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Page 14 of Going Overboard

As I perch on the edge of my bar stool, I swing my feet anxiously. I’m in a trendy wine bar, in Leeds city centre, drinking a glass of champagne and trying my very best to feel something for Paul.

I met Paul through work – I’m selling his house in Alwoodley, a massive detached place with its own tennis court and, I don’t know, a million bedrooms. It’s a real dream of a place but, now that his divorce is through, he’s moving to something smaller.

Why, yes, of course we bonded over being newly single.

Isn’t that tragic? The only thing more tragic, though, would be putting my life on hold while Todd lives it up with Kiki (I can’t help but mock the sickly-sweet way he called her that).

So I’m here, having a drink, with a man, seeing how it goes.

Paul is handsome, in a clean-cut, pinstripe-suit kind of way. I don’t know what he does for work, we’ve not got to that bit yet, but it clearly pays better than my job.

He’s really making an effort too. He’s asking questions, laughing at my jokes – he even complimented my earrings, which had to be out of politeness, because he seems like a man with expensive taste, and I think these earrings were £4 from Primark .

‘You really did such a great job with my house,’ he says, reviving the conversation.

‘I hardly recognised the place, when you had it all dolled up. My wi… my ex-wife was never really into that kind of thing. We had an interior designer come around, when we moved in, who told her what to put where. I can’t remember her name, she was married to a footballer.

Anyway, she told us what artwork to buy and where to put it, and which chairs spoke the same language as the trees outside and which paint colours gave off the right energy… ’

His cheeks redden slightly, as his voice trails off.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I’m not making fun of your job. But what she did felt different.’

‘Well, yeah, I suppose because what I do is to sell places, not for people to live with,’ I explain.

‘I couldn’t come into your house and tell you what your taste should be – how can I know that?

Artwork especially is such a personal thing, and it shouldn’t “speak” to the trees, it should speak to you.

You’re the one who has to look at it every day.

I don’t make a home, I make a shopfront for a home.

Interior designers do incredible work, but it has to be with you, not for you. Everyone’s taste is their own, right?’

‘You know what? That’s an excellent way to put it,’ he replies. ‘It looked great – you saw the place – but it never felt like us. How do you fix that?’

‘You can still use a designer, you just tell them what you want, rather than to do what they think or what’s trendy,’ I reply.

‘Well, I know that for my new place,’ he replies. ‘When I find the right one. My rental is…’

His voice trails off again.

‘Sorry, sorry, I can’t believe I’ve got you talking about work, enough of that,’ he says, pausing to take a big drink. ‘Let’s talk about something else. ’

To be honest with you, I was at my most relaxed, talking shop, because it distracted me from the fact that this is sort of a date and yet all I can think about is bloody Todd. I just need to forget about him, lean into the conversation more, give Paul a real chance.

‘What do you like to watch on TV?’ he asks.

‘Oh, everything,’ I reply. ‘I love a binge-watch. I think I set my record for most episodes watched in one sitting with Breaking Bad – seven episodes in a row.’

And yes, I am genuinely proud of that.

‘Wow, seven? That’s impressive,’ he replies. ‘Is that not… seven hours?’

‘Near enough,’ I say with a laugh. ‘But sometimes you just need to get lost in someone else’s life.’

‘So, is that your comfort show, then?’ he asks, one eyebrow raised.

As much as I love Breaking Bad , it would be a red flag if someone called it their comfort show on a first date, right?

‘Oh, no, that’s It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia ,’ I reply. ‘That’s one of those shows that I can just watch again and again, no matter what I’m doing, and it always makes me happy.’

‘I’ve never seen it,’ he replies. ‘It sounds like a cure for all ills…’

‘Oh, absolutely,’ I reply. ‘I remember when I… when… when I had…’

Shit. I was going to tell him a story – about bloody Todd – but it’s not just that it’s about him, it’s a good story, about a time when he was great. A memory that makes me miss what we had – what he took from me.

‘Ooh, go on, this sounds interesting,’ he prompts me.

‘Oh, no, I was just going to say, I had the flu, it was awful, I couldn’t think straight, and my boyfriend at the time put it on for me, and I guess I just binge-watched it until I felt better. It got me through it.’

‘Well, that was nice of him,’ he replies.

‘It was,’ I say softly. ‘Because he… he didn’t really like watching TV. Only a couple of shows, and he hated Sunny , so… to put it on for me… for hours… yeah.’

The lump in my throat feels more like a hand wrapped around my neck.

Paul smiles politely, but I can tell the vibe has shifted. I’ve soured the air with something and now we’re both struggling to keep smiling.

‘But yeah, it was just… just one… just one of those things,’ I say, trying to smooth it over, but the wobble in my voice grows more obvious with each word.

I stare upwards – because someone once told me that was a lifehack to stop yourself from crying – and try to get Todd out of my head.

It’s just that things were good between us, he was a great boyfriend, I thought we had a future together and now it’s all over.

Not just my dreams for the two of us, but my personal dreams too – they were tangled up with his and, if I take him out of the equation, there’s just plot holes everywhere.

I don’t even know what my hopes are for the future now.

‘So, music…’ Paul says, trying to get the conversation back on track, but it’s too late.

I lean forward, still trying to keep my eyeballs fixed on the high ceiling above us, trying to blink away the feeling, the inevitable tell that I’m about to start crying.

My eyes feel swollen with it, full of tears, and I don’t know where else they can go but out.

‘Erm… are you okay?’ he asks, his body stiffening awkwardly.

‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ I squeak, subtly wiping away the first couple of tears to escape. ‘Just… there’s something in my eye.’

‘Which one?’ he asks .

‘Both,’ I reply.

Oh, boy, the tears are really flowing now. I mean, obviously I’m crying, and I’m doing my best to keep a lid on the sobs, but the tears wait for no man. They’re really flowing now.

‘Perhaps we should call it a night?’ Paul suggests – trying to hide his discomfort, but failing even worse than I am at keeping his emotions in check.

‘Yeah, good idea,’ I say, sniffing hard.

He stands up so quickly he almost knocks over his empty glass. I grab my things and follow him outside.

‘I’m really sorry,’ I tell him, wrapping my arms around myself, giving myself the hug I need right now – not that I’m much comfort to myself.

‘No worries,’ he replies. ‘I hope you get your eyes sorted.’

‘Thanks.’

There’s no way he believed that, and there’s no way I’m ever going to hear from him again – not even if he wants to sell his next house, I’ll bet, because as great as he thinks I was at my job, he’s clearly not interested in an emotionally dodgy woman who cried on a first date.

I watch him walk away. He was nice and all that but, I don’t know, it’s not Paul specifically that feels like a loss, it’s my ability to date, to move on, to be happy.

I should feel bad for him, and embarrassed for myself, but I don’t.

What I do feel is the most jarring combination of hopeless, because I don’t know where I go from here, and yet relief, because I don’t want to move on. I just want my old life back.

I can’t get it though, can I? I can’t go back, I can’t move forward, I’m just suspended in time – and what a shitty time to be trapped in.

I wipe my face with the napkin I brought out with me, which is in tatters now – sort of like my love life – shove it in my bag, and pull myself together.

I don’t know what I expected to get out of tonight. He was never going to be my boyfriend, or even my plus-one to Kelsey and Neil’s wedding, but I think I just wanted to prove to myself that I was okay, that I could move on, that it was all going to be fine…

And the only thing I’ve proven to myself is the opposite. Fab.