you’re totally brave and a genuine hero,’ she began, ‘but it’s OK to be upset about this. You put all your trust and ten years of your life into that relationship, even if they weren’t all great, and he cheated on you, no one gets over something like that in three days.’
‘I’m OK,’ I said. Here came those crashing lows again. ‘I’ve never had a break-up to get over before. Maybe I’m just really really good at it?’
‘I’m just saying, it’s OK not to be OK,’ Jenny scooted across the floor. ‘You might even feel better if you let yourself get upset. Might even out some of those crazy emotions.’
‘I just think, I would never have cheated on him,’ I said slowly. ‘Even if I’d met someone else, I would never have cheated on him.’
The tears started to come, slowly at first.
‘I know, honey,’ Jenny said, taking the beer out of my hand. ‘You’re a good person and you’re right, you are better off out of the relationship.’
‘But why did he do it?’ I wailed. ‘Why did he cheat on me? And why doesn’t he love me any more?’
I turned to Jenny’s shoulder and saturated her T-shirt.
That was what I’d been avoiding. The hair, the make-up, the clothes, they didn’t cover up the real me, the me that Mark had spent ten years with and then decided to trade in for a cheap tennis playing tart.
‘People fall out of love, Angie,’ Jenny said, her voice thick with a few of her own tears. ‘It’s happened to all of us, it’s just going to be a bit of a shock to the system because, well, most people go through it before they get to twenty-seven. You’ll be OK though, look at what you’ve already achieved.’
‘Twenty-six!’ I bawled, grabbing the beer back and gesticulating wildly with the bottle. It made a brilliant prop. ‘And what exactly have I achieved? Mark had known me for ten years and he couldn’t love me. Anyone I meet is going to sit down, talk to me for ten minutes and come to the same conclusions he did, new hair or not.’
‘That’s not true,’ Jenny said. ‘Did that guy the other night only ask you out because of your hair?’
‘He probably thinks I’m a prostitute like the one in the park. Or at least a piss-head English girl on holiday who will be an easy shag.’
‘And what did you think about him?’ Jenny snatched my beer back again, trying to avoid spillage.
‘I thought he was lovely.’
Jenny gave me the look.
‘And really hot. And probably quite rich.’
‘And you didn’t think about hooking up with him?’ she asked, raising an eyebrow.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I suppose I did. And you told me to!’
‘There you go,’ she said. ‘Maybe he was just thinking, I’d like to get this girl into bed, but you were thinking the same thing! You weren’t thinking about marrying him, you just wanted to get laid. That is allowed, you know.’
I was thinking about marrying him a bit, I thought to myself. Probably best not to share that right now.
‘But I, I wouldn’t know how to just “get laid”,’ I panicked, realizing she was right. ‘Me and Mark were just awful in the bedroom, I just thought it wasn’t the most important thing. What am I supposed to do now I’ve got to do it with other people?’
‘Hey, you don’t know that you were awful,’ Jenny pointed at me, turning serious. ‘A workman is only as good as his tools and, sorry, but if he was getting it from someone else, how were you supposed to keep it going? And FYI, it’s totally that important.’
I thought about it for a second. It made sense. Mark hadn’t even really tried to get me into bed for months, and even though I knew why, that didn’t make me feel better about having to get into bed with anyone else.
‘But what if he fell out of love with me because I was so bad in bed?’ I went through a mental replay of our last few half-arsed fumblings.
‘Then maybe, maybe, a little more experience will help, if that was a contributing factor,’ Jenny said. ‘And after ten years together, if that’s why he cheated then he’s even lower scum than I have him down for right now. The bottom line is, you might never know why he did what he did but you do need to own up to the fact that you’re single now and make that work for you.’
‘How?’ I sighed. And how could the pizza be all gone already? ‘I’ve never had to be single before.’
‘You’d never been to New York before but you’re making that work,’ Jenny said, standing up and vanishing into the freezer. She stood up, displaying a tub of Ben & Jerry’s. Truly she had all the answers. ‘And you’ll make this work. If you have to sit in the apartment and cry for a month, I’ll come home with ice cream every day. If you want to go fuck every man on Wall Street, I’ll come home every night with condoms. And earplugs. But you will find a way to deal with it.’
I gratefully took a spoon and plunged into the ice cream. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered and promptly burst into tears.
‘Hey,’ Jenny rested my head on her shoulder. ‘Just so you know, they were pretty extreme examples. I’m going to go roommate from hell on your ass if you really do start bringing every guy in New York home.’
‘I don’t think I’d be a very good slut. Look at the state of me, I’m supposed to be going on my first date in ten years in, what, three hours? And I’m sat here full of pizza and beer, sobbing on your shoulder about being crap in bed.’
‘Shit girl!’ Jenny pulled the beer out of my hand again. This was getting annoying. ‘You’re going to go on the best date anyone ever had, and do not worry. Gina might not be here but I’m kinda an amazing stylist myself. Give me an hour and you will look the absolute shit.’
‘Just clean and without pizza sauce around my mouth would be good right now,’ I muttered catching sight of myself in the mirror.
The wealth of taxies running past our block had thinned out by the time I emerged onto Lexington looking if not the shit then not quite as shit as I had looked an hour or so ago, so I started walking. I couldn’t believe I was going on a date. With a beautiful man. In a beautiful pink, silk Marc by Marc Jacobs halter dress. With a smug little smile on my face that was growing every second. And I couldn’t believe I’d agreed to meet Alex on Saturday night. Was it really tacky to accept a date with someone when you had another date already lined up? And I’d completely forgotten all of Erin’s advice, I hadn’t been on a date since Mark had taken me to see Speed 2 (and I’m not sure that counted as a date, Mark actually watched every second of the film from start to finish), and here I was strutting down the street in New York on my way to dinner with a gorgeous, rich banker. But instead of visualizing myself and Tyler sharing a joke and a bottle of red, all I could see was Mark and that slag laughing theatrically together, holding hands and reading home décor magazines. I fumbled around in my (divine) handbag until I found the crappy old mobile phone Jenny had loaned me and dialled Erin’s number.
‘Erin White.’
‘Hi, Erin? It’s Angela Clark?’
‘Hey,
