23 Attempts at Love

Chapter 22: A Mid-Twenties Crisis

I threw myself back into work harder than ever before, and found my workload and responsibilities increasing as I went. Hannah trusted me – for once – to take the lead on meetings and to work with more prestigious clients, and I started talking to her and John – still my mentor – about work I'd read online, articles I'd looked at, poets I'd seen doing spoken-word performances which were going viral on social media... It was another perfect distraction.

I slept on Katy and Sasha's sofa, spending my evenings with them watching girly films and scrolling through housing websites to find a flat of my own. A one-person place, I'd decided on. My salary had increased and I was ready to splash out the extra cash to learn how to be independent.

"Didn't you and Alex break up because you hated being alone...?" Sasha asked.

"I think it'll be good for you," Katy smiled. I agreed. I needed to learn how to be alone.

"I'm still going to make sure it's close to you guys, though," I told them. Baby steps towards independence, after all.

Ellie and I kept up with our regular lunches throughout the week.

"How's sleeping on the sofa?" She smirked over sushi. I laughed, then groaned.

"I need to find somewhere to live, soon," I told her. She nodded.

"Living on a sofa isn't ideal. Have you set up any viewings recently?"

"I found somewhere the other day, but it's not available for another two months and I need something sooner than that."

"Anything else?"

"I think there's another place I want to look at, so I've emailed the landlord or letting agent or whoever it is to deal with it... Mum and Dad have said they'll pay for me to stay in a hotel for a week or two if I need to, but I don't think they realise how expensive London hotels are," I said, then laughed. It had been an awkward conversation and Mum had threatened to drive to London to come to fetch me back home that afternoon, but I said no. I knew she was worried about me, but I'd be fine. Besides, I couldn't work remotely, and I definitely didn't want to waste my holiday allowance over a stupid break up.

I hadn't spoken to Alex since the day I walked out. I'd like to imagine that he missed me, that it was taking everything in him to not text me constantly. I knew that what he'd actually be doing was throwing himself into work, and only thinking about me once a week or so when he was in the flat on a Saturday morning, alone, or thinking about Sunday brunch and not having me there to go with him. His mind for the rest of the week would be occupied by thoughts of roasting pheasants or hispi cabbage or raspberry vinaigrettes. It was easier that way for him, and I didn't mind that. I knew he'd miss me in his own way, just like I missed him in mine.

Hannah called me into her office later that afternoon.

"Have you heard of a writer called Dominika Newton?" She asked, not waiting for me to reply. "Incredible lady. I've just been reading some of her travel blog online. She divorced an abusive husband and went off travelling around the world, trained as a marine biologist and scuba diver and god, the things she's done. She's worked for charities in Pakistan and Afghanistan, gone to Chad and Nigeria to work on infrastructure projects... She's even spoken at a United Nations conference and featured in National Geographic, being touted as the new David Attenborough and Mother Teresa rolled into one." Hannah stopped for breath, passing me the notes she'd been enthusiastically waving above her head as she spoke. "I want you to interview her. She's sent in a book she wants to publish. It could be the biggest thing in non-fiction this year, Lucy. Potentially this decade. She's the new Malala Yousafzai, the new Michelle Obama." Hannah stopped herself before she carried on any further.