Chapter Ten
‘Sam!’ I scream as I enter the flat, slamming the front door behind me with such force, it makes the walls shake. ‘SAM!’
‘What?’ She emerges from her room. ‘Jesus, what? Are there more videos on TikTok of you being terrifying?’
I stare at her, my eyes filling with furious tears.
She gasps. ‘No, it’s something even worse… Is the daddy long-legs back?’
I shake my head. ‘He’s got a new girlfriend.’
She frowns at me. ‘What? What are you talking about? Weren’t you just with Edward for your first anger management sesh?’ Her eyebrows shoot up. ‘Edward? Do you mean Edward’s got a new girlfriend? Nooooooo!’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t think Edward even has a penis. He would’ve had it all surgically removed when they sewed up his butthole.’
She frowns again. ‘Why would they sew up his—’
‘Never mind that.’ I shake my head again.
‘I’m talking about Justin.’ I wave the phone in my hand.
‘Justin’s got a new girlfriend. He’s hard launched her on Instagram – he even used the hashtag.
Her name is Orla. It’s the coolest fucking name I’ve ever heard.
And it probably means she’s Irish as well, doesn’t it? ’
‘Oh god, no way!’ Sam moves towards me with sympathy. She knows Irish is my favourite nationality. All the best people are Irish. That’s why all Americans pretend to be part Irish.
‘He’s shared a picture of her! Of the two of them together!
’ I cry, letting Sam lead me by the hand into the living room.
She sits me down and fusses about, covering me with a blanket.
‘He never, ever posts on Instagram! He always says it’s a vacuous hole designed exclusively for thirsty woman and gym bros.
He wouldn’t post anything about me or us – not in the whole year and two months that we were together.
He said it would go against his principles to post a picture of us.
He wouldn’t even “like” my post wishing him a happy birthday in March.
’ Sam takes the phone, examining the picture.
‘Bloody hell,’ she murmurs. ‘It doesn’t even look like him!’ Sam brings the phone closer to her face, trying to zoom in on the image without touching it.
‘Don’t heart it,’ I shriek, and she looks at me witheringly.
‘This is not my first ex-stalking rodeo,’ she says, returning her gaze to the picture. ‘He looks so… good? What the fuck?’
‘I’ve never seen him dressed so well,’ I tell her with disgust. ‘He had that shirt when we were together, but it was crumpled up in the back of his wardrobe. I offered to clean and iron it for him and he said what was the point in making the effort.’
‘Classic Justin,’ Sam says, and I shake my head again.
‘But apparently it’s not classic Justin,’ I point out.
‘Because for Orla he’s willing to wear the nice shirt.
He’s willing to shave!’ I lean over Sam to look again at the photo.
‘He’s willing to brush his hair! Look at it, Sam!
I swear, I think he’s actually washed it!
He always said shampoo was for women and dogs.
’ She stares at me and I stare back. ‘Was I not worth making all this effort for?’ I ask her after a long silence.
‘Of course you are!’ she says defiantly. ‘You’re a total babe. He’s just an absolute knobhead.’
I swallow hard. ‘He looks really happy, doesn’t he?’ I say, and she doesn’t answer. ‘Do you think he was seeing her when we were together? This is awfully quick to have moved on. It’s only been a few weeks.’
‘He’s just not capable of being alone,’ she says with force. ‘He’s a small child who needs a mother. He has to jump straight into something else because he’ll have run out of clean washing.’
‘Why wasn’t my mothering good enough then?’ I wail, and she looks uncertain.
‘Don’t do that, Liv! You’ve had a lucky escape. He’s the worst. You’re too good for him!’
‘I feel like we’ve been saying that stuff to each other about men our whole lives,’ I tell her in a whisper.
‘Maybe,’ she acknowledges, looking a bit sad.
‘I don’t know why you still date men at all.’ I shake my head. ‘You should just stick exclusively to women.’
She grimaces. ‘That date I had the other week – did I tell you? – he wore one of those minging vests that are actually designed to show off the nipples. You know what I mean? You can always spot the villain on a reality show because he’s wearing one, exposing his horrible man nipples.
’ She shudders. ‘There’s just never a situation where we should have to see men’s nipples.
They don’t look nice, they don’t breastfeed, they contribute nothing to society—’
‘Men?’
‘Their nipples.’
‘Their nipples contribute nothing to society?’
‘Right!’ She nods, like I am agreeing with her. And I suppose I’m not not agreeing with her. She stands up. ‘I’ll get us some tea.’
She returns from the kitchen after a few minutes with two steaming mugs, handing me one.
‘Okay, I’ve got a plan,’ she says with renewed determination. ‘We take the eggs from the fridge to his house and we throw them at the windows.’
‘Eggs are expensive,’ I point out, and she shrugs.
‘They’re out of date anyway.’
