Chapter One #2
It was just that hearing the words I don’t want to be with you anymore from the one person who’d always had my back, no matter what, was something I didn’t think I’d ever be able to get over.
Maybe if I’d had some warning – if we hadn’t been getting on or something, but we had and it had felt totally out of the blue.
He’d just come home from work the Wednesday before last and said he’d been dreading seeing me and thought that was probably a sign he didn’t love me anymore and that he would be moving out with immediate effect.
I’d been so shocked I’d had to grab hold of the kitchen worktop just so I could keep standing.
Once I’d remembered how to speak again, I’d tried to reason with him – couldn’t he stay until morning, at least?
Surely we could try to work things out? Would it help if he told me what he thought the problem actually was?
Mightn’t there be a way we could salvage our relationship?
How about couples counselling? Or a sexy city break?
I’d nearly begged him to stay, if the truth be told, but luckily I’d stopped myself looking totally pitiful, even when he quite coldly said there was absolutely nothing to talk about and that he’d made up his mind and there was no changing it.
I’d said okay and had helped him pack and then he was gone.
The flat had been quiet and empty without him or his clothes or the books he bought but never read.
Only then had I let myself cry, but not for long, because I reminded myself that there were people far worse off than me, people with terrible, messed-up, traumatic lives, and I had a nice job as a freelance writer and a family who loved me even if they didn’t understand me and a roof over my head (although how I was going to afford that now, I had no idea).
I vowed I’d give myself one night and one night only to be upset – in private – and then I’d have to find the strength to accept that it was over and get on with my life.
Except here I was, over a week later, still feeling like absolute crap.
‘I’m surprised. I never thought Charlie would leave you,’ said Cassie.
Was there a tiny flicker of triumph on her face, I wondered? No, surely not. She’d never want to see me hurt, definitely not, although I supposed I was pretending not to be that hurt, so perhaps I was giving her mixed messages?
‘Remember how you thought he was going to propose to you last summer?’ said Mum unhelpfully.
‘Do we have to go there?’ I mumbled.
In which universe would that be a good thing to say to somebody who’d just been dumped by their boyfriend? Sometimes my mum’s complete lack of tact baffled me beyond belief.
‘God, imagine if he had!’ said Cassie, warming to the subject too. ‘That would have made things really messy, wouldn’t it? Is he moving out, then?’
‘He already has,’ I said, suddenly desperately in need of alcohol and wondering how long it would take me to get served at the bar. Hopefully long enough to miss the entire opening act so that I could meet my mother and sister later in the auditorium where it was dark and nobody could speak.
‘Well, I’m glad he was the one to go,’ said Mum. ‘He’s probably sleeping on someone’s sofa, getting in their way and not making any effort to talk to them.’
Wow. Her feelings towards him were really coming out now, weren’t they?
Anyway, he wasn’t on someone’s sofa, he was back in his childhood home where no doubt he was currently being fussed over by his lovely mum, who I already missed desperately.
She’d be cooking nice things for him and doing his laundry and making his bed.
I kept hoping she’d reach out to me with some words of wisdom – she was good at those – but she’d been tellingly quiet.
Obviously, her loyalties lay with Charlie, but I’d thought she would have at least messaged to tell me how sorry she was about how things had turned out.
‘You seem to be coping all right, though?’ said Mum. A question that wasn’t really a question. ‘Less painful to do it now before getting married and starting a family and all of that.’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘That’s what I thought.’
Never mind the fact that I’d wasted four fucking years of my life with a man who’d dropped me like I’d meant nothing to him without so much as a proper explanation.
I was thirty now, and the pressure to be sorted financially, to have a life partner, to have babies before it was too late, suddenly crashed over me in a far more excruciatingly painful way than it had on my thirtieth last August, which was when I’d thought I’d start panicking about the dreaded ticking clock.
Because I’d had Charlie then and he’d taken me on a trip to Rome where, yes, I’d thought he was going to propose, too, and had spent the entire time disappointed that he hadn’t.
It had been fine, though, I’d reassured myself, because we’d talked about getting married loads of times, and having kids – we both wanted two, and neither of us minded if they were boys or girls as long as they were healthy.
He was going to propose to me at some point, wasn’t he? It was what we’d always had planned.
Suddenly, I felt a burning sensation in the tips of my toes that rolled up my legs, over my hips, across my stomach, and finally lodged in my chest like a jagged shard of ice.
It was unbearable and it was a feeling I’d never had before.
Jesus, what was wrong with me?! I thought I might be about to either throw up or cry, neither of which I could do here in front of them.
I got up and flung the coats down on the stool, not caring that the sleeve of Mum’s was now trailing on the floor in what looked like a puddle of beer.
‘Need a drink,’ I managed to splutter, although hearing my own voice right now was like having an out-of-body experience. ‘And maybe the loo. Back in a sec.’
Feeling sort of robotic and as though my knees were about to give way, I followed the sign to the toilets and crashed inside one of the stalls, slamming the door shut behind me and leaning my back against it, my heart beating scarily fast and hard.
As my face crumpled, I closed my eyes, bending at the waist in despair, succumbing to the tears that had been building up all evening.
I willed myself to stop, tried not to think about Charlie and his safe and secure job as an assistant head at a secondary school and his lovely strawberry-blond hair and his terrible cooking and how it had felt when he pulled me close to him in bed.
I missed him so much I didn’t know how I was going to go on without him.
And to make it worse, probably, I hadn’t been able to say that to anybody, not even myself before now.
I clamped my hand over my mouth, trying to quell the sobs; if I carried on like this, Mum and Cassie would know I’d been bawling my eyes out and Mum would tell me to pull myself together and Cassie wouldn’t know what to say because I didn’t think I’d ever cried about anything in front of her ever, although the hours I’d spent comforting her had known no bounds.
I focused on my breathing, in and out, in and out, wondering if anyone could hear me and whether, even if they could, they’d care.
And as my breath slowed, the pain of knowing I’d lost Charlie became slightly less acute.
Good. I could do this. I could go back out there and I could watch the shitty play and then I could make the journey home to the flat I shared with absolutely nobody and spend yet another night alone.
It was all right – this was my life now, and I was going to have to get used to it.