You’ll think it’s killing you at first. You’ll want to stay in bed, picking apart everything you’ve said and done (and not said and done) in the last year. What if you’d listened more, moaned less, worn lipstick…?
The last thing you’ll want to do is clad yourself in Lycra and gasp for breath in the gym. You’ll think the place is full of self-obsessed freaks, like that airhead he left you for. But Helen will drag you along.
A routine will form. Those new trainers, the neon pink ones Helen said you should splash out on, will beckon to you every morning before dawn. You’ll sweat a little more and cry a little less. Five rounds of squats, eight reps each. Increase the weight by five kilograms. Go to work. Go to bed. Repeat.
There will be nights when the pain will wind itself around your neck and burrow into your heart. On your anniversary. When his favourite song comes on the radio. When you’ll be at a party and your friends will study the floor and shift their feet when you ask if they’ve seen him. If they’ve met her. Yes, they’ll say, then change the subject.
Then one day, you’ll see him outside a shop, head bent under a giant rainbow umbrella. You’ll gasp and say his name involuntarily. He’ll look up, your eyes will meet, and for a second a smile will flash across his face before it crumples up with concern. That familiar ache will form in your chest, burning up into your throat. He’ll rush to fill the silence. How are you? You look well. You’ll stutter back, I’m fine, your tongue tripping over all the things you can’t say.
Time will stand still as the rain falls in slow motion and your thoughts tumble through space. He’ll look tired in that coat, in the shade of green that washes him out. You’ll notice shadows under his eyes. New frown lines.
She’ll clip-clop out of the shop and stand beside him. This is Ellie, he’ll say, and you’ll both force a smile. She’ll be young, like you expected. Her heavily drawn-on eyebrows will furrow, watching him watching you. Bright eyes like Bambi, darting from his face to yours. Fight or flight. You’ll say goodbye and he’ll linger a second too long. She’ll tug at his sleeve, let’s go, and whisk him away under the rainbow umbrella. You’ll sink to the ground in the street, hugging your knees to your chest, oblivious to the people walking by.
There will be a man in the gym who performs a strange exercise with a kettlebell every day. When he smiles at you, your heart-rate will accelerate and you’ll find yourself adding a swing to your hips as you pass him. He’ll ask you for coffee and you’ll find out his name is James and that exercise is called a Turkish Get-Up, and you’ll laugh again. You’ll laugh again and you will survive.
