Break-Up Club

by Lorelei Mathias

  But then, as she pulled off her cocoon of leggings and tartan pyjamas and wrapped her threadbare towel around her shivering body, she realised that in her case all that would happen would be this: she would put on two stone from her parents’ cooking, and re-emerge into the world, not a butterfly but a slug with a terminal addiction to Jeremy Kyle and Loose Women. No; far better to stay in London where there were distractions from her pain, and keep on trying to put one foot in front of the other. She’d just keep editing one dreadful episode of The Madhouse after another.

  *

  Holly turned the key in the lock, remembering to be quiet for Daniel and Harry, after another big fat NON of a night, unsealed with a kiss. Sealed instead with the vapid stench of broken dreams.

  The thing was, a bad date was more than just a mediocre evening to go in the dusty photo albums at the back of your mind. It was actually a stinker of a setback, because it made you miss your ex more. No, a bad date could set you back weeks, she realised as she slumped onto the sofa and started flicking through TV channels.

  Sure, they’d had their good points about them, the guys she’d dated. Some had been really cultured and well-travelled! And none of them had done that annoying clicky thing Lawrence used to do with his teeth when he ate too fast. Or – thank Christ – that jittery thing he did with his eyebrows. Or, come to think of it, tapping his feet under the table like a mad fidgeter even though there was no music playing.

  But then, the flip side was that all the men she’d been dating would also have a whole bunch of stuff about them that was not Lawrence. Like, they’d order food without asking if she’d made up her mind. Or they’d make a loud remark about what a healthy appetite she had. Little things. Or, sometimes there just wouldn’t be enough of a spark. Or worse, there wasn’t enough nonsense chat, the kind that Harry had talked about. Sometimes the conversation was so wooden that Holly would get to the end of the evening thinking more than ever about the one person she was trying so hard to forget. About all the little things she used to love about him, or still did. Suddenly she’d be forgiving him his every flaw, as though, if she could only have just one evening back with him, just to watch him tap his feet and do his eyebrow twitch thing, and his clicky thing with his teeth, she would jump at the chance. And by the time she was grovelling in her handbag for her keys at the end of the night, she’d be wishing to God she’d just stayed in and folded laundry while watching Wife Swap USA or some other mind-numbing rubbish. At least two dysfunctional, mismatched spouses from Minneapolis couldn’t make you feel this low, Holly realised, heading to the fridge to spend some time with her NBF, the refrigerator.

  Once she’d consumed some leftover meat pie, she opened up her laptop and turned it on. She spotted a document on her desktop called ‘Mind The Gap’ out the corner of her eye, and felt a twinge of guilt as she went straight onto Facebook to stare idly at her newsfeed – where she learned that her housemate in the room downstairs had ‘just completed a five kilometre run with Olivia Mahoney’. She began to type in a comment, ‘EFF OFF; I’ve just completed a really large pie,’ before chickening out and deleting the post.

  Sometimes, in the absence of any willpower, she toyed with the idea of asking Daniel if he’d mind them getting a lock on the kitchen door. Or even the fridge itself? It had become normal practice, this need to head straight to the kitchen as soon as she arrived home of an evening. Somehow it was OK when she and Bella used to raid the fridge together and sit up in the kitchen snacking after a night out. But now that she’d gone, the habit didn’t seem fun anymore, just weirdly gluttonous; an act of staggering loneliness. Instead of coming home to feast on a big slice of a man, she would feast on a big slice of oven-roasted emptiness.

  As she munched her way through the pie, she closed the fridge and leaned on it a while. A tear rolled down Holly’s cheek. Bollocks, she missed Bella. The house was so horribly quiet without her. As she descended the stairs down to bed, she recalled all the things she thought she’d never miss. The sound of Bella’s vocal warm-up exercises – ‘AH AH EE EE OH OH’ – over and over, louder and louder. The constant smell of popping corn in the morning. The toothpaste face-masks. She climbed into bed, and fell to sleep watching replayed footage of all the above.

