The Bucket List to Mend a Broken Heart

by Anna Bell

‘When he finds out what? That I’ve done some things on his list?’

  ‘That you’ve been acting out his exact list. Don’t you think it’ll freak him out?’

  I shrug again. ‘I’m hoping he never finds out that I found it in the first place. And it’s not his exact list, I’ve modified it a bit. I’m only running a 10k rather than a half marathon.’

  ‘Right,’ says Ben. I can see the dimple, which I’ve learnt means that he’s laughing on the inside.

  ‘Oh, come on. Men never notice what’s going on under their noses. Besides, if he did find out what I’m doing, I’m sure he’d find it endearing. Wouldn’t you be flattered if someone went to all that trouble doing death-defying stunts that scared the bejesus out of them just to get you back?’

  The dimple disappears and Ben looks serious for a moment.

  ‘I mean, what if you and Tammy broke up and she did something like this for you. Surely it would show you how much she cared?’

  ‘I can’t imagine she’d even notice we weren’t together,’ mutters Ben under his breath. ‘Besides, what are you expecting to happen? That he’ll be so impressed with your list that you get back together and live happily ever after?’

  ‘That’s pretty much the gist of it.’

  ‘There are no such things as happy endings in real life, Abi. You might as well save yourself the time and effort.’ He shakes his head.

  ‘I know it sounds ridiculous,’ I say, sighing. ‘It’s just I couldn’t think of another way to get him back. I’m not crazy, I just really love him. You don’t have to keep helping me if you don’t want to. I’ll understand if you change your mind about coming to the Isle of Wight, but you can’t talk me out of it. I’m doing this list.’

  ‘I’m not going to talk you out of it, even though I think you’d be better off doing a list for yourself. In my experience sometimes if you love someone it’s better to let them go, as you’re only going to get hurt. The more you love someone, the more your heart breaks when it ends.’

  Boy, talk about cynical.

  ‘Are you sure your ex is worth all the effort?’

  I think of Joseph, a fresh memory of him at the Ritz, looking all groomed in his neatly-pressed shirt and Ralph Lauren jumper draped over his shoulders as he left.

  ‘Absolutely,’ I say without hesitation.

  ‘Well, then, who am I to stand in your way?’

  ‘You won’t tell Giles, will you?’

  He looks at me and I see him frown.

  ‘Not if you don’t want me to. Although, I think you should tell him and your friend Sian too. I don’t think they’d like being lied to. Besides, they’ll probably understand better than you think.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ I say, shaking my head defiantly. ‘Sian definitely won’t get it. She’d be furious. She’s all about girl power and she’ll think I’m committing a crime against feminism. No, we’ve got to keep this our little secret, if that’s OK?’

  He continues to look at me open-mouthed.

  ‘I know it’s silly,’ I say.

  ‘It’s not silly. You’re getting over a heartbreak. Believe me, I know all about it.’

  ‘You do?’

  I look at Ben and realise that I’ve told him one of the biggest secrets I’ve ever kept, and yet I know nothing about him. I don’t have any idea of his relationship history or how long he’s been with Tammy.

  ‘I do.’

  I raise my eyebrow to indicate that I want him to elaborate.

  ‘After I broke up with my first proper girlfriend, I tried quite hard to get her back.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Well, I might have flown around the world to track her down on her gap year in Thailand, Vietnam, then Australia.’

  ‘Oh, my God. You were a stalker.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t a stalker as such. I just happened to be doing a similar route to her around South East Asia and Australia. I popped up every couple of months. I did do my own travelling in between.’

  ‘And what happened? Did you get her back?’

  ‘Not exactly. I bumped into her in Thailand, and she was travelling with this guy. Then by the time I saw her in Vietnam, she was with another guy and then when I saw her again in Oz and was about to declare my undying love, she was with someone else. That was when I realised that I was on the other side of the world chasing someone who didn’t want me. If she didn’t fall at my feet when I saw her thousands of miles away in Thailand, then she never would.’

  ‘Wow. So you’re almost as much of a nutter as me.’

