What Fresh Hell

by Lucy Vine

  So I got a bus home on my own instead, and cried against the window, watching the rain. There was the tiniest bit of comfort in the feeling that I was in a movie.

  Since then, it’s been a long, lonely, sad week of working, not sleeping, and feeling like dog shit. Will has barely been in the house at all, always at work or the gym – like now. I’m pretty sure he’s deliberately avoiding me, and I kept all my crying for when I was alone. It says a lot about where we are in our relationship now, though, because even Rex noticed I seemed miserable. On Friday he even offered me a bite of his Yorkie bar. But then he said maybe I shouldn’t, actually, because he didn’t want my sad, normal-people germs.

  It was nice of him to offer, though.

  I have tried exactly once to speak to Lauren and Joely. I rang Lauren’s mobile on Tuesday evening, and her sweet little sister-in-law Simone answered the phone. She sounded mortified and said in a loud, awkward voice that Lauren couldn’t come to the phone because she was in the shower. Then I heard a door slam in the background and she whispered in a rush of words, ‘Sorry Lilah, she’s still too cross to talk to you. Maybe just give her a bit of space for a few days? I’m sure she’ll come around. You guys will be OK. You’re such good friends, I know it will work out.’

  Space! HA! We’re not in an American sitcom. What is this space stupidity?

  Anger at the humiliating rejection carried me through the next few days. I felt really annoyed with myself for even trying. Why had I tried? It’s not like I did anything wrong! I didn’t really do anything, did I? I was just standing there at that lovely wedding, an innocent bystander to the awfulness. This massive fallout isn’t really my doing, is it?

  Is it, Siri?

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question, Lilah.’

  Fuck you, Siri.

  I made one other attempt – this time with Joely – sending her a WhatsApp message asking to talk things through, but it quickly became apparent that she’d blocked me. Which is gloriously melodramatic of her.

  Annoyingly, the anger faded, and after over a week of silence – with nothing to show for it from either of them – honestly, I just feel crushed now. Tired, sad and just . . . over all of this.

  Meanwhile, I’ve still been getting calls and messages about the hen do, which is creeping ever closer and closer. Everyone’s demanding confirmations and final payments for activities and events, not to mention the continuing questions from the hens themselves about things I’ve already told them five times. I don’t know what to do about any of it. I don’t know if I’m even still Lauren’s maid of honour. She said I was fired during that argument, but surely she didn’t mean it? That was just a heat of the moment thing, wasn’t it? Oh God, I really don’t know. Maybe she’s already appointed someone else. Maybe Simone got promoted to the top job – I should’ve asked her. But if I’m not her maid of honour, there’s no way Joely’s still a bridesmaid either, right? So should I be cancelling her seat on the flight to Marbs? And mine? Should I be cancelling the whole thing? That would really show Lauren if I just full-on demolished her much-talked-about hen do.

  Do I want to ‘show’ Lauren? Probably not.

  I don’t know anything at the moment and I feel so helpless.

  So I’m doing the only grown-up thing I can do – I’m hiding. I’m ignoring the problem and hoping it goes away or resolves itself, somehow. And every day, with every missed call from a hen company and every ignored duplicated email from Katie Jacks, I feel the weight of everything piling higher on my shoulders, and the anxiety filling my stomach like acid. Every day I feel like more of a failure – as a friend, as a girlfriend, as a granddaughter, as a human being. There must surely be something I can do to fix it all, but right now I can’t see it. I can’t see anything much at all.

  Just then, Will wanders into the bedroom. He’s been to an early morning gym session and it hits me properly how little I’ve seen of him lately. For once, I’ve been the first one to bed at night, and he’s been gone when I’ve woken up, hitting the gym early, and working longer hours at the office than usual. He was supposed to come to the work-friend wedding I was at yesterday, but he cancelled over text at the last minute, saying he had to work. It was pretty mortifying having to explain his absence, but I can’t blame Will for being sick of all this. I’m over it too. I wish I could explain that properly to him.

