the loos.’
‘Give yourself five more minutes of crying, and then promise yourself you’re allowed to cry as much as you want tonight. It hurts now, but it will pass. It always does.’
‘I know. I’m just so mad at myself.’
‘Don’t be stupid. Right, five more minutes and then back to work. Do you want me to stay on the phone?’
‘No, it’s all right. I’ll cry alone and leave you in peace.’
The last five minutes of my lunch hour is stuffed with other electronic communication. Chrissy checks I know the details of the upcoming hen weekend and prompts me again to send over my deposit. My mum sends a trail of pictures of bridge club.
Mum: Came 3rd!
Mum: Would’ve been second but Margaret was cheating.
Mum: She can’t see this message can she?
I go and stand in front of the biggest fan to cool down from being outside. I tell more people who ask that I’m fine. I have a cup of tea. The bad thoughts stay in the Tupperware during my meeting about volunteer retention. Though I look out through the glass wall at Matt, knowing he’s covering my shift and wondering what’s come up and if he’s OK and back it comes – feeling guilty and worried and wondering what’s in the inbox and and …
Oops.
Better Out Than In
April: Any of you ever been told to use the container method? It work for you?
Anya: Ahh, that old chestnut.
Anya: It only works for me in the first two weeks of my period cycle.
Anya: But then again, that’s the case with every positive thing in my life.
Charlotte: OMG! The same! I feel like such a kick-ass trauma-annihilating warrior, then I get PMS and suddenly it’s like I’ve never had any therapy at all.
Hazel: Yep. Me too! All my emotional spirals come in the days leading up to my period. Why do they never tell you this in therapy?
Charlotte: Recovery tip no.1: Never judge your recovery on days 26-28.
Hazel: I’m so jealous your cycle is only 28 days long.
Hazel: Since having Jack, I’ve literally never had a regular period. It’s so hard to tell if I’m legitimately going mad or not.
Anya: In short, April, the container method is OK. But nothing works as well as coming to class and kicking the shit out of a punch bag.
Charlotte: Seconded.
Anya: You coming this week?
April: Hell yes.
When five thirty eventually comes around, I’m feeling much better. After a day of standard behaviour, no one’s acting like I could spontaneously combust any more. I’ve dragged myself out of email backlog hell. I’ve organised the rest of my workload for this week, and I have messages pinging in from my new boxing friends. Even Megan seems improved. She emails to let me know she’s managed to send two whole emails.
Gretel: I’ve got a hankering for some ramen. Fancy changing plan to suit my urges?
Joshua: You want soup?! It’s 30 degrees!
I’m applying my not-there make-up in the bathroom when I get his reply. ‘Yes, in this heat,’ I say to my reflection, before blotting my just-bitten lip stain. ‘Gretel is just random like that. She’ll be eating ice cream in winter next, crazy cat. Doesn’t shit like that just make you feel aliiiiiiiive?’
Gretel: Eating hot food cools you down. Science.
Gretel: Carpe diem, Joshy. YOLO. #BeARebel
Joshua: OK OK, O Captain, my Captain! Let’s go for spicy soup.
He’s there before me when I bluster my way into the empty noodle house, sweat pouring down my body from the long bus journey. He’s sitting nursing a beer under the ceiling of fans, and he stands when I get in, looking slightly unimpressed.
‘Gretel, hi.’ He kisses my cheek formally. ‘They wouldn’t seat me until you arrived.’ Pass-agg laces the sentence and I raise an eyebrow, looking around the deserted restaurant.
‘Well, it’s totally empty so I wouldn’t panic,’ I say.
‘Hmm.’ He turns his back to me, alerts the waiter. ‘She’s here now,’ he says conspiratorially and I raise my eyebrows again as we’re led past long tables with high stools to a little set up in the corner.
‘Right under a fan, perfect.’ I smile over, but Josh just picks up the menu. ‘What are you drinking?’ he asks it.
‘Um, a white wine maybe?’ I eyebrow him once more but he’s too engrossed micro-reading the descriptions of extras. Something is up and I panic for a moment that he’s found out somehow – my stomach turning itself into cinnamon rolls laced with anxiety.
‘Your housemate any better?’ he asks the menu.
‘A little better. It will take a while.’
‘Yeah.’
The