  No wonder Ben didn’t believe in happy endings.

  ‘Well, I did say your list was almost the craziest thing I’d ever heard of. But, in my defence, I was only eighteen. You should know better by now. You’re over thirty, right?’

  ‘Oi. Watch it,’ I say digging him in the ribs with my elbow. ‘I’m only just.’

  I know that Ben’s made a joke, but there’s still a sadness in his eyes as if he’s still nursing a broken heart. He smiles weakly as he gets to his feet.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you back on this bike, otherwise you’ll be nearing forty by the time you complete the Isle of Wight challenge.’

  I stand up and reluctantly put the helmet back on my head.

  ‘Thanks, Ben,’ I say, picking up my bike. ‘For doing this, even though you now know I’m a complete loser.’

  ‘That’s all right. I mean, I already knew you were a bit of a loser. What woman your age can’t ride a bike?’

  With that, Ben swings his leg over his own bike that he’s been pushing around all morning and cycles off.

  I can feel my cheeks colouring and I desperately want to shout at him and give him another dig in the ribs. There’s only one thing for it.

  ‘I’m going to get you, Ben,’ I shout as I mount my bike and pedal as fast as my fear will let me.

  As I pedal after him, I realise that I feel a sense of relief. I might have been embarrassed initially sharing my secret, but somehow confiding in Ben has made my shoulders feel lighter. There’s something about him that makes me feel comfortable talking about something so personal, even though he’s practically a stranger.

  And he didn’t think it was that terrible an idea, and he didn’t talk me out of it. And look, I’m actually cycling properly. All I need is for Ben to make me angry and I’ll get round the Isle of Wight no problem.

  The wheels are really flying round now and my legs are almost burning with how quickly I’m pedalling. Maybe I haven’t forgotten how to ride a bike after all.

  For a split second I believe that I can do this and, unlike Ben’s story of his lost love, my crazy plan is going to work.

  Chapter Nine

  Five weeks and two days left to do this list, but I feel like I need five years at this rate . . .

  ‘What’s wrong with you today? You look like you’ve been slapped round the face by a wet trout,’ says Giles as we get our handlebars tangled on the pavement again. It seems pushing a bike is just as difficult as riding it.

  I feel a bit bad as I’ve dragged him north of where we work to go to a specialist running shop and spent the whole time being grumpy.

  It’s all the list’s fault. It’s not going well.

  I sigh heavily again. I don’t want to talk about it, but I feel I owe him an explanation.

  ‘My Spanish lesson last night was abysmal. Then, if it wasn’t bad enough having to spend the morning at the printer with Linz shadowing me, I tried to buy Glastonbury tickets during the spring re-release only to find that I was meant to have registered in October. October!’ I say incredulously.

  I mean what a bloody stupid system. You have to commit to wanting to go to a festival almost a full year in advance.

  Giles nods his head. ‘If it makes you feel any better, the chances of getting tickets anyway were pretty slim, even if you had registered. And there’s always next year.’

  I almost laugh out loud. Of course there would be next year if this was any normal person’
s bucket list, but it’s not. I’m in a race against time to get Joseph back.

  ‘I even asked my sister if she or any of her friends had any spare tickets, and she laughed in my face. Apparently you have to apply using a photo and it’s mega strict.’

  ‘What about going to another festival? Glastonbury’s great, but it’s so big. You spend most of your time walking the site rather than seeing anything. Why don’t you try one of the other ones – maybe V Festival? They usually have plenty of commercial artists too, which might be more to your taste.’

  ‘More to my taste?’ I say, my nostrils flaring.

  Giles clocks my look and widens his eyes in panic. ‘No, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, I know your playlist at work.’

  ‘What’s wrong with my playlist?’

  ‘Nothing. If you like Taylor Swift and Beyoncé.’

  ‘Hey, I’ve got some Imagine Dragons on there and maybe a Foo Fighters track,’ I say, trying to raise my music cred. But in truth, he’s right – my playlist is cheesier than a French fromagerie. Damn the fact that everyone at work can access each other’s iTunes.

