Page 11 of Mad About You

‘A moment ago, I was getting married to the love of my life. This can’t be happening.’

‘You weren’t getting married,’ Harriet said, quietly, rubbing a hand across her eyes. In the face of Jon’s pain, it felt manipulative to cry, so she pushed it down as far as it could go.

‘No. No, seems I wasn’t. Fucking hell.’

He held his hands out, in exasperation.

‘I don’t understand, we were happy. You seemed perfectly happy? What thefuck, Harriet?’

‘I was happy! I was happy loads. I don’t regret our timetogether.’ That wasn’t entirely true, but compassionate lying had its place. ‘But we’re very different people, Jon. Tonight proved that.’

‘What can I do, what can I say to persuade you not to do this?’

Deep breath:say it.

‘Nothing.’ Harriet tried to say this gently, though obviously it wasn’t gentle. ‘I’m going to pack and get an Uber home, if there’s any near enough.’

Jon’s head snapped up. ‘Oh no, at this hour? Don’t be ridiculous! I can sleep on the floor if you want.’ Harriet couldn’t decide if his insistence on this was gentlemanly or martyrdom – either way, it made her grit her teeth.

‘I very much do not want to see your family tomorrow,’ Harriet said.

Jon paused, clearly realising he was going to have to face them too, and despite their shared misery, Harriet still felt some vindication that he finally comprehended how demented it was to involve them.

‘We could leave very early tomorrow morning,’ Jon said.

Harriet paused. It made more sense than trying to run from the middle of nowhere at midnight. But the trouble with Jon’s plan was that it meant many more hours in his company. He’d use it to press her to change her mind and even if he didn’t, being in a small space with someone you’d broken up with – possibly simply broken – for many hours was a gruelling prospect. However, it’d be worse to find no taxi could get to her, and then, shabbily, take Jon up on his offer. And fleeing the scene of the crime was an illusion –she’d only be going to his house, to sleep in his spare room. Proximity to Jon couldn’t be avoided, for the time being.

‘OK,’ she said at last. ‘But I’ll sleep on the floor.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Jon said, and she knew his chivalry wouldn’t allow it.

Examination of the bedding revealed there wasn’t any way to disassemble it that made any sense, but the bed itself was vast, so they agreed to share it. It also humiliatingly revealed that Jonathan had apparently tasked someone with scattering rose petals on it. Harriet had to wordlessly brush them away as if it was lint. They took turns changing in the bathroom, then lay stiffly in the dark, bolster pillow between them, trying to breathe silently, the room filled with the cacophony of their thoughts.

Harriet woke to the sound of the toilet flushing at dawn, thin grey sunshine seeping in at the edges of the brocade curtains. The gruesome script of their break-up had kept her awake, replaying its lowlights, and her skin still prickled in the aftermath. She pushed herself up on her elbows as Jon came out of the bathroom. Only now in the gloom, she saw there was a bottle of champagne on a side table that had clearly been delivered while they ate dinner, unopened in its tin bucket of melted ice, two spotless flutes.

‘Harriet. Please don’t leave me.’

She focused on Jon’s face in the half darkness, which was shining wet with tears.

‘Please. I’m begging you. This is breaking my heart. I can’t imagine life without you, Harriet. Please. Stay.’

Harriet said, her voice hoarse: ‘I can’t. I’m sorry.’

‘What if we agreed to some time apart, had a break?’

‘It wouldn’t change anything.’

‘Is there someone else?’

‘One hundred per cent, no.’

Jon gasped back a sob.

‘Do you know, I almost wished there was. Because then there’d be a reason. A person I could compete with …’

‘Jon,’ Harriet said, as softly as she could, a hot tear sliding down her own cheek. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong. Apart from the proposal.’

‘Apart from not being who you want.’

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