by Jenny Colgan
I lay back, wishing I had a teddy bear or something equally crap to cling to in my hour of need. I wondered if I should phone the Samaritans. Although it wasn’t like I was picking up the knives. I thought the Samaritans were only for really sad people. Not like me or anything. God, I missed him. No I didn’t. Yes I did. No I didn’t. Ticking like a mantra in my head, I started to cry again, even though I had absolutely nothing left to cry with and it came out dry. Finally, rocking myself back and forward, I sank right forward and finally got to sleep. And that was my weekend.
Having fallen asleep so early, I woke up on time the next day. My options being another day crying in bed or going to work, I decided to go to work. Big fat tears ran down my cheeks as I pulled my tights on. I looked in the mirror. I looked like one of those people they use to advertise the dangers of heroin. Gleh. Bleagh. Bleagh.
I walked into the office expecting everyone to instantly fall to their knees in sorrow as they caught a glimpse of me and my obviously huge tragedy, but, annoyingly enough, they all behaved exactly as usual.
‘Hey, mate, another rough weekend for you, yeah? You look like a tart’s backside,’ said Steve as I dragged myself in, looking, I thought, like Mary Magdalene.
‘I feel like one,’ I replied despondently. ‘Only less hairy.’
He eyed me strangely. ‘What’s the matter wiv you, like?’
‘Oh, everything. I ditched my boyfriend.’
‘Why? Don’t tell me, he copped off with someone else and you had to save face by dumping him?’
‘Jesus, Steve, when are you going to evolve frontal lobes? Piss off, I don’t want to talk about it.’
Silently, Janie passed over her box of king-sized Kleenex. I took it gratefully, having decided just to let the tears drip down when they came rather than give myself a migraine pretending they weren’t there.
‘How’s James?’ I asked her, to relish the irony. They were probably getting married too.
‘Oh God,’ she began, grabbing the box of tissues back. ‘We were at a party on Saturday and his ex-girlfriend was there.’
‘That’s legal.’
‘So, of course I walked out immediately. Then he didn’t want to come with me!’
‘Where was the party?’
‘Kent.’
‘You came all the way back from Kent because his ex was at a party?’
‘Well, for God’s sake! It was so insensitive!’
‘Did he know she was going to be there?’
‘Well, he says no, but I don’t know whether I believe him. It was at university, you see.’ As if that explained everything.
‘Ohh. What kind of party was it?’
‘Oh, some college reunion …’ Suddenly her face fell.
I looked at her. This woman was clearly bonkers.
‘So, surely she might be expected to be there …?’
‘I didn’t think,’ she said, ashen.
‘That’s because you’re a moron.’
‘Oh my God, poor James. How could I?’
‘Because you’re a moron. Can I borrow the tissues again, please?’
‘He’s really going to dump me this time!’ Her voice rose hysterically. She held on to the tissues for grim life.
‘Jesus!’ said Steve. ‘That’s it. I am putting in for a transfer before my periods start to fall into synch with you two mad bitches.’
That lunch time, I ate my sandwich disconsolately, remembering the time Fraser had come and picked me up unexpectedly. I could do with that now. If I didn’t get it out of my system soon, I was going to explode. Then I remembered that he had problems enough of his own in six days, and the last thing he wanted was to be poured upon by a dumb Harpy like me.
I thought of Angus too, but that was more difficult: Everything was so complicated.
I managed to raise my only smile that day by thinking about the smoke bombs. If they were going to carry it out … It was nuts, but, God, it might be funny. It might even work. Probably not though. I was sure the vicar could do the service anywhere these days. He could pop next door and do it in the pub.
I definitely wasn’t going to go to the reception. There’d probably be armed guards on the door keeping me away, anyhow. And I couldn’t feel less like a wedding. Fran would probably turn up. That girl had front enough for anything.
