The Bucket List to Mend a Broken Heart (6 page)

A niggle of doubt begins to creep in as I try and imagine myself gliding out to sea on a windsurfer, the thought of the howling wind and the wet
sea spray is making goosebumps appear on my arms.

What if I do everything and Joseph doesn’t notice? I’ll have put myself through hell for nothing. I’ll still have lost the love of my life, and probably my sanity too.

I close my eyes and it’s his face that I see. I breathe in and I can smell his aftershave wafting off the jumper, and for once I’m glad that he used to drown himself in it as at
least it’s still lingering on the wool after all this time.

I have to get him back, or at least attempt to.

I open my eyes.
I can do this,
I say out loud as I reread the list. I have to show him that there’s more to me than he thought.

I hug the piece of paper to my chest, and close my eyes to summon Joseph’s face once more. I can only hope I’ve found the key to how I’m going to get him back,
because if this doesn’t work I’m all out of ideas.

Chapter Four

Four weeks, one day since Joseph and I broke up, but hopefully less than three months until we’re back together (if this list works out . . .).

My mouth is aching from having to force my smile into a more neutral facial expression. I don’t want Sian to get suspicious about my newfound happiness.

I’m still amazed that I managed to make it through our trip to the bar last night
without mentioning the list, or even uttering Joseph’s name. I’m absolutely dying to tell her about my idea to complete a bucket list, and yet I’ve been biting my tongue, trying to leave it a respectable amount of time before I bring it up. I don’t want her to realise that my list is designed to get Joseph back, so I want to drop it casually into the conversation with my cover story that I’m doing
it to get over him. Not only is she anti-romance and anti-Joseph, but she’s also got pretty strong feminist views and would never approve of me changing myself for a man.

‘So who are we meeting again?’ she asks as we climb out of her car and look out over the estuary towards Hayling Island.

‘My work colleague, Giles – who I think you met last Christmas – and his wife Laura and a few of his mates
who I don’t know.’

Giles sent me a text message this morning in case I’d changed my mind about doing the cycle ride, and whilst I didn’t wake up having had a complete personality transplant or discovering that I actually owned a bike, I said I’d join them at the pub after. I roped Sian into coming with me, and instead of cycling our epic journey is going to entail about five minutes on the ferry.

‘So where’s this ferry then?’ I say, scanning the horizon.

I’ve lived in Portsmouth for years and I’ve not made this journey before. I’m a little bit excited as it feels like we’re going on a proper day trip.

‘It’s just coming in.’

‘Where?’ I say squinting.

‘There.’

I follow her pointed finger, but I’m clearly not seeing what she is.

‘I can only see that little boat.’

‘That’s the ferry,’
says Sian, heading down towards the jetty that it’s attaching itself to.

I stand stock-still, staring at it.

‘That’s it?’ I say in disbelief.

In my mind a ferry’s a large boat with different tiers and plenty of space, not a little thing that could be mistaken for a fishing boat.

‘Come on, we don’t want to miss it,’ she calls over her shoulder.

It’s not that I’m afraid of boats, it’s just
that the last booze cruise crossing I did was in pretty choppy weather and I spent the whole journey being as sick as a dog. I’m slightly concerned that I’m going to go green around the gills after the two bottles of wine that we drank last night.

‘Abi.’

‘I’m coming,’ I say, reluctantly following her.

We walk up to the man who’s taking the money and hand him our fare. Sian walks along the wooden
gangplank onto the boat, and I have no choice but to follow her as she’s got the car keys.

I sit down next to her and pray I keep this morning’s bacon sarnie down.

I decide to distract myself from the smallness of the vessel and tell Sian about the list.

‘So this morning I was doing some research on the Internet about how to get over a break-up.’

I casually look round the boat to downplay
the significance.

‘And what did it say?’

Sian’s giving me one of her trademark looks. Her head’s tilted to the side and her mouth is twisting. She’s raised her eyebrows and it’s like she’s subconsciously trying to tell me that she thinks I’m a moron.

‘Well . . .’ I say, pausing, trying to get my fake story straight in my head. ‘It suggested creating a bucket list of things that you want to
achieve in the short term. You know, stuff to do before you die. Going swimming with dolphins, learning Mandarin, sleeping in the ice hotel.’