  I know I’m overreacting. Giles has only insinuated that I’m more of a Now That’s What I Call Music girl than an NME one, but it’s as if he’s siding with Joseph. It’s like saying that I’m deluded in thinking I could be cool enough to go to Glastonbury.

  ‘OK, well, why not try a different festival then? A less commercial one. There are loads of really cool ones that are smaller and less overrated. What about the Big Chill or Bestival?’

  I scrunch up my face as I try to imagine what Joseph would do. Would he be impressed with any festival or would it have to be Glastonbury? I think of him trotting around a muddy field, and I mentally picture him in his Hunter wellies and wax jacket, like the Monarch of the Glen. I try and put him into cool festival clothes but fail miserably. In fact, I can’t see Joseph there at all. He’s no more a camper than I am. When I saw him packing for work trips away he used to interleave tissue paper between his clothes to stop them from creasing.

  Maybe it wouldn’t matter what festival I went to. Maybe I’m getting too bogged down in the details.

  ‘At least Bestival is close,’ I say, thinking of another trip to the Isle of Wight.

  ‘There you go. And Laura and I would be up for going if you wanted to get a group of people together. We went about five years ago and it was a right laugh. Everyone dresses in fancy dress for this big competition.’

  He had me until fancy dress.

  ‘I’ll look into it,’ I say despondently.

  ‘Digame sobre tu español clase.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ I say, a sweat breaking out on my forehead as I remember how I felt last night in my Spanish class. Within thirty seconds after we finished saying hola, the only Spanish word I know, I was lost.

  ‘I said, tell me about your Spanish lesson.’

  ‘Right. It was a fricking disaster. It’s supposed to be a beginner’s class but there were people there that seemed to be practically fluent. And they were all doing this perfect Three Amigos type accent. I felt like a right plonker. I couldn’t even get “my name is Abi” right.’

  ‘What were you saying? That your name was Fred?’

  I shoot Giles a death stare. Today is not the day to have a joke at my expense. I am suffering from major sense of humour failure.

  ‘Give it a go.’

  I’m really not in the mood.

  ‘Come on,’ he says, with bounding enthusiasm.

  ‘Me la-mo Abi.’

  ‘Me llamo – it’s pronounced ya-mo,’ says Giles.

  ‘See,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘I’ve had it written down and I’ve been practising it all day at work and I still get it wrong.’

  ‘It’s just a pronunciation thing. Don’t be so hard on yourself. At least you added the reflexive bit – that’s impressive.’

  ‘The what bit? Oh, God, don’t confuse me any more than I already am.’

  The mere mention of anything that sounds like grammar is sending shivers down my spine and making me think back to French at school – the GCSE that blemishes my CV with a D.

  All I wanted to be able to do was order meatballs, not reawaken my teenage fears.

  ‘Sorry. Look, if you need a hand I did Spanish at school. Podríamos practicar hablar español en el trabajo.’

  Now I’m really starting to hate him.

  He holds up his hands to fight off the inevitable death stare that he knows is coming his way.

  ‘I just said we could practise at work, but you know, once you’ve had a few more lessons and you’re ready for it.’

  ‘I’m never going to be ready for it. But thanks.’

  God, today has been a disaster. I should have taken it as an omen and gone straight home rather than going to the trainer shop. My pockets are now ninety pounds lighter and the woman gave me a copy of an introductory training plan. Who knew there’d be so much training to do for a 10k? I might as well be doing the half marathon.

  The windsurfing course this weekend is creeping ever closer and any enthusiasm I had for it is waning rapidly. With everything else going wrong at the moment I dread to think what’s going to happen when I’m out at sea.

  ‘At least your bike-riding plans are going well,’ he says waving his hand at my bike. ‘Ben says you’re making progress.’

  ‘Ben’s being kind,’ I say, thinking back to my snail-paced riding session.

  ‘Well, with him helping you with that one, at least you’ll have one thing ticked off your list.’

  I bloody hope so, but I’m still sulky. Two out of ten tasks completed is hardly going to get Joseph running back to me with open arms.

