The BUC eyed their traitorous member with suspicion. ‘Just who’ve you been having sexy-times with, missy?’ demanded Bella.
Olivia pretended to study her shellac. ‘Don’t give me a hard time if I tell you.’
‘I think you’re the only one of us who’s been having a hard time of it,’ Bella said, snorting.
Holly smiled. ‘I think I know who it is… it’s Dan’s posh friend Jonny isn’t it…’
Olivia nodded. ‘Look, I know he’s a bit of an arse, but he’s just highly skilled at sex. Sorry guys.’
‘No need to apologise, darling. Whatever makes you happy,’ Bella said.
‘But listen! Just to be clear. I’m not leaving the club or anything. There’s no feelings involved. We’re just good fuck buddies.’
‘OH, I MISS SEX!’ Bella said, a little too loudly, so that the elderly man walking his dog glared at her, by way of reprimand for spoiling the idyllic park scene.
Olivia delved into her bag and laid out a range of low-calorie snacks from M & S, before sitting down on a sarong next to the others on the grass. Bella began pouring out glasses of Cava.
‘So now Liv’s here we’ve got a full contingent. It’s time to properly welcome the newbies to Break-up Club!’ beamed Bella. ‘Here’s to Holly and Harry! Welcome to BUC!’
‘Cheers,’ chimed the others, playing along as they clonked their beakers of Cava together.
‘Welcome to the clan,’ Olivia said.
‘Thanks,’ Holly said, lying back on a mattress of thick grass and daisy petals, feeling her hay fever brewing and wondering why she hadn’t brought her picnic blanket. But oh, she couldn’t have: it was at Lawrence’s house and was yet another item lost in the break-up vortex.
‘Now, newbies,’ Olivia said, catching sight of Holly’s eyes welling up. ‘If I can just begin by saying one thing: I know the pain you’re both going through is much more immediate and raw than the rest of us. And that what’s in store the next few weeks is going to be hard; at times even mortifying. But let us all think about BUC Rule Number Eleven: You will be OK, even if you can’t possibly imagine so now.’
‘Aye, thanks,’ Harry said quietly, as Holly nodded.
‘Here’s a little mantra that sometimes helps me through.’ Bella opened up a moleskin notebook and began reading aloud from some jottings. ‘“Though nothing can bring back the hour…”’ Harry’s expression turned to alarm. Had he taken a wrong turn and ended up in the AGM of The North London Poetry Society? ‘“Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; we will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind…”’
Despite herself, Holly’s eyes began to moisten. ‘Who is that? It’s stunning.’
‘It’s Wordsworth. “The Ode: Intimations of Immortality”,’ Harry said, his English degree coming in handy at last.
‘It’s really poignant, but surely it’s about a death, isn’t it?’ Olivia said. ‘A bit much to apply to a break-up, surely?’
‘But a break-up is a kind of death, isn’t it?’ Harry said, his eyes falling on Holly, her eyes bloodshot, her face becoming gaunt from grief-induced starvation.
‘Yes. I suppose it is.’
‘In some ways,’ Bella said, ‘what you’re going through is worse than death, because you can’t see the person, they’re dead to you, and yet they’re still alive, going about their life somewhere… you just don’t get to see them doing it.’
‘No, you’re right. In some ways it’s even more painful,’ Holly said. ‘Thanks.’
‘And it isn’t just the death of love, is it?’ Bella said, her eyes welling with empathy. ‘It’s the death of your future, all the things you’d imagined you might do with that person – marriage, babies, holidays – slowly, you have to grieve all those things, and let them go, one by one.’
While Harry looked like he was about to go and drown himself in the men’s bathing pond, Holly felt her teeth clenching and wondered if Bella came with an ‘unsubscribe’ button.
‘Bella, while everything you’re saying is great, I think that might be enough sympathy for now,’ Olivia said.
‘Yes. Actually, I think I’ve had enough splendour for one day. If no one’s got any hay fever remedy on them I’m going to have to head home,’ Holly said, standing up and rubbing off tendrils of dry grass.
‘Oh no you don’t. Here, this is remedy,’ Olivia said, thrusting a bottle of vodka in her face. ‘You just need to up your dose.’
Reluctantly Holly took the bottle and did as prescribed.
‘There, that’s better,’ Olivia said, but now Bella was in tears. ‘What’s the matter?’
