Dumped, Actually(58)
‘Yes, it will!’
Wimsy leans forward. ‘You don’t know that, you hairy brass pillock!’ He points a rigid finger at me. ‘That’s your whole problem, Ollie. You build things up in your head way too much.’
‘No, I don’t!’
‘Yes, you do! Just go and see her! It might make you feel better!’
‘No, it won’t!’
‘Won’t it?’ He shrugs. ‘I don’t know . . . maybe it won’t. But tell me this’ – Wimsy leans forward even more, so much so that his head now hovers over my pint – ‘would it make you feel any worse?’
Which is an extremely good point.
I rub my hands across my face. ‘I just don’t think I’ve got it in me to confront her like that, Wims.’
He sits back in his chair and folds his arms again. ‘Then I don’t reckon you’ll ever move on, chief.’
Oh Christ.
He’s probably right.
This is why I hang out with Wimsy. Having his life comprehensively ruined has given him a blunt attitude towards the entire universe that I find very refreshing – even if his advice does make me nauseous.
The idea of confronting Samantha makes me want to vomit up my kidneys, but it might be something I have to do, so I can move on with my life.
I’m angry at her – and what’s more, I’m confused.
Confused as to why she ended our relationship – and why she chose to do it in such a humiliating way.
The frustration and agony of not knowing why Samantha dumped me has eaten away at my very soul. I’ve tried to ignore it, I’ve tried to suppress it – but it’s clear I can’t do that any more. If I am ever to move past this, I need to know why it happened.
Which brings us bang up to date, with me stood outside a garden centre, my anus quivering like a scolded dog.
I look back over my shoulder at my car. Wimsy is sat in the passenger seat giving me a huge thumbs-up. I offer him a watery smile and stare back towards the garden centre entrance.
With a final, long drawn-out breath, I gird what loins I do possess, and start walking towards Griston’s Garden Centre, with a look of bleak determination on my face.
This look drops off like the pound did after Brexit as soon as I’m actually in the garden centre, though. As I move from the large undercover shopping area, and out into the broad expansive courtyard, where they keep all the actual plants, I am swamped by happy memories of strolling through this very same set of doors, on the way to surprise my lovely girlfriend at lunchtime.
The intoxicating smell of plants assails my nostrils, sparking off flashbacks to far happier times. Over there, by the hanging plants, is where I gave her a box of her favourite Monty Bojangles chocolates. Way over at the back there, by the ponds, is where I stole a secret kiss when nobody else was looking. That big trestle table covered in lavender? That’s where I told Samantha I had tickets to the opening of Thorn Manor.
All of this batters me in the face in a split second, and all of the determination and strength I had outside dribbles out of my body, and down the nearest drain.
I have to leave. I have to get out of here. I have to save myself!
I turn on my heel, fully intent on getting out of Dodge as fast as my legs will carry me, when I see her.
Samantha is walking through the big undercover shop, just past one of the enormous standees selling Resolva weedkiller. This is somehow quite apt, as I am a weed, and if she sees me, I will be instantly killed.
I actually let out an audible gasp of terror.
Samantha is deep in conversation with one of the other staff members – an older lady who I recall as being a Jan. Or a Jane. Or something else beginning with J. It was definitely a J – without a doubt.
Who cares what her bloody name is! We have to get out of here!
But now Samantha and JanJane are walking directly along the aisle that leads through the shop, to the exit. If I go that way, I will definitely be seen.
Hide!
Hide, you fool!
Letting out another gasp of horror, I scuttle sideways like a crab, in search of a large rock I can crawl under. Griston’s isn’t known for its rock selling, though – unless you count the decorative pebbles – so I have to find something else to shield myself behind, before my ex-girlfriend sees me, and the world ends.
I could duck under that trestle table full of lavender, which I mentioned earlier. But this would leave me far too exposed, so I immediately rule it out.
There’s some definite merit to secreting myself behind the box hedges. They should certainly be large enough to conceal me – but then they are in a high-traffic area of the garden centre, and I might be spotted by someone else, who might then inform a staff member that there’s a man secreted about the box hedges. I will instantly be dubbed a pervert and arrested.
The only other area I can reach before Samantha and JanJane see me is the one that contains the garden sheds. This is, of course, the perfect place to go, and I really should have put it at the top of the list. What can I say? I’m not functioning with high mental efficiency right now.
The sideways scuttle brings me to a selection of three sheds large enough for me to hide myself in. I then go through a hasty game of Goldilocks and the Three Bears in my head.
The one on the left is too small to get into. It’s more one of those storage bin things you throw the shears and gardening gloves into after you’ve had a hack at the buddleia. The second is a Wendy house, and is therefore not appropriate in the slightest. If hiding behind a box hedge might make me look like a pervert, what would hiding in a Wendy house do for my reputation?