Make or Break

The next morning was Saturday. My flight home was at 7. 30 p.m. that night. I woke to a text from Pete asking when I’d be back. I turned the phone off, shoved it in the drawer of the bedside table and curled my arm around Jimmy’s naked, sleeping form.

He rolled over and smiled sleepily. ‘You’re actually going today.’

‘Well, we’ve said goodbye a few times, so we should be used to it.’

We kissed, and then as the kissing became more urgent we moved on to more enthusiastic bed-orientated activities.

It was hard to leave the bed later that morning. We knew when we did that it was potentially the last time, so we lingered: kissing, chatting, laughing and kissing.

Jimmy had another writing class to get to so after showering we trudged upstairs to breakfast, Jimmy stopping me halfway up the stairs to press me up against the wall in a kiss so passionate it nearly had us heading back to bed again. But we did eventually make it to the kitchen, where Diego and Pamela were scanning recipe books and deciding on what to cook for a soirée Ian and Diego were having that night.

‘Ah, sweet girl, you’re leaving us today! For real this time,’ Diego said, coming round the side of the island and pulling me into a hug. ‘Say it isn’t so!’

Jimmy hugged Pamela good morning and smiled at me.

‘So, what does our sweet girl want for her last breakfast?’ Diego said as he released me from his bear embrace.

I grinned. ‘Your protein pancakes?’

Ian came back from a walk on the beach with Flora and Lucy and we all ate breakfast in the sun on the balcony. While Jimmy went to his bedroom to pack up his writing stuff, I sat on the sofa with Flora and we discussed how far she and I had come in our relationship. Diego and Ian reappeared in the kitchen in matching running gear and I walked with them to the front door.

‘Our Jimmy, he’s very keen on you,’ Diego said, holding me by the shoulders, his arms outstretched.

‘But what about the Tarantino Test?’ I said, forcing a smile. ‘Or the fact that I have The NeverEnding Story soundtrack in my playlist?’

‘Unforgivable,’ Ian said, giving my cheek a gentle kiss.

‘Absolutely,’ Diego pulled me to him in a strong hug, heavy with expensive cologne.

They left, making me promise, yet again, to keep in touch, then Jimmy appeared with his bag and after a hug from Pamela, it was time to leave. As I walked out of the house, with its sea views, the smell of the sea wafting through the ever-open balcony doors and the loving family that cooked and bantered and laughed inside, I knew for sure it was for the last time.

On the drive back Jimmy was quiet. When we pulled up at the apartment for the final time I didn’t move. I didn’t want to get out of the car.

‘I could give my class a miss?’ Jimmy said. ‘We can hang out together until I have to go to work?’

I gripped his hand. ‘No, you need to finish your script. And I need to go and have a very awkward conversation and an even more awkward twelve-hour plane trip.’

Jimmy nodded.

‘So,’ I drew in a breath. ‘Goodbye, then, I guess. For real this time.’

‘I’ve stopped believing you,’ Jimmy said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

‘OK, I’ll see you later today then.’

Our jokes were weak and self-conscious. We were trying to hold the emotion in as it was new and couldn’t go anywhere. I made no movement to get out. The front seat of his crappy car had become my happy place.

‘OK,’ I began. ‘I’d better—’

Jimmy leant across and kissed me. My senses were on high alert: the feel of his lips, the graze of his stubble, the smell of his soap. It all combined to bring me a premature nostalgia. We pulled apart and I saw the same expression on Jimmy’s face as I felt the sting of a missed opportunity.

I swiped under my eyes, stopping tears. ‘Bye then.’

‘I’ll call,’ he said, swallowing thickly.

I nodded, leant forward and gave him another lingering kiss on the lips then leapt out before I changed my mind. Walking away from that car was the hardest thing I’d had to do, bar comforting Annabelle when Daniel left her. It was as if an elastic bungee cord were pulling me back to the shitty Mitsubishi and Whitesnake. At the doors to the apartment I turned back. Jimmy was watching me. I waved, swiped my security pass and headed inside to the cool, empty foyer.

At the sixth floor I let myself into the apartment and Pete shot off the sofa. ‘Where have you been? You said you’d be home in the morning and it’s nearly lunchtime! I’ve been calling you.’

‘Have you?’ I said, looking in my bag for my phone, not finding it, then remembering that I’d put it in Jimmy’s bedside drawer.

