‘Wow. And they say romance is dead,’ Harry remarked ‘That could totally be another one for your collection. Joined together in holy flatulence.’
‘Ha! Very funny. Yeah, I guess if I could find a few more true stories then it could be enough to pitch as a show idea to Jeremy? He is after more “Reality” ideas after all.’
‘There’s definitely something in it. Love can turn up in the most surprising of places. The right person can just suddenly come into your life when you least expect it!’
Holly rolled her eyes, just as the living room door swung open to reveal Lawrence.
‘Like I said,’ Harry said as Lawrence bounded over to Holly and enveloped her in cuddles.
‘You came!’ she said, feeling a bit like she’d been caught with her hand in the till.
‘Yep! Thought I’d surprise you. Surprise!’
‘Hooray!’
‘I missed you. Missed my Folly,’ he slurred.
‘Missed you too.’ They kissed again, and the eclipse of moths flew away.
‘I’m sorry we fought,’ he said, and she was struck again by Lawrence’s unique take on the Art of Apology. He would always say something vague like ‘sorry we fell out’, rather than taking any blame for it. But she pushed this thought aside. It was just so nice to see him. Even if he was hammered.
‘Me too. Love you,’ she said, kissing him.
Harry stood up to free his seat for Lawrence. ‘Well, I’ll leave you lovebirds to it,’ he said, the irony not wasted on Holly as he snuck away.
*
Three hours later, the party was winding down. Harry had gone home and all that remained were a few stragglers in the lounge playing SingStar. After watching drunk Bella perform Robyn’s ‘Dancing on my Own’ at the top of her voice, Holly and Lawrence decided to slip away. On the way downstairs, they noticed Olivia and Jonny sneaking out together.
‘Oh, really?’ she whispered to Lawrence as they went into her room. ‘That’s an interesting pairing!’
‘You’re an interesting pairing,’ Lawrence slurred as he leaned in to kiss Holly. She couldn’t help noticing how much his breath stank of booze. Reasoning that in fairness she probably smelled like an off-licence too by now, she kissed him back. As they kissed some more and he held her in his arms, they could hear Edward Sharpe’s ‘Home’ drifting down through the floorboards. In a burst of spontaneity, Lawrence took Holly’s arm and twirled her around. Slowly they danced to the distant music before collapsing onto the bed. She kissed his neck, unbuttoning his shirt while feeling his arms tighten around her back. She worked her hands down towards his trousers and fumbled with his fly. As his jeans came down, revealing the grey boxers – the ones that had more holes in than sense – she felt the hands around her back grow limp. They weren’t the only thing, she observed as her hands wandered inside his holey shorts.
She saw that his eyes were closed and sighed. ‘Lawry?’
He opened them, one at a time. ‘Sorry. I’m just fucked.’
‘Or not, as the case may be.’
‘I’m sorry Folly, I just can’t… Um. I can’t… actually… feel anything. Bit too much brandy I’m afraid. Don’t hate me. We can still cuddle. I’ll make it up to you in the morning when things are back on down there.’
Holly said nothing.
‘Love you lots?’ he added, because that usually fixed everything.
‘Right,’ she said, unimpressed. ‘Um, is it me, or does this happen a lot these days? If it’s not “I’m too drunk”, it’s “I’m all bloated, I’ve eaten too much curry”.’ Holly sighed. ‘Whatever it is, Lawry, it’s getting old.’
‘Baby. That’s not nice. It’s not my fault I’m tired. I’ve had a long day. What’s the big deal?’
‘You know, I wasn’t going to mention it, but you smell of tramp. Are you sure you actually didn’t just go and sleep on the heath last night and drink whisky ’til dawn? And Lawrence, I hate to break it to you, but your whole hair-washing-itself-after-a-while theory: it’s really not watertight!’
‘Harsh?!’ he exclaimed to an imaginary umpire. ‘Holly, could you please, for a second, quit having a go at me? I smell fine. Fucksake.’ He rolled his eyes, then took a sly whiff of his armpits just to be sure. His nose twitched in discomfort.
