The Night That Changed Everything (16 page)

‘No, ta,' I say.

‘You need to eat.'

I wonder if there is a sentence more commonly spoken to the brokenhearted. Actually, I know that there is, because something else people keep saying is,
Try to keep busy
. Which helps until you stop keeping busy and the misery returns, redoubled as if angry that you attempted to leave its grip. Any respite hardly seems worth it.

Jamie crunches into his toast then nods towards the laptop. ‘Are you looking at Rebecca's page?'

I turn the screen away from him. ‘No.'

‘It's adrenalin,' he says smugly. ‘When you're embarrassed your body releases loads of it, and adrenalin causes the blood vessels in your face to dilate, which in turn lets in more blood, and basically that's why you've gone all red.'

I slap the laptop shut with a huff. ‘She won't accept my calls, she isn't replying to my texts. I'm going mental.'

Jamie stands up, tsking. He approaches the chalkboard that hangs next to his fridge and uses his fist to erase a number belonging to an Anna.

‘What are you doing?' I say as he pinches a piece of chalk between finger and thumb.

‘Seeing as you're going to be here a bit longer than we originally thought, I think we need some rules.' He starts writing. ‘Rule one, no Damien Rice. Rule two, no double texting.'

I go to argue but he silences me with a raised brow. ‘And rule three, no Facebook stalking.'

‘I knew I should have gone back to Russ and Tom's.'

Jamie sweeps an arm towards the door, all
be-my-guest
, and I get about as close to laughter as I possibly could right now.

Which isn't very close, but still.

In an attempt to
keep busy
I decide to leave the house. I wasn't planning on coming here. It just happened, because sometimes life is like that, you do stuff for no real reason at all. Like me and Danielle.

I step off the bus near the gift shop and zip up my coat as I start to navigate the chalky path that snakes through the olive landscape.

I take the packet of cigarettes that I bought at Waterloo from my coat pocket and stop momentarily to light up. Seven minutes less of feeling like this seems appealing right now.

I only ever smoked when I was stressed but I quit altogether when Rebecca and I started dating. She never said anything, but her disapproval was there in the slightest kink on her forehead. And anyway, I was the happiest I'd ever been, I didn't care about my job; what the fuck did I have to be stressed about?

Sometimes if we'd had an argument I'd go outside and light up – a small act of rebellion – but it's been months since I felt the coarseness of the smoke in my windpipe.

I follow the circumference of the bed and breakfast and approach the naked edge of the cliff. A lone seagull calls out like a weeping dog in the sky, its wings perfectly still as it surfs the wind.

You have to leave . . .

. . . for good.

Of all the words Rebecca said on Friday, it's the final two that I can't shake. I start to cry, and the holding-your-breath trick doesn't work when it's mistakes and not onions causing the tears.

I stand here, looking out at the sea through blurry eyes. There are no fences at Beachy Head to prevent you falling should a heavy gust of wind grip your body, and some instinct born of fright kicks in, stopping me getting too close to the edge. It is almost a relief to feel something other than heartache.

I inch forward towards the verge, imagining my body smashing to the foot of the cliff but knowing I could never do it, and not because life doesn't seem totally unliveable right now. I'd just never have the—

I'm startled by a heavy hand on my shoulder. Instinctively I bolt, twisting my body 180 degrees and finding myself closer than before to a fatal drop.

‘It's OK,' says the complete stranger, displaying his hands submissively and retreating a couple of paces. ‘I just saw you up here and thought I'd see if you wanted a chat?'

The man is dressed in a fluorescent yellow jacket, a red T-shirt that only just covers his belly, and jeans. The wind has blown chaos into his greying but thickset hair. He introduces himself as Brian.

‘I'm from the Beachy Head chaplaincy service,' he says, almost jollily.

‘Oh, right,' I say, not entirely sure what he wants.

‘You know this is the second most popular spot for . . .'

He looks over the edge, and another burst of adrenalin colours my cheeks as I realize he's come to talk me down.

‘I was pretty sure you weren't a jumper, but thought I'd better check just in case.'

