Page 105 of Who’s That Girl?

‘Oh, yeah, we’re really close.’ She nods without hesitation. ‘I’m lucky. Some people don’t get on with their parents, they never go see them or anything, but mine are great. They’re really excited about me getting this job in London, and really supportive, but I know they miss me. And I miss them.’

‘That’s great.’ I smile, but inside I can’t help feeling saddened at how far my parents and I have drifted apart. I hardly ring them these days, and it’s ages since I last saw them. Guilt tugs as I consider how I’ve neglected them. I think about Mum calling me in the car, asking about Miles. She still worries about me, even now, even if she has a funny way of showing it. That’s just Mum.

‘Anyway, where were we?’ Lottie looks at me expectantly.

‘Oh … um.’ I try quickly gathering my thoughts, remembering our conversation about Billy Romani, about what I wanted to say, all the words of advice. There’s so much, and yet part of me can’t help thinking it’s too late now. The moment’s gone and so instead I think of the advice I read earlier from the self-help book on Amazon.

‘At first you will experience disbelief and shock about what’s just happened,’ I opine. ‘But that’s normal after a break-up. Or encounter,’ I add tactfully.

‘Says who?’ she says, a tad sulkily.

‘I read about it in this really good book about break-ups,’ I explain. ‘In fact I was going to buy it today, but I got side-tracked.’

‘Why were you going to buy it?’ She frowns.

I hesitate. I don’t particularly want to talk about it. But then again, what the hell. ‘Because I just broke up with my boyfriend,’ I confess. Now I’m the one hugging my knees to my chest and staring at the ground.

‘You have a boyfriend?’ She sounds shocked.

‘Did,’ I correct her.

‘Wow.’ She looks astonished. ‘I mean … I just thought cos you’re older you were probably divorced.’

‘Divorced?’ I gasp. I thought it was bad enough my mother wanting me to be married, but now my younger self has got me pegged as a divorcee. Then again, I always did have a big mouth and never thought before I opened it.

‘Well, you weren’t wearing a ring,’ she explains, looking remorseful.

‘No, I’m not divorced. Or married,’ I add, just to make it clear. ‘I’m single.’

The irony isn’t lost on me. Here we are, sitting side by side, and ten years apart, both single and both talking about men.

Or lack of.

Some things never really change, do they? Except of course now I’m older and more mature and I read self-help books so I know how to deal with these things, I tell myself quickly, relieved I’m not the sobbing wreck I once was.

‘God, I’m sorry,’ says Lottie. ‘So what are you going to do?’

I think back to the blurb on Amazon. ‘Well, it’s important to mourn the end of a relationship, as this will allow you to move on,’ I say, quoting from memory.

Lottie tucks her hair behind her ears and frowns. ‘What does that mean?’

‘It means you have to get closure,’ I explain. I’ve read a lot about closure. Closure is a big deal in self-help books.

‘Closure?’ she repeats, as if the word’s foreign.

And I suppose it is to her, I realise. After all, at twenty-two, I had no idea about any of this stuff. Not like now, I think, feeling proud of how much I’ve grown. Growing is a big deal in self-help books too.

‘You’ll need to spend time dealing with what’s happened,’ I reflect, trying to use the benefit of hindsight. ‘But it’s going to take time, so you need to be kind to yourself, pamper yourself, spend time with your good friends.’ I’m talking about Vanessa. Even now, ten years later, she’s always been there for me, whatever’s happened. Just as she was back then. My mind flashes back to her sitting next to me on my futon, stroking my hair as I sobbed my heart out. She didn’t have to say anything. Just knowing she was there was enough. ‘But what’s really important to remember is that you can’t rush this important healing process,’ I add. I feel a beat of satisfaction. See, at least I can be of some help, give some good advice.

‘Why not?’ she demands, arching an eyebrow.

An eyebrow, I suddenly notice, that has been aggressively plucked to within an inch of its life. She must have used those tweezers I gave her, I realise somewhat regretfully. On second thoughts, it wasn’t such a good idea. I was aiming for tidy arches, not permanently surprised.

‘Because it’s a process,’ I repeat patiently.

‘Bollocks,’ she admonishes.

I look at her in shock.