  He doesn’t smile or even look in my direction as he passes the bed, heading straight through to our en-suite shower. For a moment the sadness spikes in my stomach and I think I’m going to scream and cry in the middle of our bedroom. In front of the neighbour’s cat, who always comes over on Sunday mornings for extra breakfast, even though Moira next door keeps pleading with us not to give it to her.

  I really hate that this is the new normal for Will and me. Not speaking, not sharing, not even really seeing each other. I miss the touching, sure, but it’s not even Will’s physical nearness I miss. It’s that thing you get with a nice boyfriend – the thing of having someone on your team. I miss talking over dinner about our mundane lives. I miss him being my partner.

  You’d think with the sudden cessation of wedding messages and meetings this week, things would’ve been better between us. But it feels like it’s gone too far now. He’s not trying anymore. Neither of us are. I haven’t even told him I’ve fallen out with my best friends. When I got back that night from the wedding, I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it or tell him the things they’d both said to me. I told myself I’d tell him the next day, and then the day after that. But I still haven’t and I’m not sure why. I miss talking to him so much, but this feels like too big a thing to start with. Maybe it’s because we’ve hardly seen each other? Contestant auditions for next year’s series have started with a vengeance again at work this week and I’ve been run off my feet with everything. I could’ve texted or emailed him, though. Or just stayed up until he got home in the evening, so we could talk. I guess, if I had to really self-analyse – which I seem to be doing a lot of at the moment – I think I’m worried if I tell Will what Lauren and Joely said to me, he might agree with them.

  Because I think I agree with them. I am a coward. I’m a coward in life, too afraid of upsetting people or rocking the boat. And now it looks like my cowardice even extends to my relationship with Will. I need to talk to him about Lauren and Joely, and I need to talk to those two about him. These three are always automatically the people I go to when something major like this happens. But obviously I can’t do that. It’s very surreal when the people you would turn to most in times of trouble are the ones who’ve caused the trouble.

  Or maybe I’ve caused the trouble? Oh God, I don’t know.

  I know, as well, that I’ve been avoiding Will because a conversation needs to be had. A big one. We are going to have to talk at some point about what’s happening between us. And I don’t think it’s going to be terribly great. But yet again, I’m hiding and ignoring and proving to the world what a big stupid coward I am. If this was a movie, by this point in the story, the whole cinema audience would be screaming at me to just get killed by the villain already.

  So yes, as you can probably tell, I feel pretty miserable and more than a little – OK, very very – sorry for myself. I’ve been trying to distract myself with yoga in the small moments I’ve had to myself. I’ve been to more early morning classes this week than in the last couple of months combined. I’m finally touching my toes, but once I was down there I realised it didn’t matter. Why does it matter if I can see my chipped nail varnish up close or not? I’ve also tried to focus on Fuddy-Duddies United and went to view a possible new location we could hire for our weekly meetings. But it’s so far away – there’s no way our older members could get there without a lot of help – and it’s too expensive without some kind of funding or subsidy. Actually, the only thing that’s been good for channelling my upset this week has been the regular, shouty messages I’ve
been leaving for Mr Canid at the council. We’ve had a couple of conversations on the phone, but he’s mostly ‘not available’ to speak to me. Really, the man is impossible. I’ve never spoken to anyone more frustrating in my life. I’ve been working on alternative options for evicting us, and sent him another long email for a whole list of different locations he could use for his plan instead of knocking down our beloved building. I’ve been so helpful! But he’s blocked me at every turn. He’s refused to listen – I don’t think he’s even reading my emails at all, he certainly never replies – and has been as obnoxious in every possible way that he could be. I’ve had some really, truly cathartic shouting matches with him down the phone.

  It’s been fantastic, actually. I can’t tell you how enjoyable it is having a bona fide dickhead around to take all my anger out on. It’s anger I didn’t really, entirely know was in me, under there, but it definitely is. Bubbling away furiously, ready to eviscerate anyone who gets in my way. Especially if they happen to be from the sodding council.