My laptop was charging at the dining table so I flicked it open and sent Jimmy a Facebook message asking him to take my phone to the bar, saying I’d pick it up on the way to the airport later. I was going to see him again after all. The never-final goodbyes were getting ridiculous. Pete paced impatiently behind me.

‘Where have you been?’ he said, after I’d closed Facebook.

‘You have no right to ask me that. I’ve been at a friend’s.’

‘A friend?’

‘Yes. A friend, Pete.’ I opened the British Airways website and began the process of checking in online. ‘What did you expect me to do while you were away? Sit around in the apartment moping that you don’t love me any more?’

‘I do love you,’ he said, but the sentiment lacked conviction. ‘I’m just not in love—’

‘Oh no, don’t tell me you’re going to say it. It’s such a cliché.’

Pete rolled his eyes. ‘Clichés are clichés for a reason. Because they make sense and are commonly—’ he stopped and peered over my shoulder. ‘Are you googling a cliché?’

‘Yes,’ I said, scrolling. ‘The definition of a cliché is “a phrase or opinion that is overused and betrays a lack of original thought”.’ I looked up at Pete. ‘That’s you all over.’

Pete fumed. I went back to the British Airways page and completed the online check-in.

‘Look Jess, we need to talk,’ Pete said, once I’d shut the laptop.

‘Oh yes?’ I said, walking past him to the kitchen and getting a bottle of water from the fridge. ‘What about?’

‘Us,’ he said, and then he launched into a quick, noticeably practised, monologue. ‘I think we’re going in different directions. It’s nothing that either of us has done but sometimes people change.’

By the tone of his voice it sounded like he’d read an article on the gentlemanly way to break up with your girlfriend and was following the advice to the letter. He was playing Mr Reasonable as if I was the little woman who was going to lose control of her emotions. Well, I wouldn’t let him have that satisfaction.

‘We’ve grown apart. We were so young when we got together and I think we’ve become different people.’

He seemed like he was in a hurry to have the conversation. Like he’d worked out what he would say, how I would react and now he just wanted it to be over so he could get on with his life.

‘It’s not me, it’s you?’ I said, affecting a breezy casualness. ‘We want different things? You will always love me, you’re just not in love with me? You hope we can be friends and you’ll always cherish the time we had together?’

Pete’s face hardened. He hated being made fun of. But he had no right to be angry with me. He left me alone on our holiday, cheated on me with a girl who looked like she’d been computer-generated by a sexually frustrated, Game-of-Thrones-forum-frequenting gamer and now he was being clichéd in our official break-up conversation. My rational side didn’t want either of us to be hurt. But she was still in the back putting on lip balm and moisturising with organic coconut oil, so the devilish side was in charge. I was done thinking that this was all my fault.

‘Pete?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Fuck you.’ I pushed past him and headed towards the bedroom to pack.

Pete followed. ‘We do want different things,’ he said through gritted teeth.’ He really was trying to maintain his ‘I’m the good guy here’ role.

‘No,’ I spat, while struggling to reach my suitcase on the top of the wardrobe. ‘You want the direction of internet fame and girls with no cellulite or armpit hair and I want the direction I’ve always wanted. This is your doing. It’s you. All fucking you!’

Pete sighed and got our suitcases down. I snatched mine out of his hands, threw it on the bed and fussed with the combination lock.

‘I’m staying in Cape Town.’

‘You’re what?’ I spun around.

He crossed his arms over his lavender polo shirt that he maintained was cornflower blue. ‘For an extra week. My boss has already approved it.’

‘Where will you stay? You can’t stay here.’

Priya was due home the next day and there was no way he’d come out alive once I’d told her what had happened.

‘Goat has a spare room.’

I narrowed my eyes. ‘And where is his cousin staying?’

Pete went pale and averted his gaze. I could see it as plain as the day was hot and sunny. He’d fallen for her. Hard.

‘Right,’ I threw open the suitcase lid. ‘Well, have fun.’

Pete stood behind me, twitching and fidgeting.

‘There’s something else.’

‘Oh yes?’ I said, pulling clothes out of the wardrobe and rolling them up like logs of sushi to save space the way Dad had taught me.

‘OK . . .’ He commenced pacing. ‘God, I can’t believe I’m saying this but . . . Fuck. OK. Shiiiit.’ He dragged his hand through his neatly clipped hair but he wore so much gel the style barely moved. ‘Oh fuck. OK. OK.’ He stopped pacing and guided me to sit on the edge of the bed.

