Midsummer Night's Nightmare

Continuation of The Scary Wives of Windsor

Why did I get so brave? Where on earth did that come from?  I've never had enemies before and now the Queen Bee and her simple minded minions are staring at me like in some sort of Italian Mafia film.  I bet they're planning on how best to get rid of me.  A faint smile forms on my lips as I start to imagine their thought process.  They'll probably strangle me with a neck chain made entirely of Swarovski crystals.  Then dump the evidence because they can easily get ten other ones.
    I take another sip of champagne and try to look for Clara.  She hasn't been seen since the dancing incident and now I'm worried that these Scary Wives of Windsor have got to her.
    And where the hell is Chloe?  Shouldn't she be here by now?  I've heard of fashionably late but it's almost midnight and this is her boyfriends' birthday party, for goodness sake.  Not that I care what he's doing or how he's feeling at the moment. 
    My eyes wander over to his direction.  He's talking to an elderly gentleman who actually looks a lot like him.  Probably his father.  He does look good, doesn't he.  Anthony I mean, not his ageing father.  He looks so smart in black tie - like some sort of leader.  And his hair.  I love his hair.  I want to touch his hair. 

    In that instant he looks in my direction, then averts his eyes quickly.  Fine!  Play games if you want to.  See if I care.  Urgh, this is stupid.  What point am I making by being here?  I'm standing like a lone moron against the wall with no one to talk to.  My champagne is getting ever lower and I'm feeling too scared to even move.  Clearly, I'm not cut out for this.  They can play their Gossip Girl melodramas as much as they want, but I'm outta here! 
    My concentration is broken by a sharp "Woooo!" and the grandest entrance Clara has ever made.  With a can of beer in her hand she breaks through the patio doors with the chubby, short, balding guy holding on to her hips right behind her.

    "Hello, Gorgeous!" she greets before landing a big, fat sloppy kiss on my cheek. 
    "Where did you get that from?"  I point to the Heineken held tightly in her hand.
    "We popped over to the corner shop,"
    "The corner shop?  We're surrounded by fields!"
    "Yeah, but Geoffrey here," she pats the man's tummy, "was very kind and paid for a taxi to town,"
    "I'm well and truly sloshed!"  Geoffrey pipes in.  Tall, willowy Clara is now leaning her arm on his head.  "My wife is going to kill me when she finds out I'm drinking," he puts a finger up to his lips and spits everywhere as he tries to shush.
    "She'll probably kill you for a lot more than that," I say as I catch him grope Clara's bottom, and then her left breast.
    Clara is completely oblivious to it.  Not even a flinch as he moves closer and starts sniffing her.  Without thinking I pull a disgusted look and move away.
    Right, it's definitely time to get out of here. I place the glass down and make a dash for the door before anyone has a chance to spot me.  But just as I reach the wondrous outside, I see Chloe strolling up the stairs with a beaming smile.  Instinctively, I hide behind a flowerpot pulling in as much of my dress as I can. 
    "As the doors open, I want you to introduce me at the top of the stairs, OK Uncle?"
    "Ok, my sweet," the man responds.  I see them walk through the door straight past me.  I breathe out a sigh of relief thinking I'm on the home stretch, but Chloe stops to inspect her dress.  Her peachy skin illuminates in the iridescent light.  She smiles again like in some cheesy toothpaste commercial. Her blonde hair has been twisted and curled into a high chignon, all finished off with luminous diamonds.  Even her dress, which to anyone else who would wear it would be a simple baby pink, somehow has developed a pearlescent sheen.  She's a real life Good Witch from the Wizard of Oz - you know, if the Good Witch was a complete crazy pyscho!  That actually reminds me, I must get Jo to come and watch Wicked with me sometime soon.
    "Do you think tonight's the night?"  She asks her uncle like a small child seeking reassurance.  But reassurance is something Chloe is not short of.  Without even saying a word, her uncles' nod is simply enough for her self confidence to be back in tact.  "Do you really think he's going to propose?"  Her words leave her mouth and hit me like bullets through my skin.  Surely, I didn't hear that right?  Chloe is barely nineteen, and Anthony, well, isn't he in his early twenties? Why would he propose?     

    Completely dumbfounded, I stand behind the flowerpot wondering what her words could really mean.  She obviously means some other kind of proposal, like maybe a business proposal.  Maybe Anthony is going to propose that she works for him.  Or, another kind...like...like clothing.  Maybe she's hoping that he'll propose a whole new wardrobe for himself and would really love Chloe to go fetch.  Or...or...
    "Ladies and gentlemen, Chloe Deloris Oceana Wilson," the announcement chimes followed by the loudest applause I have ever heard.  It sounds like Katy Perry just walked on stage, rather than a nobody teenage girl.   But I still stand there behind this jade plant unable to move. 
    "Ella, what are you doing?" Anthony.  He looks mad, which I don't particularly care for, so I step out from behind the bushy plant and scowl at him. 
    "What does it look like I'm doing?"  But that's probably not the best response as it looks like I'm hiding behind a flowerpot.
    His hands are in his pocket and he steps closer, still mad.  Why is he mad at me?  What have I done now?
    "Don't you have somewhere to be, Anthony?  Like clapping at your girlfriends spectacularly idiotic entrance?"
    "Oh, is she here?"
    I raise an eyebrow.  "What did you think that noise was all about?  The Duchess of Cambridge didn't just turn up to your birthday party!"
    "Stop being an idiot, Ella,"  He moves closer and leans on the window sill next to me.
    I don't even want to respond.  I just want to go home.  I want to get into my Minnie Mouse pyjamas and watch Hollyoaks whilst gorging myself on full fat cheese.  Straight out of the packet.
    "Happy Birthday," I say and go to leave.  I manage to make it to the bottom of the stairs, breathing the midsummer night air before I'm stopped.
    "Seriously, why won't anyone let me leave this place?"  But my words are cut short with Anthony swooping in with one short, perfect kiss.    "Umm, what are you doing?" I whisper trying to break free from his arms. Thoughts whirring inside my head - none of which manage to form a grammatically correct sentence.
    "Home. Must get home, " I say pulling myself away from his magnetising grip.
    "Please don't go. He pulls me into him again and I'm utterly lost for words, because despite everything I cannot seem to break away.  He goes in for another kiss.  Right, this time I'll let him. This time I have to let him. But the moment's stolen with an ear-piercing scream.
     We both look up to find that the thunderous noise came from Chloe.  She screams again, although this time it isn't as ladylike. 
     Oh god, this is bad.  This is very very bad, because right by her side are all the other party guests.
Chloe is stomping down the stairs pushing me away from Anthony and I stumble backwards, almost toppling over. 
    "What are you doing?" She screams at Anthony, but he has nothing to say.
    Her attention then turns to me.  "And you!  What are you doing here!  Who invited you, because I made damn sure I ripped up Anthony's invitation to you!"
    My eyes flick towards Jens, but he just looks away completely innocently.
    "Slut!" the Queen Bee shouts from her throne.  The minions just nod in agreement.
    "She's not a slut!" Anthony steps in.  "I tried to kiss her.  She was pushing me away,"
But silence fills the garden like I've never seen before.  This is deeply embarrassing.  I can just about make the faint murmuring of crickets somewhere in the distance. 
    "I'm so sorry," I manage wanting to run home.  I knew I should have never come. 

