.’ Is she my only hope? I see her email address on the Contact page, and the words, ‘Write to me, I love to hear from you.’

  And so, because I have absolutely nothing else to do other than Google my own name and cry into an empty pizza box, I do.