Confessions of a Reluctant Recessionista

the very best barbs and ripostes in the Ali-versus-Jude saga. By the time the third bottle of wine was finished, Jude and I were starting to get a bit weepy.
    ‘You’re the best flatmate I’ve ever had,’ she sobbed, as she flung her arms around me. This sent the others into fits of laughter.
    ‘What was it that made her such a great flatmate?’ Ali giggled. ‘Was it the flooded kitchen, the constantboy drama or the fact that you lived in constant fear of eviction thanks to Cassie’s imprudent financial management?’
    ‘She’s a lovely flatmate,’ Jude insisted, still hugging me. ‘At least life’s never boring when Cass is about … You’ll see,’ she said, giving Ali a wink.
    ‘I’m living in fear,’ Ali said. ‘Cassie and a baby. I wonder which one will be more trouble?’
    Later on, after I’d helped Ali into a taxi and Matt and Jude had gone to bed, I found Jake skulking in the kitchen, looking for another drink.
    ‘I think we’re out,’ I said, slipping my hands round his waist. ‘Come on, let’s go to bed.’ ‘I’d better not, Cass,’ he said, disentangling himself from my arms. ‘Early start tomorrow. I should probably just call it a night.’
    Later, alone in bed, I realised that the fifteenth of April was the day he was supposed to be leaving.
    A few weeks later, I took the day off work and borrowed Ali’s car to drive Jake to the airport. Neither of us said much on the way there. When we arrived, a little early, we found a booth in a coffee shop and sat down.
    ‘I’ll give you a call when I get there,’ Jake said. ‘There’s no time difference, I don’t think. I’ll have to check on that.’ He took my hand. ‘The time’s going to fly by, Cass.’ I didn’t say anything. There was a long and uncomfortable silence. Eventually, he spoke again.
    ‘But… you’re not that worried about time flying by,are you?’ he asked, staring morosely at his feet. ‘Because you want to end this.’
    A tear slid down my cheek and landed in my untouched coffee.
    ‘We should have talked about it weeks ago,’ I said. ‘I should have said something straight away. We can’t do the long-distance thing, Jake – you know we can’t.’
    ‘It’s only six months …’
    ‘Maybe. Maybe this trip is six months, maybe it’ll be longer. And how long will the next one be? This is what you want to do with your life, Jake. It isn’t what I want.’ He pulled his hand away from mine. I took it back. ‘I love you,’ I told him. ‘I do, I really do, and I’ve had such a good time with you. But there’s too much here for me to go off on the road with you – work, my family, Ali. And there’s too much out there for you to stay here.’
    ‘But we could try …’
    ‘Yes, we could try. And I think we’d fail and that one or both of us would end up very hurt. More badly hurt than we are now.’
    He leaned over the table and kissed me.
    ‘You’re right,’ he said, wiping the tears from my cheeks. ‘I know you are. I just don’t want to let you go, that’s all.’ He slipped around the table so that he was sitting next to me, and we sat there for a while in silence, our arms around each other.
    ‘You’ll still call me when you get there, won’t you?’ I asked eventually.
    ‘Course I will.’ Then he picked up his bag and got to his feet. ‘I really ought to get going,’ he said.
    ‘Don’t,’ I pleaded. ‘Not yet. Have another coffee.’ Neither of us had touched a drop of our first cups.
    ‘Cass, they’re calling us to the gate. I need to get through security first. You know how long it takes these days.’
    Clinging tightly to his hand, I walked him to security and kissed him goodbye. I waited until he was safely out of sight, then I burst into tears.
    It took for ever to get home – there had been an accident on the M4 – and when I got there I felt more depressed than ever. The flat felt so empty, stripped bare of Jude and all her clutter. My things were half-packed – I had until the end of the day to finish it off. The removals van was coming first thing the next day. I couldn’t wait. The sooner I got out of the flat and into my new place with Ali, the better.
    That night I ate a solitary dinner of cheese on toast made under the grill accompanied by a glass of Chateau Saint Martin ’04. It might have been mid-April, but the flat felt so cold I was tempted to put the heating on. It felt horribly quiet, too. I wished I hadn’t packed the television away. I