    "Maybe it is time everyone goes home.  This misunderstanding can all be sorted tomorrow with a fresh perspective.  We're all too merry and too tired to deal with this right now," The Anthony look-alike steps in.
    "No, dad its fine," Anthony responds.  At least I was right about this being his father. 
    Chloe's earlier radiance has now vanished.  She represents more an infuriated Medusa than a gentle Aphrodite.  Any second now she'll grow serpents out of her scalp and I'll be left as a startled stone statue, forever stuck in the most humiliating experience of my life.
    "Urgh!"  She screams again.  "Fucking hell, Anthony!"
    "Language, poppet," her uncle chimes in.
    "I thought you were going to propose tonight!"
    Anthony takes a massive step back.  "Wait, what?"  He asks confused.  "Why did you think I would propose?"
    "Oh, I don't know!" She screams.  "Perhaps because I was telling you a couple of weeks ago that my father proposed to my mother on his twenty fifth birthday and you said, 'that sounds good.'"
But that explanation seems to have no effect on Anthony.  Still completely perplexed, he edges slightly backward as if he wants to hide in the safe, dark covering of the garden.
     "I'm sorry," his apology a child's whisper in the midnight air and my heart completely goes out to him.  If I had just stayed away, none of this would have happened. 
    "I NEVER want to see your face again!"  the Queen Bee spits from the top of the stairs.  She's pointing at me like a Wicked Witch about to cast a spell.  But her pathetic threat does nothing but irritate me.
    "It's alright, Sierra.  She's nothing but a daughter of the Great Unwashed who works part time at a middle-of-the-range clothing store going nowhere in life," Chloe chimes in.
    To my complete surprise, it is not shouting or swearing that comes out of my mouth, but laughter.  Loud chuckling that at this precise moment even I do not understand.
    "Firstly," I begin, "not a daughter of the Great Unwashed.  My parent's are rich.  Filthy rich in fact.  Simon Cowell kind of rich!" OK, a massive exaggeration, but confidence starts booming through my veins and I'm not about to stop now.  "And they certainly had more sense than to call me after a night club, Oceana!"  she gasps. 
     "Secondly, I don't have to work at Delilah Dales, I choose to.  And if it's so 'middle-of-the-range', why are you and your Scary Wives of Windsor wearing dresses from there?"  Someone repeats 'Scary wives of Windsor' in the crowd and all I hear is Jens' awkward laugh.  I'm guessing he didn't want me to reveal his little pet name for them.
    "Thirdly, going nowhere?  I'm at university studying Economics.  The world's my oyster.  But you." I walk towards her like I've seen in the movies a million time - the beaten down girl now the top of the pack having no mercy, "You, well, there are only so many years before the amount of antidepressants you take outnumber your clothes,"
    Chloe narrows her eyes about to bite back, but I desperately don't want to let her. " And lastly, your boyfriend seems to prefer a daughter of the Great Unwashed than the simple minded idiot of fake aristocracy," and that should just about seal the deal.
    I step back expecting wild applause, but nothing.  There is nothing by eerie silence and the faces of strangers weighing down their disapproval on me.  Even Anthony looks embarrassed.  I'm now starting to regret every single word.
    Breaking the quiet night, the bushes behind Anthony start to rustle and suddenly all attention is torn away from me.  Some grunts and groans emerge from the emerald leaves and two figures step into the light. 
    Clara.
    Acting like her usual self, she straightens her dress and smiles at everyone.  "Have you all met my new boyfriend?" she announces, kissing the short, old, chubby man from before as he starts tucking his shirt in, lipstick marks all around his mouth. 
    "Splendid night, isn't it?" the man bellows and the crowd, completely in unison, look on in amazement, then whisper to one another like gossiping busy bees.
    "Daddy?" and then Chloe faints.

A Case of Drunken Identity

Eyes open to reveal a blur of curtains and wallpaper.  All flowers and stripes, I rub my eyes for clarity to make sense of what appears to be a 1970's bedsit.  After a few more blinks, the scenery in front of me starts to reveal itself.  I'm not in a 1970's bedsit at all.  This is my room.  The curtains turn out to be jeans draped over the shutters, and the flowery wallpaper is wine splodges.  Wine splodges?  No, that can't be right.  How did they get there?

Head is pounding so much now that I'm up and I cannot make sense of any of my thoughts.  Water.  Definitely need water to wash away this horrific taste in my mouth.  What is it?  It's like vodka mixed with Listerine.  Did I brush my teeth with vodka last night?  I attempt to walk over to the door but stumble and fall over a pair of grey underpants.  Umm, now I know those definitely aren't mine.  Men's boxers?  Oh no, who stayed here last night?  Alert and awake I start to look under the covers and under the bed for any sign of another life form.  Nothing in the wardrobe.  Nothing in the laundry basket.  Nothing anywhere.  Phew!  No one's here.  That's good news. 

The door screeches and screams as I attempt to open it.  I have no idea what the time is and I'm fully aware I'm in my own house, but this still feels like the walk of shame.  I tiptoe out hoping my flatmate isn't in, but as I approach the kitchen I hear voices.  And not just her voice.  Multiple voices mixed with laughter and 'Oh my gosh!'.  Great.  They're recounting tales of my drunken escapades meanwhile I'm locked away suffering in a room covered in wine.  What has become of friendship!

It takes me 3 paces to the bathroom to realise that I'm actually only in my underwear.  Like a startled deer, I dash back to my room in a desperate search for clothing.  But I can't find anything appropriate.  It's all organza dresses and glittery tops.  What was I doing in here last night?  A fashion show?  Why are my espadrilles out?  And why the bloody hell are those jeans on the shutters?  Jeans will do.  And so will this glittery yellow top I bought at a car boot sale seven years ago.

Right, second time to leave the room.  Head still pounding.  Breath still Listerine Vodka (perhaps a new marketing promotion for them?).  Memories still non-existent. 

    "Good morning, trouble," Josie, the flatmate sings as I enter the room.  She looks at my outfit up and down and smiles, "You didn't sleep in that, did you?  I thought you were allergic?"

    What?  To a yellow top?

    "Umm, no," I reply unsure of what she could mean.  She clearly misunderstood me.  She must have been more drunk than I was.  Silly Josie.  She must feel like a complete idiot.

    "How did you sleep?" she gets up from the table to put the kettle on.

    "Water,"

    "No coffee?"

    "Water,"

    After three gallons of the stuff, I'm starting to feel slightly better.  Until the third voice rings behind me and I jolt spilling it everywhere.

    "It's like last night all over again," the stranger speaks and I do nothing by stare at him with a blank expression.  At least I hope it's blank.  With my current state it could be anything from mild smile to tears streaming down face.

    Who is this man?  Where did he come from?  Why is he in my kitchen?  Why does his hair smell familiar?

    "Ella, right? Or is it Desdemona?" 

Desdemona?  Oh god.  Now I remember.

Last Night

I'm always partial to a bit of drink.  I'm English.  It's how we've been raised.  But as I sit in the living room sipping on Lemsip, surrounded by dirty tissues as I'm watching Downton Abbey in a onsie, the furthest thing from my mind is going out.  I want to be warm.  Warm, healthy and full of knowledge that Lady Mary and Matthew will definitely get married.

    It is, therefore, completely unbeknownst to me how I ended up at Purple Mustard with Josie shoving another stinky Sambuca underneath my nose.

    "Drink, and you shall be merry," she orders as she downs hers with a smile.

    And she's right, because I do become merry.  It just takes me seven attempts at it.  Next thing I know I'm feeling incredibly brave going up to every guy demanding that they call me Lady Ella, because I'm an heiress who is about to be swindled out of my fortunes by some distant cousin.

