by Lucy Vine
Hen dos.
Weddings.
Engagements.
This many weddings in one year? What the fuck was I thinking?
My throat closes and I sit down on my mat heavily. The people around me are suddenly too close to me, it feels claustrophobic. Bodies everywhere, moving and breathing and sweating. I need to get out, it’s too hot, there’s too much sweat. Too much happening in my brain.
I sit there for a long minute, trying to breathe. The instructor nods at me, checking I’m OK. I nod back, signalling that I am, even though I’m really, really not.
It feels like nothing will ever be OK again, actually. It’s all so messed up.
Fuck. I shouldn’t feel like this, it’s not right. I have so many things happening in my life, so many people, and yet . . . I’m really totally alone. How can I be so busy, always moving, always going to parties and hen dos and weddings, all these friends talking and laughing, and still feel so isolated? That’s not how lonely works, is it? It shouldn’t be. I have 700 friends on Facebook, more on Twitter and Instagram, and yet none of it is tangible. I’ve been so scared of missing things, of not being included. Always saying yes, always running around trying to do the right thing and be a good person. I’ve forgotten what I need and what I want from my life. I’ve put everyone before me and this is where I’ve found myself. Alone, literally on my arse, totally broke, exhausted, and with nowhere to turn now. My best friends hate me, my boyfriend’s dumped me and I could be losing Franny and the other FU ladies if we can’t stop this demolition. We’ll be scattered all over the place if we lose the building. Separated. My family.
There is so much to think about, so much to be sad and scared about. Maybe constantly doing things for other people and putting others first isn’t the answer to it. Maybe it’s about doing less. Beating my own path.
But what can I do? Re-train my stupid brain? I’ve been a follower for so long, I don’t know how to do things any other way.
I launch myself up off the mat and into a warrior pose, trying to ignore the thoughts. I want so much to focus, but now I know it’s definitely stupid goddamn tears on my face I can feel.
18
You know who is amazing at horrible times like these? Franny.
You know who is even more amazing at horrible times like these? Franny with luminous, electric-blue hair.
‘You are going to be OK, Delilah,’ she’s telling me, mid-speech about how everything happens for a reason. ‘I know sometimes, when you’re in the middle of something like this, it feels like there’s no way out the other side. It feels like you’re going to be stuck there forever. Like you’ll never make up with your friends, and you’ll never find love again. But of course you will. Because this is what life is: things going wrong and things feeling bad. If everything went smoothly all the time – if all of life was just moving from work to telly to bed for all time – you’d be bored senseless. You’re doing it wrong if you’re just fine all the time. Emotions are what life really is, my darling Delilah. Don’t push it down and pretend it’s not happening – feel it. Feeling miserable and then happy and then miserable again – it’s all part of what makes this life fun. If you don’t feel sad every now and again, how do you know what happy is?’
It’s all excellent, wise, sassy grandma chat, but all I’m doing is staring at her shimmering, bright hair, winking at me as it catches the sun through the skylight.
So it turns out Franny and my runner Sam have been spending an awful lot of time together recently. Franny’s been trying to peer-pressure Sam into smoking, while Sam has apparently been trying to distract Franny by getting her into Kylie Jenner. They’ve been exchanging non-stop YouTube clips of Keeping Up With the Kardashians, and talking incessantly about lip gloss and bum implants. Franny is on the fence about bum implants but says she definitely really likes Kylie’s many different hair styles. She especially liked the reality star’s phase of dyeing her hair bright colours, so she’s done her own usually silver hair exactly like that. Sam helped her with it yesterday lunchtime. Yesterday lunchtime, when Franny told me she had ‘too much on’ to share a ‘disgusting’ egg mayo sandwich with me. I am only a tiny bit jealous. It’s fine.
