Three weeks later...

"OH BOY, YOU'RE so getting on my nerves," my sister yells over the phone. "Listen to me, you either fight for her or you stop drowning your sorrows in loneliness! And stop keeping us all out! The kids miss you. Even I miss you. And mum needs you now and you well know Dad shouldn't be watching this. So do something about it, for crying out loud!"

"This is really a bad time. I'll call you–"

"Don't you dare! You've been rejecting all my calls for days, so now you shut up and listen! Stop bottling up and holding it in like it doesn't hurt! Throwing yourself into work and shutting yourself in at home is not going to make things better. So tomorrow, we're having our Sunday family brunch and you're not going to stay in bed again. The moping and wallowing is over! Are we clear?"

"Sue, I'm in the middle of Holland Park. Can't we discuss this later?"

"If you don't move your arse and show up tomorrow, I'll go and drag you there myself, you hear me? I'm a bundle of nerves as it is, so you don't want to mess with me!" she blurts out and then hangs up. Just like that.

Two seconds later it rings again.

"It's her birthday today. Call her, you stubborn arse."

"I can't. Besides, why would I want to hear again how much she hates me, huh?"

"Well, if she doesn't love you, who cares if she says she hates you? Then you'd just have another good reason to stop giving a shit! Now go. See you tomorrow."

After pulling my hood over my head and tucking the earbuds back into my ears, I close my eyes and take a long deep breath.

My throat feels tight as the sharp, cold morning air enters my body and swirls around in the empty pit I have in my chest. My lungs burn. It's almost as painful as the jolt of pain I feel inside every time I ask myself if I'm worth anything at all. Why doesn't she miss what we had? The laughs, the comfort, the nearness. The plans we made, the promises we said we would keep. My hands running through her hair, brushing her lips, skimming over her body...

Trying to chase away the brutal truth – hurt hasn't worn away and it sucks terribly – I turn up the music loud, loud enough to smother my thoughts and the memories.

Then I take a few long steps. The initially slow, rhythmic pace easily shifts into quicker strides and I start running, faster and faster, as fast as my heart can bear, faster than I imagined I could. My heart threatens to burst out of my chest and my legs burn, but the more they burn, the more I run, ignoring the pain, pushing through it. Until it all stops hurting.

*

On my way home, I stare at the empty new-text box, wondering what to write.

'I hope you have a wonderful day. Happy Birthday'?

'Thinking of you on your birthday and wishing you a beautiful day'?

What the fuck are you doing?

'Wishing you a day that is as special as you are'?

Yes, that last one was just brilliant!

You shouldn't write anything at all. Maybe you shouldn't even give a toss about her in the first place, you idiot!

An incoming call from Jake comes in the middle of my dilemma, solving it immediately. I quickly conclude I'd better give up on the idea, it was stupid anyway, and swipe my finger across the screen.

"Hey. What's up?"

"Mate! How're you doing?"

"Okay. You?"

"Listen, tonight they're opening this new club in Soho and I was thinking that–"

"No, thanks. Staying home, I've got work to do."

"Don't talk rubbish and focus. Listen to me, we're hitting that club tonight. We'll have a couple drinks to loosen up and then, with all those strobe lights flashing, they'll all look like Megan Fox and–"

"Nope."

No. I'm not in the mood for random hook-ups, regrettable sex and cheap orgasms. Maybe some other day. But not today.

He snorts. "Hi there. My name is Brian Anderson and I haven't had a shag for over a month now," he says in a ridiculously stupid voice and then laughs. "Who's going to give you a chip for that accomplishment, you moron? Mate, you urgently need to get sloshed and shag the first chick that smiles at you. Do that and order shall be restored!

And you're a wanker and it'd be nice if you could go more than fifteen seconds without thoroughly pissing me off!

"Got to go, Jake. See you on Monday."

"Hey! I can send you a couple of links with some top porn too."

Oh, sod off.

"Bye, Jake."

*

"What's wrong with you, people?" I ask Linda, later in the evening, as I take a flower vase from a high shelf of the cupboard and pass it to her. "Suddenly everyone wants to drag me out of my house. I'm fine!"

I am not. Jimmy called me three or four times this afternoon and I chose not to answer. He's supposed to be my best friend, and I couldn't even talk to him. Plus, I caught a rerun of 'Notting Hill' on TV. Olivia loves it a lot, so I kept watching, feeling a bit emotional sometimes, giving a few hearty laughs too, rooting for an ending I already knew.

Oh, sod. If I don't manage to get it together and become somewhat functional again, I'm so bloody screwed...

That's why I called Jimmy back and ended up accepting his invitation to come over for dinner. Linda is showing their wedding film, absolutely thrilled about the whole thing. It'll be a drag and I'll hate it, but it might be better to get it over with, so we can all forget about that and move on with our lives.

Help me, Lord.

"These look lovely, thank you," Linda says, putting the flowers I brought her in the vase. "It's just that we haven't seen you in weeks, and it'll be nice to catch up a little. Here, now be a sweetheart and put them on the table, will you? I have to check on the oven."

"What are you up to there? Smells good. And where did Jimmy go, again?" I ask as I head to the dining-room.

"Chicken Panzanella, my speciality. He should be arriving any minute."

I place the vase and study the table.

One, two...

Shit.

The table is set for four.

With quick, furious strides I head back to the kitchen. "Linda? I've seen four plates; mind explaining yourself? You're trying to hook me up with one of your girlfriends again, is that it? Without asking me first? Seriously?"

She rests her hand on my shoulder, smiling gently. "Easy, calm down. It's not what you're thinking."

"What is it then? I'm sick and tired of that. Why don't you all just mind your own business and leave–"

"It's just another friend coming over, relax. What's the big deal? You're making a big fuss out of nothing, really."

"Your husband didn't tell me someone else was coming and, frankly, I'm not in the mood for faked smiles and small talk. Maybe I should just go and–"

She raises a scolding finger and looks sternly at me. "My dear, you fake it till you make it. That's the only way! We all know pain is a bitch. But you take each day in your stride, and with time each laugh will come out less bitter, and pain becomes a far smaller bitch, trust me.

"And you'd better start believing that sometimes things need to fall apart, so better things can fall together right after. And you go nowhere because Jimmy's already here, just heard his car." She comes closer and adds in a hushed tone, "And he's not alone, so you better man the fuck up, you hear me? It's time to stop sticking your head under the blankets and letting that bitch grind you down!"

My chest goes tight. The cold and fierce force of her words hits me like a blow. She's right. I need to step back and stop looking at memories that no longer matter. I have to stop examining every inch of my life, looking for a motive, asking myself if I didn't give her enough attention, if I didn't love her hard enough, if I–

"Happy birthday, hon! Welcome back to England, land of fish and chips, pints and lovely gals and perpetually cloudy skies!" Linda says effusively, at the doorway.

I need to lean against the kitchen counter to balance myself.

***