Later that night, in bed and alone, and this time also feeling lonely, I look at my phone. He still hasn’t messaged me. Even in the quiet years we would text each other a ‘Merry Christmas’ message.

There are a lot of things to look forward to at Christmas, but when it’s all over there are so many emotions, even if it’s been a great day. Especially if it’s been a great day.

It’s too easy to look back at the year. And it has been quite a big year for me.

I feel like I’ve finally woken up. I’ve found out that my vagina can still feel things. I have two new and exciting jobs to look forward to. I have forward momentum. It could be argued that I’m actually a pretty OK human. You could even say I’m happy.

But then there’s Peter. I keep coming back to Peter.

Maybe Mum is right. Maybe he did like me. Maybe I simply didn’t see it.

But whatever he might have felt doesn’t make a difference.

What makes a difference is how he feels now. And all I know is that he pushed me away. I might have lost him as a friend for ever because of one stupid evening.

CHAPTER 43

With only five days between Christmas and Tilly’s wedding, my time has been split between various extended family reunions and last-minute wedmin. It’s been nice to have a lot to do; it’s kept my mind off Peter. At least for the most part. But he’s still in the background of everything I do. Even my family have been extra nice to me since the bombardment. It doesn’t make me feel better, it makes me miss him more. Mum didn’t even say anything when she found out I opened the New Year’s Eve nuts two days early.

The situation is hopeless. It’s already New Year’s Eve. I haven’t had any time to see him, not that I would know what to say, and I still don’t know how soon he leaves for Australia. I know I should stop being so stubborn and message him, but now I worry that I have left it too long.

My negative mood is making it hard to get in the mood for Tilly’s wedding. I said I would go early to make sure the place is looking as it should. I was meant to leave about twenty minutes ago, but I’m currently frozen in front of the mirror. I don’t like the jumpsuit I’m wearing; I had bought it hoping to channel my inner Michelle, but it makes my butt look like a pancake. I’m not in the mood to party and be a happy wedding guest.

I sigh, pick up my overnight bag and make my way downstairs. It’s only an hour’s drive away, but I will never know why an hour in the car always seems so much longer than an hour faffing around at home.

I yell through to my mum and Fred, ‘I’m leaving now, guys. I’ll be back tomorrow.’