Some Kind of Wonderful

by Giovanna Fletcher

  ‘You clearly don’t do things by halves,’ I say.

  ‘Work hard, play hard,’ Connie nods along, impressed.

  The bread basket is being proffered by Shaggy Hair guy, who I think is called Chris. We all reach in for some. It’s been a long day and we’re only just getting started.

  ‘What do you ladies do?’ Natalia asks, putting some butter on her knife and spreading it thickly on top of her cut roll.

  ‘I’ve just signed a two-book deal,’ Connie chimes, rightfully looking delighted as she says it.

  ‘Oh my God! That’s amazing. Congratulations,’ Natalia says, picking up her glass and clinking it against Connie’s.

  ‘Eesh. Don’t congratulate me until it’s out on the shelves,’ Connie says in a way that would make her seem bashful and modest. I know she’s neither and the thought tickles me. ‘Anything could happen in that time. I could completely fail at it.’

  ‘I highly doubt that!’ I tut, wanting to boost her in case she is having a genuine moment of self-doubt. I’ve been pretty caught up in myself lately and haven’t asked her much more about the book. We really do need some more time together. You’d think that would be easy nowadays, but it seems as difficult as ever. It turns out that while I was spending each and every night with Ian, Connie was building quite the life for herself in London – which I’ve always known, but didn’t really think about the fact that I wasn’t the only one whose plans were preventing us from meeting. Now I’m back to being just me with loads of time for her, she still has her own plans to honour. Not that I would ever complain. As she points out – I’m the one who left her to go up north for uni.

  ‘And you, Lizzy?’ our new friend prompts.

  ‘Oh,’ I say, my mind on Connie. ‘I work for an interior design company in Chelmsford. Have done for years now,’ I say with a little shrug. I used to announce my chosen profession and occupation with joy in my voice, even though the actual job is far from what I thought it would be, so my downbeat tone of voice catches me off guard.

  ‘Did you study it at uni?’

  ‘No. I actually went for English Language and Literature,’ I laugh. ‘I didn’t really know what I wanted to do but knew I leant more towards something creative. Uni was brilliant for lots of reasons,’ I say, trying to disconnect the fun I had in Sheffield from all the memories I shared with Ian, but failing miserably. Try as I might, thoughts of him keep creeping up on me. ‘Long story short, I ended up coming back here because of my relationship, but was limited with the work available. Everyone was leaving uni and applying for jobs at the same time.’

  ‘We all know that feeling,’ Natalia nods.

  ‘It did me a favour as I was pushed into trying something different, and then one thing led to another and I started working at Home Comforts,’ I admit, remembering how excited I was about starting my job there.

  ‘Do you love it?’ Natalia asks, clearly expecting me to gush about it.

  ‘The past week has been shitty because I’m going through a break-up –’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she interjects.

  ‘Ergh,’ I sigh.

  ‘It’s the same guy,’ pipes in Connie.

  ‘Eesh!’ Natalia responds.

  ‘But it’s totally fine,’ I say, trying my hardest to push through and answer the question without letting emotion get the better of me, because I know deep down that it really isn’t fine and that my heart is still as raw and hurt as it was. ‘I have loved my job for a long time, but everyone who comes in at the moment seems to want the same thing. We get a lot of customers who’ve seen the work we’ve done on a friend’s house and they basically want us to replicate it with the slightest variation.’

  ‘Recommendations are massive,’ Natalia says kindly, looking genuinely impressed. ‘And knowing what your client wants to the point their friends then take their business to you is a sign you’re doing something right.’

  ‘Sounds tedious.’ Connie says it like it is as she screws up her face and tops up her glass.

  ‘It really is. I long for the day someone walks in with a Pinterest board that doesn’t contain some sort of animal-print pattern, or a mirror on every surface – even the loo seat – and a ridiculously oversized TV hung up on the wall.’

  I’m over-exaggerating but it’s totally worth it for the laughter that spills out of the girls.

