‘OK, OK. I’ll shelve it… For now. But neither Sky nor 5 were interested in any of the other ideas,’ he said, pulling up a chair. ‘So we’re going to need to come up with something else, sharpish.’
‘You didn’t like Britain’s Ghost Pets?’
‘I’ve put it on the list. But it’s quite a number to research.’
‘Band Swap?’
Jeremy looked as blank as her GCSE maths paper.
‘The one about musical swingers?’
‘No. Look, there is this one half-thought that Pascal’s had, but it’s not really working just yet.’
‘OK – let me at it! Let me help!’
‘So, it’s kind of Embarrassing Bodies meets Big Brother. A real-life challenge show, where people battle out their illnesses against one another. Only, they’re all different types of – mental conditions.’
‘Sometimes I really can’t tell whether you’re joking or not.’
‘You know, insomnia versus OCD. And while all these people with “issues” try to form meaningful relationships with each other, the public gets to see which of these conditions is more bonkers than the other. Pascal’s calling it Mentalist Top Trumps, he reckons it’s got great merchandise potential.’
Holly shook her head in disbelief. ‘Wow. Let me guess, instead of The Diary Room, contestants have one-to-one therapy sessions live on air that viewers can pry on? Then, as the weeks go on, the public vote off whom they think is least in need of clinical help? And the overall winner gets a year’s stay at The Priory?’
‘That’s the stuff, Braithwaite!’ he said, writing it down.
‘Wait. You’re being serious?’
‘It’s an absolute winner! But I don’t think that title’s working. Could you have a think, see if you can come up with a snappier name for it?’
‘What like, The Funny Farm? Or, The Madhouse?’ she said, joking. But he was already making a note of them.
‘Oh yes! That second one’s good. Plays off the Big Brother legacy nicely. And the strapline could be “You don’t have to be bat-shit crazy to live here but it helps!”’ He fell about his chair laughing.
‘I was joking, Jez! You can’t actually submit this? Surely you can see that it’s monstrously insensitive and appalling?’
Jeremy rolled his eyes. ‘You know what you can do if you don’t like it, don’t you?’ he said, smirking as he looked at the BUC rules which Holly had since pinned back to the wall.
She sighed. How had it come to this? Lose any chance of working on a respectable show again, or lose my best friends in the world?
‘OK. Madhouse it is. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘How are the meetings by the way? Any inter-member liaisons yet?’
Holly felt her cheeks grow warm. ‘No! Don’t be revolting!’
‘Is Bella still single?’
*
Some hours later, still in a mild state of shock at the boundless audacity of her boss, Holly headed to the bus stop outside work to meet the others for what Bella was dubbing ‘Swing ‘o’clock’. Today was the day that all four would attempt their first swing-dancing lesson, this time at a bar in Waterloo. Being south of her comfort zone, Holly had no idea how to get there. She hopped on a bus that looked vaguely relevant. She went up to the top deck and rested her head on the window, looking forward to seeing London by night, closing her eyes for just a moment.
But she never saw the view. When she opened them again, a large Hispanic man was sat next to her eating a kebab, and she appeared to be somewhere south of Brixton. She sat up with a jerk and blinked into consciousness. Looking out the window, she saw with alarm that the road signs all seemed to be pointing to Darkest Streatham. As was the bus, which was following in that direction. Uh-oh. Best get off before LawrenceVille, she thought, leaping up and descending the stairs as fast as was possible without falling arse over tit. She asked the driver if he could please stop at the next stop. He grunted back at her, something which sounded like, ‘Can’t, we’re on diversion. The High Road’s closed.’
Shit. ‘Um, sorry, you don’t understand. I need to get off this bus.’
The driver ignored her. The bus stopped at a red traffic light.
‘Uh – I’m allergic to Streatham. It makes me – hypoglycaemic, I start to hyperventilate and stuff. It’s really gross, sir. I’m sorry. Could you not just let me out at these lights, here?’ she said just as an automated bus voice from up above said, ‘The next bus stop is closed.’ The driver looked at her, with a strange mix of smugness and pity.
