Page 142 of You Float My Boat

24. Violet:

(Dogs > boys)

I’d officially eaten all the chocolate.

Definitely all the chocolate in the house anyway, possibly in England.

If the empty bowl I was currently running my hand around wasn’t evidence enough, I had two large spots on my chin which confirmed it. I didn’t want to calculate exactly how much chocolate I’d eaten but let’s just say there’d been ten Easter eggs in the house at the start of the week, and now there were none. I stopped short of licking the crumbs from the bottom of the bowl – or let’s face it, tipping the bowl into my mouth – but I couldn’t deny how much I wanted to.

At least my misery drew a line somewhere, and for that I should be grateful. I’d been wondering when it would happen, been waiting days for it and now I had the answer. Or I would if I knew what the date was. I’d even settle for the day, because I didn’t know that either.

Misery wasn’t known for its diary-keeping abilities.

Making a half-hearted attempt to plump up the cushion I was lying on without moving, I hunkered back down under the duvet, taking extra care not to disturb Buddy who was snoring away on my feet at the other end of the sofa. The most faithful boy in my life. I was going to pretend that he hadn’t left my side for the pastweek because of how much he loved me and didn’t like me being sad, and not because I was a walking trail of crumbs.

I peered up and looked at him. ‘You love me most, don’t you?’

He lifted his head and opened one eye, before letting out a loud groan and going back to sleep.

Understandable; I’d probably be exhausted too from all the listening he’d had to do. And unluckily for him, he’d been the only one I’d wanted to talk to, aside from Stella who’d also been witness to my meltdown since we arrived home on Saturday.

Actually, I’d been okay on Saturday. Sad, but okay.

Resigned in my decision that Charlie and I needed to take a break, but okay.

I’d done the right thing.

In what might have been my greatest acting achievement ever, neither of my parents seemed to notice anything was wrong with me at all. But Sunday became Monday, and as the freak heatwave disappeared into more pre-April showers, my mood descended into the black.

While I like to give an outward appearance of having my shit totally together, I do not.

I’d always thought I was a strong, badass, independent woman, whereas in actual fact, it turns out I’m the type of girl who obsessively checks their phone every thirty seconds on the off-chance the boy she loves has messaged her, even when she’d told him not to.

Somewhere around Tuesday it occurred to me that I’d never been dumped before, and therefore everything I was experiencing – the heartbreak, the radiosilence, the feelings of despair – was all totally new, and I was therefore completely unequipped to deal with it.

It seemed only right that I became a blubbery, catatonic mess.

I couldn’t even blame PMT for the week-long meltdown.

Nope.

This was self-sabotage Violet Brooks style. I had no one to blame but myself. Charlie hadn’t even messaged me. He’d followed my ‘no contact’ order to a tee.

Reaching out, I stroked one of Buddy’s silky black ears, ‘Shall we watch the rest ofThe Holiday?’

I took his lack of response as an affirmative, and pressed play.

‘See,’ I sniffed. ‘This is the bit where Amanda realizes she loves Graham too, and goes back for him. She goes back for him, Buddy boy.’

Nope. It was no good, I hit pause again while I went in search of one of the many crumpled up, already soggy tissues I’d blown my nose into and/or used to wipe away one of a thousand tears. It was a wonder I had any left to be honest.

I should have known it would happen. I should have prepared myself better. I should have allocated myself a daily cry allowance, then got on with my life for the rest of the time.

But theory and practice are two entirely different beasts.

‘Let’s spend some time apart, I said. It’ll do us good, I said. Let’s have a break with no contact. God, you’re an idiot, Violet.’ I sobbed into the piece of loo rollI’d found. ‘Charlie was right, it was our first fight and nothing more. And …’ hiccup, ‘now …’ hiccup, ‘he’s probably …’ hiccup, ‘dumped me.’

Once more Buddy’s head lifted, and he looked up at me with his soulful brown eyes.

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