The Beginner's Guide to Loneliness

by Laura Bambrey

  ‘Oh. You guys going anywhere special?’ she asks, lightly.

  ‘Nah, just the little restaurant around the corner from my flat.’

  There’s a brief pause.

  ‘So, what’s this new favour, then?’ asks Rowan.

  ‘It’s about Bay . . .’

  ‘Of course it is,’ she says sarcastically.

  I pick at the flaking paint on the arm of the bench. ‘Look, he said he left a letter for me on my pillow in the yurt before he left, but I never got it.’

  ‘And . . .’

  ‘And . . . could you go and see if you can find it for me?’

  ‘On your pillow?’

  ‘Well obviously it won’t be there now. The three of us stayed in there last night, didn’t we? But maybe it blew off onto the floor or something?’

  ‘Okay, okay. I can’t right now. I’m watching the baby while Mum and Dad have a rest, but I’ll text you later when I’ve looked?’

  ‘You’re my hero,’ I say thankfully.

  ‘I know.’

  It’s not ideal. I’m not going to be able to focus on anything until I know for sure.

  ‘Right . . . about this email?’ I say. ‘Actually, how do you know what emails I’m getting? You’ve not hacked me or something, have you?’ I laugh a little nervously. Somehow, I wouldn’t put it past her.

  ‘Course not,’ she says, sounding offended. ‘I answered the house phone earlier and it was someone asking for you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yeah, there have been quite a few since that knob told everyone who you are. Mostly journalists asking for interviews. Mum and Dad have been fielding them and just writing the contacts down so they can give them to you.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, my heart skipping in fear.

  ‘Look, I didn’t tell them about this one. I thought it might be too important to wait till you got back.’

  ‘Right . . .’

  ‘It was this woman from a publisher. She said she’d emailed you via your blog, but she was worried you wouldn’t pick it up because you’d be snowed under, so she was calling us on the off-chance she could speak to you directly.’

  ‘Someone from a publisher?’

  ‘Yeah. When I said you weren’t available, she asked if I could make sure that you knew she was trying to reach you, and she hoped to talk to you soon. Look, can’t you just check your emails yourself and read what she’s got to say?’

  ‘I’m not anywhere near my computer . . .’

  ‘You stayed with us for too long . . . your brain is fried. Let me put this in words you might understand: Turn. On. Your. Bloody. Mobile. Data. Her name’s Sarah . . . erm, hang on . . . Sarah Mack.’

  And with that, Rowan hangs up.

  I shake my head and can’t help but smile as I faff around with my phone and open my emails.

  It takes me ages to find the one she’s talking about. There are hundreds of new messages. I cringe as I scroll through dozens, all with subjects along the lines of ‘interview request’. Then I spot it. Sarah Mack. The subject line reads ‘The Beginner’s Guide to Loneliness: Book Proposal.’

  Holy sainted granny pants.

  Dear Tori,

  I’ve had the pleasure, following the recent publicity, of discovering your blog The Beginner’s Guide to Loneliness. Your writing is nothing short of exquisite, fresh and honest. Having binge-read all of your posts, I had to get in touch.

  I am the Commissioning Editor for Farthing, a publishing imprint focusing on mental health and wellness titles. I would love to discuss the opportunity of turning your blog into a book.

  Give me a call when you get back to London, and if it’s something that you might be interested in, we can arrange a meeting to discuss the idea further.

  Please can I also just take this opportunity to congratulate you on your article this morning in response to Nathan Jones. I feel that you have touched on a topic that needs to be under the spotlight, and I’m so sorry to hear that you have been the victim of this behaviour. I do hope you are receiving the support you need.

  I look forward to hearing from you soon,

  Kind regards,

  Sarah Mack,

  Commissioning Editor, Farthing Press

  Farthing Press? They’re huge! I read the email through a couple more times, let out an excited squeal, then quickly shoot a text to Rowan containing just two words: ‘Holy. Shit.’

  I take a deep breath, reopen the email and call the number in the signature strip.

  *

  ‘Sorry I’m late!’ I gasp, plopping down into my chair opposite the other two.

  Hugh grins at me and Sue waves a chunk of focaccia dipped in copious amounts of oil and balsamic vinegar at me.

  ‘S’okay!’ she says with her mouth full. ‘We may have started without you though!’

