‘The problem is that I’ve gone from being a sorted, uncluttered career woman who is top of her game and happy and calm, without even having to do fucking mindfulness or whatever, to becoming a distracted, jumpy, insecure, jealous freak who can’t go five minutes without checking her phone to see if he’s messaged back.’
‘Five minutes? More like five seconds.’
It’s her turn to kick me. ‘So, I’m a nightmare. We know this already.’
‘What are you going to do about it?’
Megan shakes her head slowly. ‘I’m not sure. There’s this weird inevitability, isn’t there, when it comes to falling in love with a man. It’s never anything other than a huge trap and a massive act of self-harm. I know this. I’m self-actualized enough to know this, and know how it’s played out in the past and how unhappy it’s made me, and yet … I’m walking right into it anyway. I’m literally staring the mousetrap in the face and then shoving my big toe on it. And then I will scream and wonder why it snapped and why it hurt so much. But, April, what if it’s different this time? What if Malcolm is different?’
He won’t be different, I think. They are never different. ‘He could be?’ I say, obviously not meaning it, but she lifts her head and acts like I did.
‘You really think so?’ I don’t have time to reply. ‘Gah!’ She stands up in one fluid motion, her arms in the air. ‘I need to not go crazy. I need to just get my head together. I’ve not done any work all weekend and the launch is coming up and I have so many decisions to make and yet I can’t think about anything other than whether or not our children will inherit his bone structure.’
‘Well then, do some work.’
‘I will.’
‘Go on then.’
‘I’m going.’
‘Well do it.’
‘I’m doing it right now.’
We laugh together. The first real laugh I’ve managed for days. Megan reaches out and takes my hand. ‘Are you really OK?’ she asks one more time.
‘I promise you that I am,’ I lie. I glance at the puddles of feathers scattering our floor and wonder once more if I’ll ever feel OK again.
The feathers are off the floor at least. Megan and I cleaned them up and I helped her brainstorm launch stuff until late last night.
She was at the kitchen table this morning, putting together a massive spreadsheet made of varying coloured Post-its. ‘I’m channelling all my anxious nervous energy about Malcolm into my work.’
‘How many times have you checked your phone this morning to see if he’s messaged?’
‘Two hundred and twelve.’
‘So it’s working then?’
‘Shut it, you.’
I’m capable of smiling, and I’m capable of getting onto the Tube, even though it’s crowded and still so hot, and when will it ever rain. I push through into the office and say a jolly good morning to everyone. I make a cup of coffee. I drink it. I catch up on my emails.
Matt arrives late because the Central line was being the Central line. ‘I’m so hot I think I’ve sweated out my soul,’ he says instead of hello.
‘You have a soul?’ See! A joke! I’m capable of making jokes.
We have a Monday morning catch-up meeting. Everyone’s favourite thing. The fundraisers are trying to pretend everything is going to be fine, even though we lost out on a key bid last week. The IT team have fixed the bug in our CMS system but, in fixing it, they have found a new one. The press release team have found someone from Love Island who may want to be our charity ambassador but they’re asking for money to do it. I update them on volunteer uptake numbers for the next big training drive we have planned for the autumn. There’re not as many as we’d hoped, but that’s because we don’t have the budget to advertise. We finish and I have another coffee.
‘You all right for your shift?’ Matt asks me. ‘I’ve got another bloody meeting now, but I’m free at lunch if you need to debrief.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say. Maybe it’s true.
It’s not true.
At half eleven, I get my third cup of coffee which is probably a mistake because I already feel jittery as it is. I put on my cupped headphones so no one bothers me, and I open up the inbox. Twelve questions to get through. That’s not so bad. I fly through the first three, all of them run-of-the-mill, everyday type questions.