    "And he's only a lawyer, you know" I jabber in utter self-confidence.  Faces are looking blank around me - a few pitying smiles as randomers sip their drinks and walk away, but it doesn't dampen my spirits.  In a mix of paracetamol, Strepsils and Sambuca, I truly am an English aristocrat living off my well-earned inheritance.  Now where is my butler with that drink!

    Confused as to why he is nowhere to be seen, I decide to make my own way to the bar, order a dirty martini and casually lean against the cool, metallic table top watching my minions.  I take one sip of my drink and completely miss my mouth.  It all pours across my chest and into my dress.  Quite possibly my bra too. 

    "Should you be doing that in public?" a stranger speaks and I turn but see no one.  Perhaps I'm hearing things.

    "Seriously, should you be doing that in public?" Again?  Where is this voice coming from?  I turn again to be faced with blue eyes and wry smile. 

    "I'm not doing anything," I reply.  It's only when I see his eyes drop down to my chest, that I realise I appear to be fishing out an olive from my bra.  I take my hand out immediately and scorn myself.  This is not how a lady should be behaving. 

    "What's your name?" he asks.

    "Ummm....ummm..." I need a new identity.  After this whole olive-bra incident I can no longer be Lady Ella.  It will bring utter shame to my family.  "Desdemona," I reach out my hand expecting him to kiss it, "Charmed to meet you,"

    "I hear you're a friend of Josie's,"

    "...Yes.  Why?  What has she said?"

    He starts to laugh out loud.  "She hasn't said anything.  She pointed you out earlier and I thought I'd say hello.  I'm Mark."

    "She said, 'Over there is my friend, Desdemona?'"  She knows me far too well if she said that.  We're probably syncing our brains from living together for so long.  It wouldn't surprise me after watching that really cool documentary about mind reading.

    He looks confused.  "No...she just pointed to you and said 'There's my friend!'  Drink?"

    "Yes,"

    "What would you like?"  

    Ah.  I have to have a think here.  What would 'Desdemona' like?

    "I'll have a glass of Prosecco,"  I'm thinking Desdemona is new money.

Josie, Mark and I are now out of the bar, faced with a trail of cabs and drunk pedestrians.  Gosh, all these women have no idea how to hold their drink.  One of them has puke all down her.  At least I had the decency to wait until I was over a toilet bowl.  And I only got a little on the bottom of my tights.

    "It's too far to walk," 

    "Oh, it's only ten minutes, Ell...I mean, Desdemona," Josie says.  "Mark will give you a piggy back, right Mark?"

    "Hop on," he instructs, to which I do.  And fall asleep nuzzled up against his wavy hair.

I'm outside the flat now, with Josie trying to cram the key into the lock.  "It won't fit!" she shouts but I only look on.  I decide to take a break from helping out and sit against the wall thinking about my new life as Desdemona.  God, it could really be great.  People will call me Dessie for short.  Or Mona.  And maybe I'll get a dog.  Dessie definitely sounds like she'd have a dog.  And maybe-

    "Come on, Missy," Mark helps me up and leads me inside.  Excuse me, but it's actually Dessie.

    The three of us are now sitting on the floor of my room looking at the pale, cream wallpaper.  I can't quite recall how we got onto this conversation.  The last thing I remember is Josie telling Mark that I'm single and that he should take me out.  I may have told him he should.  Actually, I may have demanded it.  Unfortunately, I cannot recall his response, but he can't have said no. 

    "It could do with some colour,"

    "Mmm, and possibly some more paintings,"

    "And curtains,"

    The conversation carries on without me, with Mark occasionally asking if I'm OK. 

    "Not if you keep insulting my room!" I reply in a grump.  And then a wonderful idea comes to me.  I'll decorate it right now.  I mean, it can't be that difficult as all I need to do is get some paint pots and test out colours.  They used to do it all the time on Changing Rooms.  Except, I don't have any paint...

    "Jose, what do you think of wine coloured walls?"  I ask her as I wander around the room inspecting the crisp wallpaper. 

    "It's my favourite colour!" she beams and hands me a glass of the stuff.  And I throw it on the wall.

    "Ella, what the fuck are you doing?"  Josie stands up in shock.  Mark is in a fit of laughter.

    I look down at both of them confused at the outbreak.  "What?  I'm seeing if this is a suitable colour to paint it,"

    Josie walks out angrily, but I take no notice.  She's probably just jealous that Mark finds me funny and not her.  He's still laughing.  He laughs a lot.

    "You should get some curtains too," she inputs after he's done.

    What an excellent idea.  I like this Mark character.  I think him and Desdemona shall be very happy together.

    I open up the wardrobe and take out a pair of jeans, then drape them over the shutters.  Wow.  I am such a genius. 

    "That's pretty good," he rises from his place and looks on at my handy-work.

    Josie walks back in with a bottle of vodka straight out of the freezer and a pair of mens boxers on her head.  "I've decided I'm not drunk enough," and takes a big gulp.  I congratulate her on her new hat and go to shut my wardrobe.

    "Wow, that's a very sparkly top," Mark says looking at a glittery, yellow top in the middle of my wardrobe.

    I pull it out and look at it's gleaming glory in the light.  "Yes, it's real diamonds," I tell him in utter seriousness.  My godfather gave it to me as a present.  He was disappointed he couldn't find a diamond encrusted pony for me,"

    "Those aren't diamonds!" Josie pipes up before another vodka sip.

    "What?" I say in mock shock, "well, no wonder I never wear it.  I'm allergic to fake diamonds," and start inspecting the rest of my clothes to add to the reality.  I don't want Mark to think I'm a fraud.  I need to play my part.  Clothes are now being flung all over the room.

Josie has now fallen asleep hugging the grey underpants, and Mark and I are lying down on my bed talking about the squares on the ceiling.

    "I think they came with the house," I inform.

    He rises slightly from the bed and rests his head on his hand.  With a massive grin he's looking down at me like an impressive knight who has rescued his damsel. 

    "You're crazy," he says getting closer like he's about to kiss me.  "You make me laugh so much," 

    Our lips touch very faintly, and for a second I feel like I've been snapped out of my drunken state, but just before he kisses me I realise I've been sick tonight.  And I haven't brushed my teeth. I cannot let this man kiss my vomit covered mouth.  I rise from the bed and grab the vodka bottle that's now resting next to Josie's feet.  I take a mouthful, gargle and spit it out in the bathroom sink.

    "What the hell are you doing?" I see Mark's reflection in the bathroom mirror.

    "I'm brushing my teeth,"

    "...where's your toothbrush?"

    "Vodka's antibacterial,"

    "I still think you need a toothbrush,"

    God, he's completely right.  I grab the pink, bristly brush from the pot and dip it into the bottle.  With utter care, I start to brush my teeth.

    Ten minutes later, I'm done and walk back to my room with a beaming smile.  "I'm ready," I announce, but Mark is fast asleep on my bed.  A little disappointed, I take off my clothes down to my underwear and get under the covers on the space that's left.  I'll kiss him in the morning.

    Still impressed at my amazing interior designing skills, I take a quick look around my room before I turn off the lamp.

    "Night, Jose," I whisper.

    "Nnnn," is all the reply I get from the corner of the room.

A Case of Mistaken Identity

I run for the taxi I can see in the distance. My legs skim across Leicester Square like never before, and a few steps behind me I can hear him screaming my name."

    "Ella!" He yells for my attention, "Where are you going?"

    Away. I'm going away. Because if I'm right about this (and I probably am), I need to be as far away from this man as I can possibly get.

     I reach the taxi to be greeted by a perplexed driver turning his double chin towards me. I almost expect him to tell me to get out and drive off with wheels spinning, and me left behind splattered with mud.

