Practice Makes Perfect (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 4

I don't cope well with heartbreak.

I doubt that makes me special in any way. I guess none of us want to have our hearts broken. But we all probably deal with it in different ways.

Me, I retreat. Hide in my bed.

Occasionally, I'll want to see how the other half live: remind myself I'm single and not dead, and let my friends take me out. I usually regret it, reminded of the slim pickings out there, then burrow myself under my covers again.

For the first few weeks after a break-up, I can't even listen to music. I can suddenly identify with every single lyric of every single song, can somehow apply any line to my current situation. The most unlikely of tunes can floor me. "Breathe" by The Prodigy. "Are You Gonna Be My Girl" by Jet. Joe Dolce's "Shaddap Your Face". I'm not kidding.

The links are usually tenuous, but they still slowly drive me insane.

Eventually I finally pick myself up, start to find me again. The music returns to my life. I continue to wallow in the shallows of sadness for a bit: those heart-wrenching ballads, where the words cut through to the very core of my heart, like the sharpest of scalpels. This time I let it hurt though. Embrace the pain.

The next phase in my own healing process features angrier songs; the how-dare-you-leave-me Alanis types; they make me want to track my ex down, and punch him square in the face. Perhaps beat up a few other wrong 'uns while I'm at it.

And then, finally, I am a whole new woman. I bring out the big guns: the empowering ditties where I thank my ex, Little Mix style, for making me who I am.

Of course, there are always a couple of bumps in the road, a few backslides . . . You know, like the time an ex removed me as a Facebook friend or - possibly worse - another who started posting frequent couplies with his new girlfriend just a month or two after we split. But usually by these points, I'm mostly over the break-up and, although I'm hurt, I'm far enough along in the grieving process to move on after merely a minor breakdown.

Sometimes I think I'm better off just staying single, because whenever I finally get over a break- up, it seems those are the times when I really have my shit together. I go to the gym more regularly, actually eat the recommended portions of fruit and veg a day, usually start up some sort of new hobby. Sleep better, read tons. Spend less time stalking people on social media.

And it was during one of those "living my best life" phases that I first met Declan Breslin.

Our meet-cute actually was pretty cute . . . It took place on the ferry to Dunoon.

Wee bit of geography for you - a lot of folk think Dunoon is an island, but it's not. It's just quicker to get there by boat than by road, which is actually true of a good few places in Scotland. Happily - or so it seemed at the time anyway - both of us had chosen to travel by ferry, so our fates were apparently destined to collide that day.