Break-Up Club

by Lorelei Mathias

  ‘It made sense in my head.’

  Ten minutes later, she was running out the front door and sprinting to the station. The second she stepped onto the crowded Northern line, she had a sudden visual of the kebab detritus that still lay festering on her pillow.

  ‘Bollocks,’ she said into a stranger’s armpit.

  Once at work, having ingested three plastic cups of espresso, she got straight to business in her office, the stern voice-over in her head informing her that she was a responsible, high-powered grown-up with an important telly job to do, as opposed to the crusty, booze-hound student she’d been impersonating of late. Today, she was going to blow Jeremy’s polyester socks off with her editing prowess and complete lack of labelling catastrophes. First things first though, she was under strict instructions from Harry and Bella as to her Facebook protocol: delete the curly-haired-one. Simple, she thought; now she was in Efficient Career Woman Mode, this was going to be a breeze. Just tear off the plaster and BOOM, you’ll no longer be tied to Lawrence in a silly, virtual capacity.

  She dragged her mouse over to the button, and then hit Delete as her heart relocated to her stomach. One click, and you’re done. Yes, I’m sure. Five years of singing your heart out to bad eighties ballads on your way home, arm-in-arm at 5 a.m., of dancing on the balcony and spontaneous picnics in the park; of cartwheels on the beach and laughing your head off at in-jokes – five years gone in a nanosecond.

  Instead, now what she had to look forward to was a palpable absence. Of not waking up next to his blue eyes, his curly mop, his stubble-face. Of not having someone to make her laugh ’til her sides hurt – of not having someone to save her from episodes of chronic self-indulgence like these.

  She stared at his profile picture, the same one he’d had for years. The one where he was stood on the edge of a cliff in St Ives, the sun bouncing off his curls, a sweet half-smile on his lips. It was taken from the side, which, unlike everyone else in the world, was Lawry’s best angle. He looked unbearably attractive – a fact she’d also thought at the time as she peered through the viewfinder at him. Leaning on their tandem bike to stop it from falling over, and holding on to his half-eaten pork pie for him, she’d swooned at him through the lens. Back then she’d marvelled at how lucky she was to find him, and wondered – even though it was six months in – whether this was someone she might spend her life with.

  She hovered her mouse over the pixelated jpeg and tried to click on it to see more, to make it bigger. But no, she was locked out now. Nothing to see here; move along now chaps. She felt another tear slide down her face and onto her keyboard. Oops. How many more drops before she’d be reprimanded by I.T. for causing ‘liquid damage’ to company equipment?

  Wrenching herself away from the impending gloom cloud, she looked down at the crib sheet. What was next on the list? Ah. Seek out new potential. Bella had advised adding at least three men that she vaguely knew. Just to start the ball rolling. Three men? Holly paused, her mind going blank for a moment, until she remembered.

  Seconds later she was rifling through the profile pages of various Luke Langdons. Eventually, she found the most plausible one, based on his Likes. She clicked on him and began reading through his profile. She’d never bothered to fill out all that information about books and films, but he appeared to have gone to town with it, which she found rather alarming. But still, lots of films to approve of here. Eternal Sunshine, tick, Shawshank Redemption. Yep. All except one anomaly. Grease 2… REALLY?

  She looked at the clock and realised she’d given nearly an hour to the Facebook Vortex. OK, time to add him, get the hell out of there, and the hell into Final Cut Pro.

  Then she realised: before that, shouldn’t she check something?

  She clicked on Holly Braithwaite, then looked at her own picture. Was it her best angle? After a while, quite beyond her control, she began reading her own timeline messages, to see what kind of an external impression they might make to others. Essentially, she began stalking herself.

  This is ILL. ILL BEHAVIOUR, she realised with a jolt, closing down Facebook with newfound resolve, just as there was a knock on the door. ‘Come in,’ she said as Jeremy was already halfway across the room. His eyes had bigger bags under them than normal, and she noticed that his usual clean-shave was now a thin layer of stubble.

  ‘Holly. Just doing the rounds – seeing if you’d had any more ideas for the channel? We’ve got another pitch meeting in a week or so. We’re taking Pascal’s idea across but it’d be great to have another few in the mix.’

  ‘You didn’t like Loved and Lost? Or The Big Yellow Break-Up?’

