Break-Up Club

by Lorelei Mathias

  Bella smiled and pinched Holly’s cheek. ‘And you, you massive wally. OH! Before I forget!’ She delved into her bag and handed Holly a purple crepe paper oblong. ‘Here. I got you something.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t get you diddly squat!’

  ‘It’s nothing, really…’

  Holly took the parcel and began tearing through the paper.

  ‘I mean really. It’s literally nothing,’ Bella added.

  Holly saw the words ‘minty fresh’ and her eyes welled up.

  ‘It’s a symbol of you making a new start.’

  ‘I know what it is.’

  ‘It’s also the only tube of toothpaste I’ve ever bought for the house.’ Bella smiled.

  ‘There’s that, too.’

  ‘But hey, you always loved me for the emotional and humorous contributions I brought to the household, rather than my financial ones, didn’t you?!’

  ‘I’m almost certain poor Daniel saw it that way.’

  ‘Oh! Plus you can use it on your spots!’

  ‘That’s so sweet. Thanks B.’

  ‘Passengers on Flight BA305 to Mumbai please proceed to departures,’ went the tannoy.

  ‘Shit, that’s me. Here I go then!’ Bella said, suddenly looking like a lost child saying goodbye to her parents on her first day at school. Holly put her arm around her.

  ‘Shit-sticks. What the FUCK am I doing?’ she shouted into Holly’s sleeve. ‘I don’t know the first thing about India, OR being an intrepid backpacker. This is madness, stop me!’

  ‘Breathe,’ came Olivia’s bellowing voice. ‘You’re going to be brilliant!’

  ‘Guys! You made it!’ Bella smiled, her first-day-at-school nerves fluttering away.

  ‘Sorry, we got stuck on the Tube! Signal failure,’ Olivia said. ‘I said we should have left earlier…’

  ‘Oh, never mind, you’re here now!’

  ‘You’d better go if you’re going to make it through security in time,’ Harry said, looking at Bella’s extensive luggage.

  ‘Right. BYE KIDS!’ she squealed, gathering her bags.

  ‘BUC forever, yes?’ Olivia said.

  ‘What are we, eight?’ Harry said.

  ‘Oh there’s no point trying to fight it anymore,’ Olivia said. ‘Shut up and huddle.’

  ‘Shut up and cuddle!’ Bella yelled. ‘Love you guys.’

  ‘OK. BUC forever,’ Holly said, pronouncing forever more like ‘whatever’.

  ‘Remember,’ Bella said from within the huddle, ‘my little buccaneers, I may well be four thousand miles away but I shall be in each of your hearts the whole time.’

  Holly mimed projectile vomiting. ‘Just be safe, Belle. Try not to do anything stupid, please.’

  ‘I won’t. I’ll be emailing or blogging as soon as I can get over my technophobia. Listen, all of you – be strong. We will all get through this godforsaken time, we will! See you on the other side…’

  And with that she was gone. They all stared after her as she scurried towards security, fumbling with little plastic see-through bags while trying to down a two-litre bottle of water.

  ‘And then there were three,’ Olivia said.

  25. Somebody That I Used to Know

  A week later, Holly looked down at her brand spanking new tube of Bicarbonate of Soda Extra Whitening toothpaste, and had the world’s first ever fluoride-based epiphany. She opened the tube and applied a hefty dollop of incandescent white sludge to her toothbrush.

  It was time! Time to find a new man, she decided, brushing a bit too hard and getting a mild taste of blood.

  Two minutes later, she knocked on Harry’s door.

  ‘OK then. It’s time. I’ve more than served my notice now. Get me a date. Anyone will do, just get me back out there. I’m nearly 28! It’s a numbers game now; let’s get this party started!’

  ‘Jesus, is it possible to come up on fluoride? I’ve not seen you this high since Glasto ’08!’

  ‘I’m just bored of being locked up,’ she said, her face turning overcast like Swansea on a summer’s day as she thought about her lacklustre love life. ‘I’ve been celibate so long my hymen’s almost certainly grown back. Let me at them! Militancy is all!’

  ‘Not sure that’s the way to a man’s heart, Hol. Maybe you should redirect some of this wonderful energy at your new show?’ he said, squeezing past her in the doorway. ‘Anyway sorry, I’m late for work.’

  ‘Ugh. Don’t remind me. Rumour has it, today’s episode features a woman with OCD cat-fighting a man who has ADD, over which of them has it worse off.’

