Lindsey Kelk - We Were On a Break

Daniel yawned.

‘Do we hope he’s OK?’ I asked.

He did not reply.

‘ Hope you’re OK. Wanted to clarify some stuff RE: the break. Agree it’s a good idea to think about things but would appreciate some sort of timeframe .’

I stared at the message for a moment. Was I writing to my boyfriend or my bank manager?

‘An email is ridiculous,’ I decided. ‘I’m going to text him. He is still my boyfriend after all. I think.’

Opening my messages, I scrolled down to Adam’s name, finally finding it all the way down at the bottom of my inbox. Usually, we texted constantly, stupid links, sweet messages and there was a certain gif of a St Bernard slapping a man in the face that we’d sent back and forth at least a hundred times but now he was underneath Abi, Cass, David, my mum, my dad, my hairdresser and that man who came round to the surgery trying to sell me pirated DVDs. It felt wrong.

‘ Hey ,’ I began, poised to write something brief, friendly, clear, to the point, unambiguous and constructive.

Then I hiccupped and deleted it.

‘How is it possible,’ I said, staring at the blank white screen, ‘that I cannot think of anything to say to a man I have talked to every day for the last three years?’

There were a million things to talk about in this world. The weather, the price of bananas, Jon Snow theories, but when it came to Adam, I had less than nothing. I didn’t want to be too formal but I couldn’t be too casual. If I was too jokey he might think I wasn’t upset, but if I was super serious it didn’t feel right. On Monday he was asking my opinion on whether or not I could see his penis through his trousers and by Wednesday I couldn’t say so much as a simple hello.

Leaving my phone on the floor, I sat up slowly and moved Daniel Craig to a cushion at the end of the settee. After one displeased yowl, he rolled over, showing me his belly and tossing his head from side to side. I shrugged myself out of my coat and tickled him until he reared up and nipped my wrist with his sharp little teeth. Cats were so fickle.

‘Just like your dad,’ I told him, staring at my phone and willing him to respond. But I got nothing.

‘Oh, sod him,’ I announced loudly to the living room. ‘Abi’s right. I’m not going to sit here and feel shit while he gives me the silent treatment. As of right now, I will not feel sorry for myself, I am taking control of this situation.’

The cat looked at me, seemingly supportive for a creature that had just bitten me hard enough to draw blood, and waited for me to do something.

‘Only I do feel a bit sorry for myself,’ I admitted quietly.

Adam was everywhere and I didn’t just mean in the framed photos on the wall. I saw him building the cat bed he’d bought for Daniel, puffing up the cushions on the settee before we lay down for a solid night of Netflix. One of my dining chairs was still in the corner of the room from where I’d made him sit and think about what he’d done when he deleted the Downton Christmas special off my Sky+ box in August. I dropped my head between my knees, already regretting that last glass of wine, and saw the unwelcome corner of a secret bridal magazine peeking out from underneath the settee. I pulled it out slowly, the Post-it notes I’d stuck on my favourite dresses rustling.

‘Maybe I feel really sorry for myself,’ I said out loud, turning the pages of the magazine slowly, running my fingers over the beautiful gowns. DC stretched out his back leg until it was touching my knee. He got it.

‘And maybe I could open the Galaxy and just have a little bit.’

Daniel yawned again, cocked his one remaining back leg over his head and began his nightly cat bath.

‘I’ll take that as a yes then,’ I said, heading straight for the fridge, determined not to end another night in tears. I’d never cried so much in one day and that included the time me, Abi and Cass watched Beaches , The Notebook and Titanic all in the same day when we were supposed to be studying. ‘I’d love it if you could stop licking your bum when I’m talking to you. The human Daniel Craig would never do that.’

Or at least I assumed he wouldn’t, but if I’d learned nothing else from the last few days, I at least knew you shouldn’t make assumptions about anything in life.

‘What do you think of this one?’

I held the jacket up in the air, waving it around to get Tom’s attention.

‘Nice,’ he replied, hands shoved deep inside his jacket pockets. ‘Blue.’

‘Yeah.’ I considered the shirt again. It was blue. Too blue? I hung it back on the rail and flicked through the alternatives. ‘Hmm.’

It was Saturday and I’d driven down to London for the day, desperate to get out of the village. Three days of radio silence from Liv was deafening, and with every passing second Long Harrington felt as though it was closing in on me. As far as I could see, I was the one who was owed an apology. Yes, I’d been out of order when I dropped her off at home but I’d apologized, I’d brought flowers, I’d done all the things I was supposed to do. Whether her silent treatment was punishment or she was truly angry with me, I did not know but if I knew one thing about women, it was that until she picked up the phone, all I could do was steer well clear.

Thursday and Friday I’d been able to concentrate on work, finalizing designs with the owners, literally forcing myself to sit in my workshop until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, but by Saturday I couldn’t stand it any longer. I needed a break from my break.

‘Got a big occasion coming up?’ Tom asked. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a suit outside of a wedding or a funeral.’

I shuddered involuntarily at the ‘W’ word.

‘No,’ I said, frowning at the suit section. He was right. I hardly ever wore a suit. ‘Just looking. I’m broke.’

And after several terse exchanges and threats of Mexican lawsuits from Pablo the events organizer, that was true. I was fairly certain his case wouldn’t hold up but there was a chance I’d want to go back to the country without having to worry he was waiting at the airport to break my legs.

‘Right, well, do you want to look later?’ Tom leaned against a display case full of cuff links, jumping back to his feet when he realized it wouldn’t take his weight. ‘I’m dying of thirst over here.’

‘Can I help you?’

A tiny redhead with a name badge appeared at my elbow, a deliberate pout on her pretty face. ‘Looking for anything in particular?’

‘No,’ I picked up another jacket and immediately put it back down, ‘not really.’

‘Thanks,’ Tom added on my behalf. ‘He’s not sure what he’s looking for.’

‘I could help if you like?’ the girl offered. I tried to check her name badge without looking at her chest but since she was wearing an insanely low-cut T-shirt and had pinned her badge directly at cleavage level that was near enough impossible. Rebecca. Her name was Rebecca and she had a fine pair.

‘If it’s a suit you’re after, I’d definitely go with something slim fitting, single-breasted. Maybe a dark charcoal or a midnight blue rather than a black? We’ve got some really nice options for taller guys actually. You would look so amazing in a Paul Smith or – oh, there’s a new Tom Ford suit just in that would really just hug your shoulders.’

‘There you go, Ad,’ Tom said elbowing me in the ribs. ‘You need a Tom Ford to hug your shoulders.’

‘I don’t wear suits all that often,’ I told the sales assistant as she looked me up and down slowly before picking two shirts up and throwing them over her arm. ‘I’m just looking.’