6
I stop counting after the second packet of Hobnobs. What difference does it make whether I eat twenty or forty biscuits? In the grand scheme of things, it means fuck all.
It’s four o’clock now, and I’ve been holed up in the flat since returning from the ghastly visit to Aaron at ten. As soon as my feet landed on the stained ’80s lino, I slipped out of my dress and straight into my favourite silk pyjamas. A tent made of threadbare blankets and propped-up sofa cushions over me, H?agen-Dazs Pralines I just bottle up my feelings in order to keep going. When I really think about it, I used to cry. Then, the day Alex and I broke up, everything changed. I didn’t let myself go even though I felt like howling. I promised myself I would never ever be weak or be played for a fool. How ironic considering my status quo.
Soon all my thoughts of Aaron and Alex are obliterated with the rhythm of ’90s music pumping through the studio. During our absolutely awful rendition of No Doubt’s Don’t Speak, we stop dancing and start jumping from the coffee table to the sofa and the armchair. Lydia and I end up shouting out all the words to the song while Catherine does her heavy metal head toss.
Around eleven they both head out, Catherine going home and Lydia to visit a friend . When the oppressive silence hits once again, I un-pause Anne Elliot. Together, we mourn our what-ifs.