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‘Yes. We don’t enjoy the same things. I like to go drinking and party with my friends and you like to stay in and cook. I’m a big adventurer and you’re more of a home bird.’
‘Am I?’
Mum sat deadly still, listening intently.
‘I want more out of life and you’re happy where you are.’
George paused as I caught my breath. A simple home bird with no ambition? This was a very strange apology call. I was too shocked to think. What did he mean?
‘But I love our adventures?’ I blurted. ‘We’ve only just come back from Venice?’
‘I don’t mean a weekend in Italy, Hols; I mean the big life adventure. Working in America, having four kids, travelling the world – really going places as a power couple.’
Mum put the bacon sandwich down, while her eyebrows did their thing.
‘Four kids?’ I repeated, in a daze.
‘Yeah, maybe. Four, five? I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have, but we just aren’t on the same page anymore. We don’t have the same levels.’
‘It sounds like you don’t think I’m good enough for you?’ I said, softly. ‘I’ve got loads of levels.’
‘I don’t think we can make each other happy,’ George said quietly.
‘But I am happy? You do make me happy? Well, you did until yesterday.’
George took a deep breath and tried again. ‘I’m just not sure howI feelanymore.’
‘Oh.’ I slumped against my pillow. ‘I see.’
But I didn’t see. My brain couldn’t compute what was being said. My entire future was slipping through my fingers and I wanted to fix it quick, to say the right words to make it stop, to make him change his mind. But my mind was blank. I was so confused.
‘I just… why now? I’ve always been the same. Did I do something wrong? Have you met someone else?’
‘Of course not. I can’t believe you’d even think that,’ George replied hotly.
‘Sorry,’ I mumbled, ‘it feels so sudden, yet so definite. So final. I can’t believe you really mean it. We were getting married. Yesterday. Everything was planned.’
‘I know,’ George paused. ‘I’m so sorry, Holly. I don’t know what else to say.’
Neither did I. We’d had it all mapped out. Not just the wedding, but the rest of our lives.
Eight
Two months later. 10th November
I had my head under the duvet and had decided this was where I’d be living from now on. It had been raining non-stop for days and it felt good to be safely cocooned in my old bedroom, in the house where I grew up, with the heating on full blast. Hidden away from having to explain the scrambled mess that was now my reality. It had been two months since the wedding and the only indicator of days going by were Mum and Dad bringing in food at regular intervals and opening and closing the curtains with gentle smiles. Mum had taken to making me shower at least once every twenty-four hours and that was about as much as I could cope with. My new life parameters consisted entirely of my childhood bed, where my body lay both empty and heavy and my heart was broken. My phone played its familiar tune from underneath my pillow and the sound cut through the nothingness and twisted my stomach. I couldn’t keep going round and round in circles on phone calls with George. He’d made his decision, for now at least, and there was no turning back. I slid my phone out to turn it off and just about stopped myself hitting the red button. It wasn’t George this time. It was Margot. Oh God. She must be chasing for payment. Or maybe checking when I’d be back at work. How could I ever set foot in the bistro again? Knowing that it had been polished and preened for my wedding breakfast, lovingly decorated in flowers by my mum, a delicious, five-course feast prepared by Margot. An entire restaurant sat ready and waiting for guests that never came. To celebrate the wedding that didn’t happen. Food left uneaten and bottles of Champagne left un-popped. A forever reminder of George’s rejection. The thought of it made me feel physically sick. I tapped the green button and held the phone to my ear.
‘Hi, Margot,’ I said quietly.
‘BonjourHolly,’ she said, ‘ça va?’
‘Terrible,’ I said, taking a deep breath. ‘I’m so sorry, I know I said I’d be back by now, but I need more time. I haven’t been out for days and I just don’t think I can face walking into the bistro yet…’ I held my breath as tears silently rolled down my face.
‘You haven’t been out? Didn’t I see you in a nightclub last night on Instagram?’ Margot asked, perplexed.
‘Did you? Oh. That.’ I said, slightly embarrassed. I must have forgotten to set Stories to ‘George only’. ‘No, it was me holding a glass of Champagne up to the TV. I cropped it to look like I was at a party.’
‘I don’t understand?’