Bella pointed to a dandelion clock. ‘I just noticed it. Another cocking Sam-reminder,’ Bella said through sobs.
Harry tore the dandelion clock out of her hands. He blew on it, and then pretended to count how many seeds were left on it. Then, in a perfect rendition of the old-fashioned speaking clock voice he said, ‘The time sponsored by Accurist is – time to stop thinking about Sam.’
Bella gave a bittersweet smile.
*
Some hours later, they were surrounded by empty packaging, the disposable barbeque had burned out, and all but one of their bottles was empty. The sun was going down and park rangers were starting to suggest people went on their way now please.
‘What do we do now?’ Olivia asked.
‘What do we do with our lives?’ Bella yelled.
‘What do any of us do!’ Holly said, feeling increasingly hazy from the cocktail of alcohol and hay fever.
‘I have a suggestion,’ Harry said.
‘Does it involve booze? Otherwise I’m afraid I’m just not interested,’ Holly said, resting her head in his lap.
‘What do you take me for? Of course it does, and I’ll thank you not to doubt my alcoholism in future,’ he said, depositing little handfuls of dead grass onto her head faster than she could shake them off again.
‘My suggestion is this,’ Harry began, ‘we walk into Camden, then we find a dingy but cheap pub. Sit in it until obliterated. Then we walk the streets carrying bottles of wine, drinking as we go… After which point we go to Proud Galleries or anywhere that will have us by then. Finally, we dance on the tables ’til dawn and come up smiling Monday. Do we all agree?’
‘Will there be eating at any point?’ Bella asked.
‘Eating is cheating,’ Holly said.
‘Did you really just say that?’ Olivia asked. ‘You, Head of Gluttony?’
‘Oi! Yes I did. I’m not good at ingesting solids lately. Need to be careful. Stomach still in bits.’
‘Well, hotdogs will be provided by Camden Council, for those who need to eat,’ Harry said.
‘Oh good, another meal of street dirt,’ Olivia said. ‘OK then. Let’s go,’ she said, dusting off the grass from her black Marc Jacobs shirt-dress.
They strolled back down through the Heath, Holly running on ahead, having suddenly contracted the urge to skip. As they wound their way through the long grass and pathways, they stopped to admire things en route – from the elegant Kenwood House – a fine edifice of Neo-Classical English heritage, to Holly’s attempt to climb inside a large oak tree simply because it had an enormous hole down its trunk that seemed to her to be inviting them all in for tea, like something out of Winnie-the-Pooh.
‘Haha! Look at me! I’m half woman, half tree!’ she said, peering out of the trunk, loving how free she felt now she was single. Getting close to nature again! Yes! Life after Lawrence was fabulous!
The other three stopped and stared in a she’s-not-really-with-us kind of a way.
‘Take a picture of me!’
‘We don’t have a camera,’ Olivia said.
‘Use my phone! It’s in my bag.’
‘HolFace. It looks more like you’re shagging the tree, if I’m honest,’ Harry said.
‘Yes,’ Bella said. ‘How about you just enjoy the moment while it lasts – maybe we don’t need to record it?’ Meanwhile a queue of toddlers began
forming beside the tree as though it was the latest fairground attraction.
‘Hol. Dude. Let’s go,’ Harry said.
‘Oh,’ Holly said, beaten. She clambered out of the tree, covered in bark debris, mud and grass, which she began scraping off her jacket and jeans without much success.
‘Christ, not sure what that was all about, sorry guys,’ she said, falling into step with the others. ‘If nothing else, it’s sure to have turned my hay fever up a few more notches,’ she added, breaking into convulsive sneezes.
Bella, walking a few paces ahead, heard this and held out a vodka bottle.
Suddenly remembering Lawrence and missing him terribly, Holly drank and drank as though her life depended on it. Meanwhile behind her, a girl of about seven with long brown hair climbed into the tree.
*
Hours later, having been declined entry to Proud Galleries or anywhere else on Inverness Street (the doormen had taken one look at Holly’s eyes and – despite her protestations that the swelling was allergy, not alcohol-related – sent them packing), they eventually headed to the place where everybody knew their name: The Big Blue. Once installed there for the duration, they commandeered the jukebox and dance floor.