  ‘I liked the general direction. Could be something in it…’ he trailed off, his eyes catching sight of a piece of paper on the wall, and beginning to read.

  ‘Oh!’ Holly said, scrambling to take it down. ‘Sorry, we’re not meant to use Blu-Tack, are we. Don’t tell Facilities!’ she japed.

  Jeremy yanked the page out of her hand and examined it. ‘Hold the front page! What is this?’

  ‘Give me that,’ she said, but his hand moved away before she could grab it.

  ‘The first rule of Break-Up Club is…’ he began, his eyes lighting up.

  ‘It’s private, Jez, please give it back.’

  ‘So private it’s pinned on your wall?’

  ‘It’s to keep me in check… to stop me… oh, God, are we really doing this?’

  Jez sat down in her chair, leaned back to read, and put his feet up on her desk. ‘Hook-ups between co-members is strictly… who wrote this?’

  ‘My friend Olivia. She’s a lawyer. She’s a bit um, regimental sometimes.’

  ‘So there’s a real Break-up Club?’

  Holly shook her head. ‘Well… ish. It’s just this silly little thing a bunch of us are doing, since we’ve all ended significant relationships at the same time. It’s got a bit out of hand but I’m sure it will all calm down soon enough.’

  Jeremy’s eyes went from being lit up, to being fully fledged Catherine wheels. ‘You realise this would make GOLD reality TV, don’t you?’

  ‘It’s just a bit of fun, Jez. Please give it back. I promise not to damage company property again,’ she said, noticing four little smudges on the wall.

  ‘Can we film one of your meetings? Make a pilot?’

  Holly snatched the page back. ‘I’m not about to prostitute my friends!’ She folded it up and put it in her pocket.

  ‘But don’t you see? With the weekly meetings, it’s perfectly episodic in nature, and ideal for the format on Channel 653! Actually, if this is replacing Prowl then we’d have two slots to fill a week. Could your friends stretch to two meetings a week for me? How about on a Wednesday too? Think of all the viewers you’d help by letting them share in your experiences—’

  ‘Jez, I don’t know how many different ways I can say this, but NO! I’ll think of another, better idea. Just give me time. Please don’t let’s resort to this! I’m not that desperate for rent, yet.’

  ‘I am,’ he said quietly.

  13. Friday, I’m Not in Love

  ‘What are you doing home?’ Bella asked two days later, her eyes blinking with concern, perhaps both for Holly’s welfare and the fact that her flat-to-herself rituals were about to be compromised.

  Holly lifted her head up off her mascara-stained pillow. ‘Oh, hello. I woke up feeling like death. I’ve got a temperature, a stinking cold and generalised aching.’

  ‘Oh, I expect you’ve got a bout of Break-up Flu. It’s just your body expelling all the germs, you know, while all your white blood cells are busy fumigating Lawrence. It’s totally normal. Get lots of bed rest,’ Bella said, pulling back the covers on Holly’s bed and shaking off some dried tissue morsels.

  ‘Oh. Good to know what it is at least.’

  ‘Shall I bring you the box set?’ Bella asked.

  ‘Please. And a new loo roll.’

  Moments later, Bella came back in, holding the Sex and the City box set out in front of
her as though she was one of the Three Kings bringing a present for the baby in the manger. She placed it on the bedside table next to some Yorkshire Gold, echinacea and vitamin C.

  ‘Oh, B, I just MISS him. He was so lovely to me when I was ill. He’d make me hot lemon and honey and play lullabies to me on the guitar. What am I doing trying to live without him? I’m going to text him,’ she said, sitting up in bed.

  ‘Now, Holly,’ Bella began, ‘this is your weakest time right now. Your immune system is down, so it’s doing things to your brain. It’s going to make you think that you want him back. You don’t. You’re just having a low point. Never in our lives do we want to be cuddled by a boyfriend more than when we’re ill. So you just need to ride this one out, honey, and remember: the irony is, HE is the reason you’re ill. It’s your body saying “thank fuck you got rid of that loser, now it’s time to clear out all the toxins and make room for NEW BLOOD!” ’K?’

  Holly nodded, too weak to respond verbally.