‘You want to go swimming with Flipper and learn Chinese? That’s supposed to mend your broken heart?’

‘Oh, no, they’d be way too difficult. They’re just examples, but apparently focusing on your goals helps with the process of getting over an ex.’

I Googled
it this morning and there was a BuzzFeed article about it – proof it must be true.

‘I sort of prefer the old if-you-want-to-get-over-someone-you-get-under-someone rule,’ says Sian.

‘Well, you would,’ I say, laughing. ‘But I think I like this bucket list idea – less risk of an STD.’

‘What are you trying to say?’ she says, smiling.

I smile back – I’m saying nothing.

The ferry grinds to a halt
and I look round to see that we’ve reached our destination. I’d barely noticed we’d got going, and it seems my belly hadn’t either as I don’t feel the remotest bit sick. We stand up and find our way back onto dry land.

The pub is almost straight in front of us. I can already see Giles’s head over a table of people in the garden. In the garden,
in March
?

‘Seriously, what’s on your bucket list,
then?’ asks Sian, as we start walking towards the pub.

I take a deep breath and try to remain calm. I know if she’s going to believe me I’ve got to pass each of these ideas off as if they’re my own.

‘I want to go and have afternoon tea at one of the fancy places in London, like Claridge’s or Harrods or the Ritz,’ I say, trying to sound like I haven’t got it set in stone. ‘And then, I thought,
I could go wine tasting at an actual vineyard. Um, learning a language – I’ve always wanted to learn Spanish.’

That much is true. I adore Spanish food and would love to be able to pronounce items off a tapas menu properly rather than making up my own like ‘al-bing-bongs’ for meatballs.

I pause and watch her reaction closely. I expect her to laugh, but she doesn’t and I grow more confident about
telling her the rest of the list. But before I can broach the big ones – the things that are going to test if my cover has been blown – we arrive at Giles’s table.

He looks up at us, and then does a double take.

‘Hey, Abi! I almost didn’t recognise you with your haircut.’

‘Hi,’ I say, putting my hand up to it, still surprised that it’s so short. ‘I thought it was time for a change.’

‘Well,
it suits you,’ says Giles.

‘It certainly does,’ agrees his wife, Laura.

‘Thank you,’ I say smiling at them both.

Sian coughs and I remember my manners.

‘This is my friend Sian.’

‘Nice to see you again,’ says Giles, grinning. ‘This is my wife Laura, and my mates, Doug and Ben and Ben’s girlfriend Tammy.’

We all smile at each other and mumble our ‘nice to meet yous’.

‘I’ll get you guys a
drink. What do you want?’ he asks, standing up.

‘I’ll have a Coke,’ I reply, thinking that it might help to settle my stomach after the wine last night.

‘Make that two,’ says Sian. ‘I’m driving.’

Giles goes off to the bar, and we sit down at the table.

For a second there’s an awkward silence as we realise that the person binding us together has just left.

‘How was the ride over, then?’ I
say, attempting to break the ice.

‘It was pretty good,’ says Laura. ‘Although I think these guys could have done it in their sleep it was so easy for them.’

‘But it’s a nice day for a blast,’ replies one of the boys.

I look at him, forcing my mind to remember what Giles said his name was, but I’ve forgotten it already – I’m so rubbish. I hadn’t noticed before that he’s actually quite cute.
I self-consciously tuck my hair behind my ear and wonder how I didn’t notice when I sat down. I feel my cheeks start to burn a little, before it hits me – he reminds me of Joseph – that’s obviously why I’m finding him attractive.

I start to really study him and the more I look, the more I realise they’re nothing alike. All they’ve got in common is their curly hair. But this guy’s is messier and
he’s got what looks like a few days of stubble on his cheeks, whereas Joseph would never have been seen in public any way but perfectly groomed.

See this is what this break-up has done to me. It’s making me have the horn for anyone who fleetingly looks like Joseph.

‘Yeah, you’ve been lucky with the weather,’ I say, taking off my scarf in the hope it will calm my hot cheeks.

The silence descends
once more, and I’m beginning to regret coming. We all look around nervously and I’m half expecting the tumbleweed to roll over the table at any moment.

‘So, Abi was just telling me that she’s created a bucket list,’ says Sian.

I shoot her a look, but she ignores me.