  ‘Brutal.’

  ‘It’s a career high, for sure…’

  Later that night, at BUC, Holly tried again. ‘Can’t somebody gateway me? Anybody?’ she cried out in their darkened booth at the Big Blue.

  ‘What’s a gateway when it’s at home?’ Olivia asked.

  ‘Is it where we each bring a new friend to the club, someone’s that recently become single?’ Harry asked. ‘If we’re doing that now, I’ve got a mate at work that’s just been dumped, and he’s seriously keen on joining.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. I think we’ve got enough on our plates at the moment,’ Olivia said, doing her best not to look at Holly.

  ‘That’s charitable, Liv!’ Holly said. ‘Anyway, no that’s not what gateway means. Gateway is something B. and I came up with, and means, Verb: to introduce a friend to an arena of new men, through someone you’ve met through work, your home life or any other means, with the express purpose of preventing them from having to enter the cesspit of online dating, or to have to confine themselves to a life spent swiping left with their finger.’

  ‘Well that’s a good enough cause if ever I heard one,’ Harry said. ‘I mean, online dating certainly isn’t what I imagined ever telling my grandkids about.’

  ‘But you may not have any grandkids if you don’t,’ Olivia said.

  ‘And BOSH! Therein lies the paradox of modern mating,’ Holly said.

  And so began round one: the scanning of each other’s Facebook friends. First up, they went through Harry’s friend list, from which Holly selected a shortlist of singletons. The lucky ones were then messaged: ‘Congratulations, you’ve been picked for a blind date with the lovely Holly Braithwaite!’

  Minutes later, Archibald, the most creatively named of the selection, messaged back to say, ‘OK! But it’s not blind is it, she’s on your Facebook.’ To which Harry replied, ‘OK pedant, call it a “partially sighted” date then!’ To which Archie replied, ‘Sounds like a plan, what’s her number?’

  ‘EEK. Looks like The Hol’s got herself a date,’ Harry said, slamming shut his laptop.

  ‘Hurrah. My first partially sighted date! Thanks Harry – I shall report back here in a week!’

  ‘Is it me or, wasn’t that basically like being on My Single Friend?’ Olivia asked.

  ‘Sshhh,’ Harry said, in a ‘don’t let Holly hear you say that’ kind of a way. ‘It’s nothing like it!’ he added.

  She was too excited to hear, anyway.

  *

  A week later in Stoke Newington, as the beginners swing class drew to a close, three sweaty musketeers sat down for a drink and a post-mortem of Holly’s partially sighted date.

  ‘So Holly – your first night back OUT there! How did it go?’ Olivia asked.

  ‘I know, right? A big day! But it was pretty much a disaster on every level. First of all, he showed up wearing these big framed glasses – and I was like, I didn’t know you wore glasses? He never had them in any of his Facebook pictures? But then he was like, I got them in Top Man. So then I said, I didn’t know they did eye tests now, and he said no, they’re lens-free. I mean, are people doing that now? I thought it was just a Shoreditch myth?’

  ‘No, no. It’s all true,’ Olivia said.

  ‘Fake glasses indeed’ Holly said. ‘Honestly, it’s like they’re mocking the blind! What’s next on the catwalks, EAR TRUMPETS?’

  ‘WHEELCHAIRS?’ Harry said.


  ‘I do remember reading about a lovely line of neck braces at Stella McCartney’s last show,’ Olivia said.

  ‘Really?’ Holly asked.

  ‘NOOOO!’ they all yelled.

  ‘Oh.’ Holly sighed into her fruit beer.

  ‘So anyway, what happened next with old Nathan Barley?’ Harry asked.

  ‘I went full nut-nut. I think to try and overcompensate for the fact I wasn’t feeling it, I got a bit too chatty. He’s in a similar field to me, as a TV producer – so we got talking about that. But then when he asked me what I did, I got confused and thought I was in a job interview. I forgot what you’re meant to do on a date and turned into a talking CV! I guess because I’m worried what I’ll do next if Madhouse bombs. But I couldn’t stop myself. Kept telling him about all my previous jobs, where I wanted to be next; where I saw myself in five years’ time. The poor guy just politely went along with it, and I could tell by then that he wasn’t feeling it, at all!’ Holly said, breaking into sobs of laughter and shame in equal parts. ‘I mean, even though I knew I didn’t fancy him, I still wanted him to like me! Is that fucked up?’

