Alain de Botton, Essays in Love
Reader, I Left Him
Holly was sat in the centre of the room, surrounded by brown tape and boxes. But this time it was her old friend the broom cupboard she was packing up and this time, for a good reason. She was so excited she couldn’t stop herself from re-reading the email for the fourteenth time that minute.
Hi Holly,
Congrats on the festival win. I was proud as punch when I saw your name on the credits. Almost jumped out my seat.
I can come out and admit this now: I always hoped you’d write something of your own one day. Had a hunch your strength was more in idea generation than in cutting.
Tell me to mind my own if you like. But in my experience, all the best editors have a quality about them of, how do I put this – ruthlessness, quick decision-making. Knowing instinctively what to keep and what to cut. Not dwelling on things too long – that’s what separates the mediocre editors from the Walter Murches. If I’m being brutal, I’m not sure these are qualities you have in spades. I think your (considerable) strengths lie elsewhere.
My point is, I’m setting up a new, smaller production company. We’re specialising in pitching new Comedy/Drama ideas to places like the Beeb and C4. We’ve an opening for a writer/developer (paying more than your junior editor role, too!). In particular, we’re focusing on ideas about groups of friends in their late twenties – something to try and fill the British Girls gap, which every man and his dog is scrapping for. If anything springs to mind?
Anyway, if any of this makes any kind of sense to you, I’d love you to come on board. That’s if I can drag you away from Reality…?
Look forward to hearing what you think.
Mark.
Even now, three weeks later, this was still giving her the good kind of butterflies as she put down her mobile phone and caught sight of The Rules that were still tacked to the wall. She smiled, took the piece of paper down and put it into her bag. Then she felt a craving for one last shopping spree in Room G.E.13. Nothing too crazy, mind – just one or two trinkets to kit herself out with for the future. Soon she was face to face with the hallowed stationery cupboard.
Moments later, she was rifling through supplies. This time she took only what she needed. Just a couple of envelopes, batteries and some pens. Oh and five of those A4 ideas pads. On the walk back to her office, she noticed a Diesel-clad figure skulking by her door.
‘Been to the sales?’ asked Luke, smiling his Hollywood smile.
‘Hello again! Actually, I’m stocking up. Where I’m going they don’t have a huge superstore like here.’
‘Where are you off to?’
‘I’m going back to Drama. In development this time, though! If this year’s taught me anything it’s that I’m an appalling editor.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that. But congratulations on the move!’
Holly blushed. ‘What about you? How are things?’
‘I’ve just been in for a meeting about this backpacking reality show. It’s only at pilot stage but Jez wants me for the presenter, if it gets picked up.’
‘Great!’
‘No, brutal, but actors can’t be choosers can they! It’s not that I’m averse to fucking off to a Thai island for a bit, but it’s still not why I trained at drama school, is it! Though, it’s not all bad. I managed to bag a new agent after Mind The Gap cleaned up at the festivals. For which I only have you to thank.’
‘Not at all. It’s all down to your amazing acting.’
Luke gave a nervous smile. Then he made to leave, but something pulled him back. ‘Can I just also say that I’m sorry about what happened with us? It was textbook knobhead behaviour. The pathetic truth is, I lose interest in girls after I sleep with them. It’s a condition.’
‘You’re all right. I think I took it badly as I wasn’t in a very good place. Luckily I’m just about back from there now.’
They gave each other the slightly awkward hug, as was customary in these situations.
‘Keep in touch, yeah?’ he said into her shoulder blade.
‘Of course,’ she lied, as was also customary in these situations.
‘Well. Good seeing you…’ he said, looking at her in that brooding, come-to-bed way again.
Oh no. Don’t let’s start this up again, she thought, her eyes darting to the ground.
‘Yeah. You too,’ she said as she shoved the last layout pad into a cardboard box.
