I put my phone down, feeling much better. Cara isright.I must stop feeling guilty and worried for Cordelia. I should be livid instead. Technically, they accused me of libel. Technically, I could sue. Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll sue.
I start googling “how to sue people who accuse you of selling a story to the press” and then I realize I’m losing my mind.
I close my eyes, throwing my phone away from me across the sofa.
It’s a mistake to be on my own today. I should have stayed at home with Mum and Dad. At least I’d have had some company. The flat is so quiet. I can’t bring myself to go into the office (CUPBOARD) and do any work. I’m not in the right headspace yet.
I’m cheered by the thought of Cara’s party tomorrow. That’s something. It’ll be fun. Maybe I’ll meet someone. Maybe we’ll kiss at midnight. I wonder if Tom will kiss anyone at midnight. Oh, my God, he will, won’t he? He’ll be at a WEDDING on NEW YEAR’S EVE. Everyone kisses at midnight at a wedding on New Year’s Eve. It’s the most romantic setting to be in. Georgia will be there! She’ll be looking to kiss him. He’ll be drunk and happy after his little sister’s nuptials. She’ll look beautiful in her designer dress and towering heels! Why wouldn’t he kiss her? I mean, look at her! She’s gorgeous! Anyone would kiss her!
I bury my head in my hands, begging my brain to SHUT UP. I’m better than this. I’m not going to sit around feeling sorry for myself and torturing myself with scenarios that I’m making up in my head.
I push myself up off the sofa and decide that the best thing to do right now is to get into my gym gear. I don’t know what I’ll do once I’m in it, but it’s a start.
I pull on my leggings and a baggy T-shirt, tie up my hair, and, amusing myself, put on a neon-green headband that I find flitting about my sock drawer, purchased back at university whenI went to an eighties disco fancy-dress night. I look in the mirror and start pretending to box the air.
“Boom!” I say, hopping from foot to foot, punching forward. “Boom! Boom!”
Yes. I’m feeling it now. I’m feeling ready for a fresh start. New clients, new boyfriends. This year is going to be fantastic! And I’m going to be so healthy, too. I’m going to get fit! I’m going to eat better! I’m going to be positive and happy for people. I’m happy for my ex-boyfriend who’s getting married to the perfect woman. I’m happy for Tom and Georgia… I’m happy not to hang out with Cordelia… I’m happy…
I stop boxing the air.
No!Don’t let those thoughts come creeping in. Go away!
I get YouTube up on my TV and use the controller to type in “fun workout.” Loads of videos come up and I scroll down until I see one in which the instructor is wearing neon clothes. It’s a sign, I think, catching the reflection of my bright headband in the window. This is the video for me. I click on it and my flat is filled with a strong beat and funky music.
It turns out it’s a dance workout. It couldn’t be more perfect.
I turn the volume up super high, for once not caring what the neighbors think. I always care what everyone thinks. This coming year, I’m going to care whatIthink. I start bopping to the music, greatly enjoying the instructor’s enthusiasm and his bright getup.
“We’re going to have so much fun!” he yells, from the dance studio he appears to be in.
“Yes, we are!” I shout back at the screen.
“I’m going to show you how exercise doesn’t have to be boring!”
“Great!”
“Are you ready to feel the burn?”
“I’m ready for the burn!”
“LET’S GO!”
“OMG, LET’S GO!”
He starts off with a simple walking-on-the-spot to warm up. I can do that. It’s not a problem. This is fun. I walk on the spot, wiggling my hips, to “Jump (For My Love).” Absolute classic. We move into the side step. Easy. I’m smashing this workout. We’re getting the arms involved now, reaching over the opposite side as we step.
“This is great!” I yell at the instructor, but he’s too busy going “And arms! And arms! And reach! And reach!” to care.
And also he’s on TV and can’t hear me.
The track changes to “Flashdance… What a Feeling.”
“Aclassic!” I cheer.
The instructor starts with some lunges to match the slow buildup at the beginning of the song, and when the chorus kicks in, we’re star-jumping like no tomorrow. I decide to go a bit freestyle and let the music take over, dancing around, waving my arms in the air, shaking my bum to show that I am well and trulysassy(thank you very much, Cara), and then jumping round in a circle.
That’s when I notice the person watching me in the doorway.
