Page 56 of The Key to My Heart

‘I feel like one day I woke up,’ I continue, ‘and my life was taken away from me. I was happy. I had Russ. I had Edie. I had –that.’I gesture to the friends, all giggles, all chat and inside jokes, all freedom. ‘I had mylife.I had it all to come. And then it was – gone. All of it. And so was I.’

‘And now you feel like you’re trying to get back to it,’ says Joe, softly.

‘Yes,’ I say, wiping away more tears. ‘And I can’t go back. Because he’s gone. But I’m also petrified of moving forward, so what do I do? And nobody really understands that part. They’re all about moving on – God, every inspirational quote is aboutmoving on, and forging a new life and … I just want to say:I liked my old one actually. Because I was really happy there, so what do you say to that? And people – they don’t know what to say when I say that, and I get it, because I don’t know either. That’s why I understand them wanting me to get better, move on, put myself back together. Like a weird project they want to fix. Get me playing live again, get medating.A spring clean, a repair and refurbish. How much easier would that be?’

I melt into tears then, surprising floods of tears, and bury my face into a tissue. God, I can’t stop. I’m in the middle of Regent’s Park on a summer’s afternoonsobbing.On a deckchair. An edible flower and a pile of spaghetti in my lap. When I come up for air, throughblurred eyes, I see a woman at a nearby stand nudge her friend and gesture at me.

‘God, now everyone’s looking at me,’ I whisper, hiding my face with one of my hands. Black lines from my eyeliner mark my palms, like pen marks. ‘I’m such a mess.’

‘So, what?’ says Joe. ‘Screw them. Do you want me to get up and break-dance or something? Start protesting about eating meat? Pretend to propose? People lose their heads over proposals.’

I laugh, which makes me cry even more.

Joe squeezes my hand. ‘I understand, Natalie. I do.’ And bringing a hand to the side of my face, he runs a finger down my cheek, tucks my hair behind my ear. I peer out from behind my hand. ‘I’m there with you,’ he says. ‘Stuck in the middle. Between back and forward. Stuck in the fuckin’mud.’

‘I think you’re further forward than me.’

Joe shakes his head. ‘Empty notebooks say otherwise.’ Somewhere deep in the festival, an amp is switched on, filling the air with the buzz of feedback. Someone strums a guitar. ‘And you’re not a mess, Natalie. You’re – pretty incredible if you ask me.’

‘I’m not.’

‘You are,’ he says, quietly. ‘I wish you knew how much.’

A song strikes up in the distance, tinny, slightly out of tune, and someone in the gang of friends on the deckchairs in front of us whoops, raises a hand in the air, shouts, ‘Woohoo.’

‘Ugh.Let’s rescue this bloody day,’ I say, drying my eyes, straightening in the chair. ‘It was meant to be ournice little outing with pasta and cider and sunshine and … instead, I’m just snotting all over you.’

‘At least it’s here and not in the smelly room,’ Joe comments. ‘I don’t think it gets worse than tears in the smelly room.’

I laugh. ‘I’m so determined to find the culprit of the smelly room.’

‘Everyone always is.’

‘I’m telling you, Joe,’ I say, fishing out the flower from my pasta, holding it between my fingers. ‘I make apromisethat I will find the cause. I will leave no stone unturned.’

‘Fine. Make a vow.’

‘Deal,’ I say. ‘I swear it. On this pointless flower. Which I am absolutely not eating by the way.’

Joe leans over and takes it from my fingertips with his mouth, a brush of soft lips. ‘On this pointless flower,’ he chews.

Me:A word for you, Thomas Button. Understood.

Tom(stand-in):Noted.

Me:And hungry. Note that down too. I’ve eaten nothing today except someone else’s massive edible pansy.

Tom(stand-in):Is this a cry for help?

Chapter Eighteen

A warm hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes.

‘Oh, good, my love,’ says Shauna, looking down at me, ‘you’realive.’

‘Hi!I am. Alive and kicking. Just – slightly drowned today.’

‘Aren’t we all? It’s unbearable. This country, I swear to God. Can’t make its mind up. I’m tempted to fly to bloody Lanzarote and leave all this gloom behind.’

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