Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Watching my friends as they knocked back drinks by the bar, I felt like the only black-and-white character in a colour HD movie. Lost. Invisible. Boring.
Who was I kidding? I was too fat for a movie.
Since my mum died six months ago, I’d gained sixteen of the seventy pounds I’d lost. I was quickly throwing two years’ worth of hard work and dedication straight down the shitter, or, more factually, straight onto my midriff. I couldn’t even blame my mum for dying, because she’d have been seriously pissed off with me. Her body may’ve gone from the earth, but that didn’t stop her voice accompanying every mouthful of food that found its way into my gob.
‘You don’t really need that, do you Helen?’
‘Do you really want to be that big again? You were so unhappy!’
‘You’ll regret it in five minutes. Remember, little pickers wear bigger knickers…’
‘You know I only mention it because I worry about you.’
God, I missed the nagging old mare. The world didn’t feel right without her in it.
She’d irritated the hell out of me, often buried me under boulders of guilt that, at times, seemed impossible to lift, but she’d also made me laugh till my belly hurt. She’d wiped my tears and held out her hand, and she’d loved me unconditionally. Without her, the world felt awfully big around me. I felt alone, now. Vulnerable. My dad had pissed off with ‘the slag from number 37’ when I was four, my grandparents died before I was born, and my mum had been an only child. My mum really had been my entire family. I belonged to no one now.
I had friends, but that wasn’t the same. Friends aren’t absolute. Friends have their own needs and priorities. Friends leave. I couldn’t expect a friend to drop their entire schedule because I’d had a catastrophic snaccident, or because my fuse box had blown, which had happened twice since I’d moved away from our little town and each time my mum had made the five-hour drive to come to my rescue. How had she fixed it? I had no idea, and I couldn’t ask her now. The thought made my heart sink. There was a lot of stuff I’d need to work out for myself and I didn’t feel ready. I may have been twenty-seven years old, but I certainly didn’t feel like a grown-up.
My gaze caught Chrissie and David again as they danced over by the bar. Chrissie had her arms above her head, which made her figure look insane as it swayed under the purple lights. I adored her body, used it as my own personal mannequin as often as she’d let me. If Mum could’ve seen me in that precise moment, she would’ve told me to put down the half-eaten bag of crisps, stop feeling sorry for myself, and join my friends on the dancefloor. She’d have been right, too. I was turning into a whiny, self-absorbed little bitch.
Uncrossing my legs, I took a deep breath, shook out my hair and almost took my mum’s advice that, technically, I’d given myself…but then one of his songs started thumping through the speakers and I slumped back down, stuffing a couple more cheese and onion crisps in my mouth.
Hugo Hayes. I missed him, too. Not the international megastar the people in this club were dancing to, not the sex symbol selling out stadiums across the globe or the Hugo that trended on Twitter every other day. That wasn’t my Hugo, the best friend I’d ever had. It looked like him, sort of, but it wasn’t. Not really. The world didn’t know him, not like I did. Or…used to. Before he left. Before fame and fortune took him away.
Childhood friendships and first loves dissolve, grow apart. It’s part of life. That’s what I used to tell myself at first. Usually, however, they were easier to forget. Their faces weren’t plastered on billboards and social media, and they didn’t have interviews on TV. Their voices didn’t start singing to you during your drive to work or while failing miserably to enjoy a night out at a club.
On paper, my life had been divided into two very clear categories. Hugo, and post-Hugo. In reality, post-Hugo wasn’t really a thing. He was still there, in my head, lingering. I couldn’t forget him, couldn’t forgive him, or myself…couldn’t stop loving him.
“You gonna move from that spot, or what?” I hadn’t noticed David approaching until, suddenly, he stood towering over me with a wide, encouraging grin on his face. “Chrissie’s gettin’ another round in!”
He looked so enthusiastic. Happy. I used to look like that. I wanted to look like that again. Glancing toward the table in front of me, I eyed up the Bacardi and Coke that I’d barely touched, picked it up and downed it in one go. Then, I forced every goddamn muscle in my face to shift into the biggest smile I could muster, figuring the adage fake it till you make it must’ve been coined for a reason, and stood up. “Count me in.”