  ‘Wine?’ asks Hugh, waggling a bottle of red at me.

  I nod enthusiastically as I struggle out of my coat and tuck my bag under my chair so that no one goes arse over tit – lesson learned from bitter, mortifying experience.

  Hugh pushes a large glass towards me and I take a grateful sip.

  ‘So, what’s up?’ asks Sue. ‘You look completely freaked! Is it the thought of having to face Bay tomorrow?’

  I shake my head. Where to start . . .

  ‘Well, I’m going to begin the evening with a toast now that we’re all here,’ says Hugh, unwittingly coming to my rescue. ‘To old friends.’

  Sue and I clink our glasses with his.

  ‘And to your flippin’ fantastic blog post,’ says Sue, raising her glass again.

  ‘How on earth have you already seen that?’ I say.

  ‘Oh come on,’ says Hugh, ‘she gave you all of half an hour after we left the flat and then kept refreshing your site on her phone until you posted.’

  ‘You’re kidding me?’ I laugh. ‘You were meant to be out enjoying yourselves and seeing the sights!’

  ‘We were. The sights were just interrupted every five minutes for a quick blog check!’ says Sue. ‘I couldn’t relax till I knew you’d finished. Must have been really hard.’

  I nod. ‘Not the easiest thing I’ve ever written, but definitely cathartic.’ I smile to myself as the image of sticking two fingers up at my computer pops into my head.

  ‘But where’ve you been since? I mean, I know you probably needed a bit of time to recover and everything, but that was hours ago. I was convinced you’d give us a call and come and join us, but you didn’t . . . We were about to send out a search party,’ she says.

  ‘It’s been a busy day. And I have some news.’

  ‘Actually, we’ve got a bit of news for you too,’ says Hugh, trying to flag down a waiter at the same time.

  I catch Sue shooting a worried look at him. ‘What? It can’t be that bad,’ I say, thinking of everything we’ve dealt with over the past twenty-four hours.

  ‘Not bad for us, but definitely bad for Nathan,’ Hugh mutters.

  At the mention of his name, I stiffen.

  ‘Turns out he’s married,’ says Sue.

  Married? Why is everyone suddenly married? That is the very last thing I was expecting.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘A news site has already picked up on your post and done a bit of digging of their own.’

  ‘Oh God, his poor wife!’

  I don’t know how I feel about this. Despite my little outburst in private, I didn’t post my response for revenge. I posted it to warn other people of the dangers of this kind of behaviour, and in doing so I’ve unwittingly managed to warn his own wife.

  ‘It’s not for you to worry about, Tori,’ says Hugh quietly.

  I nod. This isn’t happening to a friend. This is happening to a stranger who wormed his way into my life and then proceeded to do his best to ruin it. Nathan needs help, and somewhere deep down – right now, it’s still very deep – I hope he finds it.

  ‘Tell us your news, Tori!’ says Sue excitedly.

  ‘First, let’s order
,’ I say, as a waiter appears at Hugh’s elbow.

  *

  ‘Come on then, spill,’ says Hugh as the waiter finally disappears with a rather full pad.

  ‘Okay, so, big news, or bigger news first?’ I ask.

  ‘Is any of it to do with Bay?’ asks Sue. ‘Because that’s the news I want first.’

  ‘Okay. You’ve opted for “big” news first. I’ve already seen him. I went to his office earlier.’

  ‘And?’ Hugh prompts impatiently.

  ‘And discovered that he’s married.’

  ‘WHAT!?’ explodes Hugh, making Sue and I jump.

  ‘Okay . . . I should have said “was married”.’

  ‘Didn’t you know?’ asks Sue.

  ‘No. I didn’t. And it was a shitty surprise. But, in fairness, I think he was going to tell me – we just hadn’t quite got to that bit yet.’

  ‘Ah. Awkward,’ says Hugh sympathetically.

  ‘Yep,’ I agree.

  ‘What about abandoning you without saying anything?’ he asks.

  ‘He said he left me a letter.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yep. Said he left it on my pillow before he went.’

  ‘But . . . you didn’t get it?’

  ‘Nope. I called Rowan and asked her if she’d go and hunt for it for me.’

  ‘A letter . . . how romantic,’ Sue sighs.

  ‘If that is the case, surely it’ll change things a bit?’ asks Hugh.

