The Night That Changed Everything (23 page)

‘It's all right,' says Conor, pointing his new iPad at me, ‘I'll email you mine after I've put it on Instagram.'

I feign a punch to his arm, but it doesn't shut him up. Everyone is in hysterics now, even Uncle Pete.

‘Oh, I'm sorry I've embarrassed you, Ben,' says Mum, grabbing my tail, which I grab back with an
Oi
, pretending to be precious.

‘Yeah, he just can't
bear
the embarrassment,' shouts Conor, and the laughter redoubles, and I'm laughing too, feeling relaxed and happy for the first time in months.

‘I just thought it'd be nice for you to have something to snuggle up in,' says Mum.

‘Since you can't snuggle up to Rebecca any more,' chips in Conor, silencing the room.

‘Conor!' says Auntie Helen, slapping him with force on the back of his skull.

‘Soz, I was doing such a good job not mentioning Rebecca too.'

He receives another whack.

‘What was that for?' he protests, but Auntie Helen is back laughing at me now.

I inspect myself.

‘I'm going to pop to the shop,' I joke, breaking the tension. ‘Anyone want anything?' Everyone laughs again and normality resumes.

I decide to keep the onesie on as we settle down in front of the
EastEnders
Christmas special, but I'm not really watching.

Out of habit I check my phone but of course there is nothing, and for some reason I find myself thinking about the chip in the windscreen, and how Rebecca is so stubborn that her eyes will always be drawn to it. I've just got to accept that it's over.

‘Sorry about what I said earlier,' confides Conor as everyone else sits glued to whatever is happening in the Queen Vic. ‘Like, about Rebecca.'

‘It's OK, mate,' I say, and as the dum dum dums sound over the closing shot and the credits begin to roll, I realize that it is OK.
I'm
OK.

Not good and certainly not great, but OK, and that at least is progress.

New Year's Eve

You can't start a new chapter if you keep re-reading the last one.

I groan loudly, shove my phone under my pillow and try to go back to sleep. That's the third inspirational quote my friend Sally has sent me since I told her about me and Ben.

I never even gave her the details – I just casually slipped it in when I replied to her
Merry Christmas
round-robin text message on Christmas Day.

It was shortly after Ben rejected my call after one ring, so when my phone beeped I thought it might be him to say sorry, he was in the middle of dinner, but would call back. She must have sensed something in the tone of my reply, because now she's under the impression I need talking down from a ledge.

Unfortunately, by the time she began her touchy-feely assault, I'd already accepted her invitation to bring in the New Year at a pub in Waterloo with her and her friends.

She means well, I know. And I should be grateful – I guess I do need to get out of the house. When you're in a couple, the few days between Christmas and New Year are an excuse to sit around watching boxsets and eating cheese.

When you're single they're about feeling alone and eating cereal straight from the box.

Maybe that's just me.

Feeling too hot, I roll on to my back and kick off my quilt, sighing heavily. I might be feeling more positive about tonight if Sally hadn't also revealed that Tommy, the friend she set me up with at university, is coming. I was only seeing him for a few weeks but he was more interested in being a lad than being in a relationship, and would stand me up in favour of getting wasted in the student union. He was obviously capable of changing his ways for the right person, though: he recently got married.

Not that I care – it's just that the last thing I need right now is a reminder of another relationship I couldn't make work.

Christ almighty, maybe Sally is right. I do need an attitude transplant. She's a good person, and she's trying to cheer me up. It was lovely of her to include me in her plans. And something does need to change. Maybe I should write some New Year's resolutions.

I try to open the drawer on my bedside table but it's jammed with the crap I sweep in there every time I remember the cleaner is coming. Maybe I'll just make the list in my head.

My resolutions:

–  Sleep better. Listen to whale music?

–  Stop dropping the ball at work. Will be easier once sleeping better.

–  Stop wondering whether Ben will get in touch today. It's been two months since we broke up. Get over it.

–  Learn to cook. Something. Anything.

–  Expand my social circle.

That'll do for now.

I jump out of bed with a new determination, but pause on the landing, aware that I've a good nine hours before I'm meeting Sally.

