The whole table carried on eating and laughing and sharing anecdotes, clearly the loudest group in the restaurant. Sonya presented Bea and Jeremy with some crystals that would ‘guide their marriage’. We finished our mains, waiters continued topping up our glasses and a giant dessert was brought out, complete with sparklers. We cheered and whooped and Bea and Jeremy waved the sparklers around, smiling the biggest smiles as we all looked on and clapped. The night ended with loud music and dancing on tables, and the restaurant staff seemed to love it just as much as we did, pouring us free shots straight from the bottle into our mouths. Mine and Bea’s song suddenly came on – ‘Red Red Wine’ by UB40 – and we grabbed each other and started singing from the top of our lungs, like we were the only two people in the room.

Even though this was a turn in the road, a new chapter, Bea was still my Bea.

8

2019

I’ve decided to go and see a Reiki healer this afternoon because I am a Millennial cliché with a free afternoon. I have accepted the fact that since the break-up I haven’t really been looking after myself that well. I haven’t been to the gym in months and I haven’t cooked any nice food for myself in ages either. Cec sent me a huge box of frozen chicken broth in the post, which is very thoughtful. The note read: ‘Some nutrients for you! A bit of self-care please. Cec xx’. It doesn’t feel very ‘feminist’ to admit that I am struggling now that I don’t have a boyfriend, but it’s my truth right now. What’s so wrong with enjoying being looked after by someone? Jacob kept me on the straight and narrow. He often encouraged us to cook good meals from scratch; he was fairly healthy and didn’t love takeaways; his best mate had started a healthy delivery service and he had free membership; and he’d make us get out of the house on weekends. He even dragged me out to go on runs with him. Without any of that, without any of these small lifestyle nudges, I am immediately back to my natural state, aka filth and laziness. I’m back to being the woman I truly am, who eats noodles in her pants on the sofa and orders Nando’s every other night on Deliveroo, even though she can’t really afford it now that she’s paying double rent. I have no one to impress, no one to suggest ways I could take better care of myself, no accountability. I am being half-arsed with my cleaning – I’ve definitely not cleared the crumbs from under the toaster for a while. The other day I ordered extra pizza just to keep some cold for breakfast the next day. My teeth hurt from eating badly and spots have erupted on my chin, giving my secrets away. Those fitness blogger gurus always say you should ‘tenderly prepare a meal for yourself, like you would for a loved one!’ and ‘caringly sprinkle some seeds or chilli flakes onto every meal.’ Oh piss off!