The lights turned to green, and the bus pulled off again. Holly looked through the window. Here came all the famous landmarks, one by one, as they headed up Streatham Hill. The road signs pointing out the public toilet access in McDonalds and in Wimpy. Wimpy! The Beacon Bingo hall on Streatham Hill, followed by the Megabowl centre. Lawrence’s idea of ‘date night’ had once involved a grand tour of both glorious places, she recalled, as the bus headed towards the turning for Telford Avenue.
As the bus drove towards what was essentially the Town Centre of LawrenceVille, Holly slumped down in the nearest available seat. She looked down at her hands as the familiar scenes began to play out on the screen of the bus windows.
She could only pray that Lawrence himself wouldn’t be there, lurking around a corner. She sloped down lower in her chair just in case. As the moths flooded her belly, so too did all the memories. First came the exotic Indian spices, wafting through the window, from the curry house on the corner. Faster than a Tardis, the smell instantly took her back in time to Friday nights spent stuffing their faces on take-away and Dr Who triple bills. Then there was the multiple sclerosis charity shop next door, where they’d bought most of Lawrence’s furniture. Looking into the shop now, she could see Lawrence and Holly in there, picking up that cranky old wicker chair between them and lugging it out together, giggling as it bashed against the walls. Then there was the Costcutter with the lovely Italian man that used to sell them marked-down bread before he was throwing it out. She could see him out the front, stocking up the tomato levels. She wanted to smile through the window at him and shout, ‘So long, and thanks for all the focaccia,’ but she couldn’t because she had tears all down her face and she appeared to be coming undone again.
The pain went straight to her stomach, and the Boots honey mustard chicken sandwich she’d been nibbling at went straight into the bin. Everyone on the bus was no doubt staring at her as if to say, why are you in a state of mourning over Streatham? As the tears fell in droves, there then followed unbelievable, heart-melting kindness from a total stranger. While Holly sobbed like the self-indulgent numpty she was, a kind Afro-Caribbean lady next to her handed her a big wodge of tissues. As if that wasn’t charity enough, she then took Holly’s scraggy water bottle from her quivering fingers, filled it up with water from her own vessel and pronounced that, ‘It will be OK,’ like she knew it would. Holly burst into more tears before managing a snotty smile. ‘Thank you so much. I’m so sorry to ruin your journey. I just wasn’t meant to come this way,’ she said while blowing her nose.
‘Streatham’s not that bad, darlin’,’ said the woman, and Holly collapsed with laughter.
‘No you’re right. It’s lovely, really.’
And then there was little else to be done but to cry it all out, in loud unabashed tears. She’d unwittingly broken a fundamental rule. And as much as she couldn’t bear the thought, she knew this would mean a setback of at least three weeks in recovery time. She climbed off the bus and into a cab, utterly exasperated with her sad pathetic self. Now I get Rule Number Ten, she thought. No entering zones of exes before the necessary time period has lapsed. Simple.
Twenty minutes later, as the cab pulled into The Cut in Waterloo and stopped outside a pub, her eyes were still puffy from crying. Her vision was so foggy that she didn’t notice a man with wavy brown hair and a large scar across his cheek walking out of the double doors and heading to a bicycle on the other side of th
e street. Just as he bent down to unlock the bright orange chain, she stepped out of the cab, paid the driver, and walked into the pub. She joined Harry in a booth, where he was sat watching hipsters of all ages dancing around the room. The girls were sporting victory rolls and vintage dresses, while the men were rocking their braces and brogues.
‘Hey, I’m sorry I’m so late. I just had a massive TFL fail.’
Harry shuffled closer to Holly and wrapped an arm around her. This being the first time they had come into such contact since The Incident, she immediately felt herself flinch and go red. ‘Thanks,’ she said, hoping no one would notice.
‘You OK?’ he mouthed, and she nodded quickly.
‘So, we were just hearing from Bella that she went to see Sam again,’ Harry said, shaking his head.
‘What! Another relapse? After I’ve been so good at not replying to Lawrence’s spam? Am I the only disciplined one around here?’
‘Sure seems that way,’ Bella said, ‘but you don’t need to tell me off. It’s been a really positive experience!’
‘How exactly?’