  The next morning, Holly awoke feeling with absolute certainty of two things: 1) this whole BUC business had been nothing but a curse, and 2) if she were to randomly see Lawrence in the street ever again, she would, without hesitation, run up to him, fling her arms around his legs, say sorry and beg him back. But why wait ’til then – surely now was as good a time as any? She looked at her clock to see it was 8.52 a.m. She picked up her mobile and began looking for his number in the ‘L’s. Then she remembered why she couldn’t find it. He was still saved in the D’s. Her finger hovered over ‘Don’t Answer’, and touched it briefly. Calling… But then she cancelled it a second later. Maybe first she should kick things off with a breezy text about what do with the bag of Lawry leftovers?

  Suddenly the phone began to play ‘The Littlest Hobo’, by way of a final snooze alarm, reminding her that she really needed to get up and go to work. She threw the phone onto the bed, resolving to call Lawrence later, when she’d had some caffeine to help her speak. She went to the bathroom. The door was locked, but there was a smell emerging from under it.

  ‘Urggh, Harry! Are you smoking in the shower again? You rancid toad! To think, we took you in off the streets and this is our thanks…’ Holly teased.

  ‘Shit, sorry, I thought you’d gone to work!’

  She heard the click of the lock, which in housemate code was the cue to open the door.

  ‘No, I’m late again!’ she said, opening the door to see Harry with a towel round his hips. ‘Please don’t look at my face. I’m subhuman.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  ‘Anyway, that doesn’t make it OK – if Dan knew, he’d throw you onto the street!’

  ‘Sorry, I’m just a bit of an addict at the moment; I’ve ordered some patches. I’m going to quit any day now – I need to for the triathlon.’

  Holly started brushing her teeth while he was towelling himself dry. She tried not to think about how close to his naked torso she was again.

  ‘Well you’ve made me feel better about my increasing booze dependency at least,’ she said, trying to avert her eyes from the way he was tying his towel around his perfectly contoured body, peppered with ginger hairs.

  ‘Have you seen Bella’s new blog post?’ he said, oblivious to her gawping.

  ‘Oh good, she’s alive! It’s been ages!’

  ‘Such is Bella,’ he said as he left the bathroom. ‘I’m off in a sec, have a good day.’

  Holly stepped into the shower, trying to be as quick as possible so she could get back to the computer to read Bella’s blog; and trying not to think about her best friend’s even-more-toned-than-before-tummy. Damn that triathlon. Damn it to high heaven.

  ‘She’s not dead!’(As Brent said to Gareth in The Office)

  By @LadyGoa

  Dearests,

  It’s with my tail between my legs that I address you now. I’m so sorry – I promised you a longer post ages ago. I’ve no excuse. I’ve just been in this massive whirlwind of amazingness. That, and I ran out of money well ahead of schedule, so I had to go to a more deserted resort. But it’s not all bad – I got me a singing job in a bar with an old friend from drama school!

  So anyway, the long version is in the post, as it were. I know I keep saying that, but my shift starts in fifteen minutes! So for now, I give you the news in brief:

  * Did some travelling around. Saw some shit. Took lots of pictures. Lost camera and all the pictures on it. Made lots of friends. Took new pictures. Had new camera nicked. Gave up on photography; now committing things to own memory instead.

  * Finished seeing shit, and am now two months into working at the bar which is owned by Keith from Wolverhampton and isn’t as bleak as it sounds. I am lead waitress and lead vocals/ headlin
e act! Have literally been singing for my supper the last few weeks! Awesomenal.

  * Been eaten alive by mosquitoes – so far have acquired no less than 47 bites. On one forearm alone. See pic attached. Ridick! Deet does shit all, nor does that citrusy stuff. Oh well at least I’ve not got malaria… yet. And on the plus side I’m having some properly trippy dreams on the larium.

  * Recently had to get the owner of beach hut camp here to hacksaw into my beach hut, as I’d left the key in my documents pouch in my hut for safe-keeping. Seriously, who’d be me? Still, owner was hot and let me buy him a drink to say thanks. (Note to BUC – hooray, am getting a tiny bit better!)

  * Have found my favourite hammock – right down at the end of the beach, which is the perfect spot for star-gazing and composing. Here’s an obligatory pic to make you all jealous while you’re at work. SORRY. But it’s not like I’ve not been working. The bar-shifts are loooong, and in my spare time I’ve written tonnes of new songs, many of which inspired by this special, magical place! Will upload them to my SoundCloud soon.