    "Er...where to?" He asks, before lifting his double chin to the guy running after the taxi. "Should I wait for your friend?”

    "No!" I shout, turning my head to see my dear date catching up. "Go! Please drive!” I yell.

    "WHERE TO?" he says, exhasperated.

    Well, there’s no need for that attitude. Honestly, some people are so impatient.   

    "Waterloo," and off we go.

As we drive away, I look behind me at my abandoned date and breathe a sigh of relief. I see him finally stop to catch his breath, hands above his hips, looking at me like I’ve gone insane.  People need to stop looking at me like that.  It’s doing nothing for my self confidence.

    "I won't be associated with some sort of crime, will I?" The driver speaks through the rear view mirror.  All I see is his double chin, which unfortunately has the same height as the rest of his face. 

    "Umm, no," I responded rapidly reaching for my phone.

    "Because if I am, I'll be very angry," chin wiggles in the mirror.

    Why does he keep talking to me? Can't he see I'm clearly in distress and, oh no, where's my phone? Please tell me I didn't leave it at the restaurant. Please please, oh here it is just past my hair spray and left over pre-date Subway. 

     I fumble around with my phone, forgetting which apps lead to which programme, until I finally click on the right one where a list of names pop up.  Mikey – where on earth is Mikey?  And who are all these strange people on my contacts list?  Who’s Elspeth? 

    As I realise that my phone needs more of a detox than Peaches Geldolf in her good ol’ days, I finally click on Mikey and wait impatiently as the phone rings.

    Meanwhile, taxi driver is muttering something under his breath.  Oh dear!  I hope I haven’t run from one mad man only to be throwing myself into another one. 

    “Seriously, are you in some sort of trouble?” he turns towards me, ignoring the road ahead.

    “Of course not,” 

    “Then what the bleedin’ ‘ell were you doing running like that?  Nineteen years of cab driving and I’ve never seen anything like that before,” I’m about to stop him, but he continues, “and I’ve seen all sorts.  Oh, the stories I could tell…”

    Oh please, don’t tell!  I have much more important things to do right now.

    Mikey doesn’t pick up, so I try again.  I’m about to give up all hope and reach his house without warning, but try one last time.

    Hurrah!  Success at last!  The lazy bugger has picked up the phone.

   “Hello,” he sings in a sleepy voice. “You’ve just woken me up,”

   “Woken you up?  Mikey, it’s nine o’ clock!”

   “Oh, is it?” he says after a pause.  I can hear a yawn before he speaks again.  “I must have napped,”

   “Mikey, I think I’m in trouble,”

   “I knew it!” explodes the driver,to which I quickly roll my eyes.

   “You know the guy I was set up with tonight?”

   “Yeah. Why?  What have you done?” Mikey bursts suddenly with an aggressive tone.  I think he’s fully awake now. 

   “No, it’s nothing like that,” I stare out of the window as I ignore the rants of the driver, and recollect my memories of the evening.  “I’m pretty sure he’s the wanted murderer!”  I whisper down the phone.

   “Er, the what?”

   “You know!  The guy on Crimewatch last night.  The mass serial killer who I said was too attractive to be a madman,”

   He laughs, which makes me want to cry. 

  “I’m not making this up.   I promise you.  It’s him!”

  Mikey huffs down the phone.  “Ok, Ella,” I can hear him sit down with exhaustion.  “Just because he looks like him, doesn’t mean it’s him.  Do you honestly think that killer on Crimewatch, who by the way, looked illiterate, would be moonlighting as an accountant?”

   Oh, he just doesn’t get it.  Mikey is so naïve sometimes.  It’s like he doesn’t switch on the news at all and lives in some sort of lala land with pixies and sunshine. 

   “Mikey!  Maybe he is a trained accountant.  And maybe he really does work in London.  And maybe he really did go to Thailand for his gap year.  And maybe he secretly loves musicals.  But none of these mean that he’s not a murderer!”

   The car comes to a sudden stop as we hit a stand still.  The driver has gone awfully quiet and I’m not sure if it’s a good or bad thing.

   “Traffic, eh!” I try to joke, but he just nods his head.  No chin wobble or anything. 

   As I put the phone back to my ear, Mikey is saying something.

   “Sorry, didn’t get a word of that,”

   “Tell me more about what happened tonight.  How soon after meeting him did you realise he was an escaped prisoner?”

   “Not escaped, Mikey.  He hasn’t yet been caught,”

   “Yes, whatever,”

   “It’s all a bit strange.  I thought he looked familiar immediately, but it’s the things he started doing that really drove it home.  For one, he kept saying he’s had a lot of business in Wiltshire,”

   “So?”

   What is the point of watching TV if he’s never going to listen to a word of it! Especially something like Crimewatch.  His life could be in danger and he’d be oblivious.  Lucky he has me to warn him of all these dangers.

   “That’s where the crimes took place, Mikey,”

   “Right.  Er, so what else?”

   “When we sat down at the restaurant, he clutched at the knife,” I whisper, still frightened at the thought of it.

   “Was he about to enjoy a nice, juicy steak?” a laugh escapes him.  He needs to be told that laughing at your own jokes negates any funnyness.

  “Mikey, you’re not listening.  It was the way he was holding it – like he wanted to jab it into something,”

  “Well, if you were annoying him half as much as you annoy me, I wouldn’t blame him,” another giggle.

   Oh, charming!  I really want to hang up now. I’ve just experienced a traumatic event, have escaped from a wanted criminal by the skin of my teeth, and all my best friend wants to do is laugh at me?

  “He had madmen eyes!” I almost shout making the driver clear his throat uncomfortably.

  “Traffic still bad?” I ask the chin at the rear view mirror.

  “Been like this all week,”

   I turn back to my conversation, annoyed that Mikey can’t understand the severity of the situation.

  “So you got out alive,” he continues.  “What exactly is the problem?”

   Now, this is when I’m too scared to even admit it to myself.  I play around with the zip of my jacket as I look out at traffic London before responding.  “Mikey, before it hit me that he was this wanted murderer, I told him where I lived.  He’s probably at my house already. Waiting.”

   “Ella, you do understand the likelihood of all this, don’t you?”

   “But – “

   “Just think about all this for a second, just really stop and think.  Would someone who is nationally well known as a murderer, someone who is being hunted by police as we speak, be out in London on a busy evening on a date?”

   “If you think about it, it’s probably the perfect disguise,”  I'm losing faith in my own words.

   “Wouldn’t he be planning his escape out of the country?  Wouldn’t he be hiding in some grotty bunker?"  

   “Even criminals need some time out,”

   “Do you honestly think he has the time to be out dilly dallying with dating?”

   “Well, I am adorable!”

    I can hear the fridge door being opened, bottles clinking and wrappers crinkling on the other end.  I instantly realise I’m hungry, so dig out the remains of the three hour old Subway.

   “So how exactly did you leave it?  I’m guessing you didn’t give him a kiss goodbye,” Mikey speaks before swigging on what can only be chocolate milk.  Other than his cat, this is his one and only weakness.

   “I ran,”

   The sound of chocolate milk being spat out.

   “I’m sorry, what?”

   “…I ran,” I say, less confident.

   “What?  You just legged it out of the restaurant?”

   I tut, “No of course not.  I waited until we were out of the door.  And then I ran,”

   “Where to?  And what did you do?”

