Read Don’t You Forget About Me for Free Online Page B

back, my eyes falling upon something else . . .
    Scarlet satin ribbon
    From the box of lingerie he bought me from New York for my birthday; inside was a frothy French lace G-string and sexy red satin bra with peepholes and push-up bits. It’s still in my drawer, all wrapped up in tissue paper as I haven’t yet worn it. Well, I couldn’t admit I needed a larger size, could I? Instead I kept hoping my bottom might get smaller (or the knickers might magically get bigger!).
    Photograph
    Taken at a friend’s wedding (before we had that silly argument). Him looking incredibly handsome in a morning suit, me wearing one of those silly fascinators. We make such a lovely couple . . . made such a lovely couple . . .
    I stare at the black-and-white image, watching it slowly turn blurry, as the tears that have been threatening to fall begin streaming down my face. And this time I don’t try to wipe them away. This time I bury my head in my hands and cry my bloody heart out.
    I don’t know how long I stay like that before I feel something soft brush against me and I glance up to see Flea, rubbing up against my leg. Wiping my puffy eyes, I scoop him up and hug him to me, feeling his soft warm body against mine. Regret stabs. There are so many things I wish I’d done differently, so many things I wish I’d said and hadn’t said, so many mistakes I made . . . I heave a deep sigh . . . but it’s all pointless now. It’s happened and I just wish I could erase all the hurt and regret, make it all go away . . .
    ‘Have you ever been heartbroken?’ I ask Flea, tickling him under his chin. ‘No, you’re too smart for that. Well, let me tell you, it sucks.’ I glance across at my mobile phone. It’s lying silent on the bed. For a moment I think about calling Seb, sending him a text . . .
    Which is just ridiculous. Pathetic even. You’ve broken up, remember? He’s not your boyfriend any more. Plus, he’s most likely out there partying right now, having a good time, goads a voice inside me. My hurt is replaced by a hot flash of anger and I take another glug of tequila. Come on Tess, pull yourself together. You can’t let him know you’re crying your eyes out over him. Where’s your pride, girl? Sod Seb Fielding!
    Grabbing a tissue, I blow my nose violently, making Flea jump off my lap. He steps on the remote, his paw turning up the volume.
    ‘ Well the New Year is nearly here, we’ve got less than a minute to go! ’chirps the presenter cheerily.‘ So, Andrew, of all the traditions, which is your favourite? ’
    I watch as the camera cuts to Andrew. He’s still wearing his spacehopper ears and grinning maniacally. ‘ Well, Kerrie, my favourite is an ancient ritual that involves taking a piece of paper and writing down all the things you want to rid yourself of, be it regrets or painful memories, hurt, or maybe a bad habit or addiction, and throwing the list into the fire at the stroke of midnight .’ He gives a little chuckle. ‘ Though obviously in ancient times there were no pens or paper, so instead people would choose objects or pictures that symbolised these things. ’
    ‘ But why throw them on the fire? ’ asks Kerrie, frowning.
    ‘ Because many cultures believe that by burning these things you get rid of them. You’re cleansed of them, and that way you don’t carry them with you into next year. ’
    ‘ Wow, fascinating stuff! ’ wide-eyes Kerrie. ‘ That’s incredible .’
    I take another defiant glug of tequila. You’ve got to be kidding me. Is she really believing this rubbish?
    ‘ Indeed, ’ Andrew is nodding feverishly, ‘ and what’s more, as the flames burn away these things, sparks will well and truly fly. So make a wish! Because whatever you wish for will be carried on these sparks into the New Year . . .’
    ‘Huh, well, in that case, do you want to know what I wish?’ I heckle drunkenly at Andrew and Kerrie.
    On the TV, Big Ben starts chiming midnight and impulsively I grab the shoebox