  ‘Just don’t get me started on the need for bling,’ I smirk. ‘I’ve put sparkles in places only the mice will see! And I never want to see a zebra again in my life. Which is a shame because they’re actually quite cute.’

  Thankfully, Zebragate has been resolved. We mocked up a frame the following morning and took it over. Cassandra fell in love with it instantly, as I knew she would. Meaning the risk of a real-life jungle appearing in an Essex living room was narrowly avoided.

  ‘Sounds awful,’ declares Connie, her face screwed up in disgust.

  ‘I have no qualms if that’s what a client genuinely loves – but I hate the fad. I long for clients to think of their houses as an extension of themselves and a place to show glimpses of their dreams, ambitions and inspiration. It shouldn’t be the same as Joan Jones’ next door.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ says Natalia passionately. ‘And sometimes the real crux of a room comes in the smaller details or the heart behind them.’

  ‘Exactly!’ I shout with excitement. ‘Like cushions that give a subtle nod to a sunset they once saw in Namibia or a wall colour that matches the exquisite cornfields they were standing in when they received a life-changing call – maybe hearing they’d got the job they’d always dreamed of, or maybe it was the spot their partner spoke of love for the first time. Personal little touches …’

  ‘What a beautiful idea,’ smiles Natalia.

  ‘She’s got lots more where that came from,’ Connie says with a big grin on her face. ‘So what does your business do, Nat? Can we call you Nat, Nat?’

  ‘You can,’ she smiles, looking at me. ‘I also work with interiors.’

  ‘Shut up!’ I gasp. ‘In Essex?’

  ‘No, no, no,’ she says, shaking her head, looking relieved that she’s not putting up with my particular clientele. I know they don’t represent the whole of Essex; they’re just this little trendy niche that’s thriving at the moment thanks to certain TV shows. ‘I mostly work in Mayfair, Kensington, Chelsea …’

  ‘You mean, the posh parts,’ Connie suggests cheekily, her eyes widening at me, practically shouting at me to ‘get in there’.

  ‘I wouldn’t disagree,’ Natalia shrugs, taking a bite of her bread.

  ‘Wow,’ I say.

  ‘Although you’ll be surprised how much the animal print, big TVs and bling live on,’ she chuckles, covering her mouth as she continues munching.

  ‘Well, if you’re ever looking for new staff or anything,’ I say without thinking, cringing as I prepare myself for a super eggy moment. We’ve only just met and this is highly inappropriate.

  Natalia reaches down for her bag and pulls out her phone. Ignoring the dozens of emails she’s had in the last ten minutes, she clicks through to her contacts. ‘Put your deets in there,’ she tells me.

  I do so as quickly as I can before she changes her mind. Or I do.

  ‘Now, on a more serious note,’ she says, looking around the room like a little meerkat. ‘Does anyone have any idea when the food is coming out? Because I am fucking starving.’

  Oh, I like her!

  16

  I have such a ball. Connie and Natalia have me howling with laughter on numerous occasions. So much so that waking up in my room this morning, I’m doing so with a lightness in my heart, just as I did yesterday. I feel surprisingly good considering I’ve had a heavy night!

  I thought being at a social event without Ian for the first time would be unbearable, that part of me would be longing to get out of there even though it was my sister’s special day. Or that loneliness would eat me up from the inside out as I realized I didn’t know how to func
tion without my plus one by my side. That I’d be uninteresting and pathetically moping around aimlessly without the security and confidence that comes with being in a social situation with someone who’s already firmly on my side.

  Looking back on it now, I realize I didn’t feel at all like that. If anything, it was nice to just be in the room enjoying the day without having someone else to think about. I didn’t have to worry about Ian being bored if I left him alone too long, or whether one of my uncles was going to say something rude and offend him – which is a situation that’s happened numerous times before because they seemed to like winding him up. I didn’t have to include him in conversations he might not particularly care about; for instance, I know he would have been shuffling beside me and clenching his jaw to stop himself yawning during the fifteen-minute chat I ended up having with my darling nan about her front garden, which looks exceptionally good all year round – she trims it up a right treat. I could have that chat and not worry about someone subconsciously tapping their foot beside me. I could dance the night away without a care in the world, all the while throwing the craziest dance shapes I could conjure and not caring about the fact I looked like an absolute plonker. I could stay as long as I wanted and didn’t have to worry about him preferring to leave early. I could drink what I wanted, have shots with the girls, and not worry about him thinking I was silly for getting a little tipsy.