After a full two hours of dancing themselves silly, Holly began to think that maybe, just maybe, this Break-up Club thing was a bloody marvellous idea after all. She felt a speech brewing, and gathered them into a huddle.
‘Guys. Can I just say – from the heart of my bottom– THANK YOU,’ she hiccupped. ‘This has been the most fun time. Looking back, we’ve kind of had a typical first date weekend, haven’t we? We’ve played on the South Bank…’
‘Frolicked along Waterloo Bridge,’ Bella added.
‘Danced in the street,’ Harry offered.
‘Learned to do that bouncy thing with your ankles like they do in musicals,’ Holly said.
‘And got drunk as skunks,’ Olivia said.
‘It’s been emotional,’ Harry commented.
‘And it’s just the beginning. Love you guys,’ Bella said, pulling them all into a hug.
‘Love you more,’ Holly said.
‘How much?’ Olivia asked.
They all stopped. Holly was being sick on Bella’s shoes.
‘Oh dear,’ she said, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. ‘There is no one ranker in this world than me. Sorry Belle. I’ll buy you a new pair.’
‘’S’okay. They’re yours.’
‘Ah, thanks B! OK. Where to next, boys and girls?’
10. The Cistern Chapel
Holly awoke to the sound of loud knocking, followed by a soft banging as the reverberation echoed around her head. Possibly someone had entered the room, but she couldn’t see who because her eyes didn’t work and nothing computed. She closed them again and realised she had slept in her contact lenses. Her eyes were now drier than a dictionary of ancient Aramaic. She teased the contacts out, apologising profusely to each iris as she did.
‘Here. Have some fizzy-make-well,’ came a female voice. Holly looked up to see a blurry Bella holding out a cup of lurid liquid, whose orange pantone was off the scale.
‘Thank you,’ she croaked, taking the cup as Bella inched on to the bed.
‘I have bruises in places I’ve never seen before,’ Bella whined.
‘What were we doing?’ Holly asked, scanning her memory for the last 24 hours and failing to retrieve any footage.
‘Mmmm. There was definitely dancing on tables,’ Bella said as Harry walked in.
‘There may even have been dancing on sofas,’ Harry said, joining them on the bed.
‘Sofas?’
‘Yes. I think we ended up at some all-night jazz bar.’
‘Really? I thought we were in Holloway? Last thing I remember—’
‘To begin with. But we soon found the Big Blue too small for our purposes. So Olivia paid for us to get a cab into town.’
‘Dancing on sofas you say?’
‘Specifically, edge-of-sofas. I think that’s how you got that momma,’ Bella said, pointing to the purple bruise on Holly’s thigh.
‘Excellent, excellent,’ she said, wincing as she pressed down on the purple shiner.
‘Here, have some of my arnica,’ Bella said, whose handbag was never without a herbal remedy of some sort, or a half-eaten banana.
‘Thanks. But hang on – why is your memory so clear?’
‘I guess I’m lucky. I don’t really get booze-nesia as badly as you.
Holly tried to swallow a sip of the fizzy-make-well, but there appeared to be a small spiky troll in the way. ‘Ugh. I can’t feel my throat. Did somebody let me smoke last night? Can anyone tell me how that happened?’
Just then there was a loud vibrating sound, followed by a Stephen Hawkingesque voice. ‘Don’t answer.’
‘What the hell is that?’ Bella asked, genuinely concerned.
‘Don’t answer,’ bleated Stephen. Holly climbed out of bed and wiped a trail of drool from her cheek. She pulled her faded Blur T-shirt down over her pants and did a befuddled 360 as she looked around her increasingly untidy bedroom. ‘Where’s it coming from?’
Bella tried to follow the buzzing sound with her ear. ‘Your handbag! It’s coming from your handbag!’ She handed it to Holly, who tipped it upside down. All manner of Saturday night debris fell onto the floor. Chewing gum, lighter, miscellaneous coins, fags, bits of tissues, receipts.
‘OH! It’s my phone! It’s all coming back to me now. Yes, under Liv’s instruction, I re-saved Lawrence’s phone number as ‘Don’t answer’ – to make sure I don’t answer his calls. Another BUC rule! And I’d forgotten about the weird man voice that’s trapped in my phone. I should get rid of him, I just don’t know how the hell to work it.’
‘It’s still happening!’ Harry said as the voice bleated on.
