Jim and Amy are best friends, from the day they first meet in the university students union, through births, weddings and funerals, until a badly-timed affair leads to the breakdown of Jim’s marriage and an unexpected baby on the way.
But Jim is left reeling when Amy’s premature death leaves him raising their two children alone and revealing secrets in Amy’s past that she tried to keep hidden. Everyone thinks he’s going mad, but Jim is convinced she is speaking to him from beyond the grave, turns out that she is…
Halfway between this world and the next, Amy comes to terms with, well, being dead, and helping her husband realise that the end of life doesn’t mean the end of love.
The boy had a southern accent, probably not London, but the Home Counties masquerading as something much more common, as was the current trend. He was dressed in a slouchy t-shirt decorated with a Mancunian band, faded jeans and a pair of trainers that looked like they would smell really bad. He was taller than her, so he had that going for him, and he had already bought her a drink - lager and lime - the cheapest drink at the cramped and smoky student bar at Elephant and Castle, populated by grungey band boys, and lithe glittery girls waiting for the Ministry of Sound to open.
“York,” she said, taking a deep mouthful of the cheap beer whilst unwrapping the cellophane off her packet of cigarettes.
He was studying her fingers moving deftly around the box of Marlboro Lights. Glittery nail polish, a mood ring.
“It’s up north,” she clarified.
He wasn’t sure what to make of this girl with the Doc Martens and the flippy sundress, who had freckles speckled across her nose and the greenest eyes he had ever seen. She was, he thought, the kind of girl he would like to take on a date, even though he imagined she would think going out for dough balls and a La Reine at Pizza Express was decidedly middle class.
“That makes a change,” she sniffed, painted fingers fumbling with “I’ve only been in London for twenty-four hours and I’m already sick of explaining where it is.”
“I’m sure most people know where York is.”
She smoothly pulled a cigarette from the packet with her teeth; he noticed that he focused a little bit too long on the shape of her lips around the white-tipped filter.
He shook his head, “I don’t smoke.”
“I shouldn’t really, it’s so bad for you,” she inhaled deeply and then blew a perfectly formed smoke ring into the air, “but it makes you look so fucking cool,” she gazed over at him and he found himself temporarily unable to feel his tongue in his mouth. “Don’t you think?”
Jim took a deep mouthful of his lager, trying not to think about Amy Bailey and her mouth and her fucking cool, and the curve of her as she leaned back again the bar. Christ, this was hard, he was… oh. He moved subtly, relieved that her gaze was elsewhere as if she was searching for topics of conversation.
“I mean, I could try one?” he gestured to the packet, awkwardly fumbling holding it, lighting it, taking a deep and ill-advised drag. She looked on in amusement.
“So, what are you doing then, Mr James Henry? Sean said you were at St Martins.”
“Yeah,” he shifted, “sculpture.”
“I’m guessing you have a thirst for knowledge,” she said, looking at him for confirmation that he knew exactly what she was on about.
He realised it was the song, “oh, yeah. My dad is loaded,” he said with a roll of the eyes and knowing nod. This hadn’t been the first time.
“I guess in that case I’ll have rum and coca-cola!”
A grin, she was teasing him.
They looked at each other, a glance of understanding and shared respect for their mutual coolness. There was a laugh from her, a shrug from him.
“It’s actually Fine Art, if you’re being picky, but I am a sculptor.”
“You’re good with your hands, then?”
“No, I’m rubbish at doing people. I tend to stick to abstract stuff.”
Amy realised that he had misunderstood the question, but he amused her. She could sense that they were going to be great friends, she couldn’t even explain it.”
“You’re funny, Jim, and you have a first name for a last name, which makes you pretty special in my eyes. You know, my boyfriend was jealous as fuck about me coming out tonight, I spent about forty minutes on the phone to him before, cost me five pounds!”
“Five pounds? Crikey.” He gulped down a mouthful of lager before looking up at her, “so, you have a boyfriend?”
“Yeah, back at home,” she said, glancing around at the rest of the clientele. There was a way about her that he quite liked, couldn’t explain.
“Yes, in York.” She stubbed out her cigarette on the floor, “what about you? You got a girlfriend?”
He looked around, “Stella.”
His eyes landed on whatever, “Guinness.”
“Yep,” he gulped down a mouthful of lager.
“So, where did you and Stella Guinness meet?”
She raised an eyebrow and turned back to the bar, ordering two more pints and two small shot glasses filled with a dark brown liquid. Reaching into her bra she pulled out a twenty-pound note and handed it over to the barmaid with a smile, receiving the clinking pound coins and crisp tenner back, he noticed her wrist was adorned with beaded bracelets and braided friendships bands.
“You don’t have to lie about it,” she said after they had downed the shots of sambuca with grimaces. “Plenty of boys haven’t had a girlfriend yet.”
He was still wincing as the medicinal tang slipped down his throat, “I did have a girlfriend.”
“No,” he said as they moved over to the edge of the dancefloor, placing their pints on the shelf next to the speaker, jostled and nudged by people squeezing past to reach the loos. “Wendy.”
She couldn’t hear him over the thud-thud-boom of the speakers, her face scrunched into a frown, “What?”
“Wendy!” He said loudly, as there was a temporary lull in the noise. “She was called Wendy.”
“She slept with my best mate. A-Level results day.”
Amy pulled a face, “ouch!”
“Well,” she lit another cigarette, “that’s sad.”
He shifted indignantly, “thanks!”
“I’m not saying that you’re sad, I’m saying that it’s sad that she felt the need to cheat on you.”
“It shouldn’t,” she pulled a hard drag. “I don’t believe in cheating, if you don’t want to be with someone, just leave. She did a shitty thing.” A mouthful of lager, “you’re okay, aren’t you?”
“I guess,” he shrugged. “I miss Dave more than I miss her if I’m being honest.”
She looked him up and down again. He wasn’t bad looking, his hair was sticking up in the wrong places, but he had quite a pleasant face if she hadn’t been with Rhys then… But she was with Rhys. Jim was alright, they would get on, even if there was something about the way he stood as if he was apologising for taking up space which irritated her.
At midnight they all caught the night bus back to Tooting, fumbling with travelcards and salty chips wrapped in newspaper as Emma and Sean resumed their make-out session. Jim and Amy sat next to each on the top deck as the lights of London passed by, occasionally nudging Tom, the lad from Birmingham who was nearly asleep, his head resting awkwardly against the window.
“This is university then,” Jim said, as Amy shifted uncomfortably on the seat of the bus.
“Yep,” she grabbed his arm and wrapped it around her shoulder. “That’s better, comfier see? You don’t mind, do you?”
She snuggled against his chest, and he felt immediately vulnerable and invincible. And turned on. Again. Fuckssake, Jim. He looked out into the night as the city faded into Zone 3.
“My boyfriend isn’t as comfy as you,” she said.
“He’s training to be a mechanic.”
“He’s a good bloke, I love him a lot but -” she paused, her face in a frown.
Jim knew that there was always possibility in a ‘but’.
“…it’s just going to be difficult when he comes to stay.”
“He’s coming to stay with us? In halls?”
“Yeah, after Christmas. I can’t wait for you all to meet him. You’ll like him,” the words disappeared into a yawn. “I know you will.”
Her voice took on a sleepy tone and he pulled her in closer, waiting for her body to relax a little bit, then he rested his head on hers and closed his eyes until the bus jolted them awake in the centre of town and they began the walk back home.
discoholicmusic
areudirty
gummygunk
annaxmalina
romaincrisis
janainaart
izzy806