Page 8 of Still Falling for You

Lydia pretends to fan herself with a napkin. ‘Is it suddenly boiling in here? Why are the biggest, most evil gits always so hot?’ To my embarrassment, she starts making slinky moves in her chair while singingHot in Hereby Nelly. I have half a mind to remind her that she should keep it PG, but I’ve run outof steam.

‘Except for Voldemort, I guess,’ I add in a semi-pathetic attempt to distract her. Lydia makes a confused face, so I elaborate, ‘Voldemort. Definitely not hot.’

‘A matter of opinion.’ Lydia shrugs.

‘Have you told Vicky?’ Concern softens Catherine’s words.

Vicky and I lived on the same road when we were children. It was one of those unlikely, whirlwind friendships where Vicky was uber-popular and pretty, and I was a mousy nerd with a taste for vintage dresses that nobody understood at that time. Vicky was loud and confident and encouraged me totake up space,but she also never approved of Alex and had some pretty strong opinions about him. I shake my head to answer Catherine’s question.

‘Can he really make you fail your ECT period?’ Catherine changes the topic. She’s the voice of reason that finally stops Lydia’s pretended fornication dance.

‘If he does, you don’t go down without a fight. You take him down with you,’ the public relations Lydia announces.

I’m usually level-headed, so I refuse to lose my composure over this. ‘I’ll complain if he does. There are procedures in place for a reason. I won’t let him ruin the only good thing I have going for me right now.’ That wasn’t so bad. It sounded almost convincing to my ears.

‘Thanks. You’ve just dismissed our nine-year-long friendship in one sentence.’ Lydia pretends to be deeply hurt, clutching her breast like she’s seconds away from cardiac arrest. ‘But I have to admit that your life has been a shit-tip.’ She shrugs when I look at her sternly.

‘What about the dog? Have you heard from him lately?’ Lydia asks, referring to Aaron.

‘I’m going to meet him at our bungalow on Saturday.’ I wince. ‘His bungalow,’ I immediately correct myself.

‘You’re sure it’s a good idea to meet him there?’ Catherineglances in Gabby’s direction. She has now recruited two more boys to build a tower out of foam blocks. She’s got them wrapped around her tiny finger.

‘We need to go through the furniture costs and agree on a repayment plan. I’m hoping that my presence will unnerve him and he’ll agree to everything I want.’ My statement is frosted with ice, but on the inside, I’m hurting.

‘You don’t have to pretend to be strong with us, Holly.’ Catherine touches my elbow. ‘He betrayed your trust in the most cowardly way.’

Avoiding the weight of her stare, I start fiddling with the abandoned sugar sachet on the table. Catherine always knows what to say, but I won’t let myself go. I haven’t cried over a guy for ten years, no matter how dire things have been, so I’m not going to start now.

I clear my throat. ‘I just want to start my life again. To rewind. If I admit how hard this is and that my heart is broken, I’ll fall apart,’ I say matter-of-factly.

‘He’s broken your pride, not your heart, Hols. You just have to glue the pieces back together and do something you can be proud of,’ Lydia says with a steadiness customary for my best friend.

‘Next, you’re going to say feel all the feels.’ I laugh flatly, but my mood has slightly improved.

‘I’ve been readingEat, Pray, Love, so now I’m full of wisdom and deep proverbs, but it might potentially be the tequila I had for lunch.’ Lydia shrugs again, and Catherine shakes her head but laughs.

You have to love those two.

After two more coffees and a slice of coffee and walnut cake, the sugar and caffeine finally hit my body. After spending a few hours with my best friends and discussing anything from Catherine’s PhD and her immediate chapter submission deadline while trying to tame her little dragon and Lydia finally findinga good Chinese takeaway near her flat, my head is almost clear, and I feel less sorry for myself.

I’m almost composed by the time I get home. That is until the lightbulb in the shower dies unexpectedly while I’m washing myself. I end up groping in the dark while second-guessing which one of the bottles on the side is shampoo. I end up washing my hair with a body scrub, but who cares at this point?

I come out shivering and dripping wet to find that the showerhead somehow ended up spraying water onto the floor and half of the bathroom is now damp. I spend the next hour drying the disgusting, geometric lino, and when I eventually manage to peel it off to let it air, I discover another layer of much older toothpaste-blue lino decorated with five squashed spiders and a bruise-coloured stain outlining the shower corner. If I carried on uncovering the layers, I wouldn’t be surprised to find a dead body or a dinosaur fossil. The seedy studio is exactly a place where I would hide a cadaver if I were a murderer.

The rest of the evening is mundane enough until I get a call from my mother.

‘Darling. How did your first day go?’ Her high-pitched, overly enunciated voice screeches through the receiver. I push the phone away and turn on the speaker.

‘Fantastic, Mother.’ I instil some cheer into my tone.

‘You don’t sound particularly thrilled. I didn’t think that school would suit you.’ After I got the post, my mother didn’t waste a minute to google the hell out of the school, as Lydia would put it, and tell me that it was too prescriptive for my nature, whatever that means.

‘I’m fine,’ I repeat.

‘Maybe you should contact your old principal and ask whether they have any vacancies.’ I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. She doesn’t disappoint. ‘I had a little peek at the website, and they’re looking for a pastoral support assistant.’

‘Mother, I’m a teacher, not a pastoral support assistant.’ I try not to roll my eyes because my mother has a sixth sense for those sorts of things.

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