I looked back at him with a neutral expression. I wanted to let the ‘confession’ play out. I wanted him to squirm.

‘OK. OK . . .’ He took in a deep breath then whooshed it out through tense nostrils. ‘I cheated on you. With Giselle. Goat’s cousin.’

He watched for my reaction but I gave none. I sat next to my open suitcase, waiting for more.

‘Shit. Fuck. I can’t believe this is happening. Fuck. God. Shit.’ He paced again. ‘I never meant for it to happen but it just did and, I mean, I thought we were pretty much over anyway. I never wanted to hurt you and, it’s just, we connected on a whole other—’ He stopped pacing and looked at me with wild eyes. ‘Say something!’

I looked back at him.

‘You have to say something! It’s killing me that I did this to you! Shiiiit!’

I stood, picked up my bikini and towel, threw them in a beach bag and walked out of the bedroom.

‘What are you doing?’ Pete said, confused.

I continued walking through the apartment until I reached the front door.

Pete strode after me. ‘WHAT is going on?’

I turned around in the open doorway. ‘I know you cheated on me,’ I said, my voice calm.

Pete’s face dropped.

‘You really ought to learn a bit more about social media if you’re going to make it your new thing. People see everything.’

Half an hour later, probably after telling Giselle how it had gone, Pete came and found me next to the pool. He waved at the pool attendant then sat on a nearby lounger, his elbows resting on his knees.

‘I’m really sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry about . . . about all of this.’

I shrugged. I was glad I had my oversized dark glasses on. After a lengthy silence, in which I pretended to read a magazine but was actually just flipping pages trying not to cry, Pete cleared his throat uncomfortably.

‘I don’t feel needed when I’m with you,’ he said in a quiet, embarrassed voice.

‘Needed?’

‘Everybody wants to feel needed in a relationship. And you don’t need me. It makes me feel . . .’ Pete searched for the word. ‘Dispensable, I guess.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ I said. ‘But you’re right. I’ve never needed you – I’m independent. I’ve wanted you, though.’ I made sure to use the past tense because, despite how sad and betrayed I felt right then, I knew that I didn’t want him any more either.

Pete flicked his gaze to the approaching pool attendant, conveying that no, now was not the time to talk paragliding and abseiling and HIIT reps. The attendant understood and turned his attention to a slightly skew-whiff sun lounger.

‘You’re too independent,’ Pete said.

‘You can’t be too independent,’ I scoffed. ‘I’m the right amount of independent. You should be happy I’ve not been one of those girlfriends who can’t go to a party without attaching themselves to your sides.’

‘We go to a party and you take off and I don’t see you all night!’

‘You mean like you on this holiday?’

Pete gave me a look.

I closed my magazine. ‘Anyway, we see each other all the time. Parties are for talking to new people.’

‘Well, I guess that’s another area where we differ.’

‘I guess so,’ I grumbled.

We sat quietly for another few moments.

‘So, you’re here for another week?’ I said.

‘Yeah. There are a few youth group activities that Goat is going to and I really think it will help with what I have planned.’

‘What exactly do you have planned?’

‘I don’t know. I just feel like I’m on to something and I know I want to do more for the kids, you know.’

‘So then what? You come back to London and . . . what?’

‘There’s a guy at work I can stay with for a few weeks till I get myself sorted.’

I nodded. Pete had this all planned out.

‘This is all so fucked up.’ I sniffed, trying to hold back tears. ‘I thought we’d be leaving together.’

Pete nodded, looking saddened.

‘I thought we’d be going home engaged.’

Pete nodded again.

‘I thought we’d be together for the rest of our lives and we’d have a boy and a girl and I’d start a blog and get a dog, I’m not meaning to rhyme by the way, it just worked out that way, and—’

Pete looked less sad and more impatient.

‘I thought we’d have a nice life together,’ I finished off quietly. I looked beyond Pete’s shoulder, across the tops of the apartments towards Table Mountain, monolithic and malevolent. ‘It’s all that’s fault.’

Pete looked behind him at Table Mountain then turned back to me with an expression of practised regret. ‘It would have happened anyway, eventually.’

I turned away from him and looked across the harbour at the dazzling ocean.

‘Oh, fuck off, Pete.’