All three of them stare at me with raised eyebrows and amused faces.
“Well, I wonder who arranged that?” Seren smirks playfully.
Tim pretends to tap his chin in thought. “Could it be the gorgeous chef who clearly wants to get into Tilly’s pants?”
“Either way,” Vi says, “it’s saved you some cash, so now you have no excuse. You’re coming with us!”
Seren, Tim and Vi drag me to a karaoke bar on the edge of town. Apparently, it’s the place to be if you want cheap drinks and off-key music. I sit on a sticky wooden chair at a sticky wooden table,sipping my vodka and Diet Coke from a plastic cup while the other three flick through the songbook, making their selections. I’m even more on edge now that I’m out in such a crowded place, and my anxiety peaks when I feel myself starting to spiral with dark thoughts.
“What are you going to sing, Til?” Seren calls across the man belting out ‘Mr Brightside’. Badly.
“Oh God, I’m not singing!”
The thought of me going up onto a stage is ludicrous. All those eyes on me? I would probably pass out. Put me in front of an assembly of two hundred and fifty children? No problem. I’m Mrs Simmons then, a completely different person. Mrs Simmons is confident, take-no-prisoners, not afraid to make a fool of herself if necessary. But outside of school, I’m just Matilda. Lonely, sad, worthless Matilda.
“You sing all the time in school,” Tim points out.
“I don’t think the people here want to listen to me sing ‘He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands’” I joke humourlessly.
The others continue the search for the perfect song while I sit and people-watch. Around me are dozens of beautiful, confident people, all having a good time without a care in the world. Some dance, some sing along to the music, others flirt with each other.
You don’t belong here. You stick out like a sore thumb.
There’s a group of girls standing near the bar, all thin and tanned and primped within an inch of their lives. They’re laughing at something the blonde one has said.
They’re laughing at you.
I look around again and see a couple sitting at a table not far from ours. The woman is gorgeous, her black hair cut just above her shoulder and super-straight. Her dress fits her perfectly, showing off an hourglass figure I can only dream of having. The man wears a short-sleeved grey shirt with the top couple ofbuttons undone. They’re deep in conversation, the girl looking away coyly while he looks at her with such intensity I fear he’ll burn holes in her flawless skin. He reaches out and strokes her arm with his finger gently.
You’ll never have that. No one will ever look at you that way.
I look away from the couple with tears in my eyes.
You don’t deserve to be happy when you make everyone else so miserable.
I look towards my co-workers, the people who I would love to call friends but can’t because I know the affection I feel for them is one-sided.
“I’m just going for some fresh air,” I say to no one in particular.
No one hears me, and nor does anyone notice me stand and walk away. I weave my way through the other people, my head low so they can’t see the tears starting to fall. I don’t want to be another crying drunk girl someone has to take responsibility for. I slip through the front door, past the bouncer and around to the side of the bar. I lean against the wall, checking no one is around to see me, and break down.
You’ve always been the problem.
They would all be better off if you weren’t around.
All of it’s true. I fail at everything, and others suffer because of it. I’m a terrible friend, a terrible daughter, a terrible teacher, and I was a terrible wife.
I look down at myself, and my gaze focuses on all of my physical flaws. I look at them one after another, and each time my focus shifts, I feel my heart cracking a little bit more. I have absolutely nothing to offer anyone. It would be a kindness to end things now. A kindness to others, as they wouldn’t have to tolerate me anymore. A kindness to myself because then myexcruciating pain would finally be over.
You should do it.
Now would be the ideal time to slip away, while everyone’s busy. There’s no one to notice I’m gone, not that they’d care if they did notice. Vi, Tim and Seren are probably on stage having the time of their lives without me. Ivy is in Edinburgh with no idea I’m even out tonight. My mum is in Spain living her own life with her new husband. And Connor will still be at work, assuming I’m out having fun.
I’ve had thoughts of ending things before, but I’ve always been too much of a coward to follow it through. That’s another character flaw to add to the list. Wimp? Check. But now, with several drinks in my system, I’m feeling braver. I feel ready to finally do the right thing.
Tears fall from my eyes again as I try to form a plan. I turn off my phone, deciding that I don’t want anything to distract me last minute or to be tempted to call someone. I get a flash of guilt when I remember Connor’s words a few weeks ago:‘I’ve promised you that I will always listen to you and never judge you. I need you to promise me in return that you’ll talk to me when you feel low so I can keep you safe. Shout through the walls, phone me, send me a damn carrier pigeon, I don’t care as long as you tell me. Promise me?’I made a promise to let him help me if I felt this way again. But the only way to help me now is to let it all end so I can finally be at peace. Besides, he’s too many walls away to shout, my phone is turned off and there are no pigeons around to carry a message, sotechnicallyI’m not breaking a promise.
Stop worrying about it, he probably won’t remember anything about that conversation now anyway. He was just trying to make you stop crying.
