(flat shoes can be good in some ways, I
guess
), relieved that I could now cry in solitude, I saw a couple walking in front of me.
I bet they nick the first cab, I thought. Screw that.
I walked faster. When I looked up again, I stopped dead.
It was them.
Jesse and Lisa Sutherland.
She looked stunning. Of course she fucking did – she was a weather girl, for God’s sake. She was wearing a long black-and-white dress with her long black hair loosely curled just so, and she had one of those stupid tiny clutch purses. How can anyone seriously fit everything in there? My mobile wouldn’t get a start. Keys would be a struggle. A lone tampon
might
just fit. Only elegant, grown-up women could master the clutch. More reason to hate her.
It was a scene I’d thought about so many times, and I had dreamt about what I’d say to them, and how sharp and cutting and perfect my remarks would be, and yet now it was right in front of me I couldn’t believe it was really happening. Were they holding hands? I peered as hard as I could and evaluated that no, they were not. I watched as he opened the cab door for her and she stepped in. Oh
please
, that would have to be the first time he’d ever done that in his whole life. As I watched him follow her into the cab, I realised I’d seen more than enough. I swivelled around and walked towards the wharf. I sat on the edge of the wall, overlooking the water, and cried. A little envelope lit up my mobile.
It was
him
.
Nice to see you tonight, Han. x
I became very angry. Was he sending that as he cuddled fucking Lisa fucking Sutherland?! I HATED HIM. I HATED THEM BOTH AND WISHED THEM DEATH BY FALLING PIANO.
I
wished
I could just delete the message, but I couldn’t stoprereading it. Every cell in my body wanted me to write back and tell him to get fucked and rot in hell, but I made myself wait fifteen minutes.
It worked. Within ten minutes my urge to text had gone. It dawned on me that I was exhausted of being strong all the time. Why couldn’t I be normal and get drunk and go completely psycho and wait on his steps at night so that I could throw things at him and cry and then initiate break-up sex?
I replied to Jacinta’s frantic series of where-are-you texts, stood up, and then walked slowly to the road. I got a cab straightaway, one that was driven by a man who knew better than to talk to a girl who was sniffling and wiping her eyes.
It was still early. Maybe I would go over to Iz’s. She would flip my mood pretty quick; she always did. Plus, I was dying to tell her I’d seen them together – it served as proof to me, proof that I wasn’t mad, and that I hadn’t overreacted about Jesse and his ‘break’.
As I walked up the stairs to Iz’s apartment I heard the boisterous mish-mash of tipsy voices, Bill Withers and the barbecue sizzling.
Shit.
That’s
right – Dec was here, and, judging by the sounds of it, so were 800 other wine-fuelled strangers. Awesome.
I stopped. Was I going to be able to cope with this kind of scene? I heard a loud burst of laughter.
Yes!
This was exactly what I needed. Not to be a self-indulgent sook, but to snap out of it and have a laugh and a glass of wine. Or seven.
I took out my new-season Bobbi Brown palette and touched up my under-eye concealer, my blush, slicked on some gloss and applied some liner around my eyes to makethe whole area look deliberately undone. I looked down at my outfit. This would be the last time I ever wore flats or frumpy clothes outside my front door again.
I took a deep breath, pushed the visual of Jesse and Lisa the wench out of my head, and slowly opened the door.
It was at that exact second that Dec happened to be walking past the front door, balancing five wine glasses and a bottle of Peroni on a tray.
‘Well, hi,
hi
, little Hannah!’ Dec offered a 2000-watt smile, put his load down on the hallway dresser and came over to give me a kiss. He smelled like vetiver and cedar, and if it were possible, he
guess
), relieved that I could now cry in solitude, I saw a couple walking in front of me.
I bet they nick the first cab, I thought. Screw that.
I walked faster. When I looked up again, I stopped dead.
It was them.
Jesse and Lisa Sutherland.
She looked stunning. Of course she fucking did – she was a weather girl, for God’s sake. She was wearing a long black-and-white dress with her long black hair loosely curled just so, and she had one of those stupid tiny clutch purses. How can anyone seriously fit everything in there? My mobile wouldn’t get a start. Keys would be a struggle. A lone tampon
might
just fit. Only elegant, grown-up women could master the clutch. More reason to hate her.
It was a scene I’d thought about so many times, and I had dreamt about what I’d say to them, and how sharp and cutting and perfect my remarks would be, and yet now it was right in front of me I couldn’t believe it was really happening. Were they holding hands? I peered as hard as I could and evaluated that no, they were not. I watched as he opened the cab door for her and she stepped in. Oh
please
, that would have to be the first time he’d ever done that in his whole life. As I watched him follow her into the cab, I realised I’d seen more than enough. I swivelled around and walked towards the wharf. I sat on the edge of the wall, overlooking the water, and cried. A little envelope lit up my mobile.
It was
him
.
Nice to see you tonight, Han. x
I became very angry. Was he sending that as he cuddled fucking Lisa fucking Sutherland?! I HATED HIM. I HATED THEM BOTH AND WISHED THEM DEATH BY FALLING PIANO.
I
wished
I could just delete the message, but I couldn’t stoprereading it. Every cell in my body wanted me to write back and tell him to get fucked and rot in hell, but I made myself wait fifteen minutes.
It worked. Within ten minutes my urge to text had gone. It dawned on me that I was exhausted of being strong all the time. Why couldn’t I be normal and get drunk and go completely psycho and wait on his steps at night so that I could throw things at him and cry and then initiate break-up sex?
I replied to Jacinta’s frantic series of where-are-you texts, stood up, and then walked slowly to the road. I got a cab straightaway, one that was driven by a man who knew better than to talk to a girl who was sniffling and wiping her eyes.
It was still early. Maybe I would go over to Iz’s. She would flip my mood pretty quick; she always did. Plus, I was dying to tell her I’d seen them together – it served as proof to me, proof that I wasn’t mad, and that I hadn’t overreacted about Jesse and his ‘break’.
As I walked up the stairs to Iz’s apartment I heard the boisterous mish-mash of tipsy voices, Bill Withers and the barbecue sizzling.
Shit.
That’s
right – Dec was here, and, judging by the sounds of it, so were 800 other wine-fuelled strangers. Awesome.
I stopped. Was I going to be able to cope with this kind of scene? I heard a loud burst of laughter.
Yes!
This was exactly what I needed. Not to be a self-indulgent sook, but to snap out of it and have a laugh and a glass of wine. Or seven.
I took out my new-season Bobbi Brown palette and touched up my under-eye concealer, my blush, slicked on some gloss and applied some liner around my eyes to makethe whole area look deliberately undone. I looked down at my outfit. This would be the last time I ever wore flats or frumpy clothes outside my front door again.
I took a deep breath, pushed the visual of Jesse and Lisa the wench out of my head, and slowly opened the door.
It was at that exact second that Dec happened to be walking past the front door, balancing five wine glasses and a bottle of Peroni on a tray.
‘Well, hi,
hi
, little Hannah!’ Dec offered a 2000-watt smile, put his load down on the hallway dresser and came over to give me a kiss. He smelled like vetiver and cedar, and if it were possible, he
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