  There’s something quite wonderful about only looking after myself. I know Ian and I had a great relationship (perhaps that thought is laughable now it’s fallen apart), but he had a lot of control over our relationship and me. He wasn’t controlling, I’m not suggesting that. I don’t think it was ever done in a purposefully negative manner or with him demanding to be the alpha male, but right from the start I handed over the responsibility of decision-making. Early on I realized that what made him happy made me happy in return – and that was all I ever wanted. I wonder if I’d still be in the same position I’ve found myself in if I hadn’t done so. Whether I would feel quite so lost and unsure of who I am without Ian in my life. We could’ve been married by now or perhaps we’d have broken up much sooner, me declaring we weren’t compatible and that I wanted different things.

  Obviously it was strange to be there, at an event we’ve been talking about for so long, without him. I felt like my right arm had been savagely chopped off and fed to starving wolves, but last night I became aware of my left arm swinging loyally by my side. I’m capable. It’s more a case of me learning how to function without the missing limb.

  Well, I fucking did. What’s more, I had the best time ever doing so.

  I mean, there was a pretty sorry moment in the loo when I had my head against the cold toilet door and found myself on the edge of a wobble. We’d just been dancing to Beyoncé and I was boiling hot, so I loved my face being against the metal sheet. The sudden stillness became my weakness as thoughts, feelings and emotions came flooding in unexpectedly. I had a silent sob to myself over the romance of the day and my lack of man, direction, purpose and confidence. But then I gave myself a stern talking to.

  What would Beyoncé do, you twat?

  I took a deep breath, flicked my hair back over my shoulders, and walked back on to that dance floor like a champ. I’m so glad I did!

  I think back to the numerous shots that were consumed and am hit with a complex wave of groggy regret and utter joy. I had fun. I laughed, danced, drank and was very, very, very happy.

  My phone bleeps beside me. My heart stops when I see it’s a text from a number I don’t recognize.

  How’s the head? I’m at the gym trying to sweat out the bad stuff. No one is standing next to me. I think I still stink of alcohol. Blaming you! N.x

  I would’ve been sad, and surprised, if Natalia never got in touch after the amount of fun that we had together last night. That said, I’m delighted that she’s got in touch so quickly. I know there’s a three-day rule when it comes to dating, so I’m thrilled to see the same pathetic rule doesn’t apply in friendships.

  Gym? Are you for real? ;-)

  I hit send, attaching a selfie of me in my current state – in bed with leftover make-up smeared across my puffy melon of a hungover face.

  You’re so funny! x

  You say funny, I say normal and realistic. x

  I wish I was like her and in the gym. In fact, Ian’s version of me would probably have stopped drinking a lot sooner last night and still have been in the gym first thing this morning. I haven’t actually exercised since the holiday (yes, we were that couple who worked out while on a relaxing ‘break’) and I’m starting to feel it. I don’t weigh myself, I don’t think scales are a true reflection of what’s going on with my body, but there’s a reason my dress was so tight and unforgiving yesterday and for all my clothes to suddenly be giving me muffin tops. Mum hasn’t shrunk my garments in the wash. I’ve ballooned. My holiday and heartbreak diets are catching up with me. I haven’t been working out, and my body knows it. Not just in its size, but in the fact it just doesn’t feel as good and able. I think I underestimated what that time in the gym was giving me. I haven’t been in the mood to work out, not only because it means pushing myself out of the fog that has been consuming me, but also because fitness and the gym are so heavily linked to Ian and his hobbies. The reality, though, is that I’m currently rebelling against Ian’s ideals as a human and for our bodies by doing the opposite. No exercise and eating anything I fancy. Which is everything I see.