  ‘A smidge,’ Olivia said.

  ‘It gets worse though. Then when I offered to buy him another drink, he said he wasn’t feeling well and wanted to head home. I mean, am I that terrible company?’

  She shoved a handful of mayo-laden chips into her mouth, one of them falling back out onto the table.

  ‘No, Hol, you’re scintillating, always,’ Harry said.

  ‘I can’t even attract people I don’t fancy. How am I ever going to nab one I like?’

  ‘Maybe you need to try a little less hard. Maybe they can smell it on your pheromones?’ Olivia said as a mobile phone rang out, making her jump.

  ‘Fuck-sticks. It’s Jonny.’

  ‘Don’t answer it,’ Holly said. ‘In fact. Go one better. Rule Number Six – re-save his name as “Don’t Answer”.’

  Olivia smiled with approval and did as she was told. ‘Done. Now, let’s talk about something else.’

  For one whole minute no one could think of anything to say. All they could see and hear was the buzzing and flashing of Olivia’s phone on the table in front of them.

  ‘Balls. Don’t Answer has left me a message. Be rude not to listen,’ she said, heading outside so she could hear over the Charleston music.

  When she returned, her face had dropped.

  ‘He’s only gone and lost his job,’ she said. ‘He sounded dreadful. Like he’s lost the will to live.’

  ‘Not your problem,’ Holly said. ‘Don’t engage.’

  ‘He was all, “Can we meet up please? I’m lost without you.” Poor thing. I really want to see him! Should I? CAN I?’ She looked pleadingly at the others.

  ‘No Liv. He doesn’t get to see you now! He’s not your responsibility,’ Holly said.

  ‘He’s such a scrote. So typical of him to want you now he’s down,’ Harry said, shoving a drink into her hand while Holly physically restrained her from touching her phone by forcing her into a cuddle.

  Once Olivia was suitably calm again, her phone stowed in her handbag, Holly turned to face the others. ‘Guys, don’t be upset, but I’m not sure I’m really feeling this swing-dancing malarkey. I might chip off. I mean, there’s no one in the class that isn’t gay or engaged.’

  ‘I KNOW, RIGHT!’ Olivia said in a tone that said, ‘I think we should ask for our money back.’

  ‘Woah! Back up, both of you!! You’re getting it all wrong,’ Harry said. ‘We didn’t take up swing dancing so we could fall in love. We took it up to enhance our lives, to find joy again, to make use of the gift of time, remember, Liv? It was your idea? And it was a good one, actually,’ he said as the instructor started calling for people to come back into the class.

  ‘You’re right. Come on. Let’s give it another go,’ Olivia said, and they all slowly put their dancing shoes back on.

  *

  ‘Going, Going Goa’, by @LadyGoa

  Oh Hai!!!

  Sorry sorry sorry

  Sorry sorry sorry…

  Sorry sorry sorry…

  …that I’ve not written yet. But lots to tell!

  Actually, shit – this computer terminal that I’m on has a freaky countdown timer on it, so I’m gonna have to be real quick. More detail to follow in another email! But for now, a quick update:

  - I appear to have landed in some kind of theme park, populated only with people in Thai Fisherman’s pants trying to ‘find themselves’. So I don’t need to tell you that the man thing isn’t quite happening just yet. Nope. Bella Allen cannot get a wide-on from someone wearing pants so baggy they’re adjustable according to how much curry-based gluttony goes on. Not sexy. As such, The Dry Patch continues unabated.

  - The curry’s about as hot as Alan Titchmarsh’s Y-fronts. But as someone who was always a bit of a lame korma gal, I’m quite OK with this.

  - I can’t help feeling like a massive cliché for being in this part of India. It’s about as intrepid as Center Parcs out here, so I needn’t have worried about the lack of guidebook. Also, the Gap Yahs are everywhere (as predicted). They all have unlimited budgets and double-barrelled names (as predicted).*

  - I probably should go somewhere further afield. I could try and go trekking in the Himalayas or go somewhere more remote, but to be honest even that’s a cliché in some circles. So I’m just going to stay where the nice beaches are and eat curry and do yoga, meditate and most of all, get Sam out of my head.

