I walk up the stairs to my flat without the same all-singing, all-dancing spring in my step that I had yesterday. I unlock my door, close it behind me and then slide down it until I am on the floor, hugging my knees. That’s when the tears start. Tears of hurt, tears of shock, tears of anger. I am experiencing so many powerful emotions that I was not expecting, I don’t know which one to process first. And just in case things weren’t bad enough, I’ve gone and made things much, much worse for myself by signing myself up for this trip with Danny, the new guy.
For a split second, it felt amazing to see the look on Will’s face when he realised I was taking Danny on our romantic getaway. Now that things are sinking in, I’ve realised what a terrible mistake I’ve made because it isn’t just enjoying that look on Will’s face for that moment – I actually have to spend an entire week with Danny. I’ll admit that Danny can be fun, but in short bursts. He mostly just annoys me; it’s his arrogant confidence. He’s so sure of himself. He doesn’t give a shit what people think and for some reason that annoys me too. The thing is, I can’t back out now. If I do, Will has won. I want to teach him a lesson, I want him worrying about what’s going on, but being powerless to know. If I don’t go, he’ll know that I’m still just hanging around, alone and miserable. He’ll know that I’m upset, but I want him to think that I’m expressing my sadness by shagging the hot new guy, at the very least.
I can’t believe that all this time he’s still been with his wife. Actually with his wife. Living with her, loving her, knocking her up! I feel so monumentally stupid for believing they weren’t together any more.
Here I am, sat on the floor crying my eyes out all while he’s at the hospital playing happy families. He has ruined my life, and I’ve let him.
I pull my handbag close to me and search around for the screwed-up piece of paper with Danny’s phone number on, to text him my address so he can pick me up in the morning.
Soon after I send it, a text comes through from Amy.
Amy: Be over with the girls in 20 mins. Xxx
I exhale deeply as I type my reply. There’s just something about committing what has happened to a sentence that makes it all the more painful. I have to constantly blink away my tears just so I can read my phone screen.
Me: OK. Will has backed out of our trip – his wife went into labour today. Xxx
Amy: That ducking count! Xxx
Amy: Soz! Autocorrect xxx
I can’t help but laugh and it feels good to smile, even if it’s only for a second. Then the wave washes over me again.
Me: Thank you. I’m still going, did a stupid thing – invited Danny the new guy from work to piss Will off. I’ll have to back out, there’s no way I can handle that. Xxx
Amy: We’ll talk tonight. Xxx
I head into my bedroom, only to be greeted by the luggage that Will bought me. Lying on top of the suitcase is the garment bag, the one with the note telling me not to open it until day seven. I unzip it and look inside to find a floor-length black dinner dress that looks awfully expensive but I couldn’t care less. I wonder what to do with it. I could throw it out the window, I could set it on fire… I could write a little love story about my relationship with Will on it and then send it to his wife. Nope, that’s not my style. I wish it were. I wish I could hurt him and ruin his life, but I’m too conscious of the other lives I’d be ruining in the process – his wife and kids don’t deserve the fallout.
There’s a note fixed to it, which I cannot resist reading.
‘For a special girl on a special night.’
I screw up the note and toss it in the direction of the bin before hanging the dress in my wardrobe. Maybe I can find a way to subtly return it to him once I’m back, in a scenario where I’m less likely to stuff it in his stupid, lying mouth. I’d do the same with his stupid, expensive luggage too, were it not too late to unpack and repack. Anyway, I can’t possible go, can I? So I’ll just sort it all tomorrow.
‘Hello,’ Amy calls out from the living room.
‘I’m in here,’ I call back, my voice cracking.
Amy walks into my bedroom and stares at me for a second.
‘I know that you are too nice to even be thinking “I told you so” but you did tell me so. I’m such an idiot.’
Amy grabs me and hugs me tightly.
‘You’re not an idiot. You’re not the first person to believe a lying, cheating bastard-man,’ she assures me, but knowing that this has happened to other people doesn’t make it any easier. ‘Listen, the girls are through there setting up, popping corks, getting the cheesy chick music on so we can have a dance – just forget about it for now and we’ll talk about it later, yeah?’
