Good Girl Bad (25)
“Well, the offer’s there. Or you can just sneak a piece now if you prefer.”
Freddy nods at this. “Seems a shame to cut into it, though, doesn’t it?”
“Not at all. It will be demolished by dinnertime. You’ve seen this family eat!” Rebecca smiles at Freddy, trying to draw her out of herself. She looks so forlorn. “You look like you need a hug, sweetie,” she goes on, opening her arms, and Freddy looks surprised. But she moves toward Rebecca, and then it’s Rebecca’s turn to be surprised, because Freddy bursts into tears.
Rebecca strokes her back gently. “You want to talk about it?”
Freddy looks down. She loves Tabby, she really does, but it’s hard to love her at the moment, and it’s hard to reconcile the things Tabby says about Rebecca with the woman Freddy always sees when she comes over: warm, humorous, teasing. And of course she’s on Tabby’s side, she’ll always be on Tabby’s side, but Rebecca is always so nice to her, so funny, so generous. And Tabby has just been so…corrosive recently. Picking fights, moody, all friendly and smiling one moment and asking Freddy to leave the next. It’s hard to keep up with her mood swings. And if she’s very honest with herself, Freddy might even say that it would serve Tabby right for Freddy to tell Rebecca what’s going on.
“She’s just so moody at the moment,” Freddy says, and despite her anger, another tear escapes, slides down her cheek. “I know she’s having a hard time. I try to be a good friend. But she just snapped at me. It’s like she doesn’t even want me here. And she says it’s about you, Mrs. G.” Here Freddy looks apologetic. “But I know that’s not the reason. I know there’s something else going on.”
Rebecca doesn’t look up. She carefully cuts a couple of thick slices of cake. “About me? Huh. What does she say about that?” Her voice is carefully light, perplexed. Freddy looks guilty, but Rebecca pushes the cake toward her, smiling. “We have had a few fights recently. Just normal teenage stuff, though. You fight with your mom, right?”
“Yeah.” Freddy grins. “All the time. She’s always on my back about schoolwork and getting off the phone.” She takes a bite and closes her eyes. “God, this is good, Mrs. G. You could open a shop.”
“It’s just the same with Tabby, right?” Rebecca pushes, careful, eyes on the cake.
“Yeah. She just says you’re always shouting at her. She’s gotten really sensitive lately. I just asked if I could stay the night. She hasn’t wanted me to for months. I miss sleeping here, hanging out more.” Freddy scrunches her face up, holding back tears. “I went to pull the trundle out and she just shouted at me that she didn’t want me here, told me to leave. I don’t think she even wants to be my friend anymore.” Freddy looks sadly at her cake. “And I don’t know what it is I’ve done wrong.”
That’s not entirely true, though. Freddy does have an inkling. There was that dinner party here a couple of months ago, and Mrs. G had let them both have a glass of wine, which she does sometimes, and Freddy had felt so happy. She and Tabby had laughed so much. Tabby had seemed carefree, delighted by life, laughing at everything Freddy had to say. They’d been lying on Tabby’s bed, talking rubbish, both a little bit drunk—neither were used to wine, and it went straight to their heads.
Rebecca’s friends had left, and the house had grown quiet. And the wine had made her brave. Lying in Tabby’s single bed, their limbs entwined, their heads close together to talk and share Tabby’s phone, it had felt so right. So natural. And of course Freddy had thought about it before—many, many times before—but in that moment, she didn’t think about it. Maybe because it was on her mind so much it was almost like they were a couple already, and she’d just run a hand up Tabby’s thigh to her waist, her fingers light, like it was almost nothing, like she could deny it ever happened if need be. Turning toward her, slipping one leg between Tabby’s, she’d breathed, “I want to stay the night.” And Tabby had sat up abruptly, the moment catapulted from sensual to something else entirely, not meeting Freddy’s eye.
“I’ve got some studying to do,” she’d said, though they both knew that was untrue—it was nearly 11 p.m. and Tabby was tipsy. “You should probably go home.”
Neither of them had ever mentioned it since, not even hinted at it, and Freddy was mortified. Mortified that she’d misread Tabby’s affection; mortified that she’d been rejected. Mortified that their friendship had waned ever since and she’d ruined it, ruined everything.
She was also a little bit angry, because Tabby could have just pretended it never happened. She didn’t need to make it so obvious, did she? Sitting up so violently. Removing Freddy from the room, from her house. Like, she could have made it easier for Freddy, couldn’t she? She could have let her save face.
But mostly she was devastated because she wanted to kiss Tabby so badly, and apparently Tabby did not have any desire whatsoever to kiss her back.
Rebecca watches this conflict pass across Freddy’s face, and wonders what it is that’s happened between them. “She’s become pretty quiet recently with everyone, honey,” she says now, kindly. “I’m sure it’s not just you. I think she’s studying hard and is just going through a moody phase. Do you want me to talk to her?”