  * One thing that’s nice in all the bars and restaurants on the beach is that they have this rule that you can’t enter unless you’re barefooted. As a gesture of respect you all leave your flip-flops outside. My friend Hazel says it’s like a modern-day Cinderella because you never know whose are whose flip-flops so you have to try and find the owners. Often, you end up having to steal through necessity when yours go missing – just so you’ve got something to walk home in. It’s not so much that I’ve resorted to petty thievery – it’s just that after a while it gets to the point where now no one’s that possessive over them. A bit like biros or hair bobbles I guess… You just add your bit to the pool.

  But I digress. You all have busy lives. You don’t want to hear about flip-flops and larium. Also, this keyboard’s sticking like a mo-fo and I can’t find half the punctuation I need. LOVE YOU ALL. Oh and BUC – I hope you are looking out for each other and helping each other through the rancid turmoil that is life as a singleton in the big smoke. Lord knows I wish I had the BUC bosom with me right now. It’s Sam’s birthday and I’m missing him more than ever :((((

  So much love and huggage for now, Bellington xXx

  Holly experienced the usual pang of sadness coupled with guttural snorts that only a Bella blog could bring out in her. She briefly flirted with the idea of throwing in her job and flying out to join her, before remembering that Lawrence had cleaned out her bank account. As she clicked the Back button and returned to Facebook, her eyes landed on something on her newsfeed. Nestling in among the broadcasts of babies and engagements from people she hadn’t seen since Double German, something caught her eye, and a new gaggle of moths arrived in the pit of her belly.

  PART THREE

  “Dance as though no one is watching you

  Sing as though no one can hear you

  Love as though you have never been hurt…’

  Origin unknown

  27. Here’s What You Could’ve Won

  Skype conversation between LadyGoa, DirtyHarry, and JustLiv.

  JL: Guys, has anyone seen or heard from Holly?

  DH: I don’t think she’s back from work yet.

  JL: She was meant to meet me for a drink in town hours ago, but her phone’s been off all afternoon and she’s not answering texts.

  LG: That’s not like her! I hope she’s OK! I’ve not heard from her in a while.

  DH: I saw her this morning. She wasn’t on the best form. Let me just go and see if her bag’s still there. Back in a sec …

  …Nope, the bag she always takes to work is still there.

  JL: Maybe she just took a different bag to work? We’re overreacting.

  DH: I don’t know. It’s not like her to stand you up is it?

  JL: Should we call her parents, see if they’ve seen her?

  LG: I doubt she’d go to them. She said they’ve not been all that understanding over Lawrence … They keep telling her she did the wrong thing.

  DH: Oh… actually. This is beyond ridiculous, but there is one place she could be…

  *

  Half an hour later, Harry and Olivia arrived at Hyde Park Corner station and began winding their way through the park towards the Serpentine pond. There, crouched under a tree with dripping-wet hair, was Holly. Her face was overcast and her eyes were as red as an old telephone box.

  ‘There you are!’ Olivia said.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Holly said. Then, a beat later, ‘Shit, Liv, I’m so sorry, I totally forgot about us meeting up!’

  ‘God, don’t worry about that,’ Olivia said, ‘what the hell’s happened? Look at the state of you!’

  Holly opened her mouth to speak, but a lump in her throat prevented her. Harry wrapped her up in his arms. ‘How did you know I was here?’ she managed through sobs.

  ‘I had a hunch,’ he said. ‘Remember, you told me all about your dark secret once?’

  Holly looked down at her shivering feet, embarrassed.

  Harry turned to Olivia. ‘Right before they went to sleep, they’d agree a place to meet up in their dreams. And the Serpentine was one of their many destinations.’

  Holly nodded. ‘It’s all true. I would say, “See you in the Serpentine; don’t forget your trunks…”’

  ‘Blimey. That would be sweet if it wasn’t so gay,’ Olivia said while she mimed vomiting.

  ‘Yeah. Well. It’s not sweet anymore. I won’t be saying it to him again. EVER.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Harry said.