‘You know what would cheer you up?’ Franny twinkles at me now, from underneath her metallic-blue fringe. ‘We should go dancing. I can teach you how to slut-drop. It’s awfully good fun, my love. Sam showed me how to do it, but her knees are better than mine. I can do it, but she gets back up a lot faster. I have to sit down on the floor for a little while immediately afterwards. We’ll make a day trip of it: slut-dropping, followed by maybe a museum visit. Sam better come with us so she can show you properly how to do it. My legs don’t go as wide as they used to.’
‘I can’t go dancing with you, especially not slut-dropping, and Jesus, I really hope you don’t actually know what that means . . .’ I try, but Franny’s on a roll.
‘Oh, I’m also going to send you some links on the old WhatsApp. Sam’s opened my eyes to a whole new world of sexy stories. It’s fan fiction written by very clever One Direction fans and it’s very steamy indeed, my darling. That’ll get the engines roaring again, make you forget Will or Julie, whichever one it is that you fancy more—’
‘Joely,’ I interrupt vaguely, trying not to smile, and then realise Franny will think I was answering her, not correcting. Either way, she’s still talking, undeterred.
‘The “fan fic”, as they call it, is very arousing, and I ship Larry now. Although, if Liam and Harry – or is it Louis and Harry? – don’t work out, I want to see Harry and Kendall getting it together one day. They would make such beautiful Snapchats together.’
I’m so lost but I’m also laughing a lot. It feels really good. She keeps going, delighted to see me smiling, musing, ‘Do you think the 1D lads will ever reunite? The Twittersphere thinks it will happen, but they all seem to be enjoying their own thing now. Who would ever have pegged Liam for doing so well without the others?’
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but it’s cheering me up immensely. And I really, really needed cheering up. Because Will officially moved out this morning after a long week of very undignified begging on my part. He’s being really nice about the breakup, but also seems very sure it’s the right decision.
Unlike me.
The thing is, I know it’s stupid, given how bad things were, but I feel blindsided. He’s obviously been planning this in his head for a while now, while I’ve been so distracted wondering what colour shoes I’m supposed to be getting for the next wedding I have to attend. Ugh, I hate myself. I know I should’ve seen it coming, and maybe a part of me did, but I just decided to stick with denial. I’ve been in denial about a lot of things lately. Either way, it feels like he’s had time to come to terms with all this, while I’m stuck ten miles behind, struggling to breathe properly whenever I think too hard about my life.
Oh. I guess this means he won’t be coming with me to any more of the weddings we had coming up. And I guess that also means I’m no longer invited to his cousin’s castle.
Another gut punch.
He’s staying with a work friend, Daniel, and says he’ll keep on paying his half of the rent until the lease is up in a few months. It’s pretty miserable stuff, but he’s being very decent about it all. Because, of course, he is. Because that’s who he is. A decent, lovely, handsome man, who I drove away. Well done me.
The depressing situation really hasn’t been helped by the continuing silence from my friends either. I thought about maybe sending them a message telling them I’d been dumped, but I don’t want to guilt them into coming back into my life. Or maybe I do??
I guess maybe not. They need to work this all out in their own heads first. Look at how they’ve been acting and decide if it’s OK. I can’t force them to come back or they’re just going to resent me.
Franny thinks they’re being bitches, though, and that has
really helped me feel better.
She looks at me lovingly now. ‘I know things seem dark at the moment, my darling,’ she says nicely, reaching over and taking my hand with her own wrinkly one. ‘But life will be better when you come out the other side of this. The girls will come back when they’re ready – or when they need something.’ She rolls her eyes before continuing. ‘And Will is a very nice boy, but things haven’t been right between you for a while now. If he couldn’t be patient for a little bit longer while you got on top of things and worked out those priorities of yours in your head, you would’ve ended up going down this path at some point anyway. It was inevitable. Him running away at the first sign of trouble is a very silly thing to do, very immature. Imagine if you’d ever gone through anything really traumatic! He would’ve been completely useless. Better to break up now, before you’re in too deep.’
I think about what Will said about wanting to marry me. We were pretty definitely already in too deep and now I’m stuck alone at the bottom of this cold, dark, lonely well. If this wasn’t ‘in too deep’, I never want to know what is.
