Good Material

by Dolly Alderton

“I’d like to be single,” Jane replies. “I think most women would. It’s men who don’t know how to do it.”

There are so many hidden miniature break-ups within a big break-up. There are so many ahead of me that I haven’t even thought of yet.

Something’s changed since I was last single. When me and my last ex broke up, a mere handful of years ago, I remember it releasing a burst of energy in the group. Everyone was excited for me. There was a sense that I’d returned to the club, that my membership was going to be renewed. But I don’t feel that now—I feel like my singleness may end up being a bit of an inconvenience for everyone.

I return to the bar and order six shots of tequila and take them over with six tiny wedges of lemon on a round silver tray. The sight of this provokes groans from the table rather than cheers—something that changed quite suddenly in our early thirties.

Carbohydrates want to take away all your dreams of happiness and love.

“You are locked in a prison of your own nostalgia. You need to let go of the past.”

Women think we don’t want to talk to them about our emotions because we’re embarrassed of being vulnerable. It’s more that we’re embarrassed of seeming stupid.

Why do you think ‘Mr. Brightside’ is the anthem of our generation for men?” “The guitar riff.” “WRONG,” he shouts, putting the cigarette in his mouth. He stands up and walks outside as I follow him. “Jealousy,” he barks over his shoulder to me. “Turning saints into the sea, swimming through sick lullabies. That song hits on something we can never articulate, which is that romantic jealousy is a turn-on, in its own dark way.”

Every good night out hinges on discontent.

good time needs the fires of tragedy underneath it to keep it on a rolling boil.

Because the person who is in charge in a relationship is the one who loves the least.

“You don’t let go once. That’s your first mistake. You say goodbye over a lifetime. You might not have thought about her for ten years, then you’ll hear a song or you’ll walk past somewhere you once went together—something will come to the surface that you’d totally forgotten about. And you say another goodbye. You have to be prepared to let go and let go and let go a thousand times.”

“If I had a son—” he suddenly says. I turn to look at him, hands behind his back again, anxious eyes staring into nowhere. “If he asked me for any advice about…personal matters—personal relationships—I wouldn’t have a whole lot to say, because I don’t know a whole lot about it. But I would say that—” He stops himself and makes a sound of a half-formed word, then stops himself again. He takes a breath and speaks in an uncharacteristically unhurried way. “Life is a bit more difficult for women. More difficult than it is for us, I mean. And you don’t need to ask them to explain why or understand it all. You just need to be nice to them.” He looks up at me nervously. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

MY HEART

I’m sorry that I loved you so much more than I liked myself, that must have been a lot to carry.

It was like my career was my bad boyfriend—it sensed every time I was going to leave it and, at that exact moment, would promise me all sorts of things to make me stay.

I once heard a theory about the first relationship that occurs after a big relationship ends. It’s called the 90/10 rule. The theory goes: whatever the crucial 10 per cent is that was missing from your partner who was otherwise totally right for you is the thing you look for in the following person. That missing 10 per cent becomes such a fixation that, when you do find someone who has it, you ignore the fact they don’t have the other 90 per cent that the previous partner had.

“Be alone, Jen. You know how to be alone without being lonely. Do you know how rare that is?