It was definitely G&T time.
* * *
The next two weeks of co-habiting with John continued in a gloomy vain, except that John graduated to actually leaving his room and occasionally sitting on the sofa to watch any sort of sport he could find on TV. Molly caught him with a glass of red wine (hers) watching the European Curling championships and barely resisted the urge to pour a bucket of cold water over his head and yell ‘There’s a world outside, man! Do something with it!’ Instead she took a deep breath and reminded herself of just how poisonous the breakup blues could be. And that sometimes, if left untreated, a nasty sort of rot could set in.
Rachel appeared one Sunday mid-morning soon after in an expensive-looking tracksuit, trainers and a baseball cap. Molly was flabbergasted when she opened the door.
‘What happened? How bad was the fire?’ She took Rachel’s shoulders in her hands and shook her friend liberally in mock-panic. ‘Was your entire wardrobe burned? Did you have to run into Sports Direct for shelter? You poor thing, let me call the emergency outfit services!’
Rach directed an unwavering smile right into Molly’s face. ‘Nope, you can’t do it. You can’t kill my buzz. I outfitted the mother of the groom and the mother of the bride from the same wedding party yesterday. Skirt suits, blouses, expensive hosiery, earrings, necklaces: the lot. All on commission! Martin even praised my diplomatic skills when they started to argue over who got to get the peacock fascinator.’ Rach kicked off her trainers and put them neatly together by the front door. She was a true merchandiser, through and through. Rachel put her hands on her hips and let out a big, satisfied breath. ‘I’m feeling fine. And I’m taking you out for a treat.’
‘Dressed like that?’
‘Yup, just as soon as you get into your aerobics stuff.’
‘This doesn’t sound like a treat. A treat involves me wearing my jeans to the cake shop.’
‘Nope. I am taking you out for the day. It’ll be fun. Exhilarating. You’ll see. Come on, come on!’ Rachel scooted Molly towards her bedroom.
‘You know I can’t deal with surprises, Commission Queen. Where are we going?’ Molly called out from the other side of her bedroom door, strapping herself into her Shockabsorber sports bra.
‘You know Peckham Rye Common?’
‘Yes.’
‘You know we sometimes gawk at those mad-looking people on the army fitness courses?’
‘Yes.’
‘You know The Punisher?’
‘Unfortunately.’
‘Well, I saw at the gym that she runs one of those courses. We’re not going to be gawking today. We’re going to be star-jumping. And squat thrusting. And most likely lunging. Definitely sweating and possibly crying. Good times!’ Rachel finished with an air grab.
‘Melissa goes to that class,’ John said from his static position on the couch. ‘She goes every week,’ he finished in a monotone.
‘John! Sorry, didn’t realise you were there.’ Rachel recovered her composure. She could have sworn she only saw a few coats in a heap on the sofa, but – no – it was ‘Happy John’ in his flannel pyjamas, a Jeremy Clarkson book open on his lap. It hadn’t taken the two best friends long to come up with a secret nickname.
John turned to look at Rachel. ‘If Melissa mentions me, will you let me know?’
Molly strolled out of her bedroom, tying up a ponytail. ‘John, dude, we’ve talked about referring to exes in the present tense, haven’t we?’ Molly patted him on the shoulder, as if he was a child who’d just dropped their 99 cornet onto the sand. She turned to Rachel. ‘Are you really sure about this?’ Molly raised one eyebrow.
‘Absolutely. We’ll strut out of there with tonnes of new confidence and without a few folds of stomach fat. Trust me!’
Molly shook her head, but grabbed her bag and followed Rachel through the door.
* * *
Limbering up in the park while the lithe young American instructor took ‘role call’, Rachel whispered to Molly, ‘Which one do you think is Melissa?’
Molly tsked. ‘I don’t know. You should be ashamed of yourself, allowing Happy John to drag you down into his ex obsession. Honestly, he is constantly talking about her. How she was a great cook, how she was so funny, how she had not one but two dimples when she smiled. Yehck. When I confronted him about using the last of my shampoo he said he couldn’t help it because it was the same type Melissa used and it reminded him of her.’
‘Ahhh.’ Rachel wrinkled her nose, the way she would at a kitten in a flower pot.