  ‘And if you don’t believe me now, let me ask you again if you really want Lawrence back next time you’re running around a dance floor having the time of your life, because Lawrence always made you sit in the corner with him. The truth is – we only really miss them when we’re down. When you’re up, you don’t even think about them.’

  ‘Yes, you’re probably right,’ Holly said, nodding and blowing her nose. ‘Thank you, you’re amazing. Masses of luck with your singing audition.’

  ‘Ta. The usual rule applies – don’t ask how it went. I’ll tell you if I get it! Anyway, make sure you get an early night; you need lots of rest. Tomorrow is a big day.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  *

  Fourteen hours later, Bella was back in Holly’s room, fixing a red beret onto her head at a jaunty angle.

  ‘Right, missy moo. It’s time.’

  Holly travelled further into the duvet. ‘Nooo! It’s time for sleep! I’m ill, remember?!’ she murmured through the togs.

  ‘No you’re not. You’re coming to East London. We’re going to visit Liv in her new hood. And to look for Adam.’

  ‘Who’s Adam?’

  ‘My bloke from the other night. Film Shop Fittie. OK, he’s not called Adam. But since I don’t know him from Adam, now he’s sort of become, well, Adam.’

  ‘Woooohoooo,’ Harry said sarcastically as he entered the room in jeans that looked skinnier than usual, and began distributing mugs of tea. ‘We’re going East!’

  And then he began to sing the Pet Shop Boys ‘Go West’, but with an altered lyric, in that way Lawrence used to do, of course. But this was par for the course now. Not a day went by when a song, kebab van or muffled TFL announcement didn’t remind Holly of him.

  ‘You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, Harry. We could make it a girlie expedition if you’d rather catch up with your mates, or stay and make yourself more at home in the lounge …’ Bella said.

  ‘And miss the Hackney Hipster brigade? Not in a million! East is beast!’

  ‘Come on Hol, uppy getty,’ Bella said. ‘If nothing else, it’ll be a new cultural experience. You might come away with another gem to pitch to Jeremy – about gentrification among the hipster community, or something.’

  ‘Mmm, maybe. I’ll come on one other condition, though,’ she added, smiling, ‘we can take the Tube some of the way there, so I can listen to the voice-overs?’

  ‘You absolute freakatron,’ Bella said.

  Holly lifted her head and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. ‘Fair.’

  An hour later, the moment had finally come: Holly, Bella and Harry arrived in HipsterVille. They approached from the North side, through a mixture of housing estates and beautiful people, all of whom had one of two props in their hands: a bike with a wicker basket of flowers, or a disposable barbeque.

  As they approached a busy park, they passed under a jet-black iron gate and a sign for London Fields, which seemed a grandiose title for what was essentially a small lawn of threadbare grass and mud. It was only midday but already the park was buzzing with drinkers, smokers and sound systems. Here in E8 every day was a festival.

  ‘Wow, we are so not qualified for this,’ Harry said, ‘we are in no way hip enough.’

  Bella frowned.

  ‘OK, except you, Bella.’

  ‘Holy fuck,’ Holly said, scanning the park as they wandered through it. ‘Is there anyone here who isn’t drop-dead stylish? And the men…’ she said, eyes almost popping out of her head, ‘they’re all ludicrously hot. I feel like I’m in some kind of game show! OK, I get it now.’

  Bella nodded smugly. ‘Thank you.’

  Holly stood, gawking at a tall, skinny man who was pulling a bunch of flowers out of his basket and walking into a pub called the Cat and Mutton.

  ‘Don’t you just love it here?’ Olivia said, appearing from the same pub door and kissing them all hello. ‘Granted, everyone is way more friendly up north. But Manc guys, they were all either married with kids, or looked like they played in a Stone Roses tribute band. We have so many more options here.’

  The four of them began to wind their way through the smoky throngs and soon found themselves at the edge of a crammed street market.

  ‘Of course, it’s much less cool now that everyone’s found out about it,’ Bella said, adopting the role of tour guide even though she’d only been here a few times herself. ‘Now it’s getting a bit overrun with yummy mummies, and you can’t move for tourists. All the genuine arty types have had to flee to places like Clapton and Homerton. It’s like what happened to Shoreditch.’ Bella scowled as a double-decker pram laden with squealing toddlers pushed past her, forcing her to jump onto the pavement. ‘Used to be cool, now chocka with sprogs and townies.’ She said this as though it was a proper human disaster, second only to genocide or Hurricane Sandy.