‘You’re not fine. I’m not fine,’ she sat up in bed. ‘Baby, let’s be honest.… WE are not fine.’
He pulled her back onto the bed and started kissing her. Gently to start, then more energetic. As though he was wrestling with himself to be more awake, he kissed her harder, and started running his hands up and down her dress. As his hands went into her bra, a cacophony of different sentences began to play in her mind, many of them Harry’s words from before. It was like she was back in her edit suite, playing different Wav files one after the other… Maybe you’ve heard the bell and the niggling doubt; is he really the one…? and… and… all the while Lawrence’s hands were working their way south. She looked into his eyes and all she could see were blanks; clearly he was sleepwalking his way through all of this.
‘Don’t, Lawrence,’ she said quietly.
‘You want me to stop now? For fuck’s sake, there’s no pleasing you!’
‘It’s not that. I just think… maybe this isn’t working.’
There. She’d said it. Foundations, laid.
‘What the fuck?’
‘Don’t shout – please stop yelling and being over-defensive. You always get like this when you’re pissed now.’
‘And you’re just such a stress-merchant these days. You’re nothing like the laid-back, fun-loving girl I met at the Blues bar that night.’
‘Oh I’m sorry. What are you going to do? File a complaint with the Advertising Standards Authority?’
‘WHAT?’
‘Never mind. Maybe you’re right. Maybe we just bring out the worst in each other.’
All the while she was becoming increasingly aware of how tight her dress was around the neck and stomach. She tried to remain calm as she wrestled with the complicated All Saints straps and pulley systems. She attempted to pull the layers of dress over her head, but then her arm became trapped. Soon she was entirely entangled, which only added fuel to her fury. She sighed and wondered whether it was the dress that was choking her, or the dysfunctional relationship. She gave it one last go. ‘ARRRGH!’ she screamed, then gave up.
Lawrence leaned forward and gently pulled the dress over her head. She smiled by way of thanks.
‘I am not being over-defensive!’
‘You so are!’
‘What are you really saying, Folly?’
Holly sat down on the bed in her bra and pants. ‘I don’t know. I just… Maybe I don’t want this anymore.’
Lawrence sat down next to her, beginning to put his arms around her, but, perhaps thinking better of it, he folded them instead. ‘I’ll tell you what you want. You want Alan.’
‘Who the fuck’s ALAN?’
‘You want Alan Smith. You know, Mr Fucking Straight. Good old Alan Smith the Accountant, who’s reliable with money and will make dinner for when you get home from work and treat you to nice fucking holidays and duck-egg bathroom tiles. Well I’ll tell you what. I’m not Alan Smith. I’m more interesting than that – I might be a twat about money sometimes, but Alan Smith is boring. I’ll tell you this for free, Holly…’ he said, his enormous blue eyes staring into hers.
‘What?’ Holly asked, shaking her head in bemusement.
He sat up straight, put an arm around her, and took a deep breath for extra gravitas. ‘You’ll never find anyone as fun as me!’
The second the words left his mouth, he was sick all over himself.
Holly said nothing. After a minute, she peeled Lawrence’s arm off her, and climbed down from the bed.
‘This isn’t fun anymore.’
Lawrence was mute. Holly walked out of the room, then came back in with a cloth, which she threw at him just as the chorus of ‘Home is wherever I’m with you’ drifted down fr
om above.
As Lawrence dabbed at himself with the cloth, she sat on the floor, tears of anger pressing at the edges of her eyes.
‘You know what. You’re not fun. You’re the fucking trailer for fun. Turns out, the main feature is just too much fucking stress. You don’t even remember the times when I’ve had to peel you off the floor and walk you home. The nights that have ended with you passed out under a table, in public! I can’t do looking after you anymore.’
Lawrence was shaking his head. He started to cry. ‘I’m sorry. I know, I’m a fucktard. I’ll sort stuff out. I’m still fun, I’m still your Lawry. I’m sorry about your bed. I’ll clean it up. I love you.’
There they were again. She used to think, if we can just snuggle under the three-little-word safety blanket, then everything would be OK… But now she thought about it, she couldn’t remember when she’d last said ‘I love you’ and really meant it.