I attempt a bath. Trying to emulate the women in adverts who look like they haven't a care in the world as soon as they lean back in the tub, I light candles and switch my radio to Magic FM.

I haven't had a bath since the time Ben convinced me it would be romantic if we had one together, I realize as I sit on the edge of the tub waiting for the water to fill.

‘She's Always a Woman to Me' by Billy Joel is playing when I finally slide my body into the hot water, and as I feel my muscles relax, I think about that bath with Ben. After gallantly offering to take the tap end, he couldn't find a comfortable way to position his neck. He ended up lying diagonally, and I had to turn on my side and hold his ankles so I didn't go under. We ended up in hysterics as we tried to manoeuvre ourselves into a comfortable position, eventually settling with our heads at the same end, spooning, with his face squashed into the back of my head.

‘Told you this would be romantic,' Ben said after a few moments, which set us off again.

Yep, this is much easier. Comfortable, relaxing, and . . . kind of boring.

The last straw is when Céline Dion comes on.

Shrugging my arms into my bathrobe, I head through to make coffee, which I'm spitting into the sink ten minutes later. How can anyone mess up coffee?

I've watched Ben do it a thousand times. Three scoops into the cafetière, fill it with hot water, plunge, pour, enjoy a delicious smooth brew.

So how come it tastes like dirty bathwater when I do it? I pour the rest of the murky brown liquid down the drain then drop the mug with a clang. The handle breaks off. Bollocks.

I pour myself a whisky instead – it's a special occasion after all – and scour the kitchen for food.

Zero, zilch, zip, nada, nothing . . . feck it. I'll get dressed and go and eat at Arch 13. It'll be quiet now ahead of tonight's party so I can catch up with Jamie, and Ben won't be there until later.

The bar is virtually empty when I arrive but Jamie doesn't hear me approach. I climb on to a stool as he stands with his back to me, chopping a pineapple.

‘What's a girl got to do to get a drink around here?' I yell with my elbows on the bar and my chin in my hands, as if I've been there for ages.

Jamie turns around, his face breaking into a grin. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘I was really bored.'

‘Jeez, thanks,' he bites, pouring whisky into two glasses, glancing up at me as he does. ‘You look fed up.'

I answer with a shrug.

‘Cheers,' he says, sliding my drink down the bar so that I have to push my hand out to block it before it flies off the edge.

‘That was risky,' I tell him, taking a sip.

‘I trust you,' he says. ‘Now talk to me.'

‘Honestly, I'm fine. I'm just not a fan of New Year.'

‘You had a great time here last year.'

‘Yep, and I'm sure you and Ben will have a great time again tonight.' I don't mean it to come out as snarky as it does, and when Jamie looks hurt I wish I could take it back. It's not his fault.

‘That's not fair, Becs – I want you both here, and I won't pick sides.' He puts down his drink then brings his chopping board over and carries on slicing. ‘Not my fault if you want to stay in and be a martyr,' he adds, smirking playfully.

‘Oh, feck off,' I tell him, leaning over to steal a chunk of pineapple. ‘I'm not staying in, anyway – I'm going to a pub in Waterloo.'

‘With who?'

‘Remember Sally from uni?'

‘Self-help Sally?'

‘That's the one.' My stomach rumbles and I remember why I came.

Jamie goes to get some bottles to stock up so I order food from Erica, who brings it out to me worryingly quickly.

‘Enjoy,' she sings as she lays it in front of me in a manner I can only describe as apologetic.

‘For the love of God, Jamie – what is this?' I ask when he gets back.

‘Well, what did you order?' He peers at my plate.

‘The Oriental platter. But what is this specifically?' I show him the beige pastry I've bitten into, which now has brown gunk oozing from its core.

‘What does it taste like?'

‘Shit.'

‘Well then . . .'

‘Seriously – I don't even know if it's meat or something else.' I submerge it in soy sauce and toss it in my mouth, grimacing. ‘Man, I miss Ben's cooking.'

Jamie doesn't respond so I dunk another unidentifiable triangle into my sauce and meet his eyes. ‘How is Ben?'

‘Ben's good.'

Good?