Curiosity gets the better of me. ‘Why couldn't I be a jumper?'

He shrugs. ‘You don't seem too comfortable up here. You doubled back as soon as you got within three foot of the edge.'

He chuckles and I join in, this whole journey suddenly seeming a bit silly.

‘Anyway, young ones like you are usually on their phones if they're thinking of jumping.'

‘How come?'

Another shrug. ‘Saying goodbye, maybe.'

Who would I say goodbye to? Rebecca is rejecting all contact, Jamie will probably never forgive me, and Danielle? How can we stay friends after this?

‘We get about four hundred potentials here every year and of those about thirty . . .' Brian jabs his finger towards the sea. ‘You get a feel for who might actually go through with it. Sometimes they do it in front of us, there's nothing we can do.'

I begin to apologize for wasting his time.

‘We've got a little hut just up the road,' he interrupts. ‘Fancy a cuppa?'

There isn't much inside Brian's hut. Just a couple of chairs, a large cardboard box full of blankets and a trestle table with a kettle. On the wall is a pin board with a contacts sheet, takeaway menus and a rota.

‘Where're you from originally?' asks Brian, gesturing for me to sit on the Paisley chair next to the table while he makes a brew.

‘Manchester,' I tell him.

‘City or United? And bear in mind that if you say United there's still time for me to give you a little push off those cliffs.'

I smile and tell him City, and he hands me a paper cup. I go to take a sip but scald my top lip.

‘What are you doing here, then?' he says, drawing a stool from under the table.

‘Well . . .' I feel stupid, but I tell him everything.

‘I was going to bring her here to propose,' I conclude.

Brian allows my words to linger for some time before responding.

‘I'd never say this to my wife but I always think relationships are like a long journey. Sometimes the scenery will take your breath away, and then sometimes it's one long stretch of boring motorway.' He produces a wistful smile at something unsaid, a memory. ‘And then sometimes you can't see what's ahead because the rain is coming down so hard, and that's when you need to slow down, not do anything rash, because the rain always stops eventually, and then you'll be able to see clearly again.'

He sees that I'm not quite following.

‘Give her time,' he adds. ‘If it's meant to be she'll see that eventually.'

‘I hope you're right.'

I stare into my tea before taking a sip. It's cooler now.

‘Rebecca is an architect,' I say, and Brian encourages me to continue with a nod. ‘She once told me that when you create a building, if you make a mistake it's there for ever. You can't change it.' I bite my knuckles, pressing my teeth into the skin. ‘I hadn't realized she applied the same principle to us.'

Brian gets a text but he ignores it.

‘I should go,' I say, rising.

‘Already?'

‘It's OK. It's been really great to meet you, but I reckon there are people far more in need of your time than me. My problems are all self-inflicted.'

He stands too, holding out a hand for me to shake.

‘Did you ever hear about the Austrian army in 1788?' I say. ‘They accidentally attacked themselves and lost ten thousand men.'

He chuckles.

‘That's me – I'm the Austrian army.'

Friday, 28 November

I can't decide if it feels like a million years or fifteen minutes since Avril let slip that Ben slept with Danielle, and I walked out of the cable car and out of my relationship. It's actually a month. A month since I had a boyfriend. A month since I had an entire happy day. A month since I had a proper night's sleep.

Which is why I've spent half the morning trying to fill out this order for materials for the cinema. Working out how much I need is basic maths but you'd think I was trying to crack a previously unsolved quadratic equation.

I finally fill in some numbers when my phone rings.

‘Word up, Becca G,' is Jemma's greeting.

‘Never call me that again.'

‘Understood.'

But it makes me smile. ‘What's up?'

‘What are you doing tomorrow night?'

‘Got loads of life admin to do.' I'll probably have cheese on toast for dinner and watch an old movie but I have a feeling Jemma's going to invite me to the drinks I overheard her arranging with Eddie earlier, so my plans need to sound more essential. I make a point of not socializing with work.

‘I'm going out with a few of the work guys. Don't make me be the only lassie with a load of men.' She titters. ‘Actually, I love being the only lassie with a load of men, but it'll be fun if you come.'

