Page 61 of Shout Out To My Ex

ELLE

What does any self-respecting designer do when they’ve shown at Paris Fashion Week (to great acclaim), hobnobbed with the super famous, will soon be featured inNouveau, and is about to collaborate with the ‘golden boy of fashion’, likely sending their career into the stratosphere?

Well, any self-respectingdesigner would be in their fashion house, fielding media queries, processing orders for their latest collection, and brainstorming their next.

Thisdesigner is skiving off work, lying on her sofa, scoffing Hobnobs (not to be confused with hobnobbing), and bingeingThe Kardashians. I’ve fooled myself into believing it is completely reasonable to watch famous-for-being-famous people pontificating about thigh gaps instead of working, as I’ve always wanted to see what the fuss was about.

The truth is that finding out if Kourtney takes Scott back (again) isfarbetter than Googling Leo and his newly minted fiancée – something I’ve avoided until now but is getting harder by the minute.

Because it turns out that Leo isnotthe complete tosser from that night at the restaurant. Sure, he hasn’t explained his suddendeparture from my life or apologised for ghosting me, but after spending that train ride with him, I came to a surprising (and maddening) conclusion: Leo is essentially stillLeo.

After Cassie and Poppy returned from their trek to the ends of the earth for Coke and crisps and we were a foursome again, conversation began to flow – especially after Poppy (cleverly) asked Leo about vegan leather and he launched into a passionate explanation of his venture.

The highlights: like many of us, he’s worried about the environment; he wants to support small ethical producers, no matter where in the world they’re located; he wants to be known for sustainability; andnotmaking his shoes and accessories out of leather is a ‘big fat F-U to the old man’ – his words, not mine. In fact, he sort of said them to himself, and I’m not sure he knows I heard him.

That was the other thing I learnt on the train ride: Leo’s dad was a cattle rancher.Was, as in past tense – he died years ago. I knew there was no love lost between them, but from the way Leo’s eyes hardened when he mentioned him on the train, his father was cruel. This explains the ‘F-U’ comment and I imagine there’s far more to the story. I would get to the bottom of itifI were ever going to see Leo again.

But I’m not. I can’t let myself.

Two hours of sitting opposite him on that train, watching his eyes crease at the corners when he laughed, basking in his passion for his work, witnessing how fondly he talked about his mum and Brandy… All that did was stir up feelings of affection and longing.

And he was so charming, asking questions and drawing us into conversation – well, Poppy and Cassie, as I was monosyllabic at best. That turned to dumbstruck when Poppy asked Leo why Franzia wasn’t accompanying him. She’s staying on in Paris to film a perfume commercial, he said. But there wassomething strange abouthowhe said it, as if it pained him to talk about her in front of me. It certainly pained me, the mere mention of her name igniting jealousy so intense, I felt like I was coming down with something.

By the time we disembarked, I’d endured two hours of intense emotions and was shaken to the core, dangerously close to being right back where I was ten years ago – mad about Leo and with nothing to be done about it.

St Pancras was as chaotic as it always is and when we reached the concourse, our heavy cases in tow, I stopped Leo with a hand on his arm.

‘Congratulations, by the way,’ I said. I was loathe to let him go and it was the only thing I could think of to keep him there a little longer. Meanwhile, Poppy had gone to find a cab and head home – she was desperate to see her husband – something about adopting a cat – and Cassie was doing her best to give us privacy in the most public of places by waiting just ahead of us.

‘Oh, yeah, thanks,’ he said, an odd look on his face. ‘And we should talk – you know, about working together.’

‘Oh, absolutely,’ I lied.

He grinned, which nearly undid me. Then it was time to go, as there was no other reason to stay, and I didn’t know whether we should shake hands or hug or…

Leo solved this conundrum by leaning down and gently kissing my cheek. Not quick French-style smacks on both cheeks, like at the H&M party. One soft kiss that lingered, my senses drowning in his scent, the closeness of his body to mine, and his very presence.

Then he stepped back, smiled once more, and disappeared into the crowd.

Cass was by my side in an instant. ‘Ready to go, Bean?’ she asked.

I wasn’t ready foranythingat that point, but somehow we made it to the cab rank. The journey home from the train station was a blur, then there was unpacking, eating a ready-meal, and sleep. Since yesterday morning, it’s been sofa-and-television land, with occasional jaunts to the kitchen to restock on biscuits. I haven’t even had a shower.

I have, however, thought of that Polaroid locked in Cassie’s desk drawer about sixty times, wondering how I can retrieve it without her knowing, then hating myself for wanting to.

I am a pathetic, love-sick, thirty-two-year-old teenager.

‘Get up! I’ve got brilliant news.’

Nine hours after Cassie left for Bliss Designs, the sun has nearly set and my eyes are now square. I peel myself off the sofa, having whiled away an entire day, and get a whiff of my body odour as I sit up. I scrunch my nose in distaste – atmyself. I suppose two days is long enough marinading in my own filth. As soon as Cass tells me this ‘brilliant news’, which could be anything from ‘we heard from Tom and Hilde’ to ‘that cerise silk you desperately wanted has arrived’, I am showering.

‘Is that stenchyou?’ she asks, scrunching her nose the same way I just did.

‘No,’ I say defensively. ‘I’ve just thrown out some mouldy blue cheese.’

‘Blue cheese is mouldy by definition. You stink and you need a shower.’

I lift my chin – I will not be disparaged in my own home. ‘I had already decided that.’

---