“Y’know, Pol, I haven’t seen you out chatting to any guys in a bit. Would it really do you any harm to just go, have some fun, see what happens? I mean, you totally like that, right? Spontaneous shit, yeah?” Polly listened with half an ear at what Emmie had to say. The regular stuff. The burden of having a well-meaning housemate.
“I’m cool, thanks.” Polly nodded with a smile then left the room, eagerly. Or would have done, if it weren’t her own. Emmie had, in Polly’s mind at least, trapped her with no hope of escape. It began to occur to her that she might as well listen, but it was the same old stuff that she couldn’t be bothered to hear about again.
“Well, what are you doing anyhow?” Emmie peered over Polly’s shoulder to the screen behind her. “Looks like a diary. That’s totes a diary, isn’t it?” Dramatically striking a pose with her hand on her waist, she waited for Polly to come up with a good answer.
“Sort of. Not really? It’s something I’ve written. I mean, it’s a story and the person is writing a diary.” Said unconvincingly, yet absolutely true.
Polly was trying out a few different things. It had occurred to her that whilst she sucked at writing, she enjoyed it and at the very least, it helped her put into words just how silly some situations had gotten. No doubt, the fiction was entirely true, but with a few name changes here, some descriptions slightly different there and voila, a piece of work that sounded convincing, was beneficial to her mind and one day could be worth millions. Or not. She definitely thought the not.
“You know how if, say, you have a problem you just shag your boyfriend?”
“Well I write.” Emmie managed to squint and raise an eyebrow at the same time in response.
“It’s not quite the same though, is it?” She laughed, anticipating how Polly would get out of that one.
“Maybe? I dunno.”
“Well my boyfriend can respond to my problems and tries to help me. I doubt your story can.”
“It does in its own, unique way.”
Well, not really. It helped her get to sleep, definitely, but the problem would rear its ugly head again in the morning. There was no way to eliminate them. The funny thing was these problems would’ve been overcome if Polly had actually taken up Emmie’s advice. Emmie was all too aware of Polly’s stubbornness though, so every attempt to help felt to her like shouting at a brick wall. She started devising a scheme though to try and read the stories, knowing full well Polly wouldn’t simply let her if she asked. Or maybe she would have done?
“Can I read it then?”
“Errrm, no, not right now.”
With that possibility out of the way, it was time to go back to her original plan. It would involve all sorts of trickery and deception, at least in the way it played out in her head. It was really as simple as waiting for Polly to go downstairs and make some food, sneaking in and looking for recently edited documents. With a trusty memory stick, she copied them across and left, leaving everything in its place.
It didn’t take long for Emmie to realise that these stories were incredibly true, so much so she was fairly certain of who some of the actual people referred to were. After half an hour of reading, she believed she had read a fairly accurate description of the last two years’ worth of happenings in Polly’s life. Whether or not this was good or bad, she had yet to decide. It would definitely make the next conversation with her awkward. Then again, it wasn’t like they weren’t already. How would she start though? With John, Gary, Lucy? How about everything she complained about that could’ve easily been avoided? Suddenly, there were so many questions to ask and so little known about the person she’s lived with and called friend, for two years.
Action had to be taken. Emmie was decisive. When Polly was out, she got Sophie and Nola into the lounge. Despite Sophie pulling him along, her boyfriend Danny was not permitted entrance due to Emmie’s “This is for housies only!” and he reluctantly returned to washing some crockery, hoping he was just inside eaves-dropping distance. Once assembled and comfortable, Emmie proudly stood up, looked at the other two other girls, removed the stick from her back pocket and then pretended to slam it onto the table for a dramatic start. Sophie and Nola stared back in confusion, before Emmie got frustrated with the silence. “This is Polly.” She looked at the still blank faces. “Ugh.” She pointed at it, hoping one of them would get what she was implying. Not quite.
“Em, whatever Polly did to you, I don’t think it warranted turning her into a memory stick. That’s a bit mean, really.” Sophie looked at Nola who shared a grin.
“You guys suck.” Emmie sat down and contemplated her next choice of words. “Look, y’know Polly’s been a bit…distant, I guess, with everyone. It’s all in here.” She was pleased with them.
“I guess she has been a little off?” Nola said, unsure of herself. “What’s in here then?” And Emmie explained. Sophie and Nola listened intently
“So, we need to sort her out and that’s how we should do it.” Emmie sat back in her chair, finishing off her highly detailed plan.
“I guess that would work. “ Sophie turned to Nola and then Emmie, both nodding in turn.
It was a simple plan, as far as they were concerned. They were going to help Polly by writing her a story. About her.
[To the next entry: The Plan]