  Will picks up a towel from the back of the door and I swallow a painful lump in my throat. My mouth is suddenly dry and it makes it hard to speak.

  ‘You having a shower?’ I say dumbly like a dumbo dumb-dumb.

  He glances up, like he’s only just noticed I’m there, and nods. ‘Yep. Just back from the gym. Bit sweaty.’

  Small talk. Ugh. You again.

  ‘Cool, cool. Well done you, getting up so early on a Sunday,’ I say, a little of my desperation coming out in my voice. He makes a move towards the bathroom and I continue speaking urgently. ‘Um, I’m going to yoga this afternoon, so I’m being good too. Hope it’ll help me relax! I’ve had a really busy week again . . .’

  I fall silent. He doesn’t ask me about my busy week. He’s heard it all before, I guess. And he probably assumes I’m still using up all my time – all our time – on Lauren, Joely and the wedding planning. And I kind of am. If not physically this last week, then certainly mentally and emotionally. It’s all I’ve thought about.

  He heads for the door and as he gets there, I say, ‘Will.’ And my voice breaks on the word.

  He turns around and we look at each other for a long ten seconds. I think he might be about to cry. I am.

  ‘Lilah,’ he says softly, and I break. I bury my face in the duvet and he’s suddenly beside me on the bed, arms around me. He smells of sweat and Will-ness, and it’s so nice and safe and comforting. I just cry there for a few minutes, remembering how good his skin feels on my skin. I wait to cry it all out, to feel better, but the tears keep coming and I only feel worse and worse.

  And then he pulls away.

  I sniff, trying to regain my composure. ‘I feel so sad,’ I say simply, my throat raspy.

  He takes my hand. ‘I suppose we’d better talk,’ he replies quietly, looking past me and out the window.

  I nod, feeling afraid. ‘I guess we should. Actually, I’ve been having a bit of a rubbish time these last couple of weeks. I—’

  He interrupts me. ‘I mean about us.’

  I breathe in deeply and then we are silent, before I start slowly. ‘I know things haven’t been . . . great between us recently, and I know it’s my fault . . .’ I begin, knowing these words sound familiar. I’ve given him this speech before, and I did nothing to make things any better.

  He shakes his head. ‘Lilah, it’s just . . . it’s just not the same between us anymore. We used to be a team, it used to be so much fun. I feel like I’ve lost you.’

  That’s how I feel too, but I say nothing.

  He falls silent and then drops my hand back onto the bed. ‘I’ve always really loved your kindness and how thoughtful and sweet you are, but you’ve let Lauren and everyone else take advantage of that – take advantage of you. And it’s not just about that; it feels like you’ve chosen all of them over me. I’m supposed to be the most important person in your life, and you’ve put me last, every single time. Even when I’ve asked you not to. I’m way behind everyone else in your priorities, and I have been for months and months. Really, I barely seem to register on your radar. I have tried over and over to make this better and talk things through with you about it. Get you to see it from my point of view, without being a big, demanding Neanderthal about it, but you’re always either too tired, or not here, or you make big promises that you don’t keep. Everyone else always wins over me. I thought we were solid and in the same place with this relationship. I thought we were both looking to the future as a couple but . . .’ He stops again and looks at me, before continuing in a cracked voice. ‘I wanted to marry you, Lilah. I was so sure. You’re everything I always wanted. But I’ve been slowly realising I’m not what you want—’

  I interrupt him, big, fat tears rolling down my face. ‘But you are, Will, you are what I want. I love you, you don’t understand how much I love you. I wasn’t sure before, but I am now. I know you’re right about all this and I know I’ve been a terrible girlfriend, but I will put you first, I will. Please believe me, I don’t want to ruin this. I didn’t mean to ruin this.’ I break on the last word but he’s shaking his head again.

