BooksBarbecue
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Chapters (64)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Chapter One
  5. Chapter Two
  6. Chapter Three
  7. Chapter Four
  8. Chapter Five
  9. Chapter Six
  10. Chapter Seven
  11. Chapter Eight
  12. Chapter Nine
  13. Chapter Ten
  14. Chapter Eleven
  15. Chapter Twelve
  16. Chapter Thirteen
  17. Chapter Fourteen
  18. Chapter Fifteen
  19. Chapter Sixteen
  20. Chapter Seventeen
  21. Chapter Eighteen
  22. Chapter Nineteen
  23. Chapter Twenty
  24. Chapter Twenty-One
  25. Chapter Twenty-Two
  26. Chapter Twenty-Three
  27. Chapter Twenty-Four
  28. Chapter Twenty-Five
  29. Chapter Twenty-Six
  30. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  31. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  32. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  33. Chapter Thirty
  34. Chapter Thirty-One
  35. Chapter Thirty-Two
  36. Chapter Thirty-Three
  37. Chapter Thirty-Four
  38. Chapter Thirty-Five
  39. Chapter Thirty-Six
  40. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  41. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  42. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  43. Chapter Forty
  44. Chapter Forty-One
  45. Chapter Forty-Two
  46. Chapter Forty-Three
  47. Chapter Forty-Four
  48. Chapter Forty-Five
  49. Chapter Forty-Six
  50. Chapter Forty-Seven
  51. Chapter Forty-Eight
  52. Chapter Forty-Nine
  53. Chapter Fifty
  54. Chapter Fifty-One
  55. Chapter Fifty-Two
  56. Chapter Fifty-Three
  57. Chapter Fifty-Four
  58. Chapter Fifty-Five
  59. Chapter Fifty-Six
  60. Chapter Fifty-Seven
  61. Chapter Fifty-Eight
  62. Chapter Fifty-Nine
  63. Epilogue
  64. Acknowledgements

One day last week, when I was researching a dull idea Harri had suddenly got keen on (‘Can white noise boost your orgasms? We ask the experts’) I was startled by a burst of laughter beside me—Louise and Kim were giggling hysterically over something they had seen on Slack. I hate Slack—we’re supposed to use it instead of emailing each other. It’s like being in twenty hen party WhatsApp groups, all at once, and I’ve already got to the point where seeing the logo makes me feel as though my ribs are going to burst right out of my chest. Louise has been my office ally. Rationally, I knew I was being ridiculous. But seeing the two of them sharing a moment made me feel so excluded that bile began gathering at the back of my throat. The pressure shift, the sudden change in atmosphere and social altitude was so acute that I wondered whether my ears were about to pop.

Louise saw my face, put a hand on my shoulder, and started to explain, but I brushed her away. ‘Sorry, just trying to get on with this,’ I said, and then felt a thousand times more mortified than I had done a moment before. Never assume you’re included. That’s the only rule. Just when you think you’re one of them, and you start to relax—that’s when you get rejected, ejected. Never trust anyone. Never let your guard down.

I know what it is to be excluded. But sometimes being included is much worse. When it’s done out of pity. When someone has intervened on your behalf. When you’re someone else’s resented act of kindness. When tolerating you is someone’s good deed for the day.

Lily’s ‘Not you, Imogen,’ I can deal with. Because it’s never me. And I’d rather hear someone saying it openly. What I can’t shake is the paranoia. The idea that bullies will find me, everywhere I go, and they will whisper about me, and giggle about me.

Pushing my back against the wall, I concentrate on the rough texture of the bricks, which I can just feel through the fabric of my clothes. Like the Princess and the Pea. The Princess and the Pavement that Smells Of Wee. This makes me smile.