  (On this point – Sam, if you’re reading this, sorry, but you’re not supposed to be. That was the whole point of this exercise. You can live without me, but you love sex; and I can’t live without you, plus have no shame, remember? So where does that leave us? Me: 4, 500 miles away and £749 poorer. And all because we lack the willpower not to see each other while we’re in the same country. Dur! Now go on… off you pop.)

  Ahhhh I just looked at the scary clock and I can practically hear the Countdown theme music so I’d better sign off. Sorry this is a bit all over the place and has no real structure or purpose! In many ways, an accurate depiction of me in person then.

  Bye for now. More soon, Namaste…. (yeah, insert all the other obvious hobo catchphrases.)

  B xxxxxxxxx

  P.S. Here’s an idea – and possibly the only way you’ll get through my travel posts without flatlining from boredom – shall we make a game called ‘Travel Bore Bingo’? Then all my lovely devoted readers can cross them off as and when? First item on there – HENNA TATTOOS. Considering getting one? Or even a proper grown-up one, like one that I’ll think means something deep in Mandarin but actually reads ‘Chicken chow mein’? Talk me out of it?

  P.P.S. How are my little buccaneeros doing? How are all the dates going? Are you still swinging? Miss your faces. Hope you’re all looking out for one another and remembering THE RULES.

  P.P.P.S. Hol – good luck in the new job, if you’ve started already I hope it’s less direful than the last…

  P.P.P.P.S. I’ve just realised that this ISN’T A LETTER. Sorry, I’m new to this blogging stuff.

  BYE!

  (2 comments)

  Holly clicked to see who the comments were from. The first was from Olivia:

  ‘Loving the blog, B. Am working on the designs for Travel Bore Bingo as we speak. Be safe and remember your malaria tablets, even when you’re drunk please! xxx

  The second was Sam:

  ‘OK, OK, I’m just reading the first one then I’m out of here. Take care of you. Bon voyage ma cherie, Sammy xxx

  26. Eating for Two

  As anyone knows, a life in the shadow of a recent break-up is a life half-lived. Charismatically bankrupt, you’re essentially the human equivalent of a dot dot dot… in a perpetual state of intermission, loading up on butterscotch ice cream while you wait for the curtains to open on the next act of your life. Of course, Holly’s co-members had briefed her to expect a ‘sad-gap’ of some duration. But eight months? That was almos
t enough time to grow a small person in her belly! When all she felt was pregnant with regret.

  Having made it through two whole seasons, Holly was now dragging her worn-down heels into autumn. This particular Thursday morning had begun like any other, with Holly waking up late, opening one eye to see The Alps spread out before her. The Alps being her very own mountain range of screwed-up balls of white tissues, whose only orienteers were little deposits of dried snot and tears. Were it not for them, she might have been able to forget that once again she’d wailed herself to sleep. But no, The Alps were her trusty reminder of a night spent wallowing in self-pity. The one thing casting some light over The Alps was a postcard tacked to the wall from Kerala, which said, ‘STOP MOPING. Love you, bye, Bella x’

  Five snoozes in, Holly peeled back the covers and slid out of bed to the floor. Slowly she raised herself up off the dusty carpet and walked over to the mirror. ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the most remedial BUC member of them all?’ she said aloud. She leaned into the glass and stared in at the cracked layers of make-up, each one shrouding the next; concealing layer upon layer of nights where she’d come in drunk, add to the base coat of make-up, then go straight out again for another spin on the dating merry-go-round. The more nights she went out, the more of a cosmetic Russian doll she became. Accordingly, the more she went out, the more her pimples had babies, and the more wrinkles shot up alongside them! How was it possible to have the youthfulness of acne, but also the lines of a wrinkly has-been? This was surely dermatological injustice of the highest degree, she lamented, staring at the mirror and sticking out her bottom lip.

  Sometimes she toyed with the idea of completely removing herself from society for a year while the ‘sad-gap’ passed. She thought of a story her father had once told her, about when the composer Mendelssohn had just been dumped. Her dad’s story had it that old Felix had headed for the Outer Hebrides to a place called Fingal’s Cave, to hide himself from the world and have a proper good mope. When he emerged he wrote the ‘Hebrides Overture’, one of his most famous, beautiful pieces. So maybe she could do that – go back home to live with her parents in Sutton Coldfield, and re-emerge months later from the chrysalis like a creative butterfly, having finally come up with a feature film or TV drama that was going to change the world and liberate her from the world’s most odious boss.