Breaking Up

It’s a cool wet afternoon in early September as we wander past the Oxo Tower on London’s South Bank. We walk arm in arm and are dressed for a day in late October, such has been the seemingly permanent miserable nature of English summer. “Well..?” I ask. She takes a deep breath and looks at me, “You’re crazy and intense – it’s too much. I don’t want to see you anymore!” I frown as I look at her. “Well that’s not very nice is it” I say as I scratch my chin. “Well how else am I supposed to get through to him?” says G.

I haven’t heard a lot about this guy she’s seeing, and so I’m curious. “Well what’s he like - is he a dick?” I ask. “No, not really. He’s a nice guy” she says. “Okay..” I say, pondering as I take in the information. “What does he look like – is he ugly?” “Nooo” she says defensively, before smiling “In fact he’s got sort of a Bruce Willis thing going on.” “Really? Is he bald?” I ask. “No, he’s not bald” she snaps, “he’s just got a shaved head.” “Oh, you mean like Matt Lucas?” She looks at me with her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. “So how's your love life?” She asks. “Uh uh, don’t change the subject” I say, kicking a stray conker on the floor. “Do kids still play conkers?” asks G as she watches the conker leave my shoe. “No idea” I say “30 years ago I’d have had that one and taken it home. These days I think the little bastards either spend all day masturbating or playing with their X-boxes.” “Or masturbating WHILST playing with their X-boxes” G counters. We laugh and bump shoulders.

“So, what about this guy?” I say. “Ohh I don’t knowww...” she says, in a way that reminds of my nieces, when I ask them what they’re going to do with their lives. “Well, if he’s a nice guy, then be nice to him and let him down gently. There’s no point upsetting people needlessly. And don’t do what I did with ‘tits on a stick’.” She looks at me, puzzled. “What happened with her again?”

Tits on a stick, as the name suggests, was a girl with huge breasts and a tiny waist, who I went on a number of dates with a few years ago. She was nice and a sweet girl. She was opinionated, which I like, although her opinions tended to be a bit sanctimonious and when we met up, you kind of got the feeling that she had swallowed that days Guardian. Ultimately though, my heart wasn’t in it. I liked her, but I didn’t like her enough to want to go out with her and if I carried on seeing her, then sooner or later she would get on my nerves. As I walked her to the tube station after our last date together, I knew that it was a journey I was making with her for the last time. I looked at my shoes as we walked the last 20 or so metres as I wondered what I was going to say. So when she hung her arms around my neck and said “Ok, see you in a few days”, all I could think was ‘You won’t you know.’ In the end I took the coward’s way out – I didn’t reply to her emails or texts.

“You bastard!” says G. “I know!” I protest. Her eyes are narrowed as she spits out the words “I hope you realise that you probably made her feel like shit!?” “Yes, I know, which is why I’m telling you that if this bloke of yours is a nice guy, then to go easy on him.” I take her arm again and we carry on walking along the river, past the National Theatre. “Don’t get me wrong, I am ashamed of what I did and I wouldn’t do it again.” “Hmmm...” she says, not quite believing me. “Ok, do you know B?” I ask. “Oh I think I’ve met her a couple of times” she says, before raising her eye brows and indicating to me and an imaginary person with her index finger “you mean you and her..?” I nod “Yup” Before she prods me “Well what happened?”

I start to tell her the history. That I went on a few dates with B but that it wasn’t a good time for me. I’ve no idea why really, looking back she was great. The point, was that I didn’t want to go on seeing her just for the sake of it. She was a nice girl and so I didn’t want to hurt her, although inevitably she was bound to feel some hurt. I took her out for a drink to talk and I explained, or tried to explain, that I didn’t think it was the right time for me to be in a new relationship, and that because of that, I felt my heart just wasn’t in it. I liked her though and told her that I would like to remain friends. Yes, I know that might sound like a typical “it’s not you, it’s me” speech, but I genuinely meant every word. She had no idea it was coming as she looked at me and sighed a big sigh. “Ohh... ok.. (sigh) well.. if that’s how you feel...(sigh) I’d better go..” She picked up her coat and bag, kissed me on the cheek and walked out the pub door. As I watched her leave, I knew that I had done the right thing. However, I also felt as if I had just shot Bambi’s mother in the face and had Bambi standing in front of me, pleading, with tears in his eyes, as to how I could be so heartless.

“But she’s a good mate of yours isn’t she?” asks G quizzically. “Yup – but that’s what I’m saying. If this guy’s a nice bloke, and you’re not too harsh in how you finish it, then you might end up with a good mate.”

The clouds open as we reach the second hand book market under Waterloo Bridge. “Come on” she says, “It’s my round and I can’t think on an empty stomach.” We walk into a bar opposite and she fumbles with her bag. I put my hand on her arm “I’ll get this, you can buy the next one” I say. She smiles and turns to pop to the ladies. She’s half way there before she turns back to me. “Oh and by the way, I can be very nice. In fact that’s why you like me so much” she says and sticks her tongue out before giggling and heading to the toilets. I smile and watch her go before noticing her perfect bottom in her tight low slung jeans as she skips away. ‘Of course, that’s exactly the reason...’