Friends like these

When your confidence has been knocked, it’s easy to be your own worst enemy

Damp air loops around my ankles as I jog along the train platform to join my friends. They’re huddled together like bright butterflies, resplendent under the amber light. “Here she is.” Caz peels away from the group and throws her arms wide, her many bracelets tinkling. She looks stunning in a coral sequin dress, which skims over her athletic frame. “I got your fave.” She pushes a can of pink gin into my hand as she hugs me. I breathe in her familiar Jean Paul Gaultier scent, with sharp top notes of white wine.

“You look like a mermaid,” I say, my voice muffled by her blonde curls.

“You don’t scrub up badly yourself.” She steps back to take in my outfit. “Love the jacket.”

I smile uncertainly as the other girls greet me. This is my first night out since Tom left. Everyone keeps telling me I need to get out there and stop moping about, but I can’t help feeling like I’ve got a massive “reject” sign on my forehead.

As the train pulls up next to us with a muted scream, Annabel turns to stare at me. Her eyes slowly travel from my ankle boots to my pleated green dress to my new silver jacket, complete with retro shoulder pads. I swallow. I should never have bought it. In the changing rooms it seemed edgy, but now I just look like Pat Butcher from Eastenders wrapped in tinfoil.

Annabel looks pained, as if she’s tasted something rancid. A little crease forms between her brows and she presses her lips together, giving an unmistakable shudder. I tug at my sleeve, seized with the urge to take the offending jacket off and throw it in the bin. Annabel’s gaze is fixed on my middle and I glance down at the buttons straining against my stomach and quickly undo them. I curse inwardly, “I should’ve got the size 16 – who the hell am I kidding?” But I hate having that ugly number casually emblazoned on the inside of my clothes.

“Ladies, our carriage awaits.” Caz does an elaborate bow as the train doors open. She doesn’t know what it’s like to be embarrassed about leaving clothes labels lying around.

She’s always been size “small” or “petite”.

All chattering at once, we pile on to the train and slide into our seats.

“Let’s get this party started.” One of the girls cracks open a bottle of prosecco and an elderly man sitting opposite us tuts. I rest my forehead against the window and briefly close my eyes, feeling the start of a headache.

“You’re a barrel of laughs, aren’t you?” Annabel’s tone is dry. “Why did you bother coming out if you’re just going to sit there looking like a slapped backside?”

I open my eyes and am confronted by my reflection in the dark glass. My nose dominates my face, large and ghostly.

“I’m trying.” I whisper. Some mornings just getting out of bed feels like an insurmountable task. I never knew heartbreak could be so physical. My stomach churns as if I’m standing on the edge of a cliff and sometimes, when I allow myself to remember what it felt like to be loved, my breath clutters in my chest so that I can hardly breathe.

Even though Tom walked out on me more than four weeks ago, the shock still feels so raw. What I can’t get my head around is that the person I trusted most in the world doesn’t want me. If Tom can’t love me, then who can?

“To be fair, Tom always was the outgoing, popular one,” Annabel muses, chewing her thumb cuticle. “You’re not exactly known for your dazzling wit. In fact…” She looks over at the girls as they pour the prosecco into plastic cups “…they probably only invited you out because they feel sorry for you.”

Caz’s heart-shaped face appears in the gap between the seats in front.

“Babes, I love that lipstick on you.” Her hand shoots out and she grabs my chin, tilting my face upward. “We’re gonna have to beat the boys off you.”

“See, total pity party,” Annabel murmurs as I attempt to pout seductively, ignoring a nudge of panic. I can’t imagine what it’d feel like to have another man’s lips on mine. Tom and I fitted together perfectly, as if we were the same body.

“I’ve forgotten what it’s like to flirt,” I tell Caz, twisting my head out of her grasp. I gulp quickly, praying the ready tears that hover like a reservoir don’t choose this moment to break loose.

In the changing room it seemed edgy, but I look like Pat Butcher

“Christ, you’re a mess. Do us all a favour and go home.” Annabel pinches the bridge of her nose in despair.

Caz drops her hand to mine and squeezes my clenched fist. “One step at a time, hey – we got you.” She turns back to the group, who are unzipping the back of her dress, demanding her attention.

“Bless, Caz has always been a mug when it comes to you.” Annabel sniffs. “D’you remember at primary school she’d come to your rescue when you were left out of kiss chase? She’d even ask the boys who fancied her to chase you instead.” I turn to my reflection and meet my own eyes, full of shadows.

“Annabel, will you please just shut up?” I say it through gritted teeth, my jaw juts out with defiance. Annabel glares back, her nostrils

flaring. The train slows to a halt, the sky outside is brown and purple, like a fading bruise.

“Come on, Annabel.”

Caz is bending over my seat, offering her elbow to me. “We’re doing this together.”

I take her arm. “Thank you, Caz, for being so kind.”

“Don’t be silly.” She flushes pink. “That’s what friends are for.”

I nod slowly as we step off the train, a welcome spark ignites inside me. It’s time to

start being my own friend.