Cwtch Me If You Can by Beth Reekles Page B

planning to break up with me.
    He must have been planning this for weeks. So why didn’t he do it before now? Why did he decide to do it on this, the most sacred romantic night of the year for all couples, of all nights?
    My boyfriend – ex -boyfriend, I remind myself – is obviously the worst boyfriend in the history of boyfriends.
    Maybe I should find out who this ‘other girl’ is – not to scream at her for stealing my boyfriend, but to let her know what she’s letting herself in for.
    I order another glass of rosé from a passing waitress, and she gives me a wary look before nodding and bringing me a large glass. I must look crazy, and I can only imagine what they’re all muttering about me – the poor girl sitting all on her own drinking too much wine and eating dessert for two, alone on Valentine’s, her boyfriend having walked out on her…
    They’re probably laughing at me back in the kitchen and posting about me on Facebook. They’ll probably go see their friends later and tell them all about the sad girl in the restaurant tonight who got dumped.
    Looking around again, I see the last two couples – they were double-dating – paying their bill and pulling on their coats. There’s a girl behind the bar getting the card machine for them, and my waiter is wiping down tables. Otherwise, it’s empty.
    I swirl the wine around in the glass and take a gulp. I can barely taste it any more, I’ve drunk so much of it.
    A throat clears.
    â€˜Um, can I get you anything else?’ the waiter I’ve had all night asks me. My eyes can’t quite focus on him, but I discern that he’s got thick, curling brown hair and that he looks very, very sorry for me.
    I shake my head, the movement slow and making the room tilt. ‘Noooope. Nooo thank you.’
    â€˜Is your uh… is your friend not coming back?’
    I snort, and then I start crying.
    It’s not even quiet crying. I’m full-on bawling , snot everywhere, and interrupted by hiccups. I snatch up my napkin from my lap, which is stained slightly with chocolate sauce from my ice cream sundae, and blow my nose, wiping away my tears. When I take away the napkin, it’s covered in dark foundation and even darker amounts of eyeliner and mascara. If the napkin looks like that, I can only imagine how bad my face looks.
    The waiter is still standing by me, holding a little black leather packet in one hand, and shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. With his free hand, he rubs the back of his neck.
    â€˜What do you want?’ I ask. Actually, it sounds more like a wail.
    He holds out the leather packet. ‘It’s just that there’s the small matter of the bill…’
    â€˜The bill,’ I repeat, sounding a little more normal now. ‘The bill .’
    â€˜Yes…’
    â€˜What’s your name?’ I slur. He did introduce himself right at the start of the evening, but I barely paid him any attention. I was too wrapped up in Will, and how much I was in love with him, and how perfect the whole night was.
    â€˜I’m Sean.’
    â€˜I’m Alex. Sit down, Sean.’ I pat the table across from me, where Will sat earlier. I gulp some more wine down, and lunge forward, slapping my palm down on the table in front of him. ‘Why are all guys such arseholes, Sean?’
    â€˜Some guys are,’ he agrees, cautiously.
    â€˜No, all guys. I’m the customer, Sean. The customer is always right. And I’m saying that all guys are arseholes.’
    â€˜Um, okay.’ He puts the leather packet containing my bill down on the table, off to one side but closer to me than to him. I sniff, and wipe away a few more stray tears with the napkin. ‘Do you… do you want to talk about it?’
    â€˜He broke up with me on a date . On Valentine’s Day! And then he went straight to go see this other girl he’s had his eye on