   I take a bite out of the Subway.  “Well, luckily he stopped to open the restaurant door for someone as we were leaving, so I seized my opportunity.  If I haven’t, you’d most likely be seeing my face on the news right now!” I chew as quickly as I can.  “I was a bit disorientated and headed the wrong way at first, which didn’t help, but I luckily found a taxi and got on.  I’m still on it now,”

   “What did he do?”

   “He was resistant to drive me at first, but I think he’s warmed up to me now,” I smile cheekily at the driver but am only ignored.

   “I meant your date.  What did he do?”

   “Oh.  He chased after me,”

   “I think I’m going to stop being your friend.  Goodnight,”

   “Mikey, wait!”

   No one of the other end.  Typical!  Traffic is moving now, and within seconds I’m at Waterloo.  I pay the driver very generously and he drives off - this time wheels spinning, me almost splattered in mud.  As it turns out, my date wasn’t the wanted killer.  Oops.  Well, these are mistakes we all make.

The Bunny Boiler - Chapter 11

You know when you're young listening to music about heartbreak, or watching movies about a girl crying over a cheating boyfriend and singing All By Myself?  And you know how you never truly understand it properly until something like that happens to you?  Well, welcome to my very first break-up.  Except I'm doing none of the above. 

    I tried taking Sofia's advise to watch Bridget Jones' Diary, but it didn't really help. Colin Firth reminded me of Jamie with his curly, dark hair so I switched off at the first sight of the reindeer jumper.  I even tried eating ice cream and cookie dough like they do in American films, but managed to get a brain freeze within the first 30 seconds so promptly gave up on that too.

    My entire morning was spent listening to Christina Aguilera's You Lost Me, hugging my pillow and refusing to do anything.  It only changed because Mikey barged through the front door, past my mum and literally dragged me out of bed. 

    “Put some clothes on now!” he demands.  “Why have you been ignoring my texts?” 

    I look up at his angry face through my teary, blurred vision and almost kick him to leave me alone.  But even lying on the floor with him tugging at my leg is still too much energy.  All I want to do is go to sleep and forget about everything.

    “Why are you ignoring texts?” he demands again. 

    I hear my mum knock gently on the door, checking if everything is OK.  She then loses her temper and shouts, “Turn that music off!  That thing’s been playing on loop for three hours!" and she’s gone again.  Bye Mum!  Don't mind your broken daughter!

    Mikey makes a swift move for the iPod and takes it off the dock.  Christina’s voice is cut off.  A small yelp escapes me as I think of how different things now sound without that as my background track. 

    “You’re being pathetic.  Get up and put some clothes on.  And your top is too big for you.  I can see your boobs,”  I look down to be greeted by them also.  I’m relieved Mikey is gay. 

    “So?” 

    “So what?” 

    “So why haven’t you been replying to texts?  We’ve all been worried,” 

    I adjust my top, rub my eyes and stand up.  Wow.  Haven’t done that in a while. 

    “You also skipped college yesterday,” 

    I slump my shoulders wondering why he’s being so insensitive about it.  Doesn’t he know the world of pain I’m in?  I walk around the room as if testing my legs out for the first time.  I resemble Bambi on ice, but with bushier hair. 

    “I don’t want to look at my phone,” I admit weakly.  “I don’t want to see if Jamie has contacted me, and at the same time I don’t want to see that he hasn’t,” I look up at Mikey who has gained some understanding in his eyes, “D…did you see him yesterday?” 

    “No.  But I saw Kate.  She looked very happy,” 

    “Well, of course she did.  She got what she wanted,” 

    “You cannot let this get to you.  Be the bigger person.  Rise above it and let him see what he lost.  But you can’t do that with pyjamas, unbrushed hair and what I can only imagine is several days’ worth of morning breath,” 

    “I suppose,”  He’s right.  He’s always right, dammit. 

 

I’m dressed pretty quickly, but I refuse to brush my hair.  Eventually Mikey realises it is a losing battle when I wrestle the Tangle Teezer out of his hands and throw it at the other side of the room.  We have now ventured into town in the hope of getting my mind off my failed relationship.  My mum has given me her credit card out of pity and all I’m thinking is how much of a shame it is that she chooses to do so now.  On the day where my mind will be on everything apart from spending.      

    “Let’s buy you some new make-up.  You like make-up,” and I’m quickly rushed into Debenhams faced with the Benefit counter. 

    “I don’t want make-up,” I grunt.

    Mikey analyses my face. “No, but you need it,” 

 

We're now in Starbucks after what I can only describe as an uneventful shopping session.  I honestly don't know why Mikey thought this would help.  I've been walking around like a zombie in my back to front jumper and my tangled hair. 

    Mikey plonks the cappuccino in front of me and in a surly tone asks, "So what exactly is the problem?"

    What?  How can he even ask that?

    I don't reply.  Only throw him a stern look which makes him spill his tea.  That was pretty cool, actually.  I wonder if I have special powers.  Maybe I can make Kate disappear.

    "Jamie is stupid.  Like, really stupid.  Anyone with half a brain can see that Kate is a psycho.  Why would you want to be with someone that stupid?"

    I mope into my cappuccino as I say, "Because I love him.  And because he smells great," and just like that I want to start crying all over again while listening to Christina Aguilera.  I get flashbacks of our time together, smiling, happy and get an overwhelming feeling of anger.  How did this happen?  How did my boyfriend lose faith in me?  What have I done wrong?

    "Mikey?"

    "Yes?"

    "Am I chaotic?"

    "Yes,"

    "Why?"

    "What?"

    "Well, what makes me chaotic?  What do I do that gives that impression?"  I look at him like a child asking their parent a difficult question.

    "It's hard to describe.  You just...are,"

    I sit back in my chair and look out of the window.  I don't mean to be so dramatic.  It just happens. 

    "I'm sure you'll grow out of it,"  Mikey announces and I scowl at him.

    "So I'm not even chaotic in a cute way?"

    "What?  Why are you asking?"

    I take in a deep breath before speaking. "Well, that's how Jamie described me.  He said I get myself into these crazy situations and that I wouldn't be happy without them.  He said all his friends warned him about me,"

    "OK, firstly, don't listen to what his crew of morons say.  They're just jealous.  Have you not seen the way they stare at you?  And secondly, yes, you get yourself into crazy situations, and sometimes it really does feel like it follows you around more than the average person.  Much more, in fact.  But, there's nothing wrong with it," he gives me a sympathetic smile and slurps his tea.  That's as much affection as I'm ever going to get out of him.

    "Am I chaotic in the same way Kate is chaotic?"

    "Definitely not!  Kate is a massive hurricane that creeps up and ruins your life.  You're a gentle landslide, occasionally displacing the odd mountain bear here or there,"

    "Are you the mountain bear?"

    "Yes, I bloody am, Ella.  And it really can be a nightmare with you sometimes.  All this mountain bear wants to do is sleep in his cave, but no, he's never allowed.  He has to go spy on people and buy boats," 

    I can't help but burst out laughing, which is great because I haven't done so in a while. 

    We pause and stare out of the window watching the world go about its day.

    "I'm sure Jamie will come round.  And if he doesn't, well, why would you want to be with someone as fickle as that anyway?" Mikey consoles.

    I nod because I know he's absolutely right.  But it still doesn't mean the pain is any less severe than a few minutes ago.

    "I just want him to see what she's really like.  It hurts that he doesn't believe me,"

    "I know.  He will eventually.  I don't know how she's managed it but she's blinded him and he can't see.  He doesn't have the Bunny Boiler Richter Scale technology that we have,"

    I smile.

    "Things will get better.  You just need to stay out of their way so that Jamie sees you're not out to cause trouble, but that the trouble has been Kate all along.  Just be patient,"

    "I don't think patience is my thing,"  I stare out of the window as my brain starts to plot something.

