might be a tiny bit of hurt pride shoved in there as well. Dumping in your own time is one thing, being the dump-ee is altogether different. But I had been happy with Liam. Lazily happy.
Jess has obviously got bored of waiting for a reply, or is worried I’ve gone off to top myself. He’s a prat, I wouldn’t have invited him but he is Dan’s brother.
I know. It is the best response I can do under pressure. No exclamation marks.
I’d known he’d be at the wedding. He’d told me he’d met ‘somebody else’ – met, not shagged. To be honest a tiny part of me wants to see this girl. The part that could scoff and say she wasn’t that pretty, that thin, that clever. A bigger part of me wants to run a mile in case she is all that and more.
But pregnant? Huge?? No part of me had expected that.
At least I wouldn’t have to look at some willowy beauty hanging off his arm, I suppose. Although, shit, don’t pregnant woman have this ‘glow’? I can’t stand next to a glowing girlfriend if I’m all fat and spotty. And alone. Everybody will be looking, nodding sympathetically at me, and whispering ‘you can’t blame him’ behind their hands.
I can’t wait to meet your new man! Jess is still texting.
Nor could I.
How the hell am I supposed to hook up with somebody new before the wedding? And the more excited texts I get from Jess, the guiltier I feel about even thinking about saying I can’t make it.
Not long!!! See, what did I say about exclamation marks? I suppose between now and the wedding I could say my mystery man and I had split up, or I could actually find a real man, or the imaginary one could die, or rush off to care for an ill relative, or get run over by a bus. Or all of the above. The possibilities are endless. Sorry, got to rush, late for work. I do usually tell the truth. Call you back later for a proper chat xx
My ‘reasons I can’t go’ list needs updating. There’s a new entry at number six.
1 6. My ex has impregnated somebody else. Hugely.
Shoving my mobile in my bag, and pushing my shoulders back, I paste a ‘happy as Larry’ grin on my face and throw open the door of the travel agency.
‘What’s up?’ Sarah, my other best friend, is sitting behind a desk that has two mugs of coffee, three Danish pastries, and several travel brochures open on it. She has pink hair (it changes regularly, I think she’s naturally blonde, but I can’t be sure, I’ve only known her three years), and a T-shirt that says ‘Windsurfers do it standing up’. Most travel agencies would insist on a uniform, but Sarah’s aunt owns this one and is as potty as she is. For her sixtieth birthday, she (the aunt, not Sarah) celebrated by going parasailing in Crete and taking the thirty-five year old instructor to bed. My mother celebrated hers with afternoon tea in a posh hotel. I fear that I am more like my mum than Sarah’s aunt.
Sarah isn’t fooled by my radiant smile.
‘Here. Just what the doctor ordered.’ She pushes a coffee towards me, and holds out a sticky pastry. I’m not sure any doctor would order anybody to eat this. ‘There were only three left, so I couldn’t leave one on its own could I?’
‘Jess is getting married.’
‘Fab. So the problem with that is?’ Sarah only knows what I have told her. She moved into the area when she left college and her aunt offered her the type of job that would let her go backpacking and get a discount. ‘You look like you’ve swallowed a lemon.’
‘Thanks.’ I take a bite of sugary pastry to combat the sour look. ‘She wants me to be maid of honour.’
‘Oh hells bells.’ Sarah tends to say some odd things. ‘You don’t have to dress up like an extra from Frozen do you?’
‘I don’t think so.’ I take another bite of pastry, and a gulp of coffee and plonk myself down in my swivel chair. And swivel. ‘Liam is best man.’ I try and say it casually, but I rotate a bit too vigorously and nearly end up in the potted plant behind me.
‘Ahh.’ We chew in unison, once I’ve stopped spinning. ‘But you don’t still care about Liam, do you? He’s a shit.’ She gives me the beady eye. ‘A total shit.’
‘Oh no, no of course I don’t care.’ Well maybe a teeny bit. ‘I’ve not seen him since…’ Sarah nods encouragingly. She knows seeing him again might be an issue. I mean you never know how you will actually feel, do you?
In my head I am so completely over him. He is a complete twat who I never really loved, but in real life what if he makes me feel wobbly? Or sick? ‘It’s not Liam, it’s just everybody will be looking, and knowing.’ Sarah nods, breaks the last pastry into two and passes half to me. ‘And I haven’t got round to that diet yet.’
‘Well, I don’t think you need to lose weight.’ This is easy for Sarah to say as she is stick thin. I know I have got a bit over-rounded.
‘Photos put pounds on you, I can’t look like this.’ I have let myself go since the split, I know I have. In fact I let myself go before the split. I got boring and fat. Both Liam and I had, but neither of us had really noticed. ‘I never used to look like this.’ Being lazily happy has been bad for me. Being heartbroken has been very bad for me. I seem to have totally lost the real me in all of this, and it is time I found myself again. Preferably before my current state is immortalised in wedding snaps.
‘Well, you did say last week that you wanted to get fit again.’ That is true, good intentions have been surfacing, popping their heads up like baby seals, then disappearing again. ‘So maybe this is the incentive. A countdown!’ Sarah spins round, kicking her legs in a very unprofessional way. ‘We could go jogging?’
I pick a flake of pastry off my boobs and eat it. The idea of me and Sarah jogging is hilarious, unbelievable. But it’s nice of her to offer. She’d probably turn up in Doc Martens and pink tights. I swallow the last bit of my calorie-laden breakfast. ‘Maybe.’ I am not good at saying no, which is part of the problem. ‘There is another tiny problem.’ If I call it tiny it might become tiny. They call it visualisation, don’t they? ‘I told Jess I had a new man.’
Sarah grins. ‘Well, that’ll be a piece of piss to sort.’
‘Will it?’
‘Hire a guy!’ She has completely lost it. More off the wall than ever. ‘Oh my God, this has to be fate, you won’t believe what I’ve just been reading. Look, look.’ She starts to delve through the paperwork on her desk, pamphlets flying in all directions, then holds a holiday brochure up triumphantly. ‘Voila!’ She likes to throw in the odd foreign word when she speaks to clients, to create the right atmosphere and sense of anticipation.
‘What?’
‘Look!’ The brochure is shoved into my hand and I am spun round at speed. Through the blur I can make out that it is actually a magazine. She clutches the arms of my seat so that I stop so abruptly the g-force hits, then pokes at the page. Studs for Sale – how the modern woman solves the dating problem. There’s a photo of a famous movie star, with a hot
