The Bucket List to Mend a Broken Heart (19 page)

‘OK, then.’

At least I know where
Marcus and Bianca are headed, and I can steer Sian away to the opposite side of the festival.

By the time the headline act comes on to the main stage, I’ve all but forgotten my vow to get an early night and not drink too much. After downing those bottles when I saw Marcus, my resolve weakened.

I’m now on the wrong side of tipsy. My speech slightly slurred, my confidence soaring, and my ability
to walk in a straight line – despite being in trainers – compromised. I’m leaning on to the bar in the VIP tent more for support than because I actually want a drink, when I spot that I’ve got a massive ketchup stain on my hoodie. I try and suck it out in the hope that it won’t have dried in the half-hour since I ate a hot dog.

I hear a snort beside me and I’m about to snap and ask the person
what they’re staring at, when I see it’s Bianca.

Despite the fact that it’s been a few hours since our last encounter, and that it’s started to rain outside, she still has the immaculate waves in her hair and her bright white dress is still bright white and clean with no ketchup spillages.

She gives me a wry smile. Of all the people to catch me when I’m sucking on my jumper like a messy toddler.

‘You know, I must say, you’re doing remarkably well for someone that’s been dumped by my brother.’

Is that supposed to be ironic? Unlike hers, my hair is a frizz-ball mess, and I’m wearing dirty clothes.

She pulls out a Chanel lip gloss from her bag and begins to apply it expertly to her lips.

‘Well, it’s been a couple of months,’ I say, my heart panging at the thought that it’s been so long
since we were together.

‘But, still. You would not believe the girls he’s dated in the past. I’ll never forget the ones that used to practically camp outside our house, or the one who, when I was staying with him a few years ago, used to come round daily to beg for him back. It was pathetic. But you don’t seem to be bothered.

‘Of course, it’s always his own fault. It’s always the same with Joseph.
He falls in love at the drop of a hat, and whisks the poor women off their feet. He’s always been Mr Serial Relationship. In a committed relationship before he’s even learnt their name. Then, after a while, when he gets to know the girl, he realises she isn’t the future Mrs Small and he breaks her heart. Always the same old story. I’m sure it was no different with you.’

She gives me a look up
and down as if to reinforce the inference that I’m not special enough to have hung onto someone like him.

‘No,’ she says, popping her lip gloss back into her bag and gesturing to the barman. ‘Until he finds the one, he’ll not change.’

With that she raises an eyebrow, villain-style, takes the two bottles of cider that the barman hands her and struts away.

I’m left at the bar wondering what just
happened. I strengthen my grip on it to steady myself, feeling like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me.

Her words fly round my mind as I try and process what she’s said. I might be a bit drunk, but I know she’s wrong. I know I was the one. I’m certain of it.

The barman asks me what I want and I shake my head. I’d almost forgotten that that’s what I was waiting for, but all of a sudden I’m not
in the mood to drink.

‘Are you ready to go?’ asks Sian as I approach her.

I nod my head. I definitely need some fresh air.

‘You need to get your beauty sleep before the big cycle ride tomorrow.’

I sigh loudly. Right now, tomorrow’s bike ride is the last thing on my mind.

Chapter Thirteen

No idea how long it is until the tower, or what day or time it is. The only thing I know is that my head is killing me . . .

I sit bolt upright at the shock of the noise, and instantly regret it. My head is spinning wildly out of control and I think I’m going to be sick. Why an earth is my phone making such an evil sound? I find it by the side of my bed and hit snooze on the
aggressive alarm that’s all noise and vibration.

I double-check the time. Six a.m. Why on earth have I set my alarm so early?

‘Six a.m.,’ I say, cursing and pulling a pillow over my head.

I’m trying not to use my brain too much, but I can’t help it as I try to remember why there’s a punishing Slipknot concert going on inside my head.

My ears seem to be ringing with tinnitus and an image flashes
through my mind as my stomach conjures up the taste of cider in my mouth. I feel a familiar rumble and know what’s going to happen.

Despite the room spinning around me, I run to the bathroom and just about make it to the toilet bowl before the sickness floods through me in waves.

I didn’t think I’d had that much to drink, did I?

After I’ve emptied the contents of my stomach I sit back against
the bathroom wall and reflect while my head pounds. I’m hoping that soon there will be a momentary window where I’ll feel well enough to attempt to swallow some ibuprofen.