The door closed behind him, and she went over to her computer. She saved the latest version of where she’d got to with a project called ‘Prowl13marchFinalVersion’, then closed down her machine while doing inner star jumps. Then she looked around the room, shoving the last lot of things into her bag. Only one item remained on the desk: the tiny womble that Lawrence had bought her. It seemed to be looking up at her, its eyes pleading with her not to leave him. She picked it up. He was covered in dust, and one of his eyes was hanging half out. There was a small space in her bag just the right size for it.
Half an hour later, Holly returned her newspaper to the paisley-upholstered train seat and looked out the window. The sun was peeping out from behind a solitary gap in a sky of continuous cloud, for the first time that year. It was still freezing, but she couldn’t help feeling like it was the universe’s way of confirming it was soon time to move to another season – the season of finally, finally being over the curly-haired-one.
And now she was totally ready, she realised with a smile, just as a man climbed onto the train and bustled through some people to find a seat.
‘Is anyone sat here?’ she heard him say.
Without looking up, she shook her head and moved her bag from the seat to make room. Moments later, her eyes drifted to her side, settling for a while on a woollen catastrophe of colours – yellow, pink, russet, gold, amber, purple and then a lurid green, all thrown together in thick stripes – creating the overall effect of a bad replica of a Dr Who scarf that travelled all the way down to the floor. Not unlike a scarf she’d once owned.
Wait. That was the scarf she’d once owned – the same one she’d given to a semi-conscious man named Aaron over a year ago.
She let her eyes drift upwards from the neck the scarf was swaddling. Yep. That was the man who’d fallen off his bike. Wavy brown hair, stubble and a tiny scar just below his right cheekbone. That’s some powerful washing powder, she thought, looking back at the scarf, then into his eyes – at which point she noticed he was staring right back at her.
Holly looked away and pretended to organise her bags and boxes into more of a coherent pile. Were they having a moment, she wondered, trying to repress the miniature die-hard romantic that was providing the Special Features-style Director’s commentary in her head. She looked back across the carriage at the gorgeous man staring at her. As their eyes locked, Holly smiled, daring to hold his gaze. He smiled back, and she felt something flood her belly – not moths, but their friendlier, prettier counterparts.
The train was approaching the next station already. Aaron grabbed the sheets of paper he’d been reading, which were covered with what looked like architect drawings, and zipped them up into a portfolio. Then he did up his coat and tightened his scarf around his neck. As he stood up to leave, she opened her mouth to speak.
Meanwhile, back in the broom cupboard, the womble stared up out of the bin, thinking, it’s dark in here.
‘Out-Breaks’ – Scenes from the cutting-room floor
Deleted Scene 1:
“Mont Blanc, and Other Low Points”
Eventually, Holly arrived at work with only minor bruising. The rest of the morning was spent in and out of the toilet, in thrall to the ebb and flow of her nausea. In between that, she mostly watched Youtube links from friends, finding them all far funnier than they were. But by mid-afternoon the hangover had changed gear and an unrelenting doom took hold.
This was the trouble with Happy, she was slowly realising. Happy was all well and good, to a point; but you never k
new when its sell by date was. The trouble with feeling happy when you were heartbroken was that, at some point you’d remember you were heartbroken again. So any elation was like a rising balloon that you desperately wanted to hold on to; but the higher you got, the steeper the drop would be. You could enjoy the temporary feeling of lightness – but eventually you’d remember again, you’d lose your grip of the balloon, and back down you’d fall.
Maybe, just maybe, alcohol wasn’t actually her friend, she wondered as she tried to distract herself by checking her emails. But all she had was a message from ‘Laterooms.com,’ telling her that there was a brilliant offer on this weekend at The White Room Hotel, St.Ives. As ever, the Internet seemed hell-bent on delving into the vault of romantic e-commerce and spitting out reminders at random – of every mini-break, present and thoughtful little thing she’d ever done for Lawrence in their five year tenure. She quickly deleted the email in the hope that it would stop any happy memories from being stirred. But she was too slow; she’d already been accosted by the thought of an evening they’d spent in one of their favourite restaurants in St Ives. Despite herself, she pressed Play on the memory, sat back and watched.