Fran. I hadn’t even started to grieve for her yet. I was too busy splitting myself over Alex. Telling myself she was just a big slut didn’t help. I’d known her all my life. And now … that was over, as if she’d died. She hadn’t even phoned me. Too ashamed, I presumed. Maybe she didn’t even care. That idea filled me with sadness. Maybe they were together even now. Alex was deciding he’d made a big mistake all along hanging out with me. Why would he want to – Fran was so gorgeous and skinny. She’d probably help him get a job with his pop-star mates, just by being thin and disdainful and glamorous. I had the horrible thought that he was trading up. And another equally horrible thought was on the bus right behind it: that I’d always known he would. I supposed I’d been waiting for it to happen. I didn’t think I was good enough for that low-down piece of shit, which made me a gnat on the underside of the low-down piece of shit. I wept again. I just hadn’t thought he’d go so close to home, that was all.
No flowers this time. He knew it wouldn’t work any more. Probably too busy at home with Fran. They’d be laughing at something moronic I’d said. ‘Oh God, it feels so good to be FREE!’ Alex would be saying. ‘Yeah, you nearly got trapped big time,’ Fran would be saying. Maybe she didn’t really hate him after all. Maybe all that time she’d been calling him a cocksucker because she was really in love with him, the way she used to push boys she liked off the wall at school. Maybe she’d just been getting his attention.
Well, she had it now, I thought grimly, and tried to concentrate on something, anything else.
Suddenly, as if summoned psychically by me, a conga-line of people threaded its way into the office, going: ‘De-ner de der der deh deh … De-ner de der der deh deh,’ with party hats on and streamers. A tape recorder was loudly playing Christmas hits. I was so surprised I nearly stopped crying for a second.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked Steve, as one particularly rotund woman knocked my stapler off my desk.
‘Christmas party tonight, innit? Just getting in the mood. Gonna be dragging me under the mistletoe then, sweetheart?’
‘I’d rather learn to kiss my own arse. Jeez, who has a party on a Monday night, anyway?’
‘Every night’s party night when I’m around,’ leered Steve. ‘You coming?’
And he grabbed my arm and forced me to join the conga line. It was then, prancing around trying to look dignified while doing a conga, devoid of friends, career and lover, that I realized I’d reached my nadir. Until ten seconds later, when the music changed to ‘Do They Know it’s Christmas?’ and I realized I’d reached it again.
‘This is sick,’ I said to Steve. ‘I’m not dancing to music about starving people! Let me out!’
Janie looked on impassively.
‘Are you coming to the party tonight?’ she asked.
‘No way,’ I said.
‘Oh, go on. You have to stay for a bit. The drinks are free till seven.’
‘They could buy me a house and I still wouldn’t stay for this party. I am going home to eat crisps and feel sorry for myself. Is James coming? And don’t cry, whatever the answer is.’
Her lip wobbled. ‘He’s got training.’
‘Oh … brushing up on his running skills is he?’
She looked at me wonderingly. ‘Yes … how did you know?’
‘Lucky hunch.’
‘Please stay for a bit,’ she said. ‘I … think I should stay for my career. Networking is very important.’
‘Steve will look after you,’ I said. Steve re-entered the room. His cheap silky tie was loosened and he was carrying an enormous balloon that was the shape of a penis. Janie looked at me.
‘Please. Just stay for a
bit.’
God knows why I agreed. To take my mind off things, I supposed. The day dragged on and on. Nobody even rang me to see if I was OK. Nobody cared. At five, Flavi clapped her hands together and made a little Christmas speech about what FUN the marketing department had been that year and how much FUN we were all going to have next year, working together as one big fluid copywriting machine. I stood at the back, making baa-ing noises when everyone else clapped.
Then cheap – very cheap, and my tastes weren’t particularly rarefied – vino was passed round in plastic cups and we all stood self-consciously talking about work, like we would do anyway.
‘Well, this is fun!’ Flavi said to no one in particular. Her concept of fun was most peculiar. Steve tapped me on the shoulder.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘we’re off to crash the accountants’ party. It’s always miles better.’
