‘Yes. It’s an awesome idea and WE WILL DO IT, but for now, we have a party to set up, capiche?’
Bella nodded, busy scribbling in her pink notebook.
‘Look, I’ll take custody of the bag for now. Just try not to think about it, or Sam, OK?’
‘Thanks Hol, you’re a legend,’ she said, hugging Holly.
Holly took the ‘Break-up Bag’ and tied the ends together tightly, as though this would lock in all the memories and keep them away. Holding it at arm’s length, she carried it to the cupboard and shoved it in, right to the back. Then she headed to her room and began to think about what dress she could wear that wouldn’t require a bringing forward of the annual event that was ironing. She opened her wardrobe.
After a few minutes of sifting, the doorbell rang.
‘Fuck sticks,’ Holly said as she tripped over the half-detonated shopping bags on the way to the door.
‘Oh no! Who’s here already?!’ Bella said, emerging from her room with a homemade egg and oatmeal face mask on. ‘Why would people be early for things? It’s the height of rudeness!’ as she spoke, a large dollop of oatmeal-yolk fell off her cheek and landed splat on the floor.
‘And I’m sure they’d be charmed to hear you say so, lovely. Anyway, calm yourself! It’ll just be Liv; I asked her to be an early person.’ Holly stepped over the yolk and opened the door.
Olivia strolled in, carrying a holdall filled with food in tins and plastic containers. ‘Here you go ladies, I had a bit of a bake-off with myself and got a little carried away,’ Olivia said. ‘There’s some cupcakes, flapjacks, some pies and things.’
‘Wow, amazing, thank you Liv!’
‘This is so generous of you!’ Bella said, opening up the boxes and peering in.
‘It’s amazing there’s any left though, I kept on sampling the goods as I made them. I must’ve eaten my own body weight in butter! Definitely need to go to the gym tomorrow! Anyway, who’s coming tonight?’ Olivia asked with a definite subtext of ‘will there be any Olivia-types?’
‘I’m not sure to be honest,’ Holly said. ‘It was all so last minute; whoever shows up will be a bonus.’
‘Harry’s coming though isn’t he?’ Bella said.
‘Oh yes, I can’t wait to see him!’
‘Who’s Harry?’ Olivia asked.
‘My oldest best friend from school. You won’t fancy him Liv, before you even go there. Plus he’s practically married and is rarely allowed out – we lost him down a domestic abyss in Suburbiton some years ago. Which is why it’s so blooming exciting he’s even coming!’
There was a knock on the internal front door. Holly opened it to reveal a smiling man with a navy trilby hat perched on a bed of ginger hair.
‘The man himself!’ she threw her arms around Harry, knocking his hat flying. He was always wearing hats of some sort. Possibly to divert attention from his slightly receding hairline, or possibly to give himself a sneaky bit of extra height.
‘Come in, come in,’ Holly said, gesturing to the cramped hallway while stripping Harry of his duffel coat. He wandered further into the hall and was quickly swallowed up in hugs and how-are-yous from Bella and then Olivia.
‘Liv, this is The Great Harry. Me and him go way back to primary school, but I hardly ever see him anymore, now he’s gone south of the river!’
‘I have an Oyster, I will travel, you know! And you’re always welcome in Surbiton,’ he said.
Then he looked Bella – in her face mask and dressed in her only size six dress – up and down. ‘Christ, Belle, have you lost weight?’ he said while hugging her. ‘There’s nothing of you!’
Holly stared at Harry, remembering why people often mistook him for being gay.
‘What?’ he said, reading her expression. ‘I’m a sensitive guy! I notice these things!’
‘It’s true, your face is gaunt,’ Olivia said in admiration, ‘it’s all fallen off you!’
‘Well, since you mention it, this is my skinny dress. I’ve not worn it since I was a teenager!’
Olivia’s eyes scrunched together, as though her brain was trying to process the idea of anyone still possessing clothing they’d bought in the nineties.
‘So what’s your secret?’ Harry asked in his best mock-Gok.
Bella smiled. ‘I’m calling it the Break-up Diet. All the slebs are doing it. Last month was the Five-Two diet – this month it’s the Misery Plan.’
Harry and Holly laughed, and then slowed to a stop, realising this was possibly inappropriate.
‘The ideas is, you eat nothing for two weeks, then in a rare moment of gluttony, you load up on carbs. And it doesn’t even show!’
‘Well, melancholy looks good on you,’ Olivia said, in the same tone as if she was admiring a new pair of Louboutins.
‘No it’s awful really. I miss food; it’s one of my biggest pleasures. But nothing looks in any way edible when you’ve got a heart as wretched as mine,’ she said, drawing out each word and looking skyward as though she was giving a soliloquy at The Globe.
Harry put his arm around her. ‘Ah, poor Bellarama.’
‘I’m serious. No food has passed my lips in days. Unless you count my own mucus, from crying so much.’
Holly looked at the vintage Coca-Cola clock on the wall. ‘Um, guys. Not to sound insensitive, but now really isn’t the time for one of your impromptu Break-up Club meetings. We still have a party to set up?’
Olivia’s eyes darted to the ceiling. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no such thing as Break-up Club. It was just a wind-up.’
Behind Olivia’s back, Bella was nodding and mouthing the words, ‘Yes there is.’
Despite herself, Holly couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit left out.
‘Anyway, Harry, how about you come and chat to me while I get ready? Tell me how’ve you been?’ she said, heading to her bedroom.
‘Aye, no’ bad,’ went his warm Edinburgh accent as he followed Holly and dumped his Howies bag onto her bedroom floor.
‘Aw, your lovely accent is back – have you been back home again?’
‘Yup. A week with the McGregor clan is all it takes to eradicate my silly Southern accent. Speaking of silly, how are things with you and Lawrence?’
‘Yeah, fine. Apart from all the rows.’
She pulled off her top and realised she was now only in her bra and jeans. She didn’t bother to try and cover up though; Harry was like a brother to her. They’d seen each other half naked so many times before that it didn’t bother either of them. Or, as Harry liked to put it, she was safely inside ‘the circle of sexual disgust’.
‘But hey, everyone rows at least three times a week, don’t they?’
‘Um, no Holly. Three times a week is sex. Arguing is less, ideally.’
‘Bollards. We’re shagging less than average too then!’
Holly attempted to pull on her dress, quickly finding herself all tangled up, before remembering that you needed a PhD in contortionism to put on most All Saints dresses. ‘Um, can you give me a hand?’
‘Here you go, doofus.’ Harry began grappling with the many complicated