‘No, not ahhh, errrrr. John’s stuck in the past and he’s a lazy flatmate to boot. Add the finished-off shampoo to the loo rolls, tomato ketchup, olive oil and peanut butter he’s used but not replaced and he’s verging on the grrrrr.’
‘That’s living with blokes for you. Perhaps the reason my relationships all go to rubbish town is that subconsciously I want them to fail because I don’t really want to live with a boy.’ Rachel tapped her fingers to her chin in ponderance.
‘Nope. But I like the Freudian angle. Sam was winding me up about not sticking my nose into John’s problems, but honestly if I have to live with that caveman for a whole year, I think I am entitled to a smidge of bossing. He needs shaping up. Firstly, the chores. Or, you know, the complete lack of them. Then the attitude. He has to get over his ex.’
‘I could sell him some lovely cords,’ Rachel chuckled. ‘I’m a bit behind on my budget now Sam has escaped my stylish clutches. Poor John, though; it sounds like he was really in love with this girl. He’s still smitten. I wonder what went wrong with him and—’
‘Melissa!’ A loud but smooth American accent cut through their chatter. ‘Do we have Melissa this week? Yes? No? Come on people, let’s hustle!’
A petite brunette quickly pushed her way to the front, knocking against the arm of a red-faced Rachel. ‘Oops, sorry!’ Melissa said over her shoulder as she went to make her presence felt with the course leader.
‘Oh bums, do you think she heard us?’ Rachel put her hands against her flaming cheeks.
‘Don’t think so. But it is interesting, isn’t it?’
‘What is?’
‘Like you say, John’s still madly in love with her, plus she’s quite clearly gorgeous as well as lovely and talented. Putting his current glum disposition and laziness down to breakup blues, it does make you question what could have broken them up. John says it was a mutual decision – there was no dumper and no dumpee. Still, he’s really cut up about it. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to keep our ears open today.’ Molly winked at her co-conspirator. ‘Report back to me at sixteen hundred hours, Private Fabulous.’
‘Yes, sah!’ Rach tipped her hand to her forehead in salute as their instructor began the warming-up session.
* * *
Rach wasn’t sure about keeping her ears open, twenty minutes in. She could barely keep her lungs open and her legs straight. Their team had been made to do crunches, press-ups, sprints and had jumped on and off benches. (‘It’s like an outdoors step class, ladies! To the max!’ the instructor, Josie – AKA The Punisher – had gleefully shouted). Molly was faring no better: her lungs felt raw and useless; sweat was dripping into her eyes and making them sting, and it seemed possible that she’d see her deli sausage roll again, so soon after lunch. She wanted to limp into the park cafe and beg for help, like a hostage making a break for freedom. If not help, then a really good coffee and a bun to start the healing process. But she knew The Punisher would just track her down and finish her off.
‘How long … does the … bootcamp session last?’ Molly gasped as they ran on the spot, bringing their elbows to the opposite knee each time a leg was lifted.
‘Three how … errrs.’ Rachel wheezed back. ‘So far … done twenty-two … minutes.’
‘I … hate … you.’ Molly threw herself down onto the ground for more press-ups as Josie blew her infernal whistle, dipping her chin in squelchy mud as an added bonus.
‘Me too.’ Rachel lo
oked ready to cry.
‘Ladies, ladies!’ Josie shouted as she marched around the group of twenty or so young women, all equally plagued by lactic acid and regret. ‘Where is this London grit I’ve heard so much about? Don’t you want to show a Yankee like me how it’s done? Huh?’ Another whistle blast. ‘Commando crawl to that tree, now! Do it, do it, do it! On your elbows and knees, all the way. Ahhh, what’s the matter, blondie?’ Josie spotted Rachel flopped inelegantly on the grass for a ten-second breather. ‘Did your mommy tell you not to play in the mud? Huh?’ Josie dropped her voice to a growl. ‘Well, I ain’t your mommy. I just happen to be your worst nightmare. Move it!’ Josie finished with a ten-decibel shout, right in Rach’s ear. The effect was instant: she was off and doing her best G. I. Jane impression to catch up with the rest.
Josie crossed her arms, and smiled as she watched her team struggle along the grass. ‘I love new recruits.’
