by Lacey London
‘What?’ Lianna’s jaw hits the table and she gawks at me like I have finally gone insane.
Shooting out of my chair, I chuck some notes on the table. Lianna makes an attempt to catch a twenty pound note before it lands in a jug of iced table water.
‘Clara! Where are you going? Sit down!’ She blushes furiously as people start to turn around in their seats at the commotion.
‘I’ve got to go, Lianna. I’m sorry.’ Running past the waiters and queuing customers, I push my way out onto the street.
Emptying the contents of my handbag out onto the street, I snatch my phone from the pile of hair slides and empty chewing gum wrappers. I ignore the derogatory comments from the angry pedestrians walking over me and dial Oliver’s number. I am not having the only man I have ever loved walk away from me without a fight. The line stays dead for a moment too long before clicking onto voicemail. Desperately trying again, I hit redial and pray that he answers. Hearing the cold pre-recorded message, I feel a shattering devastation rising in my throat like bile. Before I get chance to do anything irrational and stupid, a hand reaches down and gently takes the phone from my grasp.
‘Clara? Come on, let’s get you home.’
I look up at Lianna and feel mortified by her sympathetic smile. She kneels down on the pavement and begins collecting up my things. The sight of my best friend coming to my rescue makes me burst into a big blubbering mess. I allow her to pull me to my feet and flag down a taxi. Bundling me into the back of the cab, she slips in next to me and gives the driver my address.
I don’t stop crying the entire way home. Even when Lianna runs me a hot, lavender bath and orders me to get in, I still have tears escaping my sore eyes. It is only once I am neck high in bubbles that I realise we haven’t gone back to work. Too upset to care, I tilt my head back and let the water fills my ears, blocking out the rest of the world. My mum used to tell me that there isn’t anything a long soak in the bath couldn’t fix, but that was when my biggest problem was period cramps. If problems are fixed by water, I’m going to need an entire ocean.
Chapter 44
Pushing fried rice round my plate, I pretend not to hear Lianna and Marc whispering in the kitchen. I am rather humiliated following my public meltdown and don’t really know what to say to move on from it. From what I can gather from the hushed conversation behind me, they are both rather concerned about leaving me alone. Not wanting to be a seen as a suicidal psychiatric patient, I squeeze my miserable face muscles into a smile and take a mouthful of seaweed.
‘How are you feeling?’ Lianna curls up next to me and steals a chunky chip from my plate.
‘I’m alright, I promise. Look, I am so sorry about before. I don’t know what came over me.’ My skin flushes crimson at the embarrassment of my friends seeing me like that. I am not exactly G.I. Jane, but I am not one for crying in front of people, especially on the pavement of a crowded street. God, I hate myself sometimes.
‘Don’t be silly. Being upset isn’t something to be ashamed of. Remember what I was like with Dan?’ She shakes her head at the memory and looks at Marc for encouragement.
‘I never liked him anyway. American asshole.’ Marc winks at me over the top of his beer bottle and I know that is the most I will get from him.
‘I just want you to know that this won’t happen again. Meltdown over.’ Acting brave when you are falling apart inside is mentally draining.
‘Let’s watch a film.’ Lianna demands, flicking through my impressive DVD collection. I pretend not to notice as she hides anything American or romantic under the coffee table.
‘How about, 28 Days Later?’ Not waiting for a response, she hops over to the TV and fiddles with the remote.
Watching Marc melt over yet more scan pictures, I slip away into the bathroom. Leaning against the warm radiator, I pull back the voile curtain and watch the heavy rain turn into slushy icicles as it hits the ground. I hear an ear piercing bang and watch the sky fill with purple and red sparkles. Bonfire Night has always been one of my favourite holidays. Truth be told, I actual prefer it to Christmas. Letting the curtain fall back down, I splash water on my face, not caring about the inevitable panda eyes. To be honest, they match my pathetic pyjamas and messy top knot.
Tip toeing back into the living room, I peek at Lianna and Marc, top and tailing on the sofa, Lianna with a pillow covering her eyes. I might be in a mess in the romantic apartment, but I do have some fantastic friends. I also have a cute house, granted it’s not Buckingham Palace but at least it’s mine. I guess two out of three isn’t so bad.
It is gone midnight when I finally manage to convince Lianna and Marc to go home. The problem is, the second I close the door, I want to scream at them to come straight back. Fighting the urge to chase them down the street, I slowly walk into the living room and pick up the half drunken glass of amaretto I left earlier. Why do I suddenly feel all alone? I have lived in this house on my own for four years and not once felt lonely. Maybe I’ll end up like the crazy cat lady at the end of the street after all. People go through break ups all the time and come out of the other end alive. I just need to pull myself together.
Deciding to call it a night, I flick off the living room light and pad into my bedroom, opening the window so I can watch the fireworks. A large curry stain on my pyjamas grabs my attention and I flick through my wardrobe for another pair. My hand lands on the red cocktail dress I bought in Manchester. Before I can stop it, a single tear slips down my face and I quickly wipe it away. Feeling my bottom lip begin to wobble, I slam the wardrobe shut and throw myself into bed, curried PJ’S and all.
As the tears soak my pillow, I make a promise that this is the last time I cry myself to sleep at night. Life is far too short and precious to waste it crying over things that you cannot change. Turning over, I listen to the heavy rain battering against the walls of the house.
Just as I am slipping into unconsciousness, a gentle knocking makes me stir. Who is setting fireworks off at this time of the night? Pulling the cover up over my head, I try to fall back to sleep, not wanting to lose my concentration. There it is again! Annoyed, I stomp to the window and yank it open. I can’t see any fireworks through the thick sheets of rain. In fact, I can’t see anything at all.
As I am about to slam the window shut, a black shadow catches my eye. Leaning out of the window, I can vaguely make out a silhouette of a man at my front door. Marc, no doubt.
I can’t help but feel a little touched. I told him I would be fine, but I had a feeling he would be back. Running down the stairs, I dry my damp face and fumble around in the hallway for the house keys. The rain is making so much noise I can barely hear myself think. Fighting against the wind, it takes all my strength to pull open the door.
‘Clara?’
Oliver??
Oh my God! Am I dreaming? Have I died? Am I hallucinating?
‘Clara? Can I come in?’
I attempt to speak but nothing comes out. Dripping wet, he pushes past me into the hall.
‘What are you doing here?’ My legs tremble and my knees start to feel weak.
‘I love you.’
I hear the words come out of his mouth but they take a moment to register.
‘But what about George?’ Still not believing that he is stood in front of me, I suddenly become lightheaded.
‘George called me. He told me everything.’
‘He did?’ The words come out so quiet, I am surprised he hears me.
‘To be honest, I couldn’t care less. I love you, Clara.’ He holds my shoulders and looks me straight in the eye.
Realising that I have panda eyes and curry down my ten year old pyjamas, I feel incredibly self conscious. As if reading my mind, he pulls me down so we are both sitting at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Clara, I have loved you since the day I first laid eyes on you. You had Pepto Bismol down your dress and vomit in your hair, but you were the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.’
‘Do you real
ly mean that? My heart pounds faster than I ever knew possible. He brushes a stray hair from my cheek and cups my face with both hands.
‘I really, really do.’
And that’s it. That’s when he kissed me. The ending of my very own, not so traditional love story. My American Dream. Looking behind him at the night sky, I take in all the stars and for a split second, I truly believe that sometimes dreams really do come true.