‘I find that simultaneously easy and difficult to believe.’
Steve appropriated two bottles of the vino and the three of us set off to the other end of the building. You could hear the accountants’ party a mile off. People were screaming and they already had the photocopier going. Inside, there were accountants jiving – always a sight to see – running around, leapfrogging each other; one chap was lying on the floor having wine poured into his mouth from a great height.
‘Wow, who’d have thought being an accountant would be so much fun?’ I remarked.
‘Nah, it’s only once a year,’ said Steve. ‘They spend the petty cash and they just go crraaazy.’ An older businessman waltzed past, with a temp clinging on with her legs round his waist. ‘They start at ten o’clock in the morning.’
‘No kidding?’ After the weekend, I was in no mood to get drunk, but I accepted a small glass of champagne and congratulated myself on my good distracting techniques. Every time I relaxed my grip, the howling precipice opened up beneath my feet, so I reminded myself yet again not to get drunk, and tried to focus on being a detached observer, even when someone pulled up my skirt accidentally and I whirled round ready to beat them to death.
Over in the corner, one of the accountants had just finished explaining why he wasn’t really an accountant after all, he should really have been a drummer, and how he had once had an audition for Motorhead. He then proceeded to demonstrate this by taking two rulers and beating the hell out of everything, occasionally hitting the touch-tone phone keys for all-round percussionist setting. The cacophony churned round and round my head, and I suddenly realized I needed to get away. I dashed out of the room and opened the window in the empty corridor, taking deep breaths of the chilly air. The accountants’ office was twelve storeys up, and I could see all the other buildings around. Over the rooftops, I identified Fraser’s. I knew it was the funny old redbrick one with the carved birds around the eaves.
Suddenly, I just had to talk to him. I had to talk to someone, and it was him. Otherwise I was going to go bonkers, plain and simple. It wasn’t that late, he wouldn’t even have finished yet. I’d just pretend to be casually walking by and bump into him, then we could go for a quick coffee somewhere.
Although he probably had a million things to do. He probably had to go home and check out the fifteen bridesmaids dresses or something. Put the corsages together. Lick madam’s boots.
I changed my mind half a dozen times in a second, then realized I was going to go anyway, so I might as well get a move on. Even to say hello would be enough.
Inside the accountants’ party pit, things seemed to be getting wilder. I picked up my bag, then turned round to say goodbye to Steve and Janie. To my amazement, they were grappling with each other on the filing cabinet. Janie looked to have her dress down below her shoulders. Good Lord. Well, good for her. I was going to creep out without saying anything, but she caught sight of me over his shoulder, gave me a huge thumbs-up sign and threw her head back laughing. Well, well, well. I hope this cured her. She certainly looked happier than I’d ever seen her. Although why it had to be Steve …
Feeling slightly more optimistic, I bounced out of the building into the frosty night air.
I hovered outside Fraser’s office for twenty minutes, trying to look casual and as if I was just walking past. I was absolutely freezing, and I’d lost any feeling in my nose. Finally, at about half-past six, he emerged, bent down against the wind. Oh God, this was a stupid idea. I didn’t know how to walk past casually. I was going to look such a fool. I turned away to make a run for it.
‘Were you waiting for me?’ the Scottish tones said gently.
I looked round. ‘No! Well, in fact, yes.’
He smiled. ‘Is it serious?’
‘Why, do you have to go somewhere? It’s nothing really, I’m sorry, you know, I was just passing, but I have to be going …’
Fortunately for me, he pulled me into a nearby patisserie, the kind that sold overpriced coffee to lawyers and tourists.
‘Come on. You look freezing.’
‘No, not at all, just passing.’ I calmed down.
‘Etcetera,’ I said.
‘I phoned you on Sunday to say thanks, but you weren’t in.’
‘I was in. I just wasn’t really in the mood to talk to anyone.’
‘Not because of Amanda, surely?’
