Amanda Roberts - Shimmer

I lay there, pretending to myself that I was still asleep, and trying to fool my body into believing that it was still totally relaxed. But it was having none of my tricks and the minute I remembered the snippy tone of the note from Natalie, I felt the nerves knotting in my stomach once again. I curled into as tight a ball as possible, clamped my eyes shut, and tried to block it all out. I needed to concoct a plan that would enable me to be out from under Natalie’s feet for as much of the weekend as I could.

But my older sister is hard to ignore. As I lay there trying to still the anxieties whizzing around in my head, I heard her slippered feet shuffle into the kitchen and her starting to unload the dishwasher. The clanking of the crockery and glasses being put away was followed by the low rumble of the kettle, and finally, the repeated clinks of the teaspoon against mugs as she made tea.

I suppose I knew that she wasn’t actually trying to wake me up. I knew that I had been awake already. But every clink and clank sounded like Morse code. ‘You need to find your own place’, ‘How much more do we have to do for you?’, ‘When are you going to learn to be a proper adult like the rest of us?’ I sighed and rolled over. I could ignore it no more. I needed a plan. And if I had learned one thing that week, it was that plans need coffee. So I pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms, and a battered old hoodie that was a favourite for slouching around in, and silently left the flat within five minutes.

Natalie and Lloyd lived in South London near a huge common, which in the crisp, bright autumn air, looked like something from an idealised mobile phone advertisement. There were joggers with matching running kits and spry ponytails which bounced with every step, young dads peering into prams at their unfamiliar newborns, and couples holding hands as they walked through the leaves. All this, and the sun was twinkling down on the lot of them. It was enough to make me want to vomit.

Who were all of these people? How come they were all so self-possessed? Why did they seem to hold the keys to some kind of secret universe of adulthood? What did they know that I didn’t, which let them behave like extras from a Scandinavian lifestyle magazine? By the time I had negotiated my way past the brightly coloured buggies outside the cute deli on the other side of the common I was filled with despair, bordering on rage. It was as if last night at Strictly had never happened. The sense of possibility, camaraderie, glamour – it all seemed further away than ever before.

I took my coffee and a pain au chocolat, and sat on a bench on the edge of the common, surveying what now looked like a parade of autumnal happiness. I felt ridiculous to have finally got my dream job only to feel consumed by loneliness and hopelessness. It was so indulgent. What was wrong with me? I took my mobile phone out of my pocket and called the one person I knew could shake me out of this mood: my godmother, Jen.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi Jen, it’s Amanda.’

‘Well hello, darling. How are you, city girl? I’m surprised you have time for me!’

Jen sounded thrilled to hear from me, but then she always does. She’s been a friend of my parents since they were newlyweds and has known me since the day I was born. While I have never doubted that my mum wants the best for me, I always feel that Jen – mum’s best friend – wants the best for me, as well as the most fun possible. She’s less inclined to worry about the formalities and more likely to cut to the gossip. As well as being a proper laugh, she is someone I trust implicitly. When I was a teenager she never failed to let me know that I could talk to her about anything I didn’t want to discuss with Mum, and that it would remain in her confidence. I’ve rarely taken her up on it but knowing that she is there has made all the difference. She is everything you could want in a godmother.

‘So … were you at the show last night?’

‘Of course, it’s my JOB now, don’t you know?’

‘Well, la di daa, I am so sorry. Would you do me the honour of letting me know how it is all going? Is it everything you dreamed of? And … are they?’

‘Are who?’

‘The dancers! You can’t kid a kidder, darling. Are they gorgeous? Do you get to talk to them?’

‘I suppose so. A bit. Obviously we can’t just butt in and pretend we’re their best mates, just like in any job. But, you know, we’re working together so we have to talk to each other about some stuff. And then of course there’s the bar …’

‘I knew it! You’re partying with them! Please tell me you’ve met Lars. Is he gorgeous? And what about that cutie Jared?’

‘Yes, I’ve met both of them. And yes, they’re both gorgeous. I’ve probably talked to Lars more than Jared though. He even knows my name …’

‘I don’t believe it, I don’t believe it. I am going to have to get a glass of water.’ I heard the kitchen tap running.

‘Well, I say he knows my name, but he also knows my shoe size.’

Much to Jen’s enormous pleasure, I told her the story of Lars, the shoe and the puddle. She was hooting with delight, and before I knew it, I was doubled up with laughter on that park bench. The Fifteen-minutes-ago Me would have walked by and hated the Now Me.

‘So you’re having a ball? It’s everything you hoped for?’

‘Yes, it’s amazing.’

‘And how’s London treating you? Have you got used to city living?’

‘Well, I’m still at Natalie and Lloyd’s …’

‘Ah. Do I sense a problem?’

‘Yeah, a bit.’

‘You were never going to be able to stay there forever.’

‘No, I know, it’s not that. I don’t think they’re about to sling me onto the street or anything, it’s just that I think I have annoyed Natalie with my messiness in the flat. And now everything I try to do just makes it worse. I want to find a place of my own now, but I don’t want to seem ungrateful, like I’m running away, either.’

‘You’ve got to take control, sweetie. Tell her the truth. She only wants you to be happy.’

‘She wants me to be happy and she wants her carpets to be clean.’

‘Of course she does, she worked hard for that house. But she’s not crazy, she’s just house-proud. And she’s also used to her own space. I know dealing with this kind of life crap isn’t as much fun as the foxtrot, but you’ve got to get a grip of it before it gets a grip of you.’

‘I know. I just feel as if everyone else knows what they’re doing so much more than I do.’

‘Oh honey,’ Jen roared with laughter. ‘No one knows what they’re doing in life, especially the adults. We just get better at hiding that. Now then, you’re going to start looking for your own place, and you’re going to go back and give Natalie a big hug. Can we get back to hearing about that gorgeous Lars now please?’

I drained the last of my coffee, told her about Lars’s mesmerizingly low-cut training T-shirts and headed back to Natalie’s, stopping to get two extra croissants on the way. As ever, Jen had made me feel as if the world were there for the taking, if only I bothered to take it.

When I got back to the flat it was silent and Natalie and Lloyd’s door was closed, so I put the croissants on a plate and left it on the kitchen table with a note.

I’m so sorry about the hair straighteners. I promise to pay for any damage. Please let me organise dinner tonight?

Then I ran a bath, complete with a generous splash of the bath oil that I had been given for Christmas the previous year. There had never been any point in using it when I was still living at home, as mum’s potions and products would always have drowned out the delicate rose scent, and if truth be told, I had been saving it for a romantic rendezvous. But, inspired by Jen’s words about grabbing life by the scruff of its neck, I decided Saturday morning was as good a time to indulge as any, and moments later I was luxuriating in Natalie’s lovely bathroom, flicking through a magazine and listening to the radio. When I finally got out, I made sure I cleaned up, immaculately wiping the mirrors and neatly folding the bathmat over the side of the tub. I was so fastidious I could have committed a murder in there and Natalie would never have known.