‘OK, sure,’ I reply, wiping my eyes and sucking it up a little before heading into the living room.
Unsurprisingly, Amy’s hen party had not been my idea of fun. Things didn’t get off to a great start when Amy’s cousin Jackie commented on the little bit of weight I’d lost. Amy’s horrid friend Lea obviously didn’t like this, and she started making little comments. We all got talking about the bridesmaid dresses, which only come in two sizes: eight to eighteen and twenty to twenty-six. All of the bridesmaids fell into the smaller bracket, but when I mentioned that one particular way of wearing the multi-way dresses made me look a bit busty, Lea suggested I might like to wear the bigger size – the twenty to twenty-six. I mean, I know I’m taking Will’s advice about getting into better shape, and I know that I have a fondness for baked goods, but I also know that I’m not even close to plus size and that Lea was only saying it to be a bitch. But that didn’t stop it upsetting me. Then she got on at me about being single, which is probably why the last time I saw her I was so quick to mention that Will would be coming to the wedding with me. Jesus Christ, what an idiot I was to think that would be an option. And now I’m definitely going to be going alone, and that smug bitch is going to love it.
We all exchange hugs and hellos and as Amy’s friend Sarah starts playing a CD called ‘Chick Flick Classics’ Amy shoves a glass of white wine in my hand. As I consider just how many calories are in wine, I knock it back quickly. Fuck the fucking calories.
‘Easy now,’ Amy instructs, topping up my glass while giving me a look that commands me to savour the next one.
‘What’s the matter?’ Lea asks. ‘Trouble in paradise?’
‘Not at all,’ I reply. ‘I’m just getting the party started.’
Lea nods, although she seems unconvinced.
Jackie is pouring Maltesers into a bowl. The second she puts the bowl down on the coffee table, I scoop a handful and begin eating them two or three at a time, not even swallowing the previous mouthful before loading in the next. Because I’m hungry – so so hungry – and I’m angry. I’m hangry. I feel like every delicious thing I turned down to make Will happy was a mistake and I’m going to make up for it tonight.
‘OK, something is wrong,’ Lea insists. ‘You’re eating. I thought you stopped eating because you were getting a bit shapely.’
‘All fine,’ I tell her, ignoring her fat remark.
‘Tell us about your bloke,’ Jackie insists as she eats peanut M&Ms that I hadn’t noticed were in the room, but that I’d much prefer to eat. Everyone looks at me expectantly. Amy looks anxious because she knows that I can’t answer this. As I realise I’ve finished my second glass I pour myself another and sit down next to Jackie as though I’m going to tell her all about my man, when really it’s just so I can be closer to the chocolate.
‘He’s a guy from work,’ I tell them. ‘He’s so cool and funny. I’m so lucky to have him.’
Jackie smiles and leaves it at that, but Lea persists.
‘What’s does he look like?’ she asks.
It feels like an eternity in my head, but the lie comes quickly and naturally.
‘Tall, dark and handsome,’ I reply. It’s a cliché, but it’ll do. ‘But he’s so smart and funny too. I’m a really lucky girl.’
‘All that matters is having a guy who makes you laugh,’ Amy says, changing the subject.
‘And it doesn’t hurt that my bloke is rich,’ Lea says smugly. Cash rich, but girlfriend poor, clearly.
I can’t believe I’m doing this, making up stories to keep this bitch off my back. But what else can I do? Tell the truth and watch as Lea revels in it? No, no, no. I guess I’ll just pour myself another drink.
***
‘Top night, girlies. Absolutely ace!’ Jackie’s screechy voice goes right through me. I rub my tired eyes, examining my black fingertips before realising I just rubbed eye make-up all over my face. I hold my glass up in front of my face and see that it is empty, but then I realise that the contents are all over my lap.
‘What? We’re calling it a night already?’ I ask, trying to pull myself up from the sofa but rocking back onto my bum like a Weeble.
