Page 8 of Don't Fall in Love (and how to break the rules)

“Yeah. I wonder what happened to her. She left before I did, but I’ve not seen her since. I’m glad she got out. I do worry about the others, though.”

Chrissie couldn’t help thinking about Athena from time to time. Athena was the woman she’d developed a relationship with, just as her marriage was falling apart. It had been ill-advised, but it was a symptom of the destructive way in which she was living her life at the time.

“I guess the thing with cults is that people often join them of their own free will, or at least, that’s how it feels to them,” Rae observed.

Chrissie winced at the word ‘cult’. It had taken her months to acknowledge that she had been part of one, or even say the word out loud. It had been just over a year since she’d extricated herself from Infinite Bliss. And if she was honest, it had been more an escape than an extrication, because she had been in danger. She pursed her lips before speaking. “Yes. That’s it. I thought I was being empowered, but in fact I was taking my power and giving it to someone else.”

“Lucian,” said Rae, recalling the name of the charismatic leader.

“Yeah. He made everything seem so easy,” said Chrissie, looking out of the window. “To start with, at least. He had an explanation for everything. It started with what he called ‘hyper-connected body movement’ which, looking back, was a travesty of true yoga.” She remembered the classes, the chimes, the chanting, the incense, the answers. The most pervasive thing was the answers. Lucian could explain suffering, pain, happiness and give a path to a better life. He was offering certainty, community, and joy, and it was an irresistible combination.

And, inevitably, it was too good to be true. But at the time, it had tempted Chrissie away from the mundanity of her life.

“In believing in him, I destroyed my own life.” Chrissie paused for a moment. “And someone else’s.” She saw the question in Rae’s eyes, and moved on quickly. “So now I have a duty to be better, to give more, to consider others, to question things.”

Rae frowned for a moment, as though trying to make up their mind about something. “Well,” they said, “I think we can all do more of that.” They put out their hand and rested it on Chrissie’s. “I’ve not known you long, but I can tell you that you’rea very good friend, that you’re generous and caring, in spite of your obsession with glitter gel pens.” Rae winked and Chrissie laughed.

“I love those pens – and my journal. It all keeps me on the straight and narrow.” She dropped her hand to the messenger bag beside her, where her journal sat, with her at all times. “And who doesn’t love the chance to buy stationery?”

“You are living your best life, queen,” said Rae, their eyes glittering. They ran their hands through their brown curls. “Ugh, I need a haircut.”

“But don’t cut off the mullet, bab,” said Chrissie, a teasing note in her voice.

“Never,” agreed Rae, laughing.

“I love that mullets are back in fashion. I remember the early noughties when David Beckham kicked off the resurgence. Things do have a tendency to come back round.”

“Tell me more, Grandma.” Rae was only in their mid-twenties, and had no recollection of those heady days. Or maybe they were only heady to Chrissie because she had been in her late teens. Because of that summer. And Nisha.

Chrissie laughed. “Ah well, young one, those were the days of Big Brother, Pop Idol, Shakira, Michael Owen, Avril Lavigne…” She tried a soulful gaze, into the middle distance, but couldn’t keep the grin from her lips.

“Yeah, those are just words, Chrissie,” said Rae.

“Well, my sweet summer child, it gets curiouser still. Let me tell you about the era when all your mobile phone could do was make calls and text messages – text messages you paid for each time you sent one. It was a simpler time…”

“Ok, Granny, much as I’d love to sit and hear more of your fireside tales of the golden olden days, I do need to get going. I’ve got an early start tomorrow,” said Rae, draining their glass and putting their jacket on. The September air had a chill in it.

“You go. I plan to rest my not-so-young bones for a little longer while I finish my drink and contemplate whether I, too, need a mullet,” said Chrissie.

“Nope,” replied Rae. “You’re not allowed. This is all too lovely.” They gestured towards Chrissie’s long, flowing, dirty blonde waves. Chrissie smiled.

“Why, thank you. I’ll see you shortly, I’m sure. Just as soon as I’ve collected my pension.” Rae laughed, gave Chrissie a quick hug, and then left.

Chrissie looked into her wine glass, and unbidden, her mind flew back to those days after the exams were over. She and Nisha would lie out on the blanket Chrissie had pinched from her dad’s car boot. It was one of those old-style red-and-black tartan woollen ones, that had been used in her family since the seventies. It smelled of the car and the beach and her childhood.

They would each have a book to read and a glass of some kind of fizzy pop. Every now and again one of them would shift position, or exclaim out loud at a passage in their book. Chrissie smiled to herself. She was a frequent visitor – and contributor – to BookTok, and it struck her that the way the two of them read side by side, sharing their thoughts, was a very early – and very slow – version of the same thing.

She recalled one particular evening. The sun was going down. “I’ve finished it,” said Nisha. Chrissie looked across to her and spotted tears in her friend’s eyes.

“Wow,” said Chrissie, “nothing makes you cry. Like, ever!”

“Oh, it is so good! And so sad,” said Nisha, smiling and crying at the same time. She closed the book and handed it to Chrissie.The Lovely Bones, by Alice Sebold.

“Isn’t that the one that starts with the murder of a young girl?” asked Chrissie, furrowing her brow. “I mean, call me a critic, but that doesn’t sound very feminist.”

“Oh, Chrissie, my friend, you absolutely have to read it. It’s gorgeous and sad and wonderful and heartbreaking, and I may never get over it.”

It wasn’t like Nisha to gush like this. Chrissie tentatively took the book, but then laid it down beside her. “I’m still on this one,” she said, holding up her latest charity shop find. It had dog-eared corners and a very worn spine.

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