  There might have been certain aspects of our relationship that were led by Ian, but that doesn’t mean they were bad for me. For the first time ever I crave the terms ‘clean living’ and ‘emptying the bucket’ to be bandied around – and not because of Ian, or the fact Natalia is impressively up and going for it already after a heavy night out, but for me.

  As far as I can remember there isn’t a gym in Ingatestone, and I really don’t want to travel back to the one I am a member of because I don’t want to run the risk of bumping into Ian there. The thought of seeing him anywhere is horrendous enough; I’ve boycotted everywhere we’ve ever been together to avoid it, so doing so while I’m sweaty, knackered and as red as a beetroot really would be an atrocity.

  The gym is out of the question. However, thinking about it, I don’t want to be boxed into a gym right now anyway.

  I look out of my window – the curtains are already open because I was too drunk to close them last night – and see that it’s a nice crisp winter’s day. I locate some leggings, a baggy t-shirt and some old trainers that were hiding at the bottom of the wardrobe. Obviously I didn’t bring any of my workout gear with me, so I’m less Sweaty Betty chic and more Primark throwaways, but it’ll do.

  I lean over, touch my toes and feel my body stretch. It’s uncomfortable and comforting all at once. Before I can talk myself out of it, I jog down the stairs, straight out the front door, up my road and out of the village. I push myself to run further into the real countryside of Essex, which is full of farmers’ fields and forests. The scenery helps get me going, but I know this is harder on my body than it should be. My legs feel heavier as I pull them along and my chest doesn’t want to expand as much as I know it can. It’s fighting the movement, rather than welcoming it. I’ve allowed it to become lazy. How crazy that all those hours in the gym can be undone so easily with a month of overindulgence and neglect, thanks to all the emotional turmoil after my holiday.

  The sweat drips down my face as a stitch attacks my right side, but I don’t stop even though so much of me wants to. My brain hits override, and I tell myself to run through it. Somewhere deep down a determination takes over, a desire for achieving and getting the run done.

  An hour later I return to the house red and puffy, with last night’s make-up now streaming down my face. I’m shattered, my body hurts to the point of burning, but I feel amazing – amazing because I can finally stop, of course, but amazing because of what I’ve just done, too. I felt an urge, albeit a feeling that was inspired
by Natalia’s fitness efforts, to get out of the house. I ignored any excuses my mind threw out about not having the correct attire, running on an empty stomach and being mightily hungover, and just went for it.

  Best of all?

  It was entirely for my own benefit and not to impress someone else … although I will be boasting about my efforts to anyone who’ll listen, for at least a week.

  I take my phone out of my pocket and text Natalia.

  I see your gym session and raise you a run in the countryside. Feel like death. It’s amazing! X

  Totally trumped me. ;-) x

  Seconds later I message Connie – who I last saw when I was begging her to stay at mine, but she insisted on getting the last train home, meaning she missed the end of the party.

  You left at the right time. More shots. More dancing. Just had to run it off. At least five miles! Xx

  An instant reply bounces back.

  Bugger off, you smug bitch.

  Well, I can’t deny it. I cackle as I make my way upstairs for a shower.

  I’m still buzzing later that day when I answer the door to Dad. Everyone’s coming over for a post-wedding gossip, a takeaway, followed by wedding cake and some tea and coffee … Ian would say it cancels out the good work I put in this morning. I say, I’ve earned it so can have what I please!

  ‘You’re looking fresher than I thought you would,’ my dad sings to me as he strides in, giving me a kiss on the forehead as he does so.

  ‘I went for a run earlier!’ I exclaim proudly, shutting the door. ‘Went for miles. I didn’t stop once.’

  ‘You look great for it,’ Dad says, his face beaming as we venture into the lounge. Mum turns to greet Dad with a wave. She’s sitting with her feet up, watching some nature documentary while nursing a cup of tea and a packet of biscuits.