Just Keep Walking.

I was out for dinner with Yankeedoodle last Friday, just a quiet catch-up drink with a bottle of wine and a steak baguette. It was to be a lovely, chilled little dinner with us chattering about the various job/man/money-related situations in our lives, and planning our perfect holiday retreat that we can't afford - as is our general dinner routine. Then we were going to join Charolastra No.1 at a pub in North London, so we dined in Hampstead Cafe Rouge. It was a warm, gorgeous evening, sun setting behind a quietly pink sky, so we sat on the terrace overlooking the main road, just us two girlies.

Halfway through dinner, and halfway through the bottle of wine, and halfway through me catching her up on the Darcy situation (at which Yankeedoodle repeatedly used the phrase "what a cunt!" to sound like "wwwhaddacunt" in a British accent. I taught her that inadvertantly, and it makes me proud when she uses it at appropriate moments like this!), Yankeedoodle glances behind me and interrupts our excited profanity-ridden feminist rambling.

"Screw Darcy and his cowardly silence, and his lies, and his damn Nataahsha girl. If you'd have stayed with him you would have ended up a Charlotte girl. And you, my dear, are not a Charlotte girl. You're a Carrie."

That's the second time someone's said that to me this week. Maybe I should get a haircut. Or get some friends who don't watch Sex And The City.

"And you just need to remember that, and forget him. Starting with.." I look behind me to follow Sarah's suggestive line of vision, and she nods her head to a group of guys sitting outside a restaurant on the other side of the road. "Cute, right?"

I stare at them for a minute, close my eyes and start to laugh bitterly to myself, then turn back to her.

"Erm.. which one dyou reckon is cute?"

"The tall, blonde one." she answers, "He's so your type."

"..I think you'll find he's a strawberry blonde.."

Yankeedoodle looks at me strangely, and I raise an eyebrow pointedly.

"Wha..?" She pauses and looks back at the guys. Pauses again, then back at me. "Wait, what..?"

I start to shake my head defeatedly into my glass of wine. She registers the look of mild disbelief on my face, and looks back at them.

"Oh my God, are you serious? Is it him? It can't be him.. Oh my God.."

For fucks sake. It's Darcy, obviously. Because evidently there is a God, and it turns out he just can't get enough of taking the piss out of me at every fucking opportunity. Darcy is sitting across the road - the cheek of it - as if he's a real bloody person who's a) very much NOT in Greenland, b) not wearing some sort of mark of Abel (or was it Cain?) for breaking my heart, thus being ostracised from society biblical-style, and c) sitting with 2 of MY friends.

"For fucks sake. This is ridiculous. This sort of shit only happens on tv... to Bridget Jones... if she were on Hollyoaks. Mate, this is ridiculous. We need to leave." I say, heart beginning to pound as the realisation of him actually being there sets in.

And I'm confused, as I've spent the last 2 months longing with every fibre of my being to touch him, to kiss him, to smile at him, to hear his voice, for him to just be there in any fucking capacity, and suddenly he's actually there. Albeit he hasn't come for me, and he's on the other side of the road but fuck it, I can actually, literally, see him. It's surreal.

And in a flash, my mind races through all the things I should do at this moment..

..I could go over there, and - oh God, could I actually go over there?
..I could shout his name, then hide behind my menu. And ask Yankeedoodle if he looked over or not.
..I could shout his name then wave at them, and turn back and finish my steak baguette as if this was all perfectly normal.
..I could go over there, throw my glass of wine over him then turn on my heels and storm off, to the sound of applause and Ricky Lake audience-style Americans shouting "You go girl!" while he stares after me, forlorn and humiliated, and dripping wet, while his friends all titter at him.
..I could go over there and put my arms around him and tell him I love him, and he would tell me how miserable he was without me, and how he was so heartbroken he swam back from Greenland on the back of a giant turtle, because he so couldn't bear being in a different country to me.
..I could walk past them and make some cutting remark like "Oh, I didn't realise I was so far from town, I thought I was in Hampstead, but I must be in Greenland.." and flash him an icy glare that would turn him into a crumpled heap on the floor.
..I could duck under the table and crawl to the toilets, and live there for the rest of my life. Or at least until he leaves.
..I could go and actually say all the things I've wanted to say to him. I love you, I miss you, I want you, I'm really hurting, I need to know if you feel these things, I need to know if you feel anything at all. I need something. Anything.
..I could be mature, or pseudo-mature and go over and say hi, smile sadly but kindly at him, and walk away beatifically, making them all feel hideously guilty for being such bloody crap friends/boyfriend.
..I could sit here and pretend not to have seen him, until he sees me -

