Disclaimer:
THIS ARTICLE CONTAINS BAD LANGUAGE
Yes, that's right. I lost her. The one I held in such high regard and the one I praised simply for being her. If I was an ignorant arsehole, I'd said it wasn't my fault, but I think it was - which makes me simply "arsehole". Then again, maybe not. If two people are as close as we were, then can there ever really be a bad break-up between them? The answer in general is yes, but the answer in our case is, in fact, a huge regretful no. It might have been easier that way, you see. Anyway, I guess if your going to have a clue what this arsehole is talking about, I'd better start at the beginning.
Friday 13th April
The clue was in the date. I would've seen it coming if I'd been superstitious. I remember it clear as if it happened an hour ago, which is no good thing. I was quite happy that day, for instance. Very happy, in fact. It was the day I was to leave work early and hurry home to get the rest of my stuff packed. No, I hadn't finally found myself an apartment I could afford. I had booked a holiday for me and Charlotte - well, a weekend break. Drive on Friday afternoon through to the evening down to Portsmouth and catch the Spithead (charming name for a ferry) over to the Isle of Wight. I have family there, but they didn't know I was coming, the weekend was for me and Charlotte. And, apparently, I fucked it all up. Or I fucked something up. I don't really know.
Saturday 14th April
The car journey was shit, the ferry was shit, the train ride to St. Helens was shit. I washed it down with a bottle of water and a sandwich. Who ever enjoys the endless hours upon hours it takes to get to their holiday destination? Everything would be alright when we got there. And it was. The hotel was great. Nice sea view, beautiful restaurant/bar (the food wasn't half bad either), only a two minute walk to the beach and nothing but sun in the sky (well... it was only seven in the morning, but hey). Things were looking up already.
If you were to ask me where things went bad again, I don't think I'd be able to tell you. In fact, if I really think about it, I don't think anything started on the holiday. We walked down the beach, we laid on the beach, we messed about in the sea, we ate ice cream like five year olds (all round your mouth), we got total strangers to take pictures of us, we paid some old geezer on the seafront a fiver to do a painting of us and we re-enacted the Magnum advert (you know, the one where their making out under the pier and then he goes to buy condoms and buys a Magnum instead - except I don't like Magnums that much so I settled for the condoms). I had a great time, and so did she. It wasn't until we got back that I realised we hadn't really talked over the past few days. Sometimes thats ok. Sometimes couples don't need to talk. But this wasn't a "comfortable couples silence" it was an vey uncomfortable "something is wrong" silence.
Monday 16th April
I didn't see her on Monday. We didn't even speak over the phone. That was fine. Sometimes we didn't see each other for three days or more. That's how we kept the relationship so fresh. We never got bored of each other because we didn't spend every minute of every day with each other. I mean, we live in a small town, so we'd inevitably see each other in the shops or in the pubs, but she just used to give me that big loving grin and I'd give her that wink that says "love ya babe", then I'd get my pint and move the lads on somewhere else. I've been in relationships where I've never spent more than a day away from the girl, and in my experience they never work out. You either get sick of the girl being round all the time, she gets sick of you being round all the time or you both get sick of each other. So no, it wasn't the fact that she had a few days to herself, going out with her mates (girl mates and boy mates because no, I don't get jealous with people I trust), going out shopping with her mum, going out to the lunch with her big sister. It didn't bother me because, when I saw her on the Wednesday, she told me what she'd been up to.
Wednesday 18th April
I don't mean she gave me a step-by-step story of absolutely everything she did. It wasn't, "Yesterday I went out with Roxanne, Iona, Bowser and Seve. We went to Subway for an hour, then went to Roxanne's house and watched MTV and that for a bit. Left hers at about seven and Seve walked me home and then I went to bed". It was simply "went out Roxanne, Iona, Bowser and Seve yesterday". I don't need to know that Seve walked her home and then went straight home himself, because I know he'd do nothing else, and if he did she'd back him off and be straight on the phone to me - that's just how good relationships work. Anyway, after she'd told me what she'd been up to the past couple of days, she went silent. I could tell something was bothering her, so I asked her about it. What she said, I didn't understand,
"Did you have a good time in the Isle of Wight?"
Of course I had a good time. It was a nice little break away from the shitty little towns where there's nothing to do. But as the conversation went on, she told me that she didn't think I'd had a good time and that she didn't think I was happy anymore. Long, agonisingly confusing story short, she walked out the door holding back tears, and I sat at the dining room table letting mine fall.
I'd been there two hours when my mum returned with her husband, John. She went straight into the kitchen and started babbling on about something, I wasn't listening. John came in the room and saw me crying. He placed a hand on my shoulder and, for one second, I thought he was going to give me the biggest surprise he'd ever given me - I thought he was going to ask what the matter was. I should've known what he was going to say before he even said it. "Fuck's up with you? Poofs cry, ya know", it was all I needed to break the ice. I flew out of my chair and pinned him to the wall about the same time as my mum came back in from the kitchen. She gave a shocked little "oh" but did nothing. She'd noticed the tear marks down my cheeks, and suddenly John didn't matter because there was something wrong with "mummy's little army man" (or whatever it is mum's call their boys when their younger) and that felt awesome. For once I'd been put above John. Anyway, I leaned in close and whispered into his ear, "so do Financial Managers if you hit them hard enough". He didn't have a reply, but I think he knew I wouldn't hit him. Not because I was scared of him, but because my mum was standing two feet away.
So, instead, I left. Since that day I've been forcing myself out of bed in the morning, going to work but achieving nothing except grief off my boss, coming home to eat tea and wondering aimlessly around the pubs at night. It sounds like something out of a TV show or some depressing melo-drama, but most guys (after their girlfriends leave them for no apparent reason) actually do spend most nights in the pubs. I don't know whether I'm expecting to meet somebody else, because I don't know whether I want to (not yet anyway). I definitely know that I don't have some fucked up notion that the drink will make it all go away because, honestly, I sit in a pub from six till midnight with the same pint in my hand. Maybe I'm hoping she'll come in with her friends and, if I'm right there in front of her, she might talk to me, tell me exactly why she thinks what she thinks.
There is a thought in the back of my head. Maybe, in saying that she thought I was unhappy, she actually knew that I couldn't have been more of the opposite. Maybe it was her who was unhappy, she just didn't want to admit it because she knew she had me lovestruck. Who knows? At least I haven't reverted three years and lost that maturity she gave me. You see, having a girlfriend really does make you mature, even when you lose her. Maybe.
