Break-Up Club: A smart, funny novel about love and friendship. Lorelei Mathias
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Bella said, scowling.
‘Although maybe it’s some really clever metaphor, for life?’
‘Nice try. But no, I don’t think he’s that clever. The last time I tried to discuss metaphor with Sam he thought I was talking about bull-fighting. He really is that thick.’
Holly shook her head, her eyes landing on the empty vodka bottle and half-eaten bag of jelly babies at Bella’s feet. ‘Right well, I’m not sure you’ll be up to it, or that you need to add to the alcohol that’s already colonising your veins, but some of us are going to the pub. I’d like to recommend you take this opportunity to try and do outdoors – take a short intermission from moping?’
Bella shook her head. The prospect of having to act happy again so soon did not appeal. After crying for so long, she felt snug as a bug nestling at sorrow’s bosom. ‘No, no. Not out there, not yet.’
Holly walked over to the window and peered through the gap in the dark blue blinds. There was still some daylight left; the sun wasn’t quite setting. She grabbed the string and pulled.
‘Hey!!! What are you doing?’ screamed Bella, clamping her hands over her eyes.
‘You have a date in the bathroom. There’s someone in there I’d like you to meet. He’s called Mr Shower Head. Now. Come on!’
Reluctantly, Bella relented. But instead of hoisting herself up on the sofa in order to stand up, she went for the roll and land technique. Still swaddled in blankets, she slowly rolled onto the floor in the manner of a depressed pancake. Then Holly began to peel off the blankets, Bella whimpering as the cold air hit her pyjamas. She stood up, shook her hair free of some of the crisp crumbs, then hobbled towards the door in the pink duvet slippers.
‘YAY. Well done you. Listen, you get in the shower, I’ll make you a cup of sugary tea and put it in your room for afters, OK?’
‘Thanks,’ mumbled Bella, stepping out into the hallway and walking like something from Dawn of the Dead. Holly went to put the kettle on. Moments later, there was an almighty shriek, followed by what sounded like a herd of elephants jumping on top of each other.
Holly ran to the landing. She looked down to see Bella in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs.
‘FUUUuuuuuuCK! I’ve broken my arse!’
Holly ran down the stairs. ‘I did try and warn you! No walking in the slippers! They are strictly for loafing!’
‘I forgot I had them on!’
‘Sorry!’ Holly said, folding Bella into her arms.
‘Hey, at least I can’t get any lower now, can I?’ Bella said, shrieking with laughter, tears streaming down her face.
Forty minutes and thirty millilitres of soothing Aloe Vera gel later, they set off. After wandering down the long and winding Tufnell Park Road, Bella and Holly arrived at Holloway Road. Aesthetically, the contrast never failed to bring a shock to Holly’s system. The way the charming Victorian conversions morphed into grey concrete 1960s blocks and stalls flogging mobile phones. Slowly they strolled down the rows of off-licenses and discount clothing shops, with dated shopfronts.
Just as they turned right onto the road, Holly felt the wind tugging at her hair, forcing her to wrap her charcoal-grey duffel coat tighter around her. Holloway Road appeared to have its own microclimate – it was always cold and windy, no matter what the weather was doing anywhere else. As if on cue, it then began to rain. Holly pulled her coat above her head to protect her curls from going fuzzy.
‘Ah, home sweet booze,’ Bella said, as they walked through the doors to the Big Blue and she leaped towards a cluster of free sofas, draping her long red coat over the biggest armchair.
‘I’ll have a Vodka and Red Bull if you’re going up to the bar,’ Bella said, slumping into a chair and resuming the affectation of a broken-hearted creature.
‘Of course. Although, I can’t believe you still drink that university shite. You’ll be after a Snakebite and black soon!’ Holly said, looking at the door and seeing Olivia walk in.
‘Hi, Liv,’ Holly said, moving in for a hug.
‘Oh my days, Holly, what’s happening to your eye? It keeps jittering! Are you developing a nervous tic?’
‘Oh, my eyelid? It’s been doing that for days now. I didn’t realise anyone else could see it twitching. Do I look like a circus freak?’
‘No more than usual,’ Bella said.
‘That’s stress, that is,’ Olivia said, ‘when your eyelid gets a trapped nerve. It’s stress, or lack of sleep.’
‘Oh well, I’m sure it will go away. What’s everyone drinking? I’m getting this round.’
‘Hendricks and slim-line, please,’ Olivia said. ‘Remind me again why you guys drink here?’ she added as she sat down on the only non-saggy bit of sofa, surveying the scattering of Arsenal-shirted, skin-headed punters. As her eyes took in the peeling upholstery and the lighting that hid a multitude of nicotine stains on the walls, her expression read, ‘Take me back to West Didsbury!’
‘Because it’s cheap, and we can always get a seat,’ Bella began, ‘and because when you’re here, you can’t sink any lower. Lower your expectations, and you lower your propensity towards disappointment.’ It wasn’t entirely clear whether she was talking about their surroundings or something more. Either way, as was sometimes the case with Bella, there was a kernel of wisdom buried deep.
‘So how’s the exciting new job?’ Olivia said. ‘Is it getting any better?’
‘Nope. Starting to really wish I’d stayed where I was. Far better to be a junior editor in a company I liked, than a senior one in a clusterfuck of an omnishambles! Not only is it such a small outfit there that I’m doubling as general office gofer, and doing all my own grading as well as the editing, but Jeremy’s also got me and the other editor there competing to pitch him ideas for new shows in our spare time!’
‘Bet you’d be good at that though, wouldn’t you?’ Bella said.
‘Not the sort of rubbish he likes. From what I’ve seen so far, he’s got the creative judgment of a discombobulated goldfish. But I’m going to give it my best shot.’ Holly’s voice slowed as she noticed a Vesuvius of tears erupting all over Bella’s face.
‘What happened?’ she said, stroking Bella’s hair.
‘Dylan,’ Bella said, as if this explained everything.
Holly’s eyes narrowed in confusion.
‘It’s bloody, bastarding Bob, on the cocking jukebox. I was doing fine until this!’
‘What’s wrong with Bob Dylan?’ Holly asked, regretting it as soon as she had.
‘Bob Dylan is Sam’s favourite singer. It’s like they know!’ Bella said, scowling across at a cluster of innocent bystanders at the jukebox. Then she looked hopelessly from Holly to Olivia, her eyes bloodshot.
‘Oh, dear,’ Olivia said, leaning forward to give Bella a hug.
Holly rubbed Bella’s shoulders. ‘Poor B. It is awful now, I know, but it will get better. I think. It has to, doesn’t it?’ Holly looked for direction from Olivia, who smiled and nodded unconvincingly. ‘Um, will it help if I say something about focusing on the good times? Like, you know, it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have—’
‘Oh don’t you dare start with that BOLLOCKS!’ Bella cut in. ‘Nothing but propaganda, perpetrated only by the likes of Moon Pig, to sell pointless cards! I can honestly say that I feel so much worse for having been shat on by Sam than I would do if I hadn’t ever met him!’ She was now swaying, having dispensed with any attempts to conceal her level of inebriation.
‘Are you calling Alfred Lord Tennyson a liar?’