Sam

Where the fuck is this place? Google maps is going mental, me and the blue dot seem to be darting about as fast as superheroes. Pretty pathetic Batman and Robin we'd make. Ok it's settled. Can't be far now. I nearly trip stepping off the curb but manage to rescue it and cross over the road. Silk Street, this is it.

My heart is beating so fast and so loud it seems amazing to me that the people I pass don't hold out their arms ready to catch me. I feel hot and freezing and shivery and like a drum all at the same time. It's like I'm going through the shock of it before it even happens. Which I suppose is good. Should be a walk in the park.

I got a text from him earlier today. "Sam. Can we meet up for a talk later? 6pm. Lakeside. Barbican". I don't know why he bothered asking the question and then giving me instructions. I didn't reply but he knew I'd come. He loves all that mysterious intrigue. And at the same time as thinking this, I wonder why I'm thinking about what he loves when he's about to break up with me.

He's already there, thank god. And even though I know what's coming, nothing can quite prepare me for the sight of the person who once loved me, who I still love, and is about to be severed from my life. Surprised that my spine is still managing to carry my jelly frame in a relatively straight line, I head over to him.

He's positioned himself artistically in front of one of the fountains, feet dangling loose. He's wearing a relaxed cable knit beige jumper for the occasion. A perfect choice. Nothing says break up like "I just needed to be in my comfy clothes today". I have probably dressed a bit too carefully, but I think I look alright. You need to feel you look alright at these times, right?

He's got his book in his lap, and is looking very moved by what he's reading. My guess is that he's been keeping up this subtle solemn expression for at least the last ten minutes anticipating my approach. He must be dying to crack a smile.

Suddenly he looks up sharply and gazes out at the water, no doubt finding some symbolism between himself and the ebbs and flows. He does this angle on purpose cause he knows it shows his perfect solid manly fucking gorgeous jawbone. He must have seen me coming.

Here goes.

"Hi," I say.

He looks up, holds my gaze and manages a weak and emotion-filled "hey..."

You can actually hear the dot dot dots in his voice, I swear to god.

It's difficult to know how to play this, seeing as I know exactly what's going to happen. I text my mate Karen earlier and she was all supportive and useless. She insisted that I have no idea what it could be about, don't presume anything, just go along with an open mind. At least she didn't say he might propose. 

I decide to let him run the game, I'm not gonna give him anything. I sit down next to him and he reaches out and holds me for a long while. Usually I'd just call it a hug, but he actually really is holding me. When he pulls away, he looks into my eyes and if I'm honest it feels incredibly awkward and weird. I feign a 'this is too much' expression to pull away and he nails an 'I understand' face.

"You remember this place?"

That's what he starts with. I take this moment to look around to actually remember where I am. I was so concerned about getting there and what's about to happen that I can't even remember... It's not the Southbank, I know that much, I had to cross the river. Northbank?

"We came here to see a film, years ago, you said it was like going to a bunker it was so deep underground."

I don't have a clue what he's talking about, nor do I remember it. Is he thinking of a previous girlfriend? In any case, he seems to want me to be affected by the symbolism of it despite the fact I have no memory of this apparently emotionally weighted evening. I can't quite think what to do or say so I resolve to look down and let the evening sun flutter through my eyelashes hoping I look graceful and folourn. Or I'd settle for slightly pretty.

I think the gesture gives him the effect that I'm deeply impacted by the memory. He puts his hands on mine and they are so warm, I hate that because for necessity's sake I really want him to keep them there. 

"You're a wonderful woman, I want you to know that. You are sunshine personified. And just cause we've run our course-"

I stop listening. I realise that this is actually how he's gonna do it. He's not gonna be brave enough to say what the hell's going on. He's not gonna own the break up. He's just gonna assume I know. Which of course I do. But he doesn't know that. And this simple act of cowardice tells me more about him than anything I've known in our two years together. And it's at that precise moment that I know who he really is.

A pigeon is hopping dead close behind him so I decide to look away and focus on the bird. The pigeon's almost comically close and I will it to bite his hand or poop on his head (without the good luck) or flap like crazy right in his chiseled face.

He's still talking, really relishing himself. Even when he's breaking up with me, he's still dominating the conversation. It's really all about his anguish. I could be anyone as long as he gets to properly feel all the anguish in the fucking world. 

In between chapters, he stares at me for way too long. It feels very strange and I'm dangerously close to hysterical laughter but I think I'm supposed to look pained. I'm bloody freezing to be honest so pained isn’t too much of a push. He properly knows about my bad blood circulation as well, he's one of these 'wear socks in bed' nazis. Why couldn't he have broken up with me in Nando's? I could murder a spicy rice right now. Oh yeah, look pained.

"You're going to be OK," he says. 

I know mate, I'm already planning my post break-up google: 'nearest nandos'.

"You’re right. I think I will-"

"You will"

"Yes. I think I will-"

"You will"

He's pissing me off now, but I do a self-deprecating smile and really add some gravitas when I say "Thank you."

The wind changes and I get a right splattering in the face from the fountain. There goes my perfect base. If he's gonna break up with me, I thought earlier, at least I can make sure my make up is bloody flawless. As if he's gonna see my blusher sat perfectly and pertly on the apples of my cheeks and change his mind. Pathetic.

"It's time for us to move on Sam," he says. And he's actually getting his stuff together. That was bloody quick, I think, and now he's actually gonna leave me sat here freezing my tits off in god knows where with an over-confident pigeon. But before he actually leaves, his final scene. He stares at me. And stares. And stares. 

A bit of hair drops in his eye and I know it must be really annoying him. It must be well itchy. But he won't push it away, at least not without a gesture of grief or to wipe away a tear. He doesn't want to look vain.

And then he's gone. I see him slide out of the frame of my eyesight. My eyeballs are locked, staring, and he just... disappears from view. I don't watch him walk away although I know he wants me to. I just stare at the fountain blankly, my mouth hanging from the slack strings of my jaw bone. My expression, I know, is something akin to gormless.

Ten minutes later, I find myself back on the odd streets of the deserted City. It's Saturday and everything feels eerie and unreal. I mean when Boots is closed on a Saturday, you know it's an odd place. I have no idea where I'm going or where I am, I haven't even got the energy or sense to get my phone out and have a look. I don't want to see any texts. I don't want to see anything.
           "Excuse me, miss."

I nearly jump out of my skin. A homeless man stands in front of me.

“Excuse me, miss, I'm trying to get into a hostel tonight. I'm homeless and - it's gonna be a cold night and -"

I get my purse out of my bag and see what I have.   

"Thank you, miss, thank you. Do you know - you're the first person who has looked at me all day. Let alone helped me. You're the first person who's even seen me, thank you, thank you so... are you alright miss?"

My face is soaked. Snot, sweat, tears, the lot. It'll always catch you off guard, won't it, heartbreak?

I give him everything in my purse. Amazingly it amounts to thirty three pounds and sixty one pence. 

I offer the man the warmest wobbliest smile I can muster and walk on, completely and utterly aimless. I decide to trust my inner compass and weave my way between the soulless mocking towers hopefully towards home. 

No Nando’s.