    "Ella?  What are you thinking?"

    I smile mischievously as I sip my cappuccino.  "Hang on tightly, little bear.  There's a landslide coming," 

    To which Mikey practically has a heart attack.

Lexi - The Panic

  (Continuation of Lexi - The Decision)

OK, just relax, Lexi.  You're having a slight panic attack but there's nothing to worry about.  Just breathe deeply, calm yourself and ring the buzzer.  Just think of it as a fancy door bell...a talking fancy door bell. 
    My hands scramble inside the bag for the address just to make sure I have the right flat number.  Flat 33.  Now, you knew that!  Why did you have to get in such a flipping panic over it?  Stop being such a dweeb and press the buzzer. 

If I could remove one thing from my personality, it would be my nervousness.  I worry over the slightest of things.  Like that time I went to see some baby animals with my niece at the local farm and kept thinking a billy goat was staring at me.  It might not seem like such a big deal, but I was so convinced by it that I told Natalia (my niece) that we had to run away really fast or the goat would get us.  She's five now, and my sister still says she refuses to eat feta cheese.
    "Cup of tea?"
    "Huh?"
    "Tea,"
    "Oh, no thank you," I smile as Eve disappears into the kitchen and let out a huge sigh of relief.  Now, this isn't so bad, I tell myself.  I've managed to knock on the door, get the lift, and say hello.  And guess what, I did spontaneously combust in the process.
    I catch a glimpse of myself in the majestic mirror to my right and almost jump in shock.  I must get used to the fact that I'm now blonde.
    I wonder what John would say about it.  Oh no!  What if he doesn't like it?  What if blondes just aren't for him and he dumps me on the spot, and here I am looking like a muppet having made such a big move for him. 
    That would be an utter disaster!  Living in London, miles away from my friends and family, and now I've been dumped!
    Okay - you're getting too ahead of yourself, Lexi.  Stop with all this panicking.  It's doing no good at all.  And let's face it.  Who doesn't like blondes?
    "So, how'd you  like the house?"  Eve's voice calls out from the kitchen as I hear a few pots and pans clinking together. 
    "Umm, it's really lovely," I respond taking a good look at my surrounding.
    To be honest, I didn't take in a single detail when she was doing the tour.  Now that I'm concentraiting, this place really is lovely.  The ceilings are much higher than my Winchester flat and the furniture is incredibly modern, but Eve is quite clearly a homey girl.  All chrome shelves are filled with mis-matched picture frames, half read books in a random order stacked on top of each other, and cushions.  Lots of clashing cushions.  Everywhere.  I don't think I've owned a cushion in my life.
    Eve enters the living room once more, slumping on the sofa with force.  Feet immediately up on the coffee table.
    "I might knock a hole through that wall,"
    "I'm sorry, what?"
    "Well, the kitchen is so small.  I'm just wondering it would be so much easier to make this place more open plan.  Especially now there are two people here," she sips at her tea and stares straight ahead at the said wall, tilts her head to one side and ponders, "Yes, it would be an immense improvement,"
    "Are you allowed?" I carefully ask. 
    "Oh, of course.  My parents have set foot in here once, and even then I'm pretty sure they were glued to their Blackberries.  They'll be fine," she then turns to me with a wide smile.  Her mouth is rather big, and her green eyes are looking at me with some form of hunger.  I almost move away.  All the way to Winchester.  Maybe Mand was right.  Maybe she is a psycho.
    "So," she begins, crossing her legs on the sofa,  "Tell me everything about your boyfriend,"
    Ah.
    This must be what a girly chat is like.  I once attempted that at university but became convinced one of my flatmates was coming on to me.  I'm 98% sure that's not the case here.
    "He's lovely," I say like a shy teenager.  "We've known each other for so long.  He was my first love but it just never worked out back when we were in school.  About a month ago we bumped into each other again.  He'd moved back to Winchester after working in London, and walked into the restaurant I work at.  Worked at.  Well, we both knew it was worth another try,"
    "Aww!  It sounds so sweet.  You never forget your first love,"
    "That's what I hear," and I belive it's true.  I'd never fully got John out of my head.  Yes, I'd had relationships with other guys, but there was always this part of me - this niggling feeling at the back of my head that always wondered what he was doing.  Why it never worked out.  If I would ever see him again. 
    "Where's he taking you tonight?"
    I pause and think,  "I'm not sure.  We only agreed on dinner, not location," and then start to get another panic as I think about how I'm going to find my way around London. 
    "Where does he live?"
    "Chelsea,"
    "That's not far.  If you need help getting there, just let me know.  I've become a complete geek with London now,"
    Wow, she's so nice.  I instantly feel calmer.
    Eve's attention goes back to the wall.  "I might ring around tomorrow and see if anyone can come and knock it down before the weekend," and with that she has left the room.

I'm not sure John believes I've actually moved to London.  I half expect him to not turn up at the restaurant as his texts back to me seem to be mocking ones, as if I'm kidding about meeting up in London.
    Nevertheless, I'm almost at the restaurant.  I've googled, binged and yahooed the venue (you know, just to make sure).  Overall, pretty straight forward. 
    Eve let me borrow her Oyster card, and as of tomorrow, I shall have my own.  I probably sound mad - like someone who has never heard of London, but the truth is, I've just never been adventurous.  For me, it's always been about home comforts, who you know and what you know.
    I see John getting out of a taxi in a dark suit.  "Babe!" he calls out and embraces me tightly, "What are you doing?  Have you gone crazy?"
    OK.  I'm getting a little tired of people saying that. 
    "I give you a week," he escorts me into the restaurant.
    "A week for what?"
    "Until you give up and go back to Winch,"
    "I'm not going to give up," I insist.  "I've moved here for good,"
    He lets out a short laugh.  Wow!  He really doesn't believe in me, does he?  I want to stop this conversation before I start getting upset?
    "So...," I begin, "What do you think of the hair"
    He turns to look at me just after catching the waiter's attention.  With deep eyes he looks at my hair, then ruffles his.  "Is it a bit lighter?"
    A bit???
    "It's about 7 shades lighter," I say, quickly losing my optimism.  Damn it!  I knew he wouldn't like it.
    "You've always been blonde," he retorts.  The waiter leads us to a candlet lit table for two by the window.
    "John, my hair is brown,"
    "Are you sure?"
    "Certain,"  I want to go home.  I really just want to go home.
    "But in the sunshine...your hair is blonde in sunlight...that's all I mean," he tries to recover. 
    "So how was work?" I ask, wanting to move on from another conversation. 
    "Same old shit.  Just a different town this time,"
    I smile politely and peruse the menu, but really don't feel like eating.  Another panic feeling creeps up within me which I'm finding harder and harder to repress. 
    This really was a mistake, wasn't it.  I mean, who the hell am I kidding?  This sort of thing isn't for me.  I need routine and right now I've been thrown completely off course. 
    "What did they say when you left work?" he asks, not raising his head from the menu.
    "I don't think they were too bothered.  Apart from Mand, of course,"
    John snorts with laughter and closes his menu, "Ah, the lesbian,"
    "She's not a lesbian!"
    "Lex, she's mean, manless and mad.  The triple M, meaning she's a lesbian.  Plus she follows you around everywhere and speaks to you like you're her wife," he laughs again and calls back the waiter. 
    I watch him as he scrunches his face when the waiter tells him he'll be with us in a moment.  Even doing that he seems God-like.  Immaculate and groomed to perfection, John is as handsome as they come.  His dark brown hair is styled and swept in all different directions, but somehow it looks amazing.  With deep, brown eyes he glances at me, smiles, and throws them in the direction of the wondering waiter.  He then swears loudly when the waiter sees to another table.  Normally I'd be appalled, especially since John's potty mouth has grasped the attention of a few people, but I really don't care.  I could watch him forever.
    "How many times have you heard from her today?"
    "From Mand?  Umm...only one or two,"  The correct answer is actually closer to fifteen.  She's been wanting to know exactly where I am and what I'm doing, and why haven't I called her?  I haven't responded to them all because it would only lead to more.
    "I don't believe that for a second.  I remember how she used to be with you back in school.  No one was allowed to get near you.  Fuck knows how I managed it,"
    "She's a motherly person, John.  She's like that with all her friends," which could be true.  If she had other friends.
    Wow!  This really wasn't the way I imagined this dinner to go.  In my head I had an ideal, romantic picture of John and me holding hands across a candlelit dinner table.  He'd be extatic that I moved up here to be with him, he'd love my new hair, and most importantly he'd say he loved me.  But no.  We're sitting here talking about how my best friend in a lesbian. 