Then it hits me. Today’s Sunday: the day of the cycle ride.

Ben’s supposed to be coming over at twenty to seven so that we can ride over to the hovercraft together.

I stand up slowly and test out my wobbly legs. They buckle
slightly under my weight, causing me to hit the sides of my narrow corridor as I walk into my living area. If I’m this unbalanced walking, what am I going to be like on two wheels?

I open one of my kitchen cupboards and locate some ibuprofen before pulling out one of the many Lucozade Sports that I bought for today’s epic journey from the fridge. I swallow the pills and for an instant the sweetness
of the drink makes me feel better. But only for a second. A wave of nausea soon washes over me again.

I glance up at my kitchen clock, I’ve got half an hour before Ben arrives. How do I get rid of a hangover in half an hour?

I open my fridge for inspiration, but the sight and smell of food flips my stomach.

Maybe a shower will sort me out. Hopefully by the time I get out of it the pills might
have kicked in and magically taken away the hangover.

I manage to make it through the shower, only getting out to be sick once. Not bad, but not good. I still feel like I’m knocking at death’s door and I have about five minutes to get dressed before Ben arrives.

I go over to my chest of drawers, my head at a sixty-degree angle which seems to ease the pain slightly. I’m not entirely sure it’ll
be an angle conducive to cycling, but I’ll soon find out.

I manage to pull out the necessary undies and socks before I throw on one of the new cycling shirts I bought from Ben’s shop and some old gym leggings. I check myself out in the mirror; I look like I don’t belong in the cycling top. I just needed something to look the part, and as there’s never anyone in Ben’s shop when I go, I felt like
it was a nice way to give something back to him after everything he’s done for me.

Before I can get too hung up on how ridiculous I look, my mobile buzzes. I throw a hoodie over my head and pick it up.

‘Hello,’ I croak. My voice has that husky, alcohol-strained tone.

‘Morning! I’m at the back gate. Thought it would be easier just to come out the back way, seeing as that’s where your bike is.
Will you let me in?’

‘Sure,’ I say, thinking how much easier it would be to keep him penned up outside so that I could crawl back into bed . . . ‘I’ll just put my trainers on.’

I retch twice as I slip on my shoes and tie my laces. I can’t possibly cycle in this state. I’m feeling that bad. The trouble is that Ben has been giving up so much of his precious free time on his days off that I don’t
feel I can let him down.

I unlock my back door and the fresh air hits me like a slap in the face. It is actually helping my hangover as it keeps me in a type of stasis. I’m not feeling any worse and the cold wind seems to be distracting my body from falling apart. Maybe there’s hope after all.

‘Morning,’ calls Ben cheerily as I pull open the gate. I’m not in the mood for shiny, happy people
this morning.

‘Morning.’

‘Oh, dear. Someone a bit nervous about today?’

‘Not so much nervous,’ I mutter as we walk back to my garden, where Ben deposits his bike against the wall.

I walk up the small set of stairs and through my back door.

‘So what’s going on?’ asks Ben as he hands me a paper bag with a Danish pastry sticking out of it.

I cover my mouth with one hand at the sight of the
pastry. Definitely not what I need right now.

I don’t feel I can tell Ben that I’m hungover. I mean, I’m thirty, not nineteen. I should have the willpower to go out without getting absolutely hammered. It’s all Joseph’s fault. If Marcus hadn’t been there last night, then I wouldn’t have had to get drunk.

‘Abi?’ asks Ben. He’s got a look of genuine concern on his face. He’s clearly registered
that I’m as pale as a ghost and look like I could be Morticia’s stunt double.

‘I went out last night with Sian. I only meant to have one or two, but I guess I had more than I thought. I’ve got a bit of a hangover.’

‘Oh, is that all? I thought something was actually up,’ says Ben, munching his pastry. ‘Right, is your bag all packed? We should get going soon.’

I look at him as if he hasn’t heard
me properly.

‘But I’m really hungover.’

‘Yeah,’ says Ben nodding. ‘We’ve all been there, but the bike ride will sort you out.’

‘I very much doubt that,’ I say with a laugh of disbelief. ‘A fry-up, a pint of Coke, a packet of Nurofen and my bed – that’s what’ll sort me out.’

‘Well, it’s too bad that that ain’t going to happen, isn’t it? Now, have you packed your drinks and snacks?’

