Page 13 of Shout Out To My Ex

‘All right, everyone,’ says Cass with a series of quick claps, ‘let’s get to work, shall we?’

I know she’s just protecting me, doing her best to diminish the blow, but there’s not enough cotton wool in the world to make this discovery any less painful.

The team dissembles and I palm the Polaroid, heading straight to our office where I collapse into one of the chairs. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath, willing the tears to hold off.

‘Hey, are you all right?’ Cass asks, closing the door behind her. I feel her presence beside me and open my eyes. She’s holding my planner to her chest. In the rush to escape, I’d forgotten about it. ‘The one that got away, huh?’

‘What?! How can you be so flippant?’

‘No! Sorry. Nothim. I meant thephoto. Sorry, Elle.’

‘Oh, in that case, yes: the one that got away.’ She pats my shoulder soothingly.

Several years ago, right after my last serious attempt to find him, I did a massive purge of all things Leo. I gathered every ticket stub and pub coaster, every gift he ever gave me, including the charm bracelet for my twenty-first, the sketches we drew together, one of his T-shirts that I slept in for months after he left, and all the photos I’d (stupidly) printed that once adorned my fridge –everythingthat could possibly remind me of him. Or so I thought.

Cass talked me out of burning the lot, even though Bonfire Night was just around the corner, which would have made ‘the purge’ even more of an occasion. Instead, I packed everything into a cardboard box, taped it shut with half a roll of packing tape, and couriered it to Mum and Dad’s, not trusting myself to take it over the following weekend when we were due for our every-other-Sunday family lunch. Apparently, Dad moaned about not having anywhere to store it, but Mum told him to shush and put it up in the loft. It’s been there gathering dust ever since.

Therehavebeen times over the past few years when I’ve been tempted to catch the train to Mum and Dad’s, climb up to the loft, and poke around inside that box – much like tonguing a mouth ulcer, I suppose. Fortunately, Cass has talked me out of it every time. And when weareat Mum and Dad’s, she keeps a sharp eye on me. One time, she walked in on me sitting on the toilet, just to make sure I hadn’t been lying about needing a wee.

Back in the present, the crisp edges of the Polaroid feel sharp against my palm. I could close my fist and crumple it, then toss it in the bin, but I can’t bring myself to do that.

I shove it at Cass. ‘Can you just…?’

‘Sure.’ She takes it from me and crosses to her desk, where she puts the photo and the planner in the top drawer. ‘Want me to lock it?’ she asks, knowing me as well as – if not better than – I know myself. I manage a nod and only when I hear the key in the lock do I fully exhale.

She comes back and bobs down in front of me. ‘All right?’

‘How can something from over a decade ago have so much power over me? I mean, look at me!’ I flap my arms about. ‘Behold this pitiful specimen.’

‘You’re not pitiful. Besides, it’s not just something. It’s a symbol of what you’ve lost. It’s perfectly normal for you to feel the way you do,’ she says unconvincingly.

‘You wouldn’t let yourself wallow like this.’

‘You’re not wallowing, Elle.’

I catch her sympathetic look and it’s nearly enough to send me over the edge. But I don’t let it, instead steadying my breath to compose myself. Cassie’s phone starts to ring but she stays put, watching me, which is even more disconcerting.

‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ I ask.

‘You sure you’re all right?’

‘Just answer it.’

Reluctantly, she leaves my side, answering in that ultra-professional way she has. ‘Cassie Bliss, Bliss Designs.’ I’m about to leave and get back to work when she says, ‘Wowser, already?’ followed by, ‘That’s brilliant. I’ll be right there.’

She hangs up, beaming. ‘What’s all that then?’ I ask, my woes instantly forgotten.

‘Er, just that side?—’

‘Side project. Right. Are you ever going to tell me what it is?’

‘We’ll see.’ She slips her phone into her handbag and slings it over her shoulder. ‘I’ll be back in time for the meeting with the show coordinator to finalise the music and lighting.’

She sends a kiss through the air and departs before I can quiz her further. This bloody side project! I’ll get it out of her eventually.

5

POPPY

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