Free Getting Over It by Anna Maxted Page A

doesn’t let you down and, like, really cringey, whingy stuff. I tried to shut you up but you weren’t having any of it. Then you tried to stand up to, I think, slap him, and you fell over. He caught you and then the bar staff were getting pissed so we dragged you outside and you were in a bad way and we thought we ought to take you to the hospital to get your stomach pumped, but none of the cabbies would let you get into their cabs. So I used the GirlTime account. Then you started crying because you felt sick and then you were sick and then the cab came and it had to stop to let you be sick again and maybe that’s why you don’t feel so bad today, but you will, darling, because we got back to your flat and we tried to find your keys and then you wa—I mean, then we rang the bell and woke up Luke and—What? No, nothing. Helen, I’m telling you, you don’t want to know. All right then. You asked. You wet yourself. Easy tiger, my head’s killing me. Look, you asked, what can I tell you? I’m sorry. You pushed me. I wouldn’t have said. Yes, of course, he saw. What? He gave you a fireman’s lift. I don’t know if any went on him! I was wasted! Christ, woman, keep the noise down, I’m in pain here! Look on the bright side, the guy works with animals, he’s used to being pissed on! What? Ow! Take it easy, I was trying to help! So he put you on your bed and I said I’d undress you, which I did, and you owe me, you big pissing tart, and I put you in a t-shirt, but I was wrecked and knackered, I couldn’t manage anything else and then he was jawing with Luke and I said I thought you were okay, but he said he’d sit with you in case and so I crashed on the couch and Luke went to bed and yeah, that’s it. That’s the end of it.”
    Shall I kill myself now or later?

Chapter 8
    I ’VE LIVED IN THIS RED BRICK mansion block for three years and every springtime, as soon as the trees blush pink with blossom and the air turns hazy with warmth, they appear. They sit together, he and she, on the lawn. They have a favorite spot, a few meters from the brook that runs behind our communal gardens. During winter I’ll forget them, then one bright day glance out of the window to see the yellow daffodils and they’ll be there, content in their coupledom. He’s gorgeous, flamboyant, very striking. She’s plump-chested, plainer, yet quietly beautiful. Sometimes, the sight of their constant love makes me smile. Other times, I hurl a few hunks of stale bread onto the grass and think, Helen. You’re twenty-six and you have a less fulfilling relationship than a pair of puddle ducks!
    And today, I don’t have any relationship at all. In fact, even daring to compare the state of our love lives is grossly insulting to mallards. I make the mistake of telling this to Tina who says, “Stop it, you’re freaking me out.” Tina is in a mood with me—and not just because she had the unenviable task of changing my diaper on Wednesday. Tina makes a huge show of her cynicism toward men to disguise the embarrassing fact that she has never lost in the mating game. Her first time was with her childhood sweetheart, aged sixteen, and it was—get this—enjoyable. They saw each other for eight years, then parted amicably. Since then she has had two one-night stands, leaving each lover wowed out and heartbroken, a longer dalliance lasting seven months—she ended it and they’re still friends—and has spent the recent past happily single and fending off drooling offers.
    Blessedly untouched by the Jaspers of this world, she therefore sees male-female relations in pre-war black and white. Her attitude is—although she tries to hide it—if you like him, you date. If he gives you trouble, you don’t. So she cannot understand why I don’t want to speak to Tom and becomes aggressive when I try to explain. Even when I tell her the man has wormed his way into my life, messed me around (Alsatian or no Alsatian), and frankly, I don’t like to make