‘No …’
And I told him everything. I told him about moving in, and I told him about the airing cupboard, and I told him about America, and I told him about Charlie, and I told him about Fran. With embarrassing pauses while the waitress brought us coffee and cakes – she could obviously tell we were having a big dramatic conversation and tried overly hard not to draw attention to herself, thus drawing lots of attention to herself – I let it all spill out, at last.
More tears – where on earth did they come from? – plopped on to my vanilla slice. I tried to smile and change the subject before I went to pieces completely.
‘I see you’re eating cakes again,’ I said.
Fraser grinned. ‘I decided that cakes were more important than looking two-dimensional at the wedding.’
‘You’re still going through with it, then?’
‘I’ve come this far. Anyway, we’re talking about you. What are you going to do?’
I sighed. ‘I don’t think I can do anything. I mean, I never want to see him again … It’s almost like it’s Fran I’m going to miss, really.’
He nodded his head sympathetically.
‘I think you’ll forgive her,’ he said.
‘Of course I can’t forgive her! I can never forgive her!’
‘You’re being melodramatic. She got carried away. I mean, you’ve been best friends for years and she’s always been a complete floozie, from what I can work out. I’m only surprised it hasn’t happened before. You’ll get over it.’
I thought about that for a bit.
‘Ditch Alex,’ he went on. ‘He’s a total loser. I could tell from the moment I met him. Total, utter, wanky loser. Run for it. But, you know, Fran just cocked up. She can’t look at a bloke without mentally taking his pants off. She just chose the wrong one. I bet she’s totally humiliated now, and can’t even bring herself to ring you.’
‘Or round at Alex’s having a wonderful time.’
‘Neh.’ He loosened his tie. ‘How’s your cake?’
‘Are you trying to distract me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Am I being boring?’
He sighed. ‘No, don’t be silly. I just think you should take your mind off it for a bit. Otherwise – I don’t know, but I get into a loop of thinking about things and I just lie awake all night and worry about them. Don’t do that.’
‘What do you worry about?’
He thought for a moment.
‘Ehm … what kind of cake is the best. What type are you eating?’
I gave up. ‘Vanilla slice.’
‘Is it the best?’
‘Possibly … sometimes it runs a close thing with French cake. And birthday cake. And strawberry tarts.’
‘S
ee? It never ends.’
And gently, we drifted into normal talk – not emotional, not coy, just talking quietly – even giggling occasionally. The cake shop was empty and waiting to close up, but outside the darkness was all around and here, in this little pool of light, we were safe and comfortable and we didn’t want to leave. There were enough things outside to make us cold.
I arrived home later, feeling more at peace. Linda was in the sitting room watching Titanic. Tears were dripping off her pudgy nose. Wordlessly, I went and sat beside her on the sofa. A complete first, she put out her hand. I took it, and moved closer. Finally, as the ship went down, I rested my head on her shoulder.
‘But you still have to go away this weekend,’ she said stiffly.
I’d forgotten that. Damn. Where the hell was I going to go? My parents, I supposed. I wasn’t looking forward to answering the question, ‘So, how’s your love life, darling?’
‘You don’t need to go till Saturday morning.’
I thanked her for her magnanimity and sloped off to bed, where I lay for several hours plotting scenes of deadly revenge on Alex and Fran before finally sinking into an exhausted sleep.
No one was at work. Some people had left for early Christmas breaks, and quite a few more – mostly connected with financial services, I was unsurprised to hear – were recovering from the party.
Neither Janie nor Steve had made it in, but Steve had left a message on my voice mail saying, ‘Tell Flavi we’re not coming in because we’re too busy SHAGGING.’ And I could hear Janie screaming with laughter in the background, shouting, ‘And if James rings, tell him to FUCK OFF!’
Poor James has been through quite enough already, I thought. Mad pair of bastards! I did miss them, though, in an odd way. The less people around, the more time I had to dwell on the situation, and that was no fun.