It's almost eleven when I eventually get back to the flat.  The apartment is in darkness so Eve has clearly gone to bed.  As quietly as I can muster, I make my way to my new bedroom, move a few unpacked boxes out of the way, and land on the bed with force. 
    Finally.
    Comfort.
    And then I remember it's my first day at the new job in the morning and I'm not prepared at all.  Another wave of panic rises up again and I try my best to forget about it.  But I can't.  I just lie there on the bed too nervous to sleep, too tired to get up.

Minutes

    "Can I ask you a question?"
    "...OK,"
    "And promise me you'll tell me the honest answer?"
    He hesitates before he answers again, "...OK," he finally manages and wraps his arm around me as we walk along the footpath of the rippling Thames.
    "I know you've said no to this question before, so I don't really know why I'm asking,"
    "...Right...OK,"
    "But that night last September when you left early with Lisa, did you sleep with her?"
    And the question's out there and I can never get it back.  The next minute before any sound comes out of his mouth is the longest minute I've ever experienced.  I stand there, my eyes glued as I watch his face change, and it tells me more than words ever could.  A faint "yes" emerges from his lips.
    My entire body goes numb as his grip on me tightens and pulls me closer, but all I want to do is get away.
    He laughs nervously and tries again to hold on.  "Come here," he attempts and fails, his hand grazing against my back as I walk away.  But his touch doesn't feel right anymore.  It's not the same.  It was claimed by another for a few minutes before me and it was probably never meant to be mine in the first place.
    "Can we at least talk about this?"
    I wouldn't know what to say.
    "Ella, please can we talk about this?"
    "You should have told me," I raise my voice, looking ahead trying desperately to show that I'm not hurt by it, because all  I want to do is go home and cry.  But I have no right to cry.
    This happened before me.
    Before.
    Before.
    Before.
    And yet it doesn't matter how many times I tell myself this, I can't shift the tight knot that's formed itself in the pit of my stomach taunting me and telling me, "I told you so!"
    "I'm sorry.  Are you OK?"
    Turn your head, look at him, smile slightly and nod.  Just pretend like you don't care.
    "I'll be fine in a minute," I lie and then wonder whether I'm over-reacting with this whole thing.  Should I even be getting angry?  Do I even have a right to get angry?
    I hear his footsteps fall heavily as he strides towards me trying once again to envelop his arms around me.  "I was really drunk!  Like, really drunk!" he keeps repeating, "For a minute it just seemed like a good idea!"     I don't hear his words because my brain has turned into my own enemy and is teasing me with unwanted questions.  Does he love her?  Would he rather be with her right now?  Am I second choice? 
    My whole judgement's blurred and my head is rushing through memories, aimlessly analysing every word he's ever said, every minute of our time together.  But memories which I thought were the making of us are now tainted and tarnished with news I should have known a long time ago.  My entire world has shifted when only a few minutes ago everything was perfect.
    "I work with her every single day!" I blurt out.  "I see her every day!  You didn't think it would be fair for me to know that you slept with someone I'm friends with?"  I look away again shaking my head.  "It's weird, Nick.  It's really weird!"
    "Maybe," he shrugs his shoulders.
    "Maybe?  There's no maybe about it!  You don't think it's weird that there's a girl in the office who knows something your girlfriend doesn't?  What would you have done if she'd told me?" he looks to the floor.  "It's horrible that you would even put me in that situation,"
    "It was before you.  I was so different then.  I didn't even think I had a chance with you!"
    I sit down on the edge of the river bank and try to calm down, because getting in an argument won't help anything.  I start to play with a lonely daffodil in its early bloom and get reminded of all my teenage dreams of love and how none of this ever crossed my mind.
    Surely it's meant to be simple?
    Surely you meet someone and that's it, right?
    Why are there always other people involved?  Why can't your Prince Charming ever be your Prince Charming?
    "You should have still told me.  I asked you so many times if something had happened and you always said no!  It would have taken a minute back when we were just friends to tell the truth," I say, suddenly irritated and annoyed and not wanting to stop the argument after all.
    He's about to speak but I don't let him.  "I spent a good 50 minutes talking to my best friend about you and telling her how amazing our relationship is, and how being friends for so long is a good thing because I know everything about you.  There'd be no nasty surprises along the way.  I said that you'd never lie to me," I stop for breath, eyes filling up with salty tears, "and I hate that I had you all wrong,"  I push the daffodil away like an unwanted toy and stare out at the river needing desperately to stop crying.
    "I didn't tell you the truth because I was scared of losing you.  If you knew, nothing would have ever happened between us,"
    "Of course it would!"  I shout.  "I can't blame you for having a one night stand two months before you and me!  But I can blame you for not telling me," I feel tired and exhausted.  As if I have too much to say but my point isn't being made and he's not listening to it.  "Nick, it's not like you slept with someone who I don't know and who you'll never see again.  You slept with someone who we both see and speak to every single day!  You should have told me!"
     I need to take a breather.  Just a minute to sit down and be silent.
    And to stop fucking crying! 
    I hear him take a deep breath before he says, "I love you.  For me, nothing's changed,"
    I want to yell.
    I want to punch him in the face and remind him that he's the one with the revelation, not me.  But all I do is stare out onto the great Thames and cry even more.
    "For me everything's changed," I manage through spells of tears.  "When you meet someone you gradually build a picture of them.  Of your relationship.  One by one I've been making the puzzle pieces fit and thinking I had all of them, but you've thrown another one at me and I don't know where it goes.  My entire image is wrong.  I don't know how to make this fit,"
    "So just throw that piece away," he sits down next to me and kisses my cheek, "It shouldn't go anywhere.  It's not part of anything.  It's insignificant!"
    I feel like I should be pushing him away... but I don't want him to go anywhere.
    "I should have told you, and I really am sorry.  But nothing's different to a few minutes ago.  We're still exactly the same," he pulls me closer, resting his head on my shoulder before leaning in for another kiss.
    For a minute everything's back to normal as we sit there together.  That knot in my stomach unties itself and things feel fine.  Back to normal.  Safe.
    But the minute gets replaced by the next and I'm back to square one again, thinking thoughts I never thought I'd have in my head.  I can't stop picturing the two of them together and it kills me, absolutely kills me that someone else I know knows my boyfriend in a way only I should.  I want to tell him that if it were the other way around, there is no way he'd be fine.  But he would never understand.  Not really.  Not unless it actually happens to him.
    I think about breaking it off completely.  I've been telling myself that it'll take time to get used to this new information.  That eventually I'll be fine with it.
    But why should I?
    Why should I have to?  Why get used to something you don't particularly want to get used to?  Wouldn't I rather have a boyfriend who hasn't slept with someone I work with?  Can't I just get another boyfriend?
    It's at that moment that I get an image of me at about 40 years of age sitting in a bar on my own with 'The Man That Got Away' playing in the background, twirling my unwanted wedding ring given to me by a guy I never loved, sipping on a G n'T and wishing I could turn back the minutes and come back to this spot right here.  It's this which makes me realise why I haven't run away yet.
    Love.
    I wipe away the last tear from my cheek and turn to look at him.  His blue eyes blaze into me in anticipation of what I'm going to say, but he speaks first,
    "She was a mistake,"
    I don't respond.
    "I just wanted to forget about it.  The two of us wanted to pretend like it never happened,"
    'The two of us' - that really hits me hard.  Like they're together.  Like they're part of something together.  I want to say, "Well, she was your mistake, you're mine!"and get up and walk away.
    But I don't because I know I wouldn't mean it and because I really don't want to leave. 
    "I know this happened back in September, but you have to understand that because I've only found out, it feels to me like it's happening right now," I tell him.  "And this may sound crazy but I keep thinking about every single time you've brought her up in conversation saying how she's annoying you, and I keep asking myself whether you mentioned her because she actually was annoying you, or because you were thinking about her,"
    He laughs at that.
    I want to hit him.
    "Ella, if I ever talk about her, it will always be because she's annoying me,"
    We sit in silence again, minutes flying by like pages off calendars and I know that soon things will get better again.  In a minute I'll get past this.  In a minute it'll be forgotten.  In a minute it'll be something we laugh about. 
    "Please tell me we're OK," he looks intently at me, his left arm embracing me tightly.
    I force a faint smile and kiss him on the lips.  No, things aren't fine - I want to say.  But they will be.
    Any minute now.