* * *
Molly and Rachel survived but, like true victims of traumatic experiences, they totally blocked out most of what happened and later found themselves dazed and muddied with a pint of beer each, clenched by grubby, white fingers. They were in a warm pub, at least, surrounded by the rest of the bootcamp survivors.
‘Sorry about the “blondie” bit,’ Josie nudged Rachel in the ribs. Rachel realised now what a bruised rib must feel like. ‘As you can see, I’m on the side of the blondes and we should stick together. Cheers, as you guys say.’ Josie clinked her pint glass of lemonade against Rachel’s. Her honey-blonde hair glinted in the weak sunshine filtering through the pub windows. Josie pulled down the zip on her camouflage jacket and shrugged it off onto the sofa behind her. ‘First time for the both of you, huh?’
Neither Molly nor Rachel could find the energy or muscle strength to speak.
‘That’s OK, new recruits tend to stay quiet after the first couple of times. That’s why it’s so nice to come for a get-together here, after the session. The old hands,’ Josie gestured to the 20- and 30-something women happily chatting away around the two surrounding tables, ‘are the best example that it’s all really good fun, once you get used to it.’ Josie laughed. ‘But you won’t believe that right now. Drink your beer and eat your peanuts – you need the energy.’
The best friends obediently popped some salted peanuts into their mouths in unison. It was baffling to see The Punisher being nice. Being human.
Molly wasn’t sure when her legs would return to solid flesh and bone from their current pâté-like feeling. She had never been so thoroughly exhausted. Not even after hosting two Retro Parties events back-to-back that one time; not even after a sale shopping excursion with Rachel after payday. Never. She just hoped that, for all this pain and misery, she was going to wake up tomorrow and find she had turned into Rachel Weisz. If she could move her fingers even at all, she would have crossed them.
Rachel made a pathetic little sound – like a lamb’s bleat combined with a polite cough. Melissa was coming back to the table with a pint and a lemonade. She slipped onto the sofa, next to Josie and passed her the soft drink.
‘Great workout, Jose. I am so feeling the difference in my problem areas. My bingo wings are no more!’
‘I have no clue what that means but amazing!’ Josie gave Melissa a table-level high five and they both grinned. Molly thought it was outstanding that their fearsome leader had instantly transformed herself into a friendly team player the minute they stepped over the pub’s doorway. She should be on the stage, Molly mused. Or anywhere that’s just very far away from my thigh muscles.
Melissa and Josie began to chatter happily and Molly definitely overheard the words, ‘date’, ‘not my type’ and ‘back on the horse’. She pricked her ears a little more. Even that hurt.
‘I don’t know, I guess he was weirded out that I beat him in an arm wrestle. I shouldn’t have even suggested it. But I was just so bored, you know? I was desperate to do something on a date that didn’t involve pretending to know heaps about wine or soccer teams.’ Josie threw up her arms in defeat but her smile quickly reappeared. ‘Despite my best efforts, I’ve had a longer and more satisfying relationship with my sports bra that I ever have with a living, breathing adult male.’ She laughed and sunk more lemonade.
Melissa smiled with just one corner of her mouth. ‘Well, I am definitely not looking for another long-term relationship for the foreseeable. No, thank you. I’m still getting myself back to normal after the last one imploded. Spectacularly.’
Molly and Rachel managed to rotate their necks around far enough to look at each other with wide eyes.
‘Aw, honey. It will get easier, I promise. Time is a great healer. As is aerobic exercise!’ Josie leant against Melissa in a chummy motion, so they were shoulder to shoulder.
‘You’re right, I know you’re right.’ Melissa didn’t look altogether convinced. ‘It’s just, with John, it was so wonderful to start with – he was fun, sweet, caring, everything you could ever want in a boyfriend. He was even able to commit, if you can believe it. We talked about babies, marriage. We talked about getting a kitten. And then, after a year, we moved in together …’
‘And then?’ Josie probed gently.
‘And then it was like Dr Jekyll and Mr Horrendous. I went from being the light of his life to the cleaner of his socks. And the picker up of his beer cans. And the filler of the fridge. And the replacer of the toilet roll. Nothing sucks the romance from your relationship like leaping into bed together and discovering it’s still damp from the towels he left there all day. I started nagging him to pull his weight; he didn’t see that he was doing anything wrong. He was just living the way he always had. Bottom line: John wouldn’t change for me. The arguing got too much and we agreed to go our separate ways. I sometimes think … no, it’s stupid.’