Holly had arrived late to meet Lawrence, and was stood in the doorway of the restaurant, faffing about with her bags – trying to find her mobile, losing a war against gravity with the many layers she was juggling in her arms. Looking around for Lawrence but unable to see him, she had then begun that funny pantomime-esque dance; the one where you’re walking round the restaurant, knowing full-well that the person you’re looking for can see you and is probably waving at you like mad. Meanwhile the whole restaurant is laughing their head off at how silly you look, because you just can’t see them anywhere. So when Holly had finally reached Lawrence after about three hours of flapping, he was grinning at her, a look of adoration in his blue eyes, and just out of nowhere he’d said,
‘I love you.’
Like he’d just thought of it, that second. She’d been floored at the time. It was just so wonderfully not the way you’d normally say something like that for the first time. Its spontaneity was what she’d loved most about it. What she’d loved most about him.
‘Thank you!’ she’d said, ‘Love you too,’ and she’d kissed him on the lips, leaning across the table, her long hair only just avoiding a dalliance with the cheesy garlic bread.
As the balloon went rising into the air, Holly decided it was time to take herself to the toilet, to be alone with her pointless reminiscing. You and Lawrence have done your time. Your sentence is over, she kept telling herself. But the finality of it, and the knowledge he was with someone else already; it was too much.
She headed down the corridor, not before clocking Luke ahead of her in the hallway. Which was brilliant timing, considering she had pretty much never looked worse. She thought about saying hello, but she couldn’t find her voice box, so instead opted for the much more mature approach: lowering the eyes, and marching on prudently. Excellent, good save.
Moments later she was sat in the warm bosom of the women’s toilet. She had a nice long, cathartic cry. She opened her mobile phone and began to flick through to see which BUC member to call. If only Bella was around to speak to. She tried logging into Skype to see if she was randomly online, but her new-fangled smart phone kept on asking her to log in again and asking her to type in security words that really weren’t words, which was all too complicated in her present state of mind. So she gave up on Skype and put her phone into her pocket, realising her nose was in urgent need of blowing.
As she dispatched another batch of snotty tissues into the toilet, she looked down. Oops. She’d blown her nose so many times, and mopped her tears up with such a mountain of toilet roll that it now seemed as if Mont Blanc had sprouted up then and there in the toilet. Uh oh, time to go, she decided, leaping up and flushing the chain, twice.
But it wasn’t having any of it. She flushed it again. Nothing. In fact, if anything, Mont Blanc was now even sturdier. She began to prod at the mountain with the toilet brush. Nothing. Worse, even. Soggy little bits of loo roll were now caught up in the tendrils of the brush.
Could this get any worse, she wondered, bending down to get a better purchase on the u-bend. As she leaned in, naturally, her new smart phone fell into the toilet, landing at the summit of Mont Blanc. She fished the watery phone out and dumped it in her bag, too exhausted to react. She returned to the blockage.
After ten minutes of pretending to be a plumber, she gave up and returned the sopping wet toilet brush to its mother ship. And ran.
Two hours later, she saw through the gap in her doorway that there appeared to be water seeping down the corridor, from under an adjacent doorway. Oops. Maybe the time has come to stop drinking so much, she decided, as she heard a beep and saw a new email come in.
Through the fog of her hangover she could just about make out the words.
‘(High Importance): ALL STAFF: the ladies toilets are currently out of service while we tend to a major blockage/flooding incident. In the meantime we are allowed to use the conveniences in Princely Productions next door. Thanking you, Anthea Jessops, Head of Facilities.’
Holly pressed delete and buried her head in her arms.
* * *
Deleted Scene 2.
“Nutrition Advice”
‘I’m serious. No food has passed my lips in days. Unless you count my own mucous, from crying so much,’ Bella said. ‘Does nasal mucous have any nutritional value I wonder? It must do. That’s all that’s in me, and I’m still going, aren’t I?’
‘Well, it’s either nutritious or you’re living off fat reserves,’ said Olivia.
‘It’s quite an efficient system,’ said Bella. ‘First, I cry my eyes out for hours. Then the tears begin the mucous production, and that’s enough to give me enough energy to keep crying the whole day. Kind of like a deranged version of The Water Cycle, like you did in school.’
