Page 60 of Still Falling for You

Lydia’s flat is only a five-minute walk from the town centre, so I decide to park in the multistorey car park just off the high street and head to hers, my bag loaded with chocolate Viennesebiscuits and bacon rasher crisps.

I arrive before Catherine, and the first thing Lydia does when she opens the door is deliver on her promise of squeezing me alive. I grip her back with so much force my arms go numb after a while, but I’m not ready to let go.

When we separate, I’m crying. Again.

‘Hols,’ she says softly, her sharp eyebrows knitting in the middle.

I wave my hand in dismissal. ‘Don’t mind the waterworks. I can’t seem to turn it off now I’ve started. My tear ducts are faulty. I want a refund.’

‘You’re allowed to have a bit of a cryfest after all the shit you’ve been through.’ She pulls me into her uber-modern and minimalistic flat. Everywhere I look, there’s slate-grey furniture, geometrical tiles and marble. It’s like Lydia herself, sharp and edgy.

She makes me a cup of coffee, and sitting down on her Chesterfield-styled grey leather sofa, I pull the biscuits out of the bag.

‘I strongly approve,’ Lydia mumbles, stuffing her face with a Viennese finger dipped in milk chocolate.

A moment later, Catherine arrives, wavy hair pulled back with a red clip. She looks rested and has even put on some make-up. ‘I’m sorry I’m late. The traffic was awful. Gabby is with Richard, but I promised to be on the phone if anything happened. He spent the last two days with Gabby to give me some me time,’ she says mildly, but I can see the love hearts popping in her eyes; Richard is a good one. She drops her multiple bags by the coffee table. Immediately, she plants herself on the sofa next to me and smothers me in a hug. This hug is soft and fluffy. I bury my face into her teddy bear fleece, trying not to spill any tears on it.

When we’re done, she swiftly unpacks her bags that contain various snacky bits. Prawn cocktail crisps, sesame bread sticks,lemon-stuffed olives and extra-large marshmallows. Basically, all my favourite foods. Then she takes off her fleece with the words, ‘I’m ready.’

I look from Lydia’s chic red jersey to Catherine’s navy-dotted blouse. Then my gaze drops to my stained black leggings and an old sweatshirt with a hole in one of the sleeves. I’m not impressed with myself. ‘I don’t think I got the memo about the dress code,’ I complain, wiping my nose on the sleeve to add insult to the injury that is my sweatshirt.

‘Uff. The owl must have gone to the neighbours’ again,’ Lydia laments dramatically which makes me cackle.

I pat the sofa next to me and she installs herself on my left side, putting her feet up on the glass coffee table now offering various spreads. Catherine flops to my right, and it would be almost perfect if I weren’t this miserable.

‘If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine.’ Catherine threads her arm through mine.

‘We could watch a movie instead,’ Lydia offers and turns the sixty-five-inch TV on.

I called them yesterday from my parents’ house, so they’re kept abreast on the developments with my dad, but I didn’t mention Alex once. They both know something happened on Friday, so I love them even more for not prying and giving me time to sort my thoughts.

We eat unhealthy food and watch daytime TV for the whole morning. After a lunch of pizza and marshmallows, we end up watchingBridget Jones. I get a bit teary and bury my face in the sweatshirt, but I must not hide it well because Lydia squeezes my arm resting on her lap, and Catherine snuggles closer.

When Mark Darcy finally says to Bridget he likes her just the way she is, I start full-on sobbing.

‘I think I’m turning unhealthily egocentric. This movie feels like the story of my life.’ I laugh through my tears.

Lydia turns the volume down and sits up, pushing her legsunderneath her. ‘Let’s see. A cheating boyfriend, a cold-on-the-outside but enigmatic sexy love interest. A ridiculous-yet-loving mother. I would sue Helen Fielding if I were you.’

‘She didn’t get you right though. You’re nothing like Bridget.’ Catherine crunches a bacon rasher crisp, contemplating.

‘I don’t know. Holly’s fairly accident-prone, and bad luck seems to stick to her like glue,’ Lydia interjects.

‘Which friend would I be?’ Catherine plucks another crisp from the bowl in front of her.

‘I’m totally Shazzer,’ Lydia announces proudly.

‘Totally,’ both Catherine and I say at the same time. I quickly say, ‘Jinx,’ before she has a chance to say it first. Catherine frowns because she’s a sore loser. We’ve reverted to teenagers.

‘You’d be Jude,’ Lydia ponders out loud, and Catherine throws the nearest cushion at Lydia’s head. Lydia snorts.

‘Except Mark Darcy turns out to be the right guy in the end.’ I sour the mood.

Lydia picks up the cushion and hugs it to herself. It feels like someone has pressed pause in the room.

I inhale and tell them everything that happened. After an embarrassed pause, I also tell them how Alex froze when things got heated. I finish with Vicky calling and Alex getting cold feet.

Lydia is frowning while Catherine is outright confused.

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