Dumped, Actually(65)

They just don’t understand.

‘Oh, okay, sweetheart. I’ll let you go and get back to it. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, anyway, won’t I?’

‘Yeah, of course you will. I’m really looking forward to it.’ This last comes out in a flat voice, which sits well with the words themselves, and there’s a very good reason for that.

It’s the fortieth anniversary of my parents’ wedding in a fortnight, and to celebrate they’re holding a ceremony to renew their vows in the expansive garden of the rambling old house I was brought up in. They’re only inviting a few people. Some of their best friends, my aunt and uncle, and me – their only offspring.

It was something I thought I’d be taking Sam to, once upon a happier time. But now I’ll be going alone.

‘Oh. Good,’ my mother replies, knowing that I’m lying through my teeth.

I feel a pang of guilt. I should be happy for them. Hell . . . I am happy for them. But it’s hard to muster much enthusiasm about the occasion when I’ll probably be the only one there who’s single. And under the age of sixty, but that part is irrelevant.

‘Well, have a lovely rest of the day, son,’ Mum says to me. ‘Let me know if you need anything.’

‘I will, Mum. Love you lots.’

‘Love you too.’

I end the call and chuck my phone down on to the desk with a sigh.

If I thought my mum could give me any help, I would certainly ask her for it. But she can’t help me with advice about my love life, and she sure as hell can’t help me with my other big problem . . . what to write about next for ‘Dumped Actually’.

Literally the only other decent prospect for a story that I have in front of me is the suggestion I try a bit of mindfulness meditation. But how interesting is that going to be, when you get right down to it?

I struggle to think of a way I can make ten minutes of heavy breathing sound fascinating to my horde of subscribers.

But I don’t have much of a choice in the matter. There’s simply nothing else to go on.

I construct a short but pleasant email to Lizzy Moore, asking her where her classes are, and if it’s okay for me to attend. Once that is sent, I try to think of something else to do, but as I can’t progress any more with ‘Dumped Actually’ right now, I have very little to occupy myself with. This invariably leads me back to the fruitless soul searching I’ve been doing so much of recently – and I pretty much spend the rest of the afternoon trapped in a haze of unwanted introspection and self-recrimination.

This time around, I decide to concentrate on how badly I handle the events in my life.

Because I do that. Every single time, it seems.

Look at how I handled the wedding proposal, and the break-up. Or the trip to the salon, and Laughlin’s insistence on stripping my red-raw arse of its hair. Or the thing with the deer, or Vanity and the mask, or not telling Benedict Montifore where to go, or—

Or, or, or, or, OR!

My life is full of ors. I have more ors in my life than the Cambridge rowing team.

What the hell is wrong with me?



I still have no answer to this question as I rock up to Brantree Community Centre, four days later, for my first session of mindfulness with Lizzy Moore.

They have been four days of continued masochistic self-examination, so I do not look my best as I walk into the centre’s largest hall and look for Lizzy. The bags under my eyes are as heavy as my feet as I make my way over to a small crowd of women.

‘Excuse me, is one of you Lizzy?’ I ask them politely.

From the middle of the crowd, a small, slightly plump and happy-looking brunette smiles and waves at me. ‘Hello, Ollie! Thank you so much for coming!’

I try smiling back. It sort of works. ‘My pleasure. I’m looking forward to seeing what all this mindfulness stuff is about.’

There’s a low murmur from the rest of the women as they realise who I am. The looks I’m getting suggest I might have a fair few fans here today. I wish I was in a better state of mind to appreciate this.

‘Okay, everyone,’ Lizzy says to the group, ‘if you want to go and roll out your mats, we’ll get started soon. I’m just going to have a quick chat with Ollie.’ She turns her attention back to me. ‘How are you?’

For a moment, I think about the putting on of the legendary brave face, but decide against it, just because I can’t really be bothered, as I don’t have the energy. ‘Been better, to be honest,’ I say, with a wan smile.

‘Oh, poor you,’ Lizzy says, and touches my arm. ‘I know exactly how you feel. When Alfie left, I thought the world had ended. But taking a little time to myself and doing some mindfulness really helped me. I hope it will help you too.’

‘So do I.’ I look at the others as they position themselves on a series of brightly coloured yoga mats. ‘What do I have to do?’

‘Not much at all. Pick up a mat from over there on the rack, and sit yourself down cross-legged on it anywhere you feel comfortable. Then you just have to follow what I say.’ She smiles again. ‘Don’t worry, though, it’s all quite easy.’

For this, I am extremely grateful. Easy is all I want from my life at the moment.

I pick a spot at the back of the twelve-strong group, and sit down on my purple yoga mat, wondering what’s going to happen next.