Lawrence looked up at her, his blue eyes sober now and full of remorse.
‘I think maybe we should… have some space for a bit.’
‘Space? What is space?’
‘Maybe we should have a rest from each other. Just ’til you’re back from Paris. Use the time to think about what we both want.’
‘I want you. I don’t need to think about it.’ His eyes fixed on hers lovingly. ‘What about Cuba? We’re going to have the trip of a lifetime!’
Her heart sank. She’d forgotten about that. ‘We still will. Let’s just take some time.’
She couldn’t look at him. He looked too loveable, even now; despite the fact he smelled of vomit and had little bits of broken Pringles stuck in his stubble. Like a disorientated yo-yo, all she wanted was to take it all back, to press Control, Z.
‘But, I love you, you imbecile!’ he said through sobs. As he took her hands in his, the front doorbell rang.
‘Who the shit can that be?’ Holly said.
‘Leave it,’ he said as it went again.
Now the doorbell was going continuously, as though some one was leaning on the button.
‘Why is no one answering it? Christ, it’s 6 a.m.,’ she said, catching sight of her alarm clock as she climbed off the bed and threw on her oversized Blur T-shirt. ‘To be continued…’ she said, running out of the room and down the stairs in the dark, bumping into Bella at the front door.
‘Oh. You are here,’ Holly said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were getting the door? I was kind of in the middle—’
‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ Bella asked, seeing the tears all down Holly’s face.
‘Nothing,’ she said as they both pulled the front door in towards them. Holly wiped the snot from her nose as they peered out into the dimly lit street, looking in either direction. They were just about to close the door again when they caught sight of Harry below them, slumped in the doorway like a vagabond whose world had just ended.
‘Finally!’ he said, looking up through bloodshot eyes.
‘Harry-face, what the hell are you doing here?’ Holly yelled, helping him up off the ground.
Harry stood up, and Holly noticed he had been sitting on his big blue Karrimor travelling rucksack. The same blue Karrimor rucksack they’d both bought when they’d gone travelling together after university.
‘Are you off somewhere?’
‘Long story. Can I come and stay for a while?’
‘Of course.’
‘What happened?’ Bella asked as they cowered in the dark hallway that smelled of rising damp.
‘Well, the headline is, I’ve just walked in on Rachel shagging the arse off of Ryan Gosling’s body double.’
‘Oh my god,’ Holly said. ‘Not Rachel? As in “Practically Poppins in every way” Rachel?’
Harry nodded.
Bella was staring at Harry. ‘What do you mean, shagging the arse off? Was she wearing a strap-on?’
‘Bella! He meant it as an expression! You absolute tool!’ Holly said, just as Harry began to hyperventilate and flood with tears. Harry – twenty-seven years of age, her rock since childhood – was doing actual crying. So sobering a sight was it that for a moment she was frozen still, no clue of what to say or how to make it better.
‘We were supposed to be getting married next summer!’ shouted Harry. ‘And making wee bairns together! We had it all planned out.’
‘Come here.’ Holly folded a dismantled Harry into her arms. ‘You poor bastard. I’m so, so sorry.’
‘He was seven fucking foot, too. She always said me being short was never a problem!’
‘The lying ho,’ Bella said, taking position as the second bit of bread in the hug sandwich, inside which Harry was the sagging bit of ham.
‘Let’s go in,’ Holly said eventually, as the last of the sun rose over Fortess Road.
‘You’re with us now,’ Bella added as they headed up the stairs.
6. Recalculating
The rules are different on a hangover, Holly consoled herself as she put her hand on her belly and felt her food-baby do a little kick. She had just eaten a whole roast beef with TWO Yorkshire puddings, but was still impossibly ravenous. It was common fare with her hangovers that she would enjoy an unbridled licence to eat all day. As anyone knew, hangover calories carried a value of nil, didn’t they? But today she was even eyeing up leftovers on neighbouring tables. Holly tried to distract herself by looking at her phone’s idle inbox. Or by seeking solace in the leafy avenues through the windows. She watched a double-decker go past, then turned back to face the table, which was lined with hung-over faces and half-empty plates.