‘Shall I make a diagram?’ asked Bella, reaching into her bag for her notebook.
* * *
Deleted Scene 3.
“The Name Game”
‘Jenny Microwave.’
Holly exploded with laughter. ‘Alright. That’s a good one.’
‘Yeah Hi! I’m Jenny Microwave!’ he said through laughter. ‘Now you.’
‘Oh, I can’t think of any more just now. I’m not really in the zone. How about, Peter… no. Francesca… Francesca Upholstery.’
Lawrence guffawed. ‘Jimmy Cutlery,’ he retorted, barely missing a beat. ‘Hey, I think Jimmy and Jenny would make a nice couple, don’t you? And if Jimbob ever made an honest woman of Jenny, she’d become Jenny Cutlery! Awesome. Your turn.’
Holly thought for a moment, then gave in. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t think of any more. Maybe we can leave it there for today?!’ She gave her boyfriend a nudge.
It was infantile at best, but when no one else was around, Holly and Lawrence would play a few rounds of The Name Game. It was their dark secret, but the rules were simple. You just had to say the most stupid fictional name that came into your head. Usually, the optimum humour could be derived by juxtaposing a regular forename with a surname comprising a domestic appliance of some sort. No one else knew about this game, which had passed the time for them over many a journey on the London Underground.
‘Oh, OK. We need to get off in a few minutes anyway,’ said Lawrence.
Holly was puzzled. ‘No, we don’t. We’re nowhere near Tufnell Park!’
* * *
Deleted Scene 4.
“Free-Wheeling”
‘Yeah! I so know what you mean!’ said Holly. ‘Like, the other day, I was on my way to work when I saw this girl riding past on her bike, pulling a wheelie bag along with it on the ground, while she was riding. It looked so awkward and cumbersome, but she was smiling away, so somehow, she pulled it off! And I just thought, that’s awesome! And I laughed out loud with her, she caught my eye and smiled as if to say yeah, why not… and I got my pho
ne out to ring Lawry and tell him, and then I remembered.’
* * *
Deleted Scene 5.
“Eff-Off”
‘Well at least you’re not being E-persecuted,’ said Bella as she poured out some Margaritas to accompany the Mexican themed dinner which Olivia had been preparing. ‘Even Amazon is out to get me these days. Through the medium of ‘past-buyer mailings’, it sends me ‘thoughtful’ suggestions related to every gift I’ve ever bought Sam on there. Which is a lot of things.’
‘I mean, really,’ said Holly. ‘What really gets me is when Facebook sends me ‘friend suggestions’ – you know this person and this person – ‘why not add Lawrence Edward Hill as a friend’?
‘You’re kidding? I wish FB would F OFF, sometimes!’ yelled Bella, drinking her Margarita like water.
* * *
Deleted Scene 6.
“Admin Error”
‘OK…well, you’re going to think I’m pathetic beyond belief, but… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Mr Film Buff … So I did a very sad thing. I searched through the ‘groups’ on Facebook around the Hackney and Dalston area, and it turns out there is actually a group for the ‘The Film Shop’ on Broadway Market.’
‘Oh B, you’re actually ill,’ said Holly.
‘And guess who the Admin of the group is? ADAM! His name is Adam! And it’s him! How mad is that! So I’ve added him as a friend.’
‘You really must stop spoiling the surprise about all your prospects!’ reprimanded Harry. ‘Stop stalking them – I bet you know all about his life now don’t you? Also, is he not going to wonder how on earth you found him?’
Bella looked a little worried, as though she’d not quite thought of that. ‘It’s fine. He’ll probably just ignore my friend request anyway.’
‘You can find ANYONE these days,’ said Olivia. ‘Even if they don’t want to be found.’
* * *
Deleted Scene 7.
“Sweet Dreams are Made of Cheese”
An hour later, Harry came into the kitchen to see her lying on the sofa, an empty packet of Cheddars at her feet. She opened her eyes to see distinct disappointment on his face.
Break-Up Club Page 38