‘What? Melissa, we’re all friends here. Right?’ Josie looked to the silent twosome on her right. Molly and Rachel nodded as hard as their strung-out neck muscles would allow. This was filling in a lot of blanks.
‘I sometimes wish I could just go back in time to before moving into that flat. I know it’d be pointless – I’d have to find out what he was really like at some point – but we were so happy. He was just … you know when you get to that stage in a relationship and you let all your silly secrets out? Like, John didn’t mind that I had the High School Musical soundtrack and listened to it at the gym. Or when doing the washing up. And on the way to work. I knew that John was secretly cutting out carbs after 5 p.m. to lose his beer belly, but was too embarrassed to show it in front of his friends. So he invented a wheat allergy to get out of pizza Wednesdays, and I used to make us Gillian McKeith salads for dinner.’ Melissa’s voice cracked on ‘Keith’. ‘But none of that matters when you’re shouting at each other for the twentieth time because he didn’t put the bin out like I asked and we missed the collection day. I can’t even begin to tell you about … the toilet situation.’ Melissa swallowed a sob. ‘What if they’re ALL like that? What if they all start out giving you back rubs and Wispas and then eighteen months later you find you’re only getting a back ache from scrubbing the bath and screaming when you trip over his bloody football boots! I give up. I’d rather be a nun.’ Melissa drooped back against the sofa cushions, exhausted after her purging rant and definitely emotional.
‘Oh, sweetie, sweetie. That sounds like a rough ride.’ Josie gave Melissa a sympathetic grimace. ‘But just feel good that it’s all in the past now. You have your own, clean room back again. Here’s to new starts – and new men.’ Josie held up her hand again to initiative a high-five. Melissa half-heartedly supplied her five, though it wasn’t as high or enthusiastic as the first.
‘I suppose. A new man.’ Melissa raised her eyebrows and toyed with her pint. ‘Huh.’
Chapter Eleven
Molly and Rachel needed three-quarters of an hour resting in the pub and two pints each before they could stand (slowly), walk home (super-slowly) and flop down on Molly’s sofa (painfully). Rach pleaded the
need for a hot bath and a new muscular structure after two hours of watching a 30 Rock box set. She left the flat with small, trembling steps, just as John came in from his football team practice.
John dumped his kit bag in the middle of the floor and went to the fridge. He pulled out a bottle of apple juice and drank straight from the top. Then he burped. One long burp, that lasted five disgusting seconds.
‘John! Enough!’ Mols leapt up from the sofa cushions and grabbed her left thigh when it went accordingly into spasm from the effort. ‘Honestly, dude, this just isn’t on.’
‘What?’ John said through a mouthful of the bread he just hacked off Molly’s walnut loaf.
‘You are – and I say this with love – a complete pig to live with. You’re very nice, that’s not in question, but you are a swine in domestic terms. You steal food, you’re happy to live in filth, you grunt during meal times. I mean, no wonder Melissa had enough!’
Molly slapped her hands over her mouth as she realised she had gone way too far. Like aiming for Stratford and ending up in Copenhagen.
‘What did she say?’ John’s face drained of colour and humour. ‘She talked about us, didn’t she, at the army workout thing? You have to tell me what she said.’ His eyes searched Molly’s and suddenly she felt for the lazy pig.
‘Yes, she did talk about … you, and the tough bits before the breakup.’
‘And?’
‘And do you really want to hear this?’
‘Please, Mols. Please, I have to know. God, I miss talking to her so much.’ John cradled his head in his hands and let his shoulders droop.
‘OK. I’m going to be blunt with you. Blunter, I mean, than just now.’ Molly prepared to rip off the plaster and expose the wound. ‘She said you were a nightmare to live with. She said she felt she had to nag you to do the simplest things and that the nagging made you both argue and made her feel like a tired old woman. To be honest, in just a few weeks of sharing this flat with you,’ Molly looked from the scattered newspapers on the floor, to the pants hung up to dry on the back of the dining table chairs, to the heap of dirty dishes and then back to John’s pale face, ‘I know just how she feels. You are a messy, messy man.’
The Bad Boyfriends Bootcamp Page 8