-- oh God, what if he sees me??--

Suddenly I realise if I can see him, he can see me. But of course I want him to see me. Wait, no, obviously I don't! Oh please don't let him see me, shit what if he sees me? What do I do? Hide, I have to hide, we have to hide. We have to leave, we have to leave before he sees me.

But obviously, every bone in my body is screaming See me!! Look at me, I'm over here!!

I look at Yankeedoodle, who's staring at me intently, frantically, stunned. It seems like an hour's gone by, but it's barely been a minute. I realise I haven't said anything, and the look on my face must have given me away because she was looking at me like I'd just sprouted a beard, and told her I had won the lottery and spent it all on wasabi peas. And that at any minute I was going to cut all my fingers off and stick them to the top of my head.

"Come on, let's go." she says, tentatively.

But I can't, I'm frozen. Like every other train wreck, I can't look away.

"Come on mate, let's just go. This is too weird.. Have some wine." She says, finishing both her glass and mine.

But all I can do is stare at him, at them, as if they're a scene on tv and I'm waiting for something to happen, for the leading lady to come in. And, as if on cue.. she enters.

A tall, blonde, skinny, clean and rich looking Natasha girl glides over to them, and sits - wait for it - on his lap. Her perfect blonde hair just brushes his cheek, and he leans into her, smiling.

I couldn't believe it. I literally could not believe the pain being projected into my eyes. If it was a Warner Brothers cartoon, my jaw would have dropped onto the table, I would have rubbed my bulging eyes in disbelief, a 100-pound anvil would have fallen on my head. As it was, I barely blinked. But my heart was pounding in my ears and I couldn't feel my legs. My chest felt like it was going to cave in, and pieces of my mind just crumbled away like a wet cake.

The next thing I know, I'm halfway down the street, looking incredulously at my feet, at my little black sandals and wondering who is moving them so quickly? How are they moving so quickly when everything around me is so slow? I look to my left and Yankeedoodle is walking alongside me, her hand clasped around my arm firmly. Everything starts to become normal pace and I realise what's happening.

Fucking hell.

I somehow gain control of my legs. We slow down a little and Yankeedoodle looks over at me.

"Don't look back." She says quietly, almost inaudibly.

I feel a lump rise in my throat as I realise they're literally metres behind me.

Good enough to waste some time..

I close my eyes and pray my feet keep walking. I don't understand what's happening.

Tell me would it make you happy, baby?..

Just keep walking. This isn't really happening. He's not.. she's not.. Just keep walking.

We could keep trying but things will never change..

The words of a song echo in the back of my mind, and I feel sick.

Still I'm dying with every step I take..

I can feel them behind me, getting slowly further away. Oh God, he looked so happy.

I close my eyes and try to suffocate the image of him that appears to be burned onto my retinas.

Just don't look back.

And it hurts with every heartbeat..

And it hurts with every heartbeat..

But I don't look back..

And it hurts with every heartbeat..

The words loop and blur into one another as I feel the wind on my face and tears sting the back of my eyes.

And I don't look back..
Still I'm dying with every step I take..
And I don't look back.. Just a little little bit better.. And it hurts with every heartbeat.. Tell me would it make you happy, baby.. But I don't look back.. Good enough to waste some time.. And it hurts with every heartbeat.. And it hurts with every heartbeat.. Still I'm dying with every step I take..


But I don't look back.