Half-empty plates indeed. How did people do that, she wondered in awe as her eyelid started twitching again. Olivia’s caramelised haloumi was staring up at Holly, whispering sweet nothings to her. She felt her hands begin to move independently of her brain.
‘Liv, are you not going to eat this?’
Olivia shook her head.
‘Mind if I…?’ Holly asked, embarrassed, but thinking of the hunger-vortex in her belly. After a quick game of Neuroses Top Trumps, Hoovering-Up-Leftovers had won out over the shamefaced Ordering-More-Food.
‘Of course. I’m not hungry at the moment. This week I have replaced eating with fucking.’
Everyone was startled. From within the soft cocoon of their hangover duvets they weren’t prepared for such coarse language.
‘What’s going on? Who are you knobbing?’ Bella said.
‘Yes, details please,’ Holly said. ‘I thought I saw you leaving the party last night with a certain young gentleman?’
Olivia blushed a little. ‘Mmmhmm. There may have been some kissing. And I may have gone back for some sexing. And I may have only just left.’
‘WHO WAS IT?’ Bella demanded.
‘Jonny,’ Olivia said, taking a sip of her orange juice and lemonade.
‘Jonny The Archetypal Public School Boy?’ Bella screeched. ‘Oooh, nice one, he’s hot. He seems a bit into himself, but I wouldn’t kick him out of bed. Will you see him again?’
‘Yes. But it’s no biggie. I’m also seeing this guy Tom from work. Although we’re just-good-FBs.’
‘Facebook friends?’ Holly said.
‘No sweetie, she means Fuck Buddies,’ Bella said as Holly’s mouth dropped open.
‘I’ve got a date with another one on Tuesday. Basically, I’m firing up the hob again.’
‘The hob?’ Holly said.
‘Yup. It’s my foolproof dating analogy. You just have to make sure you’ve always got more than two pans on at one time, and that they’re all on alternating levels,’ explained Olivia. ‘If you only have one pan on high, it’s bound to curdle or burn out too soon. You know what they say, you can’t date a pressure-cooker…’ She trailed off, apparently now less convinced of her theory than when she started out.
Harry’s bloodshot eyes narrowed. ‘Aren’t you basically saying don’t put all your eggs in one basket?’
‘Eggs? Is there more food coming?’ Holly blurted, but nobody seemed to hear.
/> ‘No, Harry. It’s a bit more complex than that. Sometimes I just think I need a bigger hob.’
‘I’ve always wanted an Aga…’ Bella said, a wistful look in her eye signalling that she was no longer with them. Instead she was in a thatched cottage in the Cotswolds, a dog curled at her feet as she stood over the Aga in a plaid Laura Ashley dress, stirring a vat of homemade soup made from leftover chicken giblets.
Meanwhile, Harry took a sip from his craft beer and suppressed a sigh. He scanned the room to check there weren’t any men sitting around that he could talk to about laying floorboards, or any vats full of protein shake he could guzzle in a manly way. His eyes landed on a mute television in the corner. He stared at the football match, a last-ditch attempt to preserve any remaining shred of manhood.
Holly saw that he was sinking and put her arm around him. ‘You OK?’ she whispered.
‘No. But I don’t want to talk about it either. Thanks, mind.’
He turned back to the mute television, a broken shell of the man he’d been twenty-four hours ago. Holly gave him one last desperate squeeze, before leaving him be.
‘So Holly, how are you and Lawrence doing?’ Olivia asked, batting the attention back at her like a ping-pong ball.
Holly pulled an expression that could easily have been mistaken for car-sickness.
‘Oooh, that good?’ Olivia said.
‘Put it this way. He passed out last night with puke all over himself.’
‘Attractive.’
‘And then he left this morning with his tail between his legs.’
‘Did you call time on the relationship then? Or at least, ring the bell for last orders?’ Bella asked.
Holly put her fork down, took a sip of her drink and slowly shook her head.
‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Holly, but…’ Olivia began.
‘Single-handedly the worst way to begin any conversation,’ Holly said, drowning another chip in mayonnaise.
Break-Up Club Page 10