  They began to stroll through the market, past the rows of balsamic vinegar and cheese stalls, pausing to taste samples while pretending to be making purchase decisions.

  ‘I’ve literally died and gone to heaven,’ Holly said. ‘FREE SAMPLES OF CHEESE, and more beautiful men than an Abercrombie casting!’

  ‘I know. It’s like we’re on a film set where, instead of people wearing fat suits, they’re wearing fit suits,’ Bella said.

  ‘Of course, you can see straight through all this, can’t you Hol?’ Harry asked, apparently expecting more from his clever best friend.

  ‘What?’ Holly said, in a freebie-induced stupor, as she walked along picking at the samples, mesmerised by brownies and baba ganoush.

  ‘Can someone explain the dress code though?’ Harry said as he squinted at the people around him. They all seemed to be clad in the same east London uniform – skinny jeans hung low, tight T-shirt, brogues and wacky socks of some ilk, and most importantly, oversized spectacles. In some of the more extreme cases, a thick gold earring could be spotted lurking in the left earlobe.

  ‘They are hipsters, Harry – that’s all you need to know,’ Bella said, drunk on lust.

  Holly made eye contact with one and attempted a smile. The hipster looked away.

  ‘Oh my days! This is Adam’s film shop! This is it!’ Bella said as they approached what was simply named ‘The Film Shop’.

  ‘Go on then!’ Olivia said.

  ‘What film shall I ask for?’

  ‘Oh – what about Before Sunrise?’ Harry said. ‘It’s romantic, so it might be a tiny clue that you have amorous feelings for him.’

  ‘Yes!’ Bella said, practically shaking. ‘But wait! We can’t all go in. How about, just me and Olivia. C’mon Liv, you’re good at this stuff. You can help me.’

  ‘So?’ Holly said when they re-emerged five minutes later.

  ‘Hopeless,’ Olivia said in the tone of a disappointed parent.

  ‘What?!’ Harry said, before sipping on a Vietnamese coffee.

  ‘She didn’t have the guts to talk to him. Just ogled him from afar. Then eventually she went
up to the counter to ask if they had a DVD, but instead of addressing Adam, she spoke to the middle-aged woman with psoriasis.’

  ‘Epic,’ Harry said.

  ‘Hey! Liv was meant to be helping – she was meant to be my social lubricant or whatever! But she did nothing!’

  ‘I did try.’

  ‘Anyway here’s your stupid DVD,’ Bella said, shoving Before Sunset into Holly’s hands.

  ‘That’s not even the right one,’ Harry said. ‘You’ve got the sequel, you absolute numpty. You simply cannot watch this one before you’ve seen the first one. I forbid you.’ Harry gave Bella a look that said ‘Tsh, we give you simple instructions…’

  ‘Why am I so hopeless!’ Bella’s head sank into her hands. ‘I used to be GOOD AT MEN. Before that shithead dumped me!’

  ‘I know you did, sweet,’ Holly said. ‘I remember. You’ll get your mojo back, I promise. It’s just been a while.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Olivia added, ‘You’re not hopeless. But it’s very important that you go in there again and ask to switch them. Can you do that for us?’ she said, stroking Bella’s hair.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘We’ll just be here, looking at these floral handbags,’ Holly said.

  ‘’K. Wish me luck,’ she said, adjusting the red beret on her head, and going in alone this time.

  ‘Good luck,’ Harry said, his eyes flickering with inspiration. ‘Hey, I’m just nipping to that bookshop over there – back in a sec.’

  ‘Sure,’ Holly said.

  A few minutes later, Bella came out of the film shop.

  ‘Oh, there’s a happier-looking lady! How d’you get on?’

  ‘He was serving this time! And he said hi!’

  ‘Good, good. Then what?’

  ‘He recognised me from the other night! So, I asked him about swapping these, and then he said what amazing films they both are, if you’re romantically inclined that is. And then he said how there’s been a third one, and that they’re playing a triple bill of them all at the British Film Institute next Friday!’

  ‘Really? Then what?’ Holly said as Harry joined the group with a carrier bag and a big smile on his face.