  Holly fell to her knees in a display of unabashed melodrama, the likes of which had only ever been displayed by Bella. Then, after a few minutes she realised she was twenty-seven years of age, wiped her eyes and apologised.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Olivia said. ‘It’s all part of the process.’

  ‘Thanks guys. You’re my lifeline, you are.’

  ‘Can we just back up a bit?’ Harry said. ‘What exactly has happened?’

  The three of them laid out their winter coats and huddled together under a tree, like a dysfunctional equivalent of school carpet story time.

  ‘So,’ Holly began, ‘this morning I read Bella’s blog. And then I accidentally went back onto EngagedBook, where she’d posted it. Then I started looking at my stupid newsfeed, and I saw something about how James, Lawrence’s best mate, was “attending Lawrence and Anna’s engagement drink”. First of all I’m like, “who’s Lawrence?” Because there’s no way in the world those two words – “Lawrence” and “engaged’”belong in the same SENTENCE, RIGHT? But then I looked at the event. The PUBLIC EVENT, which any fucker can click on.’

  ‘What the shit?’ Harry said.

  ‘You’re having a laugh,’ Olivia said.

  ‘It was called Lawrence and Anna’s Engagement Drink. Just “drink” mind, not “drinks”, like they’re trying to be all humble, with it… like it’s just “a quiet little celebration, in a quiet little pub in Brixton”.’

  ‘Unbelievable,’ Harry said.

  ‘Who on earth is this Anna?’

  ‘Fucked if I know.’

  ‘What did you do? Did you call him an insensitive prick for not even trying to tell you first?’ Olivia said.

  ‘Well maybe he did try – in fairness, he did email, and tried to call the other day, but I wasn’t allowed to answer!’

  ‘Ooops, sorry Hol,’ Olivia said. ‘My bad.’

  ‘So no, I didn’t do anything. I went numb; I just sat there and kind of laughed. I mean, how is it that he’s there already, and I actually haven’t progressed at all?’

  ‘If anything you’ve regressed,’ Olivia said, prompting a prod from Harry.

  ‘Fair,’ Holly said.

  ‘Did you go to work today?’ Harry asked.

  ‘I was about to, but when I saw the news I was actually almost sick and had to have a lie-down. Then I thought, hey, I’ve only had one sick day in two whole years, so I made the executive decision to press the Fuck-It Button. Rang in sick, ca
me here with a bottle of wine, had a little splash about…’ she trailed off, her eyes wistful, an unhinged smile dancing on her lips.

  ‘Splash about? While under the influence of booze? You could have drowned, you numpty,’ Olivia said, ‘plus, it’s Oct-Fucking-Tober!’

  ‘Numpty Dumpty,’ Harry said, taking his coat and draping it over Holly’s shoulders.

  ‘I know, I’m pathetic.’ Holly wiped her eyes. ‘It was just such a shock.’

  ‘You had us worried. You went full 404.’

  ‘WTF?’ Holly said.

  ‘It’s Geek Speak for when someone goes missing. Sorry, another Ross-ism. It just slipped out.’

  ‘Well, at least we’re here now,’ Harry said, ‘so you’re no longer a lonely tramp in a park. We’re now a group of tramps in a park.’

  ‘What’s the collective noun for that, a group of tramps?’ Olivia asked.

  ‘Trumps?’ Holly said. ‘As in “old farts”?’

  ‘Right,’ Harry said officiously. ‘I’m going to go and get us some ice creams, and the finest wine available to humanity. Back soon,’ he said, heading off in search of the nearest off-licence.

  ‘Poor Holly,’ Olivia said, beginning to massage Holly’s shoulders, which made her flinch for a moment, until she realised it wasn’t Harry. ‘Oh and there’s more!’ she said, remembering something. ‘I heard the other day from his old flatmate that apparently Lawrence has really got his shit together. He’s stopped drinking, joined a gym, AND has been taken on by a half-decent production company for commercials!’

  ‘But he was a bum for the entire five years you knew him!’

  Holly nodded.

  ‘This reminds me of something Jonny did that wound me up,’ Olivia continued. ‘When we finished the first time, he decided to tell me he’d bought us both boutique camping tickets to this amazing festival in the country. And then, instead of us going together, he went and put loads of pictures up on Facebook of him with this other bint that he took in my place.’