Chapter 3

Simi

‘But whhhhyyyyyyyy?’ wailed Simi as snot trickled onto Meagan’s designer mini-skirt.

She had been sobbing into Meagan’s lap since she’d arrived a few hours earlier and the tears showed no sign of abating. Occasionally she’d resurface like a blue whale rising to clear its blow hole. Then she’d emit another pitiful ‘whhhhhhyyyyyy?’ only to drop back down into the murky depths of her despair.

Two weeks into the new year and Simi was already experiencing her worst break-up ever. This was stare-at-his-Facebook-profile bad. This was Toni Braxton-on-repeat rotten. This was Jack-and-Rose-at-the-end-of-Titanic terrible. Except Simi wasn’t Rose shedding a single tear for the love she’d lost, no, Simi was the actual ship, a colossus sinking under the weight of all the tragedy. Another wave of grief hit her. Jack could totally have fit on that board! she whimpered as she imagined fighting tooth and nail to drag Oscar onto that much-discussed driftwood. Or perhaps Oscar was the iceberg, their paths destined to collide. She was always being told she was too dramatic. Her black friends said it was a black thing. Her actor friends said it was an actor thing and her mum said it was a black actor thing, but this situation was titanic. Her response was completely proportionate! Simi sniffled as she wrapped her arms around Meagan’s waist and quietly began warbling, ‘My Heart Will Go On’.

‘Simi… Simi?’

Simi blinked her eyes open just as she was about to launch into the big middle eight.

‘Why don’t you have a shower, babes? You’ll feel better,’ Meagan offered.

‘I don’t want to take my pyjamas off. He bought me them for Christmaaaaas,’ Simi grizzled.

Suddenly she understood why Jackie Kennedy had kept on her infamous pink Chanel suit that fateful day. She decided, however, to keep the macabre revelation to herself. If people thought she was dramatic before, then comparing her break-up to a presidential assassination might tip the scales against her.

Simi whimpered as she looked down at her Cat in the Hat pyjamas wishing she hadn’t been wearing them that morning when she and Oscar had had The Talk.

With her revolving-door romantic life, she’d grown wearily accustomed to that conversation.

Granted, The Talk wasn’t always a bad thing. Simi smiled wistfully as she remembered The Talk she’d had with Jason. They’d gone from dating to boyfriend and girlfriend over pizza and beers while watching Rent! in his dad’s basement. Next came Ade, who she’d ended up living with after an argument about filling the dishwasher turned into The Talk. However, overwhelmingly, The Talks consisted of a lot more ‘it’s not you’s than ‘I do’s.

Since turning 30, five short years ago, Simi totted up that she’d fallen stomach-churningly head-over-heels in love four times! She’d thought he’s the one four times and every relationship had gone soul-crushingly wrong.

‘I tell you what, Meagan,’ she sniffled, ‘Gabrielle got it wrong in that flipping song of hers. Dreams don’t come true. Where’s my happy ever after? The BAFTA, the husband, the kids, the overweight chocolate Labradors?’