‘Sorry, Jem. No can do.'

‘OK.' She sighs. ‘That's not why I called, by the way – there's someone in reception to see you.'

I'm not prepared for who I find hovering in the lobby when I step out of the lift.

My throat restricts so my voice comes out as barely a whisper. ‘Danielle.'

‘Hey.' The artist formerly known as my best friend greets me with a careful smile. ‘How are you?'

‘Fine,' I reply impatiently, aware of how many people are milling in and out of the office, with it being lunchtime. I need to get rid of her without causing a scene.

‘Can we talk?'

‘Not now.'

I can't even bear to look at her – the betrayal hits me afresh every time.

‘When, then? You haven't been answering my calls. You pretend to be out every time I call at the flat.'

Actually, I've been working late every night so I had no idea she'd been dropping by, but I don't bother correcting her.

‘Just give me a chance to explain,' she pleads loudly.

‘Sshhh,' I whisper. ‘Just go.'

‘No.' She crosses her arms. ‘Not unless you have lunch with me.'

I stare at her coldly but she meets my gaze and stares right back.

‘I can't,' I say.

‘Why not?'

‘I have plans.'

‘What plans?'

‘Lunch with a friend.'

‘Who?' Danielle isn't an idiot.

‘You ready, Becs?'

Danielle and I both turn to look at Jemma, who's buttoning up her duffel coat.

‘Wha—' I start, but then I cotton on. ‘I mean, yes! Ready.'

‘Oh,' I hear Danielle mumble. ‘Well, soon then?'

When I don't respond, she smiles at me sadly then turns and walks away.

‘Thanks,' I tell Jemma as the clicking of Danielle's stilettos fades into the distance.

‘No worries. It's windy out – you'll probably need a jacket.'

‘Er . . .'

‘We're going for lunch.'

‘Oh, I didn't realize you actually meant let's go.'

‘Oh, come on. There's a new Vietnamese place just opened round the corner,' she coaxes. ‘All this week when you buy a main meal you get a free glass of wine.'

I need something to perk me up and suddenly the thought of a drink sounds immensely appealing.

‘Oh, OK,' I agree. ‘You had me at free glass of wine.'

‘It was literally the last thing I said,' she calls after me as I head up to get my coat.

I close my eyes as I take my first sip of wine, feeling at least a little of the tension dissolve.

‘So, I had a date last night,' Jemma blurts out as soon as we've ordered our food.

‘How was it?' I ask to be polite, but I'm starting to regret this. I need a loved-up lunch companion about as much as I need a kick in the tit.

‘It was shite.'

Jemma explains how he asked her during the starter whether she is for or against Scottish independence, then spent the rest of the meal laying into her for not having an opinion.

I snort, realizing I haven't genuinely laughed for weeks and this is actually cheering me up.

‘So how're you finding single life?' asks Jemma.

‘It's all right.'

‘Liar. It's pants.'

‘Being single isn't pants.' I sip my wine. ‘Realizing that the person you thought was your soulmate took your best friend home and slept with her on the night you met him – now that's pants.'

She's the first person I've actually told and saying it out loud gives me the same dizzy sensation I got when I first found out.

Jemma's eyes nearly pop out of her face. ‘The lassie in reception?'

‘That's the one.'

I'd never planned to go into detail. Aside from the fact it's painful to talk about, it's really rather embarrassing. What does it say about me if my boyfriend slept with someone else the night we met?

I don't know why I tell Jemma. Maybe there's something in her self-deprecation regarding her own love life that makes me feel at ease. Or maybe it's the way she rescued me from Danielle earlier that makes me feel like she's on my side.

‘Ah, shit. You got blindsided.'

‘I got what?'

‘There's a theory that the length of time you take to get over a break-up depends on why you broke up.'

‘Go on.'

‘So with the Mutual Break-up, you get over it quickly because you both want it so you're just relieved rather than heartbroken or feeling guilty. But if it's the Got Dumped Break-up, it will take longer.'