  ‘Hmm,’ I say sceptically, ‘rather depends on what it says.’

  ‘So did you hear back from Rowan yet?’ Sue prompts excitedly.

  I shake my head. ‘Last I heard she was baby wrangling, so goodness knows when she’ll get the chance to go and look. We didn’t spot anything, so there’s no guarantees she’ll find it, even if it is there!’

  ‘But what about Bay? This afternoon?’ prompts Hugh.

  ‘Yeah, did you kiss and make up?’ says Sue.

  ‘Hardly.’ I feel cold dread slide into my stomach. What if we never do . . . ?

  ‘Why, what happened?’

  ‘I just . . . I needed some time to think about things. As soon as I saw him, I realized that I needed to digest the fact that there’s this whole side to him that he didn’t tell me about. The business. The ex-wife. He’s not the person I thought he was.’

  ‘So when are you seeing him again?’ asks Sue.

  ‘I’m not. I just, well, I just . . . kind of left. Rowan called and I used that as an excuse to get the hell out of there.’

  ‘Poor you, that sounds horrible.’

  ‘It was.’ I pick up a piece of bread and start to tear it into tiny chunks. ‘In my head I think I had some kind of happy ever after planned out where it would all turn out to be a huge misunderstanding, and we’d fall into each other’s arms. Instead it turns out that we’re just two adults with a bunch of baggage, wondering if we can trust each other.’

  There’s silence around the table. The other two are staring at me like I’m the most depressing thing they’ve ever seen. I give myself a little shake, sweep the bread chunks into my hand and tip them onto a side plate.

  ‘Anyway,’ I say, ‘enough of the big news. Who wants to hear the bigger news?!’ I can’t help but let a little smile creep onto my face.

  ‘This better be happy news. You’ve nearly put me off my food,’ says Hugh, sitting back in his seat.

  ‘Oh, this is good news. Actually, this is amazing news.’

  ‘Out with it then.’

  ‘Well, I told you Rowan called?’

  ‘Uh huh?’

  ‘A publisher’s interested in turning my blog into a book!’ I blurt, jumping straight to the end of my story.

  ‘Okay, WHAT?!’ Sue is frozen, glass halfway to her lips.

  ‘Um . . .’ says Hugh, ‘rewind please.’

  ‘Well,’ I say, ‘turns out Nathan’s article has massively upped the visitors to my blog. Most of them are complete rubber-neckers and just there to read about yours-truly-the-fuck-up. But, some of those new readers, well, it looks like they liked what they read.’

  ‘Of course they did, your blog is amazing!’ says Sue loyally.

  ‘Well, one of my new visitors was Sarah Mack, Commissioning Editor at Farthing Press. She emailed me to invite me to a meeting. Then, just to make sure she reached me, she called The Farm. That’s what Rowan was calling about. Can you believe it?!’

  ‘And you just went? Just like that?!’ asked Hugh, eyes wide.

  ‘Well, it was just a coffee so we could meet – the real meeting will be in a couple of weeks – but I thought I may as well, as I had a free afternoon,’ I grin.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Sue is threatening to go ultrasonic now, and I look around me, slightly embarrassed.

  ‘Shhh! I’m meant to keep it quiet until everything’s signed and sealed!’ I laugh.

  ‘Sorry . . . sorry. But WOW, Tori!’

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ I say, and a wave of happiness floods through me. This is happening. ‘Telling you two makes it feel real, somehow!’

  ‘Well, that’s you sorted, then, isn’t it?!’ says Hugh. ‘Just think, you were busy melting down about work and money, and now you’re going to be a published author!’

  ‘Yeah, hopefully, and I guess I’ve got Nat – I mean Nathan – to thank for it. If he hadn’t told the world who I was, Sarah might never have discovered my blog.’

  I’m not sure how I feel about this, to be honest. I don’t particularly want to owe him anything.

  ‘No,’ says Sue, and I’m surprised at how determined she sounds. ‘You only have yourself to thank. You put in all those hours of work. Thousands of people already loved your posts, so it was only a matter of time before a publisher saw your potential.’

  ‘Sue’s right. And if they do give you a book deal, you’ll be able to put the money towards a new place,’ says Hugh.

  I grin at him as another wave of excitement washes through me.

