Olive by Emma Gannon

Author:Emma Gannon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Andrews McMeel Publishing
Published: 2021-01-22T18:26:06+00:00

20

The next day, I wake up with an excruciating headache. When was the last time any water touched my lips? My tongue is furry, my throat is sore, and my stomach is rumbling, even though the thought of food is making me want to vom. I am only able to open one eye as the light seeping from the blinds in my bedroom is so bright, adding to the throbbing pain in my temples. I pick up my phone from the floor: 10:03 a.m. There is a wineglass next to my bed; I faintly remember getting a bottle of wine from the fridge and finishing that in bed. Oh dear, oh dear. I see there’s a notification in the group WhatsApp chat, making my stomach lurch. I go and make myself a cup of tea before crawling back into bed to face up to the damage I did last night.

12:30 a.m.

Bea: Ol, did you get home OK? Pls let us know.

12:34 a.m.

Bea: Hello? text us when you’re home.

08:02 a.m.

Bea: OL?

10:30 a.m.

Me: Sorrrrrry just seen this. I’m alive. Just woke up. Feels like a diseased pigeon has died in my mouth

Isla: What happened last night after I left? You OK?

Me: Sorry to anyone I offended. I don’t remember the last hour or so of the night

Isla: I missed the ending. Sorry again for leaving early Cec. Such a great night :)

Me: What did I do?

Bea: We were just worried about you

Me: That’s a first

Bea: Huh??

Cecily is typing

Cecily is typing

Isla: It’s OK, Olive

Bea: Ol. Please don’t alienate yourself from us

Cecily is typing

Cecily is typing

Cecily is typing

There is a long pause.

Cecily is typing

Cecily: I’m so disappointed in the way you were yesterday, Olive. I’m already feeling vulnerable, at home all day, missing my career and old life and I just wanted a day to celebrate my new baby, as it’s not been easy. At all. And somehow, somehow you managed to make it about YOU. As usual. WHEN WILL YOU REALIZE THAT NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOU!!!

Monday. And I’m feeling the full effects of a two-day hangover; I’m exposed and vulnerable. I look in the mirror in the .dot toilets and can’t see the strong Olive I thought I’d built up. I don’t think Cec has ever been this angry at me. Not even that time when I accidentally lost her entire handbag on a night out. I feel terrible. I am a shell, and I know exactly what I am about to do.

I look under the toilet stalls to check for earwigging employees and press my phone to my ear. It starts to ring. The knots in my stomach feel tighter and tighter, and I feel as if I might be sick. He picks up straight away.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” I croak, and then cough. “Jacob, it’s Olive.”

“Oh . . . hi!” he says, a mixture of surprise and confusion. “Everything . . . um . . . okay?”

“I know we haven’t spoken in ages. I wanted to pick up on our last conversation.”

“Okay . .

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