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I remember once, the comedian Russell Kane saying everyone at some point has a kitchen-floor reset. Where they find themselves on the floor, a crumpled mess, crying, feeling as though they’ll never, ever recover. Rock bottom. And that’s what I feel right now.
I tried to make a pavlova. I woke to a silent house, stood in the quiet of a new morning, then I thought, I’ll make a pavlova. I’ll make a giant wispy pavlova like I saw on Food Network last week. I’ll decorate it with loads of berries, lose myself to the project of it all. Distract myself,immersemyself. But as the food mixer whipped on, tears built up in me, like water in a hose, and I slumped against the counter and cried.
And now the mixer above my head continues to whir, like a dutiful pet, and I sit in the dark kitchen as the sun tries to make itself known behind the blinds I’ve yet to open, sobbing. I don’t know where Ralph and Cate are. Ralph’s probably at work, Cate, at yoga.
I’m angry at Chloe. But more so, at myself. For turning on poor Jack, the only person who has completely stood by me, my trust, slowly eroded by Owen, and I couldn’t even see it. And he’s leaving. He’s leaving and I’m here alone, with a bowl of egg whites. Alone, alone, alone.
I hear the kitchen door click, and although a part of me wants to scrabble up to my feet, proclaim to whoever it is, ‘I’M FINE!’, I don’t move. Because I’m not. I’m not fine. I’m not bloody fine.
‘Millie?’ The under-cupboard lights flick on and Cate stands between the counters of the kitchen and looks down at me. ‘Oh my God.Millie?’
She clicks off the whisk above my head. I’d told Cate and Ralph everything last night, when I got home. I’d talked so much, for so long, my words starting to slow, to slur, that I’d fallen asleep on the sofa. Ralph had covered me with a blanket and Cate had said gently, ‘We’ll talk tomorrow,’ and clicked off the floor lamp.
‘Baking disaster?’ Cate asks, worriedly.
I shake my head. ‘A me disaster,’ I say. ‘Aneverythingdisaster. I am a disaster.’
‘Don’t say that,’ comes a voice.
From behind Cate, footsteps scrape against the kitchen tiles. Black chunky Doc Martens, red laces, thick, black, diamond-patterned tights .?.?. My eyes drift up to meet hers. ‘Oh my God, Alexis.’
Alexis’s round, blue eyes are full of tears. ‘Oh, Millie. I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I’mso sorry.’
And then both of us burst into tears. Alexis hides hers behind her hands, like a mask.
‘Oh, this is good!’ Cate is saying, clapping her hands together. ‘This is really, really good! We all need to cry and let it all out. And then we can talk. Ralph?Ralph!’
Ralph comes rushing in from outside. ‘Sorry, but someone is mixing the recycling again, in the bin store—’
‘Sod the bins. Did you check the whereabouts of that Starbucks order?’
‘Oh. No,’ he says, fishing out his phone. ‘Did you do it on my Deliveroo? But, er, Cate, I’m not sure coffee cake really falls under alkaline—’
‘Cake, Ralph,’ is all Cate says. ‘You’re lovely, but if I hear the word alkaline again .?.?.’
Ralph smiles, defeatedly.
‘I’m having my cake. Gall stones or not.’
‘Gall stones or not,’ he repeats and he says it with such warmth, it almost sounds romantic.
After ten minutes, Ralph has flicked the lights on, opened the blinds, and put soft music on. Some sort of weird, echoing Sireny tune. Ralph always finds obscure artists at folk festivals and buys their home-made CDs. I found Cate listening to one last week, as she brushed on an avocado face mask.
I sit at the breakfast bar, between my two best friends – between Cate and Alexis – and I feel held.
Ralph spoons the over-whipped egg white mixture onto a baking tray. I have no idea if it’s even salvageable, but he’s going to try, and if not, it’s going into the compost bin outside apparently, which Ralph seems equally excited about. ‘It’s always interesting seeing how long sugar keeps things preserved for.’
‘Cate called me last night,’ says Alexis, fiddling with the hem of her chunky-knit black jumper. ‘I’ve been wanting to .?.?. ring you. But, anyway, Cate picked me up this morning and .?.?. Millie, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I’m a stubborn little fuck.’
‘You’re not a stubborn fuck,’ I say. Because it doesn’t matter. All that matters is she’s here now, when I need her. And I have missed her. Regardless of everything, I have missed her so much.
‘I’ve been in a rotten place, Millie. Like .?.?. so rotten.’
‘I – I had no idea. You never said—’
‘I know.’ Alexis sniffs deeply, as it to stop tears falling, keep her chest open and puffed up, shoulders strong, as always. ‘But, even I had no idea. Until your emails. And then everything just .?.?. came into focus. Horrible, horrible bloody focus.’
