Emma looked at the sofa like it was diseased. ‘Jesus… and, shit, wasn’t that blanket on there? That took you forever!’
‘I know,’ I said, and burst into tears again. It just all crashed down on me in another relentless wave. It wasn’t about the time I’d wasted on the blanket. It was about the time I’d wasted on Richard. Three years of my life, gone.
Emma left her armchair and came over to hug me tightly. ‘It’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but he’s the one who’s a dipshit. You did nothing wrong and he never deserved you anyway. I’m just sorry you had to see… that.’ I felt her shudder theatrically and my sobs turned into a choked giggle.
‘Let me get you a glass and some tissues.’ Emma pulled back, looking at me intently, her witchy green eyes flashing. ‘And also a courgette and some nails – an aubergine would also work. Or a baby carrot.’
‘You are not hexing him,’ I spluttered, welcoming the laughter as it broke apart the lump in my chest.
Emma pulled a thoughtful face. ‘Hmm… okay. To be fair, I doubt you have any black candles or spicy peppers here. But I owe him at least one tiny hex, like, may he always fail to spot the speed camera, or… run out of toilet paper after the shops have shut.’
I giggled and she fetched some glasses with ice and poured us vodka and lemonades. Heavy on the vodka – in that the lemonade was in a separate, unopened can, which we both ignored. At least the ice made it easier to get down me.
‘Is that his stuff, in the bags?’ Emma asked, glancing at the bulging black sacks.
‘It’s stuff I made for him.’ I downed the chilly vodka and refilled my glass. The ice had barely melted. ‘I don’t want to look at it any more. Especially not the blanket.’
‘There’s so much of it though…’ Emma trailed off doubtfully. ‘That’s a lot of work. You sure you just want to bin it? I could always store it for you for a while until you’ve had time to process and then you can deal with it?’
It was tempting, but I shook my head. ‘I’d know it was there. I just need it gone. Out of my life for good.’ I sniffed and looked into the pink depths of my glass. ‘I thought I was going to marry him, Emma. I thought he was it, you know?’
I felt cold inside, suddenly rootless and empty. The future I’d imagined with Richard was just… gone. There was nothing in its place. I kept accidentally thinking about him because he was in all parts of my life – memories and plans and every inch of the present. It all now had a Richard-shaped hole torn through it. My insides cramped in misery every time I spotted something that reminded me of him and just then, that was everything. From the fruit bowl we’d carted back from a Spanish holiday, to the way he arranged all the shoes upside down by the door, even the weird little white dab of gloss on the floor where we’d painted the room together. Richard was everywhere and yet his absence felt like it would crush me. Yet every time I thought of the dreams I’d had for our future, the image of our smiling faces at a wedding, a christening… it was all replaced by the visual of him with that woman on our sofa.
‘I know… I’m sorry.’ Emma perched on the side of my chair with a sigh and let me cuddle her, wrapping her arms over my back. ‘I think I’m just… you put so much work into that stuff and it just breaks my heart to see you throwing it away like it’s worthless. He’s the worthless one. You’re worth like… a million quid. A billion.’
Even as I felt gaping holes open up around me, I realised she had a point. At least about the crochet. It wasn’t worthless and it would be a waste to throw it all away. I’d loved making every single piece and just because I didn’t want to see them any more, that didn’t mean they deserved to be mulched up with old tea bags and cold beans, then buried in a landfill. The idea of it made my chest hurt even more than the loss of Richard on its own. At least this pain I could do something about.
‘I’ll take them to the charity shop,’ I said decisively, a tiny bit of future planning reclaimed. ‘In the morning. They deserve a fresh start.’
‘Yeah…’ Emma squeezed me tighter. ‘Fresh starts all round, okay? And if you change your mind about that hex… just let me know and I’ll pop to Tesco for a cocktail sausage.’
I snorted into her shoulder and Emma giggled. I felt lighter. Maybe it was the vodka or maybe it was the company, but suddenly it didn’t feel like the end of the world any more. It just felt like what it was, the end of a very shitty day. Still not great, but not insurmountable either.
‘You want to order pizza? My treat?’ Emma asked, getting her phone out. ‘That place that keeps shutting down and then reappearing at another address is back on the apps now.’
I sniffed. ‘Good… I like their garlic bread.’
‘It is great – and filthy, I’ll get double.’
Emma tapped at her phone, wandering around the stark flat and humming. I knew that was her way of subtly breaking up the ‘bad energy’. If she had her way, no doubt she’d be purging Richard’s essence with herbal smoke and her massive old school bell. Out, foul demon! Out!
I dabbed at my face with a tissue and told myself that I was going to be fine. It was just a break-up, an ugly one but still. No one had died. This was nothing like losing Aunt Lou to the fucking evil bitch that was breast cancer. That had shaken my foundations, this was just a broken window. One I could board over and carry on, patching up the Richard-shaped holes with new plans and new people.
That thought brought me to the realisation that my actual home was probably not going to be mine for much longer. God, what were we going to do about this place? We split the rent and I’d never be able to afford it on my own. I’d have to move. Richard was going to want to come by for his stuff and I’d have to see him again. This wasn’t over just because he’d fled the scene of the crime. All the messy loose ends were still dangling all over the place.
I felt a fresh wave of pain as I thought of what it would be like to tell my parents. Mum was expecting Richard to propose to me soon. She probably had a little schedule in her head already – engagement party, dress shopping, hen do, wedding, the inevitable baby shower. She’d probably already come up with signature cocktails for our first five anniversaries and had Dad draw up plans for a play area in their garden.
Now it would all crumble in front of her. I’d have to start over again, only with Mum’s warnings about me ‘getting on in years’ coming more frequently and at a higher pitch. I wasn’t following the timeline she’d lived by. I was falling behind her. At my age she’d already been married, had me. I was already twenty-seven, a hop, skip and a jump from the big three-oh. How much time did I have left? I’d been in the home stretch of this race, still behind but a respectable second, and suddenly I’d whacked right into a fence, lost my jockey and been left in the dust. Behind the scenes there was probably someone loading a shotgun, ready to put me out of my misery.
‘Hey,’ Emma said, snapping me out of my dire imaginings before I could be packed off to the glue factory. ‘It’s going to be all right. Trust me. You can do so much better than him.’
I smiled, trying to be brave, but inside I wasn’t sure. My parents loved Richard. He was the right combination of dynamic and humble, hands-on and ambitious. He was attractive and generous and… and I’d walked in on him having sex with someone else on my sofa. That was really the only fact that mattered now, wasn’t it?
What was I going to tell Mum and Dad? Not the truth, God no. Talk about sex with my parents? I’d rather tell them Richard joined the foreign legion or died in a freak golfing accident.
I decided not to think any more. The vodka was really helpful for that, at least. Emma helped me put new bedding on the guest bed – because like hell was I using the main bedroom. Then we put onDinnerladiesand had a floor picnic. We ate a lot of dubious pizza and overpriced ice cream and Emma took out her handbag-sized tarot deck and read my fortune for me. Okay, so she made most of it up, but it made me laugh and that was the point. According to her fortune for Richard, by the end of autumn he’d be awash with regrets and defeated by a dark fairy queen with blood-red nails like crow talons. I’d prefer him to be balding and eaten by bears to be honest. Apparently, there wasn’t a card for that. Still, by the time Emma left, I was giggling and tipsy and ready for a good night’s sleep.
Only, within minutes, the silence in the flat was weighing heavy on me. I found the jumper I’d finished still in my tote bag and went to throw it into the rubbish sacks with the rest of the stuff. But it was so soft, and I’d worked so hard on it. I ended up carrying it with me to the tiny spare bedroom.