I clear my throat, feeling the need to defend him a little. ‘Will’s a good man, Franny. This isn’t his fault,’ I say, lowering my voice as a group of frightened-looking contestants walk by in a huddle. ‘I’ve treated him badly this year, I know I have. And maybe, actually –’ I pause to consider my words – ‘for the whole time we’ve been together. I got too used to him being nice about stuff and I’ve walked all over him. I ignored what he needed. And when things started to go wrong, I kept promising him I’d put him first and I just didn’t. He’s right: he was never my priority. And because he’s so good and nice, he let me do it, for too long. This is on me, not him.’
She tuts and waves her hand. ‘Maybe so, but, well, goodness, that’s not just Will’s trouble. The pair of you let people walk all over you, you always have. But that’s not really the point. The point is, if you were ever able to actually have a good old shouting, yelling, screaming fight every now and again, maybe you could’ve raised and resolved these issues before they got as bad as they did. You could’ve cleared the air, talked about your feelings. But you don’t do things that way, neither of you do. You’re both too nice and too worried about hurting other people’s feelings to speak up when you need to. Even though most people are dreadful and would deserve their feelings being hurt.’ She looks at me a bit searchingly now before continuing. ‘You see that, don’t you, my darling? Most people are dreadful and only care about themselves. They’ll be kind and nice when it suits them, but ultimately, it’s about numero uno. You’re so much better off looking out for yourself whenever you can, like everyone else does.’ She pauses and leans even closer, like she is confessing a secret. ‘You must see that your two friends, Lauren and Julie – wonderful as they are in many ways – are also absolutely dreadful? Absolutely dreadful, dreadful people! Demanding, selfish, awful people.’ She pauses and then loudly announces, ‘And I’m dreadful too!’ She laughs at the alarm on my face, and then continues on before I can argue the point. ‘Darling, of course I am, don’t try and deny it! I’m dreadful. Look at the way I treat that idiot Andrea! I’m an awful human being! But I don’t care. It’s fun and I’m old, and I’ve earned the right to be awful. Lilah, you are surrounded by narcissistic, self-centred, self-important, difficult people. Me, your best friends, your parents, even young Sam is a fairly terrible person – or at least the telly she likes is terrible. Although heavens knows why I can’t get her to start smoking – what happened to young people these days? They used to be up for a laugh.’ She pauses for breath and I can see her fingers twitching for a cigarette. ‘But, my darling Delilah, that’s exactly why you like us. Because those nightmarish, loud, obnoxious types are also the very best types. We’re smart and fun and so completely alive and kicking. I’m nearly ninety-one and I am as big of an arsehole as I ever was when I was twenty. And when I do die, I’m not going out in my sleep like some sap. I’m going out screaming. Maybe being tortured – what do you think? And, hopefully, just after snogging Tony Robinson in a bush somewhere. I may be a bit crumply in the face, but I can still snog with the best of them.’
I vividly picture this.
She goes on, hardly pausing for breath. ‘People should be difficult and high-maintenance, Delilah. That’s what life is all about. Those people standing tall and causing trouble are the ones who get what they want out of life and have the most fun. They’re the winners. And that’s why you’re so drawn to these people. You can see they’re making the most of their life and enjoying themselves. It’s also why you and Will couldn’t make it work. You won’t ever be able to work as a couple unless one or both or you learns to start shouting, putting yourselves first, and demanding more from life. You need to learn to start being louder about what you want, my love.’
I don’t know what to say, but Franny is nowhere near finished. ‘I’m not saying you should be needlessly cruel to those who can’t take it – and, by the way, Andrea can take it, she loves having my attention – and I’m not saying you shouldn’t help those in need when you can, but being selfish and high-maintenance is important too, to ensure you get what you deserve. And, my darling Delilah, you deserve so much. So so much happiness. You take on too much of other people, and you seem to forget that you matter too.’