‘You know, one of these twenty-things-to-do-before-you-pop-your-clogs lists. She was just telling me what she’s picked.’

‘Oh,
that sounds exciting,’ says Laura. ‘What’s on it?’

All the eyes around the table focus on me and I begin to feel self-conscious. It was bad enough plucking up the courage to tell Sian about the list, but now I feel like I’ve got a whole panel judging me. And not to mention that Giles’s friends are all probably pretty adventurous and I’m sure they’d be able to tick off all the challenges before
breakfast.

Laura’s smiling warmly, but the other woman, Tammy, is watching me with great interest. I feel a bit funny talking about the list in front of her because, whereas I look like I repel adventure and exercise, she looks like a magnet for it. She’s super tall and skinny, with high cheekbones and a naturally tanned complexion that comes from being outside rather than a bottle of St Tropez
like mine does. I’m worried I’m going to open my mouth and she’ll howl with laughter at how pathetic the list is.

‘Um, it’s a bit silly,’ I say, feeling downhearted.

‘Go on, what’s on it?’ says Tammy enthusiastically. It’s as if she’s sensed what I’m thinking and is trying to put me at ease.

Giles comes back over to the table with our drinks, and Laura fills him in on our topic of conversation.

‘I’ve already told Sian about afternoon tea at a fancy London spot, wine tasting at a vineyard and learning Spanish, but I’d also like to run a half marathon.’

I’m waiting for someone to point out that I’m not really the shape of a natural runner, with curvy hips and large boobs, but no one says anything. They’re just staring at me, interested.

‘Um, I want to go to Paris and do all the sights
in a day . . . and also cycle round the Isle of Wight.’

‘Ah, now today would have been a perfect training ride,’ says Laura, interrupting me.

‘I think I need to do pre-training training,’ I say. I need to remember how to ride a bike first.

‘You won’t have to do that much, it’s pretty flat and I’d say pretty doable for a novice,’ says Tammy, smiling at me in encouragement.

‘If you don’t have
a bike you should go and see Ben,’ says Giles, pointing at his friend with the messy curls. ‘He’s got a shop.’

I look over at his friend, making an effort to commit his name to memory.

‘That would be good. I’m going to have to get some practice in before I do the ride.’

Ben reaches into his wallet and pulls out a card.

‘Here you go – the address for the shop’s on the card. We’ll sort you out
with something.’

‘Thanks,’ I say, slipping it into my handbag.

‘So what else is on the list?’ asks Sian, clearly bored of the biking interlude.

‘Um, go to Glastonbury, learn to windsurf and hike one of the UK’s four peaks.’

I’ve already decided that there’s no way I can hike all four in the timeframe that I’m setting myself. I have to do the things quickly to get Joseph back before he has
time to replace me with a new girlfriend, and men like Joseph don’t tend to hang around on the singles’ market for long.

Hiking all four peaks would take me a whole month of weekends. I did discover there’s some charity event where you can do three peaks in twenty-four hours, but I’d be the one needing the charity after that as I’m not fit enough to survive it.

‘Four peaks?’ asks Sian.

‘Yep.’
I still need to find out what the mysterious fourth one is.

‘Aren’t there only three?’ she says.

‘No, no, I’m quite sure there are four.’ Joseph says there are. He’s right about most things.

‘Um, the fourth one is Slieve Donard,’ says Ben’s girlfriend with a generous helping of incredulity and eye-rolling.

Sian responds by sitting up a little straighter and pursing her lips, the two of them
are locking eyes with each other as if they’re bucks squaring up to lock horns.

It’s not the first time I’ve witnessed this attitude from women towards Sian. I think they can almost sense that she’s a no-strings-attached-man-eater type and they’re worried about their boyfriends. But Sian’s being very restrained today. She’s not in prowling mode, and I can’t say I’m surprised. Neither Giles, Doug
nor Ben are her type – too rough and ready with a hint of geek. Sian’s all about the suited and booted, smooth-talking charmer. Tammy really has nothing to worry about with her boyfriend.

‘It’s in Northern Ireland,’ says Ben, staring at his girlfriend before turning his attention back to me.

‘I’ve always wanted to go to Northern Ireland,’ I say, nodding. Or at least I have since getting mildly
obsessed with
Game of Thrones
. Maybe I’ll do that one.