‘Good?' I repeat, waiting for Jamie to give away more, without me having to ask for it. I wonder what he's been up to the past few days. Maybe he's been seeing his new girlfriend. Maybe they had a bath together. I bet it was really romantic.

‘Yep, good,' he repeats back. ‘You know Ben. Bit frustrated with work so I'm just trying to help him figure out what he should be doing.'

‘Good luck with that.' I laugh drily. That's one thing I don't miss about Ben – him coming home from work and moaning about his job every day, but doing nothing about it.

I shove my platter away, unsure whether my loss of appetite is due to the conversation or the food itself.

‘Why don't you come tonight?' Jamie pleads.

‘Ben is coming.'

‘So? I'm not saying you need to mouth-kiss him at midnight or anything. You need to find a way to be in the same room as each other, though.'

‘Why?'

Jamie looks hurt. ‘For my sake.'

I feel terrible. I haven't given nearly enough thought to how this must be affecting him. His friends are everything to him.

‘Sorry,' I say. ‘We will. Just not tonight.'

‘Do you want another drink,' he says. ‘Or are you heading off?'

I peer reluctantly out at the windy forecourt then hold out my glass. ‘What time is it?'

He glances at the clock. ‘Five o'clock.'

‘Plenty of time. Make it a large.'

Sally and her friends are already at the bar in Waterloo. They're sitting in a window seat, so I sneak up and press my face against the glass grotesquely, knocking. Sally jumps a little, then laughs.

‘Tenner, please,' the doorman barks.

‘Holy moly!' I exclaim, reaching in my bag for my purse. It's a less-than-average pub, and usually free to get in.

He grunts. ‘New Year's.'

‘Helllooooooooooooo,' I greet Sally's gang loudly as I walk in. The smiles freeze on all their faces. ‘Sorry I'm so late.'

‘Hi,' says Sally, getting up to hug me. Good old Sally. A big advocate of the healing power of the hug. ‘Um, are you OK?'

‘Great. Super-duper, in fact. Lovely day, isn't it?' I point outside. ‘Excuse my hair, by the way – it's a little wind-swept.' And come to think of it, I don't remember brushing it when I nipped back to get changed. I remember pouring myself a whisky, though. And another.

‘All right, Rebecca?' Tommy says unsurely as he stands to kiss my cheek. ‘How are you?'

‘More to the point,' Sally interrupts, ‘how drunk are you?'

‘I'm not drunk.'

I'm shit-faced. But though I may not have brushed my hair, I'm no longer wondering whether Ben will get in touch today, so, you know, swings and roundabouts.

‘I'll get you some water,' says Sally. ‘Wait here.'

‘Where would I go?' I call after her, then turn to Tommy. ‘You got married,' I say, holding Sally's white wine in the air. Tommy hasn't changed – he's a rugby boy, and looks it, but with a soft, cuddly quality about him.

‘I'm aware.' He clinks his beer bottle against the side of the glass I've tilted towards him, and I can tell he's trying not to laugh.

‘Contratolshions.'

‘You mean congratulations?'

‘What I said.'

‘Drink this.' Sally is back with a pint glass.

‘Only if it's gin,' I joke. Neither of them laughs. ‘I don't need water,' I insist, but as I say it, the room revolves and suddenly I'm thirsty as hell, like I possibly might die if I don't drink the water.

‘Fine,' I say, taking the glass nobly. ‘If it'll make you happy.'

I down it, and for a horrible moment I think I'm going to throw it back up, but I just hiccup.

We're all silent for a minute or two – even their friends who have been chatting amongst themselves up until this point – until Sally says,
Hold your breath
, and I realize I'm still hiccupping.

‘Everything OK?' shouts the barmaid collecting glasses from the next table. It's loud in here, but with talking and clinking rather than music or fun.

‘Fine, thanks,' Tommy says. ‘Could I order some chips, please?'

The barmaid nods and walks away.

‘Rebecca?' Sally takes my hands in hers, stroking my palms with her thumbs. ‘Is this why Ben left you? Because of your drinking?'

‘
What?
No,' I say. ‘And he didn't leave me. I threw him out.'