Never Google Heartbreak by Emma Garcia Read Free Book Online Page B

night.’
    ‘Bye, Max.’
    I close my phone and sit for a moment listening to the sirens and the traffic outside. Everything inside the flat is still and silent. I hang the dress on the wardrobe door and place the shoes underneath. I write a ‘getting ready’ countdown list and place it on my dressing table. I manage to go to bed quite early but struggle to sleep and end up reading self-help books until midnight. ‘Hear the roar of the lion within!’ Mine’s a tiny kitten.
    Miaow.

5
The Things We Do for Love
    ‘
I once carried my coffee table down two flights of stairs and into the park. I cooked a full Thai banquet and laid it all out with cushions to lounge on and cold white wine. I waited; I drank the wine; I fed the rice to the pigeons. It got dark; I fell asleep. He didn’t show. Someone nicked the cushions.
’
    Maria, 34, Battersea
    ‘
I run a small bakery in the city with my boyfriend, Andy. We do these little cakes with alphabet letters on. Well, one day I made a window display with the cakes. It said, “Marry me, Andy.” I thought he hadn’t noticed, but when I checked the display, he’d rearranged the cakes.
    They said, “Any day.
”’
    Rachel, 30, Liverpool
    I wake up to the sound of hammering. It’s eight o’clock. The sun dazzles in lines across the blind – a perfect day for a wedding. I pull open the side of the blind and squint into the street. Two men in multicoloured wigs are rolling barrels into position in the road.
    I guess there must be some sort of party today at one of the bars on the high street. I pull on my silk kimono bathrobe. In the bathroom I scrutinise myself: I’m looking tired around the eyes, and not in a good ‘I’ve been partying all night’ way. I pat on a little cooling eye gel. The packaging claims that it will relieve puffiness and smooth away fine lines. Truly a miracle! And only £2.49. My heart flips when I see the dress hanging by the mirror, the shoes carefully arranged underneath. I feel like a nervous gladiator inspecting my armour, except I have no idea of my opponent.
    Briefly I imagine her curled next to Rob, sleeping in post-coital bliss, without the faintest worry to wrinkle her perfect brow. This thought sends my stomach cartwheeling. God! I concentrate on making proper strong coffee, setting the pot on the gas and reading my countdown list while I wait.
8.30
Jo Malone bath
9.00
Body lotion
9.30
Nails – Hard Candy ‘Twilight’
10.00
Make-up – sexy
10.30
Hair – clean, smooth, artfully messy
11.00
Get dressed
11.30
Taxi arrives
11.40
Pick up Max
12.00
Arrive at church in good time
1.00
Wedding!
    Around the edges I’ve doodled flowers on stalks with leaves. Christie once told me if you doodle flowers, it means you want to get married and have children. Amazing how accurate these things are! The pot hisses as I pour the coffee. I can’t eat anything. I feel like I’m facing the 100- metre hurdles on school sports day all over again.
    I pull up the Roman blind at the balcony. The police are in the street, calmly chatting in shirt sleeves and bulletproof vests, their helmet badges glinting in the sun. A guy wanders across the road to join them, so achingly good-looking he’s on the cusp of ugly. They’re pointing down the road to where a truck is parked. Obviously they’re solving some logistical problem with deliveries to one of the restaurants. I wander off to run the bath.
    * * *
    Okay, it’s eleven thirty and no taxi. I’ll ring them.
    ‘Kins Cars,’ says a bored voice.
    ‘Hi, it’s Vivienne Summers. I have a car booked for eleven thirty, but it hasn’t arrived.’
    ‘Hold on, please, madam.’
    I’m blasted with what sounds like ‘Greensleeves’ played on a kazoo.
    ‘Madam, I’ve spoken with your driver. He says five minutes.’
    ‘Well, I hope it’s no more than that. I have a wedding to get to, you know.’
    ‘Yes, five minutes, madam.’
    Okay, it’s eleven forty-five. It’s fine, it’s okay, it’ll be here soon.