She narrows her eyes and looks at me searchingly. ‘Actually, I thought you were starting to get somewhere with all these angry calls to the council on behalf of Fuddy-Duddies United. You were actually standing up for yourself, even to me a little bit! But you don’t seem to be taking that fire – that life lesson – with you into the rest of the world just yet. You have an opportunity here with all this drama, my girl. You have a chance to start anew. Clean slate. No ties. You’ve fallen out with everyone, which means you actually have five minutes to breathe. You can find your passion and start putting it, and yourself, first. And then I want you to start shouting over every person you meet who gets in your way. That’s how we get things done in the Fox family, my darling.’
I’m silent for a minute, wondering if there is more to come, but Franny smiles softly and folds down into her seat a bit, clearly content. I realise we’ve both been sitting very straight but I can only sit taller. I am ablaze with everything she just said. I mean, it’s almost certainly nonsense – I’m pretty sure people shouldn’t be selfish dicks all the time – but it felt SO GOOD and empowering listening to it. Maybe it’s not all right, but enough of it is, and it is time to put myself first for a while. What have I got to lose? Trying to be nice has seen everyone I love leave me, so I might as well try being selfish for a bit. I’m not sure I can ever be the hellraiser bad girl Franny wants me to be – I would really rather not take up smoking – but I’m done playing a supporting role in my own life movie. I want to be a lead character for a while.
So there.
What now, then?
What do I feel passionate about? I love yoga. I like my job. If it wasn’t for Rex winding me up every day, I’d probably completely love my job. But I can’t do anything about him – can I?
Unless . . . is there . . . should I . . . murder him?
No, probably not.
And then there’s FU, of course. I love all the charity work we do and helping around the community. I know I’m a total do-gooder and Joely always takes the piss, but it’s not like she’s around to mock me at the moment.
Except the FU is probably dead in the water right now too.
But maybe there’s more I can do. Because Franny’s right about that too. Campaigning and fighting and researching on behalf of the club was the first time in years, maybe ever, that I felt in control and powerful. I felt like an adult, being taken seriously. And I loved getting angry with that damned paper-pusher, Mr Canid – or however you pronounce his stupid name. That’s what I need to be doing more of. And maybe I can combine what Franny said about taking charge with my own people-ple
asing instincts. I can get angry and make things happen for other people who need my help.
So where to start?
Mr Canid says we can’t afford to stay in the youth club, and there’s no money in the pot to stop it happening. So let’s start there.
Wedding Number Eleven: Lyndsey and James, Rise Home, Hull
Theme: Autumnal. Table arrangements full of flickering candles on beds of crunchy leaves that kept catching fire.
Menu: Smoked salmon starter, followed by chicken and a meringue dessert. Veggie option: stuffed red pepper with goat’s cheese.
Gift: Cash in a card @ £40.
Gossip: The bride was very clearly eight months pregnant, but no one was talking about it. She was literally pretending to drink her champagne and glancing nervously over at her furious-looking dad all day. Also, all the bridesmaids had acrylic toe nails, shudder.
My bank balance: -£1999.99 (Overdraft limit is £2k, must not exceed. Credit cards still don’t count.)
19
Well. I guess this is, at least, relaxing.
Sort of.
Kind of.
It’s not relaxing.
We’re on a ‘juice crawl’, which, yes, is as bad as it sounds. It’s part of our uni friend Millie’s hen do and she’s opted for what her head bridesmaid keeps referring to as a ‘wellness day’. There are no strippers, no willy straws, and no inflatables at all.
It’s a bit depressing, actually.
We’re going from juice bar to juice bar – like a really disappointing bar crawl – and we’re ending the day later on at a spa, where all fifteen of the hens are having a very much non-optional ‘detox cellulite-buster seawood float wrap bath.’ It takes two whole hours, and then it’s followed by a super healthy cucumber-based dinner.
I don’t like cucumbers. Or being touched by strangers. Or seawood, probably, whatever that is. Is it, like, wood they found in the sea? I don’t get it.