‘It’s two a.m., babe,’ Amy says, like she’s talking to a child who doesn’t know when her bedtime is.
‘Oh,’ I reply. ‘I think I’ve had too much to drink.’
‘I think you have too.’ She laughs. ‘Let me show this lot out; we’ll get you to bed.’
‘OK,’ I reply, resting my eyes for a moment.
I can hear Amy clattering around, tidying up before I feel her hands on my shoulders.
‘Right, up we go,’ she instructs. I do as I’m told.
‘Are you leaving me?’ I ask.
‘So you can choke on your own vomit while you sleep? Nope.’
‘You’re such a good friend,’ I tell her as I attempt to gently place a hand on her face. Instead, I poke her in the eye.
Amy pulls my clothes off me, sits me down on the toilet and begins wiping off my make-up with a wipe. We hold eye contact for a moment, but as Amy smiles at me I feel my eyes well up with tears. Suddenly, I’m wailing.
‘Come on, don’t cry. I know it might not seem like it now, but it’s all going to be OK.’
‘It’s not though,’ I insist. ‘Everyone who I love leaves me. My parents are gone, you’re leaving me and now Will is gone. And I still have to work for him because I’m too poor to just quit my job.’
Amy escorts me to the sink and places a toothbrush complete with toothpaste in my hand.
‘Brush,’ she demands, so I do as I’m told. ‘Look, I might be getting married, but I’m always going to be here for you. And we can find you a new job that you love. And, OK, maybe you’ll have to back down on a few things – like backing out of the trip and admitting that you’ve split from your boyfriend and going to the wedding solo – but people will get over it. Although you really sold Danny to Lea.’
‘What do you mean?’ I mumble through a mouth full of toothpaste.
‘Spit,’ Amy instructs.
‘I said, what do you mean?’
‘When Lea continued to quiz you about this boyfriend from work that you said you were seeing, I think you described Danny…’
‘Why would you think that?’
‘Erm, because you said his name was Danny and you described him like you did to me.’
‘Oh God, what did I say?’ I ask as Amy struggles my pyjamas onto my body.
‘You said that he spent all day, every day hanging around your desk, trying to make you laugh.’
‘I’ve said that to you before,’ I remind her. ‘I complain about that all the time.’
Amy pushes me in the direction of my bed.
‘Yeah, but instead of saying it in your usual annoyed tone, you had this happy, upbeat voice going on. Just saying it in this positive way made what you usually think is a negative thing sound like a positive. Everyone though he sounded wonderful, especially when you described his looks – he sounds fit.’
Oh God, I know that I was lying, but I feel slightly pissed off at myself for giving Danny any kind of credit. It annoys me to speak positively about him out loud because if he knew, his ego would grow even bigger.
‘Where’s your phone?’ Amy asks. ‘I’ll put it on charge for you.’
Probably where I was sitting in the living room.
From the comfort of my bed, I glance over at my packed bags. Unpacking them tomorrow is going to break my heart and I feel my eyes fill with tears again.
‘Want to check it before bed?’ Amy asks, tossing me my phone, which I do not catch.
I pick it up from where it landed and unlock it to see that my text thread with Will is open. Brilliant, I sent him six messages telling him how upset I am. I can see that as the night went on I was getting more drunk and more upset. My last message told him I ‘feel dick’, which I will imagine is AutoCorrect’s take on ‘feel sick’. Perfect. I’m not surprised he hasn’t replied.
Amy puts my phone on charge and hops in bed next to me.
‘I’ll help you figure everything out in the morning, when you’re sober, I promise. OK?’
I nod my head.
‘And I’m sleeping in here with you tonight,’ she insists. ‘I’ll keep an eye on you; just try to relax.’
‘OK, thank you,’ I reply soppily, snuggling up in my bed.
‘I love you, babe.’
‘I love you too,’ I tell her, just as I feel my eyes getting heavy. I’ll sleep this off and then in the morning, with a clear head, I’ll be able to figure everything out.