I sigh
loudly before stomping over to the fridge.

‘Whenever I go away for bike tours or races, there’s usually one night where things get out of control and I wake up the next day feeling like shit. But an hour or two into the ride and all that fresh air makes it better. I promise. Just pack some plastic bags in case you’re sick on the hovercraft.’

Ben’s smiling at me, but I don’t think he realises
how close to the mark he might be.

I stuff my drinks and high-energy snacks that sound disgusting into my bag, along with some emergency Snickers bars, the rest of my ibuprofen and a handful of Tesco’s plastic bags.

‘That’s the spirit. You’ll feel better before you know it.’

I bare my teeth like an agitated dog and follow him out of the door.

A couple of minutes later, I’ve uncovered and unlocked
my bike and I’m climbing onto it.

I’m wobblier than usual, which is quite a feat, but amazingly I manage to ride the short distance to the hovercraft terminal a stone’s throw away from my flat.

‘I don’t think I can get on it,’ I say, as we watch the inflatable boat slide into its landing spot. The air cushion deflates and we watch as the people disembark.

‘You’ll be fine,’ says Ben. ‘I was
only joking about being sick. It’s not that choppy out there today and it’s so quick, we’ll be there before you know it.’

‘But I’m not very good on the water at the best of times,’ I say. I can feel my skin turning green at the thought.

The doors are open and it’s time for us to get on board.

‘Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?’

If my life was a movie, right now they’d cut away to
a clip of the hovercraft being thrown around on the sea and everyone inside being theatrically thrown from one side to the other, while I’m being sick and it’s landing all over the other, very disgruntled, passengers.

I don’t reply. I’m too hungover even to give him one of my infamous death stares.

He starts laughing at me. ‘Come on, Abi.’

He walks off, pushing his bike, and I know I’ve got
to follow him.

I curse Joseph for the second time this morning. It’s his fault that I’m doing this bloody cycle ride instead of being tucked up in bed.

‘So what did you get up to last night, anyway? You went out with Sian?’

I nod my head as we prop our bikes in the bike rack and take a seat nearby.

‘We went to the festival on the common. Sian thought it would help tick “do a festival” off
my list.’

‘Was it as good as it sounded? I could hear it from my flat.’

‘It was great. Or at least most of it was,’ I say, thinking back to the run-in at the end with Bianca.

The hovercraft air cushions start to inflate, a sign of our impending departure, and my stomach lurches.

‘Here we go. We’re all doomed,’ says Ben, laughing theatrically.

I give him a playful punch for taking the piss
out of my irrational hovercraft fears.

‘Hey,’ he says rubbing his arm. ‘I was only trying to lighten the mood.’

‘I know. Sorry. I haven’t got much of a sense of humour this morning.’

‘Oh, great. I’m so glad I’m going to be stuck on an island with you for ten hours.’

I pull what I can only imagine is a very unattractive face.

The hovercraft ramp tips up and it’s propelled into the sea. I bite
my lip, hoping everything stays down.

By the time we make it back onto dry land I feel worse than I did when I left the house. I might have managed not to be sick on the hovercraft, but I feel so dizzy now that I can barely stand up. I sit on the nearest bench and hang my head over my bike frame.

‘You feeling that rough?’ asks Ben.

For a minute I can’t answer him. I’m too busy taking deep
breaths.

Eventually I mutter a yes and I feel a tear roll down my face.

‘I know you said I’ll feel better when I get going, but I just can’t see how I’m going to,’ I say, feeling pathetic.

Ben sits down next to me and places his arm around me, pulling me into him.

‘Abi, there’s no need to cry about it. It’s a bike ride. It’s no big deal.’

‘But it is a big deal,’ I say, the tears flowing freely
now. ‘You gave up your Sunday to do it, and we made it all the way over here. I’m not doing a very good job of doing this list. It feels as if I’m cheating left, right and centre. I mean my Spanish is still almost
nada
. Saying I can windsurf is a bit of a stretch of the imagination as I could only get up and stand on the board and bring the sail up one in three attempts, I’m only doing one peak
rather than four, I didn’t do the whole festival staying-over thing and I’m only doing a 10k race rather than a half marathon. I’m just not cut out for this bucket list. Joseph was right. We’re not compatible. I can’t do any of the things he wants to do.’