How Do You Like Me Now?

by Holly Bourne

  But not now.

  Now there is only the sun on my face, and putting one foot in front of the other, and wheeling myself forward into the chance of happiness. The pain is coming. Oh, how it is coming, but not right now.

  I have to change at Victoria and the connecting train is delayed.

  How can it be? I think. Do they not know I’ve just ruined my life? That I am moments away from falling apart and need to get home so very quickly before I disintegrate in public. I stand against a wall, waiting for them to say the train is here and breathe and breathe and breathe. People are laughing and sipping coffee from red disposable cups. People have shopping bags filled with Christmas gifts for the ones they love. People are on their way to meetings in business suits and playing games on their phones or listening to music through cupped headphones. None of them see me. Here. With my heart scattered all over the floor in pieces. I ring my parents’ house, my fingers shaking on the keys. No answer. I wilt with relief when my mum picks up her mobile.

  ‘Tori?’ She is somewhere loud and echoey.

  ‘Mum.’ My voice cracks. ‘It’s me. I’ve … I’ve left Tom, Mum.’ Saying it out loud makes it real. Telling another human that isn’t Tom confirms it.

  ‘Hang on, Tor. It’s noisy here. You’ve left Tom? Is that what you said?’

  I nod, tears shooting down my face. I am hardly able to speak. ‘Oh God, I’ve left him. What have I done, Mum? What have I done?’

  I hear her panic down the line. She’s talking to Dad. ‘Yes, it’s Victoria. She’s saying she’s left Tom. I know! I don’t know! Hang on. Tor? Tor are you still there? We’re out Christmas shopping.’

  ‘Mum,’ I wail. ‘What have I done? I’ve just left him. I don’t understand. We were eating sandwiches and I just … oh God …’ She’s telling me it will be OK. She says the word ‘Finally’. She says well done for being so brave.

  ‘The train’s arriving,’ I manage to get out. ‘I’ll be there in forty minutes.’

  ‘You may be home before us, love. We’ll leave now. But you may get back before us. Are you OK to let yourself in?’

  I nod. I stumble through the ticket barrier with my phone pressed to my ear.

  ‘You know where the key is?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s going to be all right, Tori.’ There’s a long pause down the line. ‘You’ve made the right decision,’ she says. ‘I promise you. You will look back on today in time and realise it was the best thing you’ve ever done. We’ll see you soon. Stay strong.’

  You’ve made the right decision.

  I manage to get through the sliding doors and put my suitcase in the section for luggage. I weave into a duo of seats with no seats opposite and slump my breaking body by the window. The train’s automated message welcomes me. It tells me where we are going and where we are stopping. It pulls out of the station and chugs slowly over the river. The city is grey and busy and Christmas is almost here and my world is ending my world is ending my world is ending, but my mother has just told me I’ve made the right decision.

  Her words, her opinion, trickle into me. My fingers stop trembling. I think of how my parents never really approved of Tom. How they carefully toed the line of never slagging him off, but never, ever, saying his behaviour was OK. I could feel my mother’s relief down the line. She wasn’t worrying that I’ve suddenly made myself single even though I’m thirty-two and there may be no one else, and even though Tom and I have invested so much already, and that he looks so good on paper. I think of other people’s opinions I trust and value. Dee always checking if things were all right between us. Sandy seeing straight through my attempts to pretend we were happy. Anne refusing to accept Tom’s story and making me realise maybe I’m not so crazy after all, that maybe he’s the one with the problem. Even Taylor Faithful rejecting the perfect narrative and walking away from all the stuff she hadn’t told us. I’ve been so obsessed with how it looks that I’ve not been worrying about how it looks to whom. Whose opinions matter and whose don’t. And, most of all, how it looks to myself. I watch the city whizz past outside my window and start to feel the grief hit. My heart is not listening to my head, it is determined to break. I will not be able to escape the pain of this. Even if it’s right, the agony will demand to be felt. I need to try to hold on until I get back to my parents’ house. I know it’s going to be hard to stop once I start. A tear spills over and I wipe it away. Another one escapes from my other eye as I do this. And, just as I’m on the brink of total annihilation, my phone goes.

  Dee: I’m worried I upset you earlier and I’m really sorry if I did. Can I blame it on sleep deprivation and being off my tits on hormones? Anyway, I hope you and Tom are OK. Call me anytime x

  My thumb traces the screen as I read and re-read her message. This morning was a lifetime ago, but for Dee it was only this morning. I tip my head back to try to stop the tears. My phone beeps again.