  We’re about to cross a main road when I spot a familiar car.

  I put my arm out in front of Giles to stop him from walking and I back up a few steps.

  ‘Look.’

  I stop as I watch our boss Rick’s BMW park across the road a little further down from us. I wonder what he’s doing here. But it’s not where we are that’s so shocking: it’s who’s in his passenger seat that has stopped me in my tracks. I’d recognise that swinging ponytail anywhere.

  The door opens, and out climbs Linz.

  I watch in disbelief as she bounds round to Rick’s door and the two of them walk into a nearby pub together.

  ‘Did you see that?’ I say, gasping.

  My whole body prickles with goosebumps. This can’t mean good things.

  ‘Yeah, so they’re grabbing a drink after work. We do it all the time. Well, not all the time, but it’s not unheard of.’

  ‘Um, yeah we do, but we’re allowed to. We’re underlings that have to get together to bitch about work, and besides we don’t often go alone – it’s usually an open invitation to the office. I mean, have you ever gone to a pub with Rick alone?’

  ‘Only when we were out visiting a client around lunchtime.’

  ‘Exactly,’ I say, as if building my case.

  ‘Maybe they’re meeting some other people in there?’

  ‘I don’t think so. If there were others from work going we would have heard, wouldn’t we? And why would they come all the way up here if it wasn’t to be discreet. Oh, God, what if they’re dating?’

  What’s worse than merely working with Linz? Working with Linz when she’s the boss’s girlfriend, that’s what.

  ‘Chill out, so what if they are? It wouldn’t change anything,’ says Giles as we cross the road, Rick and Linz now safely out of sight.

  I roll my eyes. ‘It would change everything.’

  Boys really are clueless. Despite the fact that the age gap is creepy enough in itself, it would be an absolute disaster work wise.

  ‘Take this morning when we went to the printer. She was flirting with Jim the print guy so much that he gave her a key ring. A key ring! I’ve been going there for years and never even got so much as a pen, let alone a key ring.’

  Giles raises an eyebrow at me. OK, so I know I’m overreacting
, but I feel at the moment like wherever I turn at work Linz is there, and she’s doing a better job than me. Whether it’s smooth-talking clients or having stellar design ideas. It’s like she’s the new improved me, and now with her potentially dating Rick, she’s not just getting her feet under the table, she’s been given the keys to the whole bloody dining room.

  ‘Let’s go see what they’re up to,’ I say, pacing off towards the pub.

  Giles grabs me by my coat hood.

  I pull another cross face to add to my ever-growing library of disdain. This guy is really pissing me off.

  ‘Easy there, tiger. If we’re going to spy, we at least need to be inconspicuous.’

  My frown turns upside down and I watch as Giles chains up his bike to a nearby lamp post and I follow suit.

  ‘Right, then,’ he says, after securing the bikes. ‘Let’s go, Bond.’

  We approach the pub and do what any good spy would do – a couple of walk-bys with casual glances. This gets us nowhere, though, as the windows are opaque and covered with old-fashioned beer adverts. Instead, we have to peak through the tiny gap at the edge of the windows.

  ‘There they are,’ I whisper, for reasons unknown. It’s not like they’d hear us from here. ‘At the bar.’

  I watch as they take their drinks to a corner table.

  ‘See, it’s a date. She’s drinking wine. If it were work-related she’d be drinking a Coke or a J2O. And they’re sitting in the corner. Oh, God.’

  I’ve practically married them off in my mind.

  ‘Calm down, Abi. If it was a date I’m sure they’d be going somewhere a little bit more fancy than the Thistle at five thirty in the evening. And look, Linz has got a pen and paper out. Maybe it is work after all.’

  I stare at them and wish I was better at lip reading.

  ‘Do you think we should go in? Say that we saw them when we were passing,’ I ask, desperate to be a fly on the wall.

  ‘Oh, yes, we saw them all the way in the corner through the windows that are almost impossible to see through.’

  ‘Well, we could pretend that we were coming here for a drink anyway and just casually bumped into them. We could have been thirsty on the way back from the running shop.’