Page 27 of How Much Wine Will Fix My Broken Heart?
‘You know… I’m not so old that I can’t hit you, properly.’
She doesn’t hit me. She hasn’t done that properly since I was eight, she sixteen and I read her diary, but she edges a little closer to me and I sense her snuggling into my Huggly.I told you it was warm.
7
G,
Are you still talking to me? I hope so. I’m in Australia now and fuck me, it’s hot here. Like that dry heat you hate because you say it’s like standing in the middle of a hairdryer. It feels like home here except the dress code is more casual and I’m going to have to work out how to wear flip-flops. Except here they call them thongs so that’s confusing.
I’ve met some really cool peeps down here, surfer chicks and dudes. They’re so laid-back they’re verging on horizontal. I’m enclosing some Tim Tams with this letter as requested but I should tell you that I think you can pick these biscuits up on Amazon now. Just saying.
How are your exams going? Please reply to this. I’m getting that full feeling of Callaghan hatred coming at me. I half-expect to turn a corner and see Lucy coming at me with a knife. That’s scarier than the thought of any of the wildlife down here. Talk to me?
T x
Tom went travelling for three years and we fully broke up for one of those years. It was around the time he went to Australia. During that time I went out with an accountant called Ben, who wore tartan boxer shorts and didn’t understand the need for foreplay. He, however, understood the importance of being financially solvent so I liked that he had a pension scheme. It was grown-up dating. It wasn’t this emotional tug-of-war drenched in drama that Tom and I had lived through. It was sensible dates in restaurants where we’d discuss wine lists and have lively political debates over the merits of stamp duty. I used to sit there in those restaurants and revel in how mature it was compared to what Tom called dating: afternoons drinking in parks where we’d eat picnic selection packs and he’d ask me what three superpowers I would have (invisibility, X-ray vision and the ability to fly, obviously).
Tom being on the other side of the world just put too much distance between us. It was starting to be painful, these failed attempts at keeping in touch, the time difference, the realisation that his attention was elsewhere. In Australia, he lived the surfers’ dream in Sydney and dotted his way up to the Gold Coast. He got a tan which made him look permanently dirty and he met a girl called Ellie. Ellie wasn’t me, not by a long shot. She had a big uncontrollable nest of hair and looked like she spent at least eighty per cent of her time in board shorts and swimwear. Together, the two of them travelled around in a camper van called Cyril and documented all their sun-kissed adventures via social media. Did it break me? Yes. But I had sensible Ben, who used to take me away on weekends to the Cotswolds. We’d go on walks. And drink tea. And have very uncomfortable sex because, well, foreplay is necessary.
But all that time, I thought that was how life was supposed to be. Tom had found someone who was obviously far more suited to his sense of adventure and need for freedom. They could dine out on sunsets and undiscovered beaches in their assorted Billabong wear and he’d be that boy I once knew at university. I’d found my person who I could settle with, who could wrap me up in all the security I could ever wish for, even if he did have a Supercuts haircut and wore white sports socks with everything. But then the posts of Tom and Ellie stopped (I wasn’t stalking them, really…). And before I knew it, he’d posted a new picture of himself in New Zealand. Ellie wasn’t there. They broke up? Why? How? But he was single again. Ben and I lasted two more weeks after that. I dumped him in a Pizza Express in Wimbledon. He didn’t even cry. He shook my hand.Is what it is, thank you for your time.But please don’t worry about him. He went on to marry a mortgage advisor called Jane. You could measure levels on the straightness of her fringe and she plays the cello at the weekends.
* * *
‘I got wine. Australian wine. Will she think I’m taking the piss? I could get some cocktails in?’
I shake my head. Wine, wherever it comes from, is good. Can I just drink this straight from the bottle? Are there straws? This might be the best or worst idea I’ve ever had in my life. Ellie is in town for the memorial and we’re having a reunion dinner of sorts. I’m in a dress, I’ve straightened my hair and buying the first round of wine is Sam. I didn’t want to do this alone. I didn’t want to show up to meet her new husband and be sitting here looking like a saddo so I asked Sam for the moral support. My sister’s borrowed bra allows for the other type of support. Sam’s made an effort tonight. He wears a fisherman’s jumper and it appears like he’s put some sort of product in his beard. He can tell I’m nervous and slips a hand into mine as I scan the windows of this waterfront restaurant looking for them. I picked a trendy eatery out on the docks for this meeting to make myself seem more interesting than I really am.
‘I went to Australia on my honeymoon,’ Sam says. ‘Orlagh and I did Melbourne. We went to that street where they filmedNeighbours. I also nearly got eaten by a shark. But I fought him off with skills I’d learnt fromBaywatch.’
‘What was that?’ I ask. He laughs and studies my face. ‘Baywatch?’
‘Relax. When was the last time you saw her?’
‘Two years ago. I went on a trip after my husband passed. Australia was part of it and she showed me round, we reminisced.’
It was a bizarre meeting of wounded hearts. To both of us, Tom was a lost love for different reasons but it was clear that we were also rivals in some way.You stole him from me for that year. He left you because he still loved me.For this, we were cautious about each other. We were glued together in grief but I’m not sure we completely liked each other. I am not sure how to describe this dynamic to Sam but he senses my unease. He fills our glasses with wine and pushes one in my direction.
‘Is she nice?’ Sam asks.
‘She’s different to me, shall we say. She’s bouncy.’
‘You’re bouncy.’
As soon as the words leave Sam’s mouth, he realises there are sexual connotations there and pulls a face. Luckily it makes me laugh. That was the distraction I needed. I do like you, Sam. I like how you turn up your jeans like a trendy dad and top up my glass generously, right to the top.
‘Thank you for doing this,’ I tell him, leaning over to give him a peck on the cheek.
It takes him aback and he blushes. ‘Is this a date? I can’t quite tell. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to bring flowers.’
‘Oh, god no. I think we’re past the stage of courting. We’re almost dating in reverse, eh?’
‘True. Can I go on record and say what we have, our arrangement… I like it. I like that there’s no pressure. That you don’t care that I randomly say my wife’s name when you have me in your hand or leave my socks on.’
He makes it sound like I shag him out of pity and I’m not at that stage. Yet.
‘We sleep together because I enjoy it. I’m attracted to you. You’re definitely in the top five of school dads at that school.’
‘Really? Who’s number one on that list?’