‘Well, the good news is that Sam has well and truly gone off!’ she announced, as though he was a piece of Camembert that’d been left out of the fridge too long. ‘He’s put on a lot of weight, and he’s also just been made redundant, so he’s living back home with his mum and dad in Broadstairs and has kind of let himself go a bit. I’m not being mean, but for someone that always called me Miss Piggy, he’s looking distinctly pig-like himself!’
‘Well maybe it’s for the best that you saw him then,’ Holly said.
‘That’s what I hoped you’d say. I think it was therapeutic. I can finally see that, all this time, I’d built him up to be this ideal man in my head – only now I can finally see, he really wasn’t all that.’
Harry nodded. ‘I did that with Rachel. I put her on a pedestal ever since I first met her in college. But now I can see she was actually entirely wrong for me.’
‘You’re doing a great job of taking your mind off her, aren’t you,’ Bella smiled.
‘What do you mean?’ Holly asked.
‘Harry’s been knobbing different girls every other night of the week, hasn’t he? How many have you got on the go?’
‘I would say there are about three I like at the moment,’ he said, avoiding Holly’s eyes. ‘But yeah, I’ve essentially had it with monotony.’
‘You mean monogamy,’ Olivia said.
‘Yeah, like I said.’
‘No, you said monotony,’ Olivia said, exasperated. ‘Holly, you’re very quiet, are you OK?’
‘Yes, sure, I just almost saw a ghost earlier. Had a bad episode, but I’m fine now,’ she said, forcing a smile as Ella Fitzgerald began to blast out of the speakers.
‘Oh, the next lesson’s about to kick off. Here we go kids! Swing Swing Swing!’ Bella yelled, tugging Holly’s arm towards the dance floor. A pair of chirpy Australians named Scott and Ashley were wearing headsets and calling out for everyone to get into a circle.
‘So it’s triple step, triple step, rock step, with your feet, and then meanwhile you do this with your arms, OK?’ Bella said, quickly filling the others in on the basics before they started. Holly looked blankly at Bella and attempted to do as she said. The others joined in next to her as they all tried to do the ‘sugar-push’ move.
‘I’m just not getting it, am I?’ Holly said, sighing and looking to her partner for help – a sweaty man with a name badge that read Nigel. Olivia and Harry mastered the ‘throw out’ move beautifully while she looked on in awe. Nausea started to take hold of her as Nigel swung her around in a circle and she almost fell over.
Triple step, triple step, rock step, she chanted along with everyone else, staring down at her two left feet as they struggled to keep up with Nigel’s.
‘OK, brilliant, guys!’ yelled the tutor, Scott, from his microphone. ‘Now, let’s rotate partners again.’
Holly looked to her right to see who was next in the circle, and felt her cheeks flush to the colour of Bella’s lips. This was the moment she’d been dreading. She knew everyone here would have to dance with everyone else at some point, but she’d hoped they might have somehow got away with it.
‘Come on then Harry, show us how it’s done,’ she said with forced enthusiasm. Harry looked back, his eyes blinking nervousness.
As he took her in his arms, his hands a little clammy again, she instantly saw reruns in her mind of the other night. Of his moves, of his chiselled torso, and of his unfeasibly large willy. ‘Triple step, triple step, rock step,’ she repeated aloud like a mantra, trying to block out the weird incestuous-porn horror movie named When Harry met Holly that was playing in her mind. Try not to think about it, she told herself, attempting to focus on mastering the moves instead. Try not to drink tequila ever again, she also told herself. Again.
Harry grabbed her arm and spun her around.
‘Woah, easy tiger!’ she said, almost tripping up, but feeling a smile creep onto her face from nowhere.
‘OK, I see what you’re doing wrong,’ he said. ‘You need to keep your arms out here, at ninety degrees, and then fix them in that position. But mostly, you need much more tension in your wrists.’ He grabbed her right arm and moved it into position. ‘Here, see? Then it’s about you just feeling for the tension in my arm – whether I’m pushing or pulling. Then you follow my lead and either do the footwork, or be spun around.’ Holly nodded, tried again and somehow this time it was easier. Enjoyable, even.
‘Yes! You’re getting it!’
She got it again. ‘Yay, this is fun!’ she said, bouncing off Harry’s arms, then unfolding out into a swing again. The more he flung her around, the lighter she felt.