Lexi - The Decision

    "Lexi, can you please repeat that because I think my hearing's going.  Did you say you're moving to London?"
    I tilt my head to lock my phone against my shoulder as I furiously dump more clothing into my suitcase.  There will come a use for bikinis.  Especially that frilly pink one I bought at the age of nineteen and have never worn.
    Amanda is still saying words on the other end, none of which I'm listening to.  All I'm concerned about is shifting the contents of this dingy, small bedroom and somehow getting it 64 miles north to London.  By tonight.  The moving van said they'll only accept a minimum of three boxes for such a journey, so I'm spreading all my possessions out and hoping they won't notice.  Especially since box number three now only contains that frilly, pink bikini.
    "Lexi, just stop what you're doing and think about this for a second.  You can't drop everything you have here and leave.  Let me finish my shift and I'll be straight over.  We can discuss this properly, OK?"  I can hear a few dishes clinking together in the background and a sudden pang of guilt rises up within me.  I'm skipping work right now for this.  "I mean, Lexi, where the hell are you going to go?"
    I throw the last bit of clothing to accompany the bikini and sit down on the bare mattress.  "Mand, I've been thinking about this since John first said he was moving back to Chelsea, and the only thing I can think of that makes sense is moving up there with him,"  my attention is caught by the familiar view outside the window and for a split second I wonder whether I'm actually making the right decision.  This sort of thing just isn't me.  I don't make spontaneous decisions.  I barely make decisions!
    "You've been with him for a month!" I hear her shout down my ear.
    "Well, it obviously sounds bad when you put it like that.  This isn't some stranger I barely know.  This is my first boyfriend.  The first guy I ever fell in love with and now he's back in my life and I don't want to let go of it again.  I don't want to be sitting in this same room in a few years time and regretting not getting off my arse and doing something about it,"
    I hear her let out a deep breath just before a door is opened and the bellowing voice of our boss echoes, "If that's Lexi on the phone tell her that if she doesn't show for her shift tomorrow, she's fired,"
    "You have permission to tell him I've quit, by the way,"
    Amanda adopts a motherly tone and begins again, "Look, what's the plan then?"
    "I've found a flat in Chiswick.  The pictures of it look amazing and the girl I'll be sharing with sounds really nice.  She said her parents bought it for her but it has an extra bedroom and she's getting bored of living on her own,"
    "She sounds like a psycho,"
    "She's not a psycho, Mand.  I think we're going to get along really well.  She did a degree in English Literature too just like me, and now she's a teacher,"
    "And how are you going to pay rent?  Chiswick isn't cheap,"
    "I've managed to get myself an Assistant Buyer job in Acton.  It seems to only be temporary for now as they needed someone urgently, but the woman on the phone said it will almost certainly lead to something permanent.  I think they want to see what I'm like before they commit,"
    I can practically hear Amanda's doubt but I don't let her dampen my spirits.  She's been like this since we were in secondary school.  Always trying to be the voice of reason.
    "I don't like the sound of this,"
    "I know you don't!"  I snap without realising.  "But I'm 24 and I'm only a waitress-"
    "Only a waitress?  What, so this job suddenly isn't good enough for you?  I'm only a waitress too, Lexi.  You don't see me being such a snob about it,"
    "That's not what I meant.  And I'm not a snob.  This just isn't where I thought I would be at 24.  I want a career, Mand,"
    "This is a career,"
    "No, this is your career.  You've always known that this is what you wanted to do.  I wish things were that straight forward with me.  I went to university and did nothing with my degree.  I've done nothing for the last three years and I hate it.  John walking into the restaurant a month ago was a wake-up call.  I'm tired of everything being so mundane,"  I pause for breath and hope that she hasn't taken any of this personally.
    "He broke your heart once.  I was there when he ditched you and walked away the first time round and he'll do it again!"  I think back to when I was 17 when John called me and said having a girlfriend was too much of a distraction.  Next thing I know he'd moved schools for the final year and I never saw him again.  Until now.  Suddenly that unfinished ending could finally have a completion.
    "I know full well that this could all go horribly wrong, but Mand, I'd really kick myself if I didn't go for it," I can hear she understands but doesn't really want to.  "So please be my friend and support me through this,"
    "Fine," she mouths unconvincingly.  "Let me know when you get there, OK?"
    "Yeah, I will,"
    And without a goodbye, the phone has clicked shut. 
    I look around at my messy, half empty room just in case there's anything vital I'm about to leave behind.  I do a double take when I notice my neon blue bedside lamp, but considering that nasty thing almost gives me a seizure every time it's flicked on, leaving it behind is probably best.  I can buy something nice once I'm settled.
    The moving van will be here in half an hour and my train ticket is booked.  I can't believe this is happening.  Who knew I was capable of making such massive, life changing decisions.  I mean, I've been buying the same porridge for years because I'm scared I won't like the taste of others, and here I am, finally taking a leap and buying that other porridge.  Or so to speak.
    I get up off the mattress and look longingly around the room.   I keep expecting a deep, nostalgic feel to kick in anytime now, but all I seem to be doing is smiling.  Proper smiling.  Teeth showing and everything.
    Wow!  I feel invincible, as if anything I want can be done.  I've dreamt of moving away for so long but have been too timid to even try.  And here I am, bags packed and about to hit the road, just like in the movies.
    My mind than grows ambitious as I think about what else I've always wanted to do but have never tried, and then as if a lightbulb hovering above my head pings in brightness illuminated by my thought process, I quickly run to my flatmates room.
    Half an hour later I pick up my phone and text John. - Let's meet in London for dinner tonight.  I'll call you as soon as I get there.  By the way, I'm now blonde -