Monday, July 09, 2007

To be or not...

Lucy* came and stood beside my desk, mobile phone in hand. I barely glanced up at her, instead finishing the task I was working on. She slipped her phone into my line of sight, still not saying anything.

'I'm moving out tonight because it's not working. I was going to talk to you tonight," read the text message on the screen. It was from her boyfriend, who she'd been living with for 2 years. Looking up at her, finally, I could see the tears welling in her eyes.

'Come with me,' I told her, getting up from my seat and hustling her into the stairwell and then the ladies. She broke down and sobbed.

It wasn't a situation I was comfortable in. I rarely cry myself, shy away from the usual physical signs of affection with friends, and could generally be considered as clueless as the average man in knowing how to deal with a crying woman. Especially knowing that she had come to me for a shoulder to cry on and sympathy. I could sympathise with her situation, really I could; her boyfriend deserved to be taken out and beaten soundly for breaking up with her by text message while she was at work the day before her parents were due to arrive from New Zealand for a visit. It was perhaps the most lowly and cowardly action I've heard about in a very long time. So I could see why she was dissolving in tears. I simply didn't know what to do about it.

How do you console someone when the person they've followed across the world decides, quite callously, that they no longer want a relationship? How do you help someone set about the logistics of finding a new home, setting up their own bank account, separating the phone accounts, splitting the assets? When Lucy had pulled herself together, it was about all I could do to suggest that she might feel better if she washed her face.

Of course, I offered large amounts of chocolate, alcohol, and girly films later on, but right in that moment, I think I was almost as gob smacked as she was. And I wondered...how do you cope?

Since then, I've come to realise just how she's managing to stay afloat. She's determined to make him pay. She's used his concert tickets that he had bought for them - very expensive tickets. She's been shopping while they still have a joint bank account. She's figured out how to demand that he reimburse her for the time when they first arrived in the UK and she supported him until he could find work. And, most importantly, she's discovered the therapuetic benefits of the pash and dash.

Now, having seen two other break-ups of long term relationships that were screwed up by the men involved, I feel safe to categorically say, in the tradition of all single women, wherever they may be; Where have all the good men gone and where are all of the gods? Where's the street-wise Hercules to fight the rising odds? Isn't there a white knight, upon a fiery steed? And, like the jaded woman I am, I began to doubt...but then I met a lovely irishman who I will most likely never see again, spoe to him twice, and he was good enough to restore my faith in humanity and my belief that somewhere out there, perhaps over the rainbow, there is a place where there are good men still to be had. I want to book a flight there tomorrow. Damn the real world and it's logistical problems.

*Name changed to preserve at least some anonymity. I'd happily name the guy, but that would give the game away.