And there, in front of her, was Lawrence with a green face smiling up at her, telling her not to answer.
‘But oh no, it’s horribly tempting – I SO want to speak to him! Look at his silly, gorgeous green face!’
‘No! That’s a slippery slope and you know it,’ Harry said. ‘And why is he green? He looks like a villain from a Doctor Who special!’
‘It’s from when we used to do face masks together.’
‘HAH! Told you he was a closet queen,’ Harry said.
‘You should know.’
The bleating stopped.
‘Problem solved,’ Bella said.
‘Should I call him back?’
‘No!’
Holly groaned and stared down at her phone, as though that might make it ring again. If it did, she was definitely going to answer, she decided. She stared at it, willing him to call back.
Wait, what did it say on there? Monday, 9.37 a.m.
‘WTF? It’s MONDAY?’ Holly shrieked. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?!’
‘I don’t have an office job, it hadn’t occurred to me.’
Holly turned to issue Harry with an accusatory look.
‘Don’t look at me; I’ve got a sick day,’
‘Well SHIT, if it’s Monday, I’m really late!’ she said, jumping out of bed. ‘Fuck, like I need to give Jez another reason to get rid of me.’
‘Soz.’
‘Shit fuck bollocks!’ she yelled as she limped to the bathroom and turned the shower on to let it heat up.
From then on, everything Holly tried to do – from brushing her teeth to finding a pair of socks to put on – seemed to take seven times as long. Someone, somewhere, had pressed the slow motion button on the world.
Sensing this, Bella brought in a cup of tea. ‘Here. Two sugars. Your hangover special!’
‘Thank you,’ she said as though this was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for her.
Twenty minutes later, she left the flat, feeling proud of herself for this most Herculean of triumphs. And yet, something about Fortess Road seemed further away than usual and harder to compute. Holly shook off this thought as she closed the door behind her and hea
ded up the road towards the Tube. She looked down the road again, reasoning that she was running too late now to enter into a game of spot the difference. But by the time she’d made it past the local dry cleaners she realised what it was: she wasn’t just hung-over, she had extreme visual impairment. She had forgotten to put new lenses in.
Holly stood still, leaning against a lamp post and doing deep breaths while she entertained a dilemma: Go back home and be catastrophically late, further enhancing her chances of being fired, or continue her commute and her whole day at work, half-blind? Lateness wrestled with blindness in her head, and won by a slim margin.
Five minutes later she returned to the street, this time with the gift of sight. But after a few more minutes of walking, she discovered, after all, that she was not blind – her eyes were in fact shut. She pressed on a few more paces before realising that until she ate anything, she was actually a walking health and safety violation. She wandered into a corner shop, prising her eyes open with her fingers, and came face to face with a whole row of Mini Cheddars. She stared at the marvels of circular cheesy goodness deciding that they simply must be in her life. She picked up a packet and put them into her bag before realising with horror that she’d just done shoplifting by mistake. She retrieved the packet and scanned the ceiling for a security camera. Phew – nobody saw you do it, she thought, channelling Bart Simpson. Then, she grabbed a disgustingly large bottle of Diet Coke from the fridge and went to the counter.
In slow motion, she headed back out to the street. It was two hours shy of noon, yet she was about to eat crisps and Coke, as though this wasn’t revolting and rank behaviour. She kept her head down in case anyone she knew should see her. She gobbled as much of her bounty as she could before entering the Tube. Then, having exited the Tube at Piccadilly Circus with now gargantuan hunger pangs, she resumed the walk to work while stuffing wondrous Mini Cheddars into her mouth. Walking on, now fuelled with caffeine and salt, she felt doubly aware of the outside world, and much more aware of the shop signage than usual. For instance, for the first time ever, she noticed that the grey concrete office block she passed every day was called Rennie House. She’d never spotted this before, but perhaps it was just an unconscious reminder of the increasingly turbulent wind that she was experiencing in her belly on account of the amount of alcohol swishing around it. Next she passed the same florists that she passed every day, and noticed that they had a sale advertising hanging baskets. And yet all she could see was the word ‘hanging’. All of this confusion was compounded by the fact that she had absolutely no spatial awareness, and kept veering inexplicably into things and people. The only way to explain the sensation was that her mind thought that she was the size of a Mini, when she was actually quite clearly a Volvo.
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