  ‘What sort of thing do you fancy? Flat? House? Romantic cottage?’ asks Sue. I swear she’s ready to pull up PrimeLocation as we eat and start searching for my new home straight away.

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ I say honestly. ‘But I’m finally ready to give myself the permission to find out.’

  Chapter 38

  Integration and Return

  ‘There will come a moment when you realize that you are no longer “struggling” with loneliness. It might still be there on occasion, but when you’ve put in the work to accept yourself for the perfectly imperfect person you are, those occasions will no longer feel so threatening. You will always be in the company of one of your best friends – you.’

  ©TheBeginnersGuideToLoneliness.com

  *

  By the time I’ve filled them in on all the gossip from my unexpected meeting, we’ve worked our way through two bottles of wine, three courses each and are just settling down to coffees. I’m starting to flag. I’m bloody exhausted. I’m just considering talking the other two into heading back to the flat for an early night when my phone starts to ring. I flip it over and see Rowan’s name flashing up.

  ‘Hey, Rowan!’ I say, answering it before the ringing manages to bug the entire room. I hate answering phones in public places. Maybe I should go outside . . .

  ‘Tori, it’s Doreen.’

  It’s so wonderful to hear my friend’s voice, but I instantly start to panic.

  ‘What’s happened?’ I ask sharply. Sue and Hugh stop gossiping and look at me with concerned expressions.

  ‘Nice to speak to you too!’ laughs Doreen.

  ‘Sorry, sorry . . . it’s just—’

  ‘I know, you were expecting Rowan. Everything’s fine. Well, other than the fact that Rowan’s grounded!’ She laughs again.

  ‘I know, she told me earlier,’ I say faintly.

  ‘Yes, well. That was before Ted went online to read your post and decided to look up “how to ground a teenager” while he was at it.’

  ‘Uh-oh!’


  ‘Exactly. He confiscated her phone and gave it to me for safe-keeping, just in case you tried to make contact.’

  ‘Wait, hang on . . . Ted gave you a phone? Is the world coming to an end?’

  ‘No, we’re just in the reintegration week, and he and Lizzie have decided that my friendship with you is an important part of mine!’ she says. ‘Plus, I don’t think they liked the idea of it disturbing the baby.’

  ‘Well, at least this explains why Rowan was taking so long to call me back,’ I say.

  ‘Yup. She managed to let Geoff know about your little mission earlier while she was helping him lay the table. Hope you don’t mind, but we went and had a look for you instead.’

  ‘Course I don’t mind!’ I say. ‘Find anything?’

  ‘Yes. A little white envelope with your name on it. Must have blown off your bed. It was mostly wedged under one of the rugs.’

  So Bay was telling the truth. He didn’t just disappear on me.

  ‘What does it say?’ I breathe.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘We didn’t want to open it without speaking to you first.’

  Sue and Hugh are now riveted, like if they concentrate hard enough, they’ll be able to catch both sides of the conversation. I smile at them and point to the door. Sue looks gutted, but Hugh nods.

  ‘Give me two secs, Doreen. I’m just going to head outside.’

  I stand on slightly wobbly legs. I think it’s the nerves rather than the glasses of wine that hit me and make me stagger. I make my way towards the front of the restaurant and head out into the cool evening air.

  ‘You still there?’ I say at a more normal volume as I wander down the street away from the buzz of the restaurant.

  ‘Yep! You okay?’

  ‘Yeah. Just had to get out of the restaurant for a second. I’ve abandoned Hugh and Sue over coffee,’ I say.

  ‘So, do you want me to read it to you?’ asks Doreen.

  ‘If you don’t mind?’ I say. Frankly I think that’s quite restrained considering I want to reach through the phone somehow and rip the thing out of her hands.

  I hold my breath while I hear paper tearing and much crinkling.

  ‘Okay . . .’ And she starts to read.

  Dear Tori,

  The outside world has come and bitten us both at the same time. I haven’t told you much about my work yet, but I own a landscape and design company with two friends. We work with all sorts of insane people. I’ve just received a call to tell me that my partner Greg has been in an accident. He’s hit his head and broken his leg. I don’t know how bad he is yet, but I’ve got to head straight to London to take over a project for him. I don’t want to rush off, but he’s working on a garden at the Chelsea Flower Show and the deadline is nuts. I really want to see you before I go, but I’ve got no idea where you’ve gone or how long you’re going to be.