  ‘I want to believe you, but it’s who you are. You’ll never be able to put me – or, probably more importantly, yourself – first. It’s not enough for me, Lilah. I love you, but I think . . . I just think . . .’

  ‘Please don’t say it,’ I cry. ‘Please don’t say it, Will.’

  He looks up at the ceiling, tears glittering in his eyes. ‘I think we’re done, Lilah. I’m really sorry. It’s over. We tried, but we have to break up.’

  I pick up his hand again and kiss the back of it. My face is wet with tears on his skin. ‘You can’t mean that,’ I say, aware of how pathetic and sad I sound.

  He pulls away, gently but firmly. ‘I do. I’ve spoken to Dan, and I’m going to stay at his place for a while. He has a spare room and it’s close to work. You and I can sort out what to do about this place when the dust has settled. I don’t think there’s too much time left on the lease. I’ll check.’ He gestures around us at our bedroom, at the house – our home – and stands up. He swallows a couple of times, still staring up, and when he looks at me again, the tears are gone. He takes a couple of determined breaths and nods at me before retrieving the towel and leaving.

  I sit there, staring after him, and feeling so hollow. I sit there until the tears have dried stickily on my face. I sit there as a steady ache in my front temple builds into a full-blown migraine, and then I rush to the toilet and I throw up. I feel like I’ve lost everyone and everything, and I don’t know how. I’ve lost Will, I can see that. He had that look I’ve only seen a couple of times. He’s made up his mind. He doesn’t love me anymore. There’s nothing I can do. And I know it’s my fault.

  17

  I really don’t know if it’s sweat or tears pouring down my face, maybe both, but I keep going anyway. Have to keep going. Focus on the next position, the next move, the next breath.

  For once, I really do need to focus on my breath, because if I don’t, I feel like I will forget to do it.

  Don’t think about Will.

  Don’t think about him. Don’t don’t don’t.

  I can’t help it. The same thought just keeps circling my brain, like a loud, blocked plughole, gurgling angrily.

  How have I fucked everything up so badly? I just keep wondering how it’s possible.

  Losing a best friend or a boyfriend would be bad luck. Losing both in the space of a couple of weeks? That’s got to be my fault. I’m the common denominator here. Will, Lauren, Joely – they’ve all decided I’m not worth the effort, or their love. They’ve seen the real me and they don’t like it.

  I can’t really be here, can I? This can’t be real.

  After our fight – was it even a fight? What does a fight with Will actually look like? – he took his shower while I stayed in bed, my mind blank and numb. He c
ame back in, fully dressed a while later, wafting that clean shower gel smell and saying nothing. Then he packed his bag and left. Without another word.

  I stayed there, unable to move, for the rest of the weekend. Then I called Aslan and told him I wasn’t coming in. I told him that he’d have to handle things on his own for a few days. He sounded a bit stunned, but told me not to worry. He didn’t ask many questions, which I appreciated.

  And then I just lay there in bed, not eating and barely thinking. Just staring at my phone, waiting for it to do something.

  Eventually I couldn’t take the silence in our – our – bedroom anymore. And so I went into work.

  I got Rex his tea, I laughed at Aslan’s bad jokes, I got Sam to book more taxis, I put the contestants through the necessary audition hell. And here I am at yoga, breathing, breathing, breathing, like they tell us to.

  But nothing feels real. It’s like I’m walking through water. I’m on autopilot, looking and hearing everyone on a Skype delay. Everything’s blurry around the edges and people are moving in odd ways. It feels like I keep having out-of-body experiences, where I find myself looking down at the room. I stare down at another version of me, a Lilah who’s talking to co-workers and smiling like everything’s normal. But nothing’s normal.

  I shouldn’t have come to yoga today. There’s too much quiet here in this room. Too much emptiness around me. The noise of work kept everything at bay this week, and now, here in the silence, it’s all crept back in.

  Will.

  Lauren.

  Joely.