‘It’s just a best before,’ I protest, knowing this means nothing to Sam. We fall on different sides of the best before vs use-by debate.
‘They’re vile, rotten eggs and we need to throw them at his house.’ She grins. ‘Ideally he’d have an open window and we can lob it straight in. Maybe we can also break in and hide some fish inside the curtain poles. They’ll stink the whole place out in days.’
‘All great ideas.’ I nod, knowing they’re not. ‘But we shouldn’t.’
She pouts. ‘Why not? He deserves it and you’d feel better afterwards.’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t think I would.’ I wrinkle my nose. ‘Okay, maybe I’d feel better for five minutes, then I’d just feel ten times worse.’
As if I could feel worse.
Justin has a girlfriend. A new girlfriend. I’m in fake-therapy with anus-less Edward, while my ex is moving on, dating a dreamboat called Orla. It’s so unfair.
Sam flops down beside me, deflated by my lack of enthusiasm. ‘Are you okay, mate?’
‘Not really,’ I reply. ‘Can I have a cuddle, Sam?’ I add in a small voice.
‘Ugh, fine, give me a sec.’ She turns to offload the mug onto a side table, and I pout.
‘You don’t want to cuddle me,’ I say forlornly.
‘You know how I feel about cuddling,’ she replies, arms now free and outstretched.
‘Well, I don’t even want a cuddle anymore,’ I say, pouting even harder.
She tuts, then pulls me into her arms. ‘Tough luck, the cuddle is happening. You don’t have to cuddle back but you will be a cuddle recipient. The cuddle is happening to you. Enjoy the cuddle, Jane. I hope it makes you happy. Dear lord, what a sad little life.’
‘Shut up, or I’ll show you my nipples.’
I let myself be hugged. Sam doesn’t volunteer for too much affection, but she is very good at it.
‘How was the therapy session anyway?’ she enquires after a moment.
‘A waste of time,’ I say stridently, head up. ‘I kept telling Edward I don’t need it and it’s pointless, but he didn’t listen.’ I wave at the notebook on the coffee table. ‘He’s given me homework if you can believe it! He says there will be exercises every week for me to do at home.’
She sits up straighter. ‘I bloody love therapy homework! I love it when Arshiya gives me stuff to work on at home.’
‘You teacher’s pet,’ I sniff at her.
‘What does he want you to do?’ she asks curiously.
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. Something to do with anger journaling. I’m supposed to keep a diary of feelings for the week. Write down what triggers things, warning signs, how I deal with it. All that crap.’
‘I’ll make a diary of feelings I have for Edward.’ She grins leerily. ‘It would be weird and pervy.’
‘Ugh, stop it.’ I roll my eyes, and she laughs.
‘No, but really.’ She smiles. ‘Anger journaling sounds like it’ll be really useful and interesting.’
‘Whose side are you on?’
‘Yours, you idiot.’ She leans out of the hug completely. ‘But, look, you have to take some time off work, and you have to go to these sessions. You might as well try to get something out of it. Try and embrace this chill time, while also working on your mental health – kill two birds, etc.’
I regard her with horror. ‘Why would I kill two birds?’
She looks amused. ‘It’s an expression.’
‘An expression?’ I gape at her.
‘An idiom, a phrase,’ she adds. ‘Wait, you’re telling me you’ve never heard someone say they’re going to kill two birds with one stone?’
I gasp. ‘Now I’m murdering these two birds with a stone? I’m taking a large pointy rock and I’m bludgeoning two innocent carefree little doves—’
‘No one specified that it was doves,’ she protests.
‘Two little robins then,’ I continue, ‘a pair of cute, red-breasted robins who – after years of searching – finally found one another and fell in love. And just as they’re building their happy little nest together, I come along with my bloodied rock to pummel the life from their limbs.
I climb up the tree to find their tiny little sanctuary and one by one I—’
‘It’s a saying!’ she cries.
‘Serial killer’s saying,’ I mutter.
‘Yes, fine, the Yorkshire Ripper came up with that and the one about curiosity killing the cat.’
‘So you know all about bird murder sayings, but curious cats confuse you?’ I query.
‘We fill in each other’s knowledge gaps.’ She smiles mistily. ‘And either way, dead birds work for this situation.’
‘What’s my situation?’ I ask innocently. ‘I’ve forgotten.’
‘You’re in therapy,’ she reminds me. ‘And I actually think you should take it seriously. It could be really useful.’
I throw myself onto the sofa cushions, feeling resentful.
‘Since when do you give me good advice? Your whole thing is leading me astray! You’ve been getting me in trouble for decades, ever since you persuaded me to hide under the arts and craft table at nursery.
’ I sigh. ‘And I don’t need “useful” – I don’t need therapy!
’ I whine, hearing and hating the tone of my voice.