  Mum: We’re on our way home and traffic’s OK so we should get back the same time as you. Hang on in there, Victoria. We both love you xx

  The tears start to fall quicker, streaming down into my scarf. I turn my face towards the window so no one in the train carriage can see. I open an app to try to distract myself and scroll through the updates of other people’s days. I have notifications from the post I wrote yesterday. People have begun to decorate their Christmas trees and are keen to show the world what they look like.

  Then I see it.

  Jessica Thornton

  What an amazing year it’s been! I married my best friend, went on the honeymoon of a lifetime, bought my first flat. And now, Tim and I are so, so happy to announce we are expecting our first baby!!!!!!

  There is a black and white photo of the inside of her uterus with a blodge in it. There are already eighty-two likes and people saying congratulations underneath. They like it. Everyone likes it. Well done you on your amazing year. How happy you must be so well done. I’m so glad you told me. Validate validate validate, like like like, favourite favourite favourite. Here you go. Here you fucking go. If I click on this heart will you feel less empty? OK then. As you fucking wish. Like like. Well done you. Congratulations. Oh, haven’t you done it right. Clever thing. Oh, how lucky you are. Congratulations. I can’t believe the good news. Like like like like like like like.

  I find I am laughing.

  I am laughing, and I am typing.

  Into my own box. Into my own status update. The truth. I’ve finally remembered how to tell the truth.

  I write:

  I don’t know what the fuck I am doing.

  I hit send. I feel free. Oh, how free I feel. I cannot even tell you. I will not lie any more. I will not pretend it’s OK when it isn’t. I no longer care what it looks like on paper. It does not work. I want to care about how it feels, not how it looks. And it has to feel good.

  Tori: I really appreciate the message, hon. Sorry I ran off like that. Speak soon x

  I send off my reply to Dee and then I hold down the top button of my phone until it turns off. I’m smiling as I watch the screen fade to black.

  Postscript

  From: Tori@WhoTheFckAmI.com

  To: Marni@Hawkpublishing.com

  CC: Kate@Nightingaleagents.com

  Subject: New book

  Dear Marni

  How are you? Good I hope. Sorry it’s been a while since we last spoke. I want to thank you again for all the support you have given me over this difficult period and giving me the time I needed to process everything. And sorry again that we’ve had to push back my next book.

  About that however … I’ve had some ideas. I’ve started to realise that, when it’s come to my life over the past half-a-decade, things haven’t always been what they seemed. And I want to maybe write something about it. What are your thoughts on ‘What The Actual F*ck?’ as a title? If you buy me lunch, I can fill you in on the details. ;)

  Can’t wait to hear back from you.

  Tori x

  Acknowledgements


  Sometimes good things come out of bad places. Thank you to everyone who made it as such. To Maddy, for once again, changing my life in the most positive, empowering way – and to Alice, Hayley, Anna and Giles. Words will never be an adequate thank-you, but they’re all I’ve got.

  I’m now fortunate enough to have not one, but two, kick-ass editors in my life. Thank you to Emily, for totally and utterly getting this book and whipping it into shape. And to Rebecca at Usborne, for believing I could do this and being such a champion. Even though there’s no way the publishers of That’s Not My Unicorn could publish a book with a non-consensual blow-job and multiple uses of the c-word in it. It meant so much to have you there throughout this journey.

  Thank you to everyone at Hodder, for supporting the book and being so amazing – especially Melissa, who has been such a cheerleader for me from way back when. I can’t believe we now technically work together. It’s beyond awesome.

  Thank you to the brave women I spoke to for this book about their experiences of emotional abuse and living with narcissists. You’re all superheroes and I hope I’ve done your stories proud. I also hope, in a small way, this book can help more Toris leave Toms. You really do deserve better, and Tom’s behaviour really isn’t OK. A huge thank you to Women’s Aid – just for existing and for the invaluable work you do.

  I couldn’t have got through this book if it wasn’t for the most brilliant friends and family. So thank you to Holly S, Lucy, Sara, Mel, Christi, Lexi, Rachel, Lisa G, Emma, Ruth, Emily S, Non, Lisa W, Josh, Harriet, Jess, Eleanor, Louie, and Carina. And, as always – Mum, Dad, Eryn and Willow. I am the luckiest person alive to have you guys.