Dumped, Actually(22)

I bumped into Samantha on my search for the lavender, and she showed me where it was. By the time we’d finished our impromptu discussion about the plight of the country’s bee population, I was totally smitten.

So much so that I asked for her phone number there and then. It was an act of such brazen confidence that it made me quite light-headed. I nearly threw up when she actually gave it to me.

It was like something out of . . . yes, you’ve guessed it, a Richard Curtis movie. With Samantha, I really felt like I was in the best romantic comedy I’d ever seen. I also felt like she was the girl I would finally have the perfect relationship with.

So began the happiest period in my life. I walked around on cloud nine the entire time we were together. We never argued. We always had a good time together. Her interests coincided with mine quite a lot, and we were very much on the same wavelength. Everything just clicked into place right from the get-go. It was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

I still have no idea why Samantha finished with me. I thought we were forever.

I write over three thousand words about Samantha, until I realise I’ve gone way overboard, and cut it back by five hundred words.

With all of my heartaches laid bare, I then move on to the second section of the article – about how the hell I’m supposed to get over this latest split.

So far, I’ve done what anybody does when they get dumped. I’ve cried, I’ve wailed, I’ve got drunk, I’ve fallen into a miserable pit of depression.

. . . exactly the same way I did after Gretchen, Yukio and Lisa gave me the old heave-ho.

But I can’t go on like this. It’s becoming too much for me to cope with. It’s also unbearably cliché when you get right down to it. And I hate to be cliché. In my writing, as well as my life.

Erica’s idea to make ‘Dumped Actually’ a more interactive experience, by asking the readers what tips they could give me on getting over my heartbreak, was inspired. People love to contribute. More than anything. Everyone has their own tale of relationship disaster, and I have no doubt that a lot of people will be keen to share them with me – along with how they managed to get over them.

Once I’ve got a few good ones in, I can publish them in a follow-up article, with my thoughts about how effective they might be. It’ll write itself! I’m sure I’ll get enough responses to maybe do two or three additional features, which will keep me going for a few weeks of material. I have no idea if it’ll help Actual Life grow its subscriber base, but I’m sure it’ll please those who already visit the site.

It’s gone 9 p.m. before I have finished the first draft of ‘Dumped Actually’. I’ve never been this late at work. It’s quite an eerie experience. The office is empty other than me. Even Erica went home over an hour ago, handing me the key to lock up. I barely said two words to her, that’s how intent I was on focussing on the article. She didn’t mind. In fact, I’m sure she was delighted to see me so committed to it.

I finish the final line of the now lengthy feature and lean back in my chair, expelling the air from my mouth in a long sigh. I feel emotionally drained. Which is a first for me when I’m writing. It’s hard to get emotionally invested in the décor at the Hayes Retro Cinema experience, unless you have a particular thing for chandeliers and red velvet carpet.

I also have a pounding headache, so it’s probably time to get up from this desk and head for home.

I email the draft over to Erica, hoping she’ll get a chance to look over it tomorrow morning. I have no idea whether she’ll think it’s any good or not, but it’s the best I can do. I’ve put all of my energy into this one, and I don’t think I have any more to expend.

By the time I get home, I am absolutely exhausted, and fall into the first deep sleep I’ve managed since Horst and his companions oompahed me back into the lonely single life.



‘Ollie! This is brilliant!’ Erica says to me the next morning, clutching a printout of ‘Dumped Actually’ as she walks over to where I’ve just sat down in front of my computer.

‘Is it?’ I say, rubbing one eye.

I slept like the dead last night and am having trouble shaking it off.

‘Absolutely!’ she says, perching herself on the end of my desk. ‘It’s the best thing you’ve ever written. Genuinely heartfelt, raw . . . and real.’

‘Oh, it’s definitely real, alright,’ I reply with a grimace. ‘More’s the pity.’

‘I’ve already been through and done an edit. Can you get the polished version back to me today? I want to get this live by this evening!’

‘Really?’ It’s normally a good week or more before Actual Life articles are ready to go. Erica must really think this one is a winner.

I think it’s a pretty good feature myself, but I’m not sure it’s quite the revelation my boss wants it to be.

‘Er, yeah. I guess so.’

‘Excellent!’ She pats me excitedly on the shoulder a couple of times. ‘Well done, Ollie. This is very good stuff. Could be just the kind of thing that’ll bring in more subscribers.’

Oh God. Now I feel something I hate when I’ve written an article – pressure.

Erica is obviously pinning quite a lot of her hopes to stave off Benedict and his desire to liquidate the website on this thing, but I think she might be exaggerating its potential a wee bit. I’m sure an article about being dumped will be quite popular, but popular enough to increase our subscriber base again? I don’t see that happening.