As they tried a double turn, Harry shot her a smile that seemed to say everything was OK again, that the other night didn’t matter anymore. Thank the Lord, she thought, smiling back.
‘Hey, you’ve got it!’ Bella said, who was watching them while rock-stepping like a pro with a new hipster friend she’d just made. ‘Well done! Isn’t this just the best natural antidepressant there is?!’ she shrieked. ‘I like it because you don’t have to think – you just follow whatever the bloke is doing!’
‘OK, that was awesome, guys!’ said Scott as a Charleston track kicked in. ‘You did great! But for now you can all just take a short break! The advanced class are just going to do a quick run-through of their routine for the Swing Ball!’
‘Oh, I was just getting into it,’ Holly said, as they all headed to the bar.
‘We’ll have to come again then, won’t we!’ Bella said.
‘Mmm. Maybe,’ Holly said, watching the advanced class, her mouth dropping to the floor. ‘Although I can’t imagine us ever being as good as that!’
‘We can be if we put our minds to it! Anyway,’ Bella said as they all sat down in a booth, ‘Miss Olivia, how’s it going with you and Jonny now?’
‘Have you had “the conversation”?’ Harry said, doing his Gay Best Friend act. ‘Are you “exclusive” yet?’
‘Christ no! I told you, we don’t date. We just shag,’ she said, repeating her mantra. But this time Holly detected a sense in which Olivia was trying to convince herself of this information more than them.
‘Oh. Lovely,’ Bella said.
‘We have started to talk after sex though.’
‘Has he stayed over yet?’
‘No.’
‘Have you stayed at his?’
‘A couple of times. But only because I had meetings near his part of town so it made practical sense.’
‘I shouldn’t worry about it, Liv. If you’re feeling something for him, that’s OK. Just let it happen,’ Harry said.
Olivia shook her head as though this was nonsense.
‘Liv. Look us right in the eye and tell us you’re not in love with Jonny The Archetypal Public School Boy,’ Holly said.
‘How can I look you all right in the eye?’ Olivia said.
‘Stop avoidin
g the question! Look at me then!’ Holly said.
Slowly, Olivia turned to face Holly. There was a long pause.
‘Go on then!’ Bella said.
They all stared expectantly at her.
‘I, Olivia Mahoney, do solemnly declare that… that… Shit. I can’t do it. You’re right. FUCK-STICKS. I’ve made a MASSIVE CLERICAL ERROR. I DO have feelings for him.’
‘Hooray!’ Bella squealed, and the others rolled their eyes.
‘Rebound.com,’ Holly said, shaking her head.
‘I can see it all now. I must’ve never really loved Ross. I thought I did, but maybe I was just mistaking cosiness for love.’
‘Oh that old chestnut. Easily done,’ Holly said. ‘Still, it’s nice for you to know what actual love feels like. Congrats!’ she said, and clinked glasses with a startled Olivia.
‘No, not congrats! Can’t you see, this is terrible news?! Jonny’s nothing but a Cadbury’s Flake – you’ve all said so. No, this bodes ill,’ she said, downing Prosecco like medicine. ‘Besides, it makes no sense! He was the one chasing me – I was never even that bothered.’
‘Ah, you’ve had the FLIP,’ Bella said.
‘The what?’ Olivia said.
‘The Flip! Noun,’ she continued, as though reading aloud from TheUrbanDictionary.com. ‘The inevitable moment when, in a causal relationship with a man or woman, the one who really wasn’t that bothered to begin with experiences an excruciating tip in power, and a swap of feelings from heady nonchalance to full-blown love and attachment. The other party simultaneously cools off at an inversely proportional rate.’
‘Wow. Thanks for clearing that up,’ Olivia snapped.
‘It’s just basic relationship maths.’
‘Oh come on! You don’t know that, guys! He might be just as into her as she is him!’ Harry said.
‘That would be nice, but this is Jonny we’re talking about,’ Holly said, ‘The guy’s a mandroid.’
‘What is a mandroid?’ Harry asked like he was from another country.
‘The guy’s emotionally bankrupt. Dan once said how Jonny’s ex-girlfriend broke his heart so badly that he physically swore himself off feelings for life.’
Break-Up Club Page 25
