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The man’s face fell, but he kept drinking, talking around the glittery straw. ‘My fiancée just left me. Sort of put me off.’
Was it a bad idea, dating such a recent dumpee? It was times like this that Ani missed Marnie, despite her flakiness. There was no point in asking long-married Rosa about dating: ‘Just be open and tell him how you feel, what could possibly go wrong?’ Or Helen, who never dated at all: ‘What’s the point? Bet the fiancée dumped him for good reason, like he picks his nose or wears her pants.’ But Marnie would listen to every last detail, then say he sounded lovely and she was sure it would all work out. Even if he didn’t, and it definitely a hundred per cent wouldn’t.
As Ani walked aimlessly towards the shops, her phone dinged. Was it him? What if he cancelled, or if his vague suggestion of meeting up hadn’t been serious? She’d messaged him after they met, carefully non-committal, so that if he replied ‘OMG of course I don’t want to date you, YOU HEARTLESS CRONE’ she could claim she was just being polite. Plausible deniability, that was the key in dating. And also in defending people who’d made some pretty serious errors of judgement in life (same thing really). And he’d replied, We should meet up again sometime, but was that just something people said? What if he’d changed his mind over Christmas? Got back with the fiancée?
It was him. Her fingers shook slightly as she scrolled. Hi! Happy New Year. How about a curry maybe—Brick Lane or something? It was an odd choice for a first date—too formal, too pressured—but she let him off, as he was out of practice. She replied Sure OK x, taking care not to be too enthusiastic. She didn’t want him to think it was anything better than a solid uninspired choice. Game on.
Nervy and tense, Ani wandered up and down the aisles in Boots, with a vague uneasy sense that she ought to be doing things to herself. Buffing. Moisturising. Plumping up some of her hairs and removing some of the others. She bought a limp prawn sandwich and some Ribena, then found herself staring at the rack of condoms by the till. Uh-uh. Rule number one of dates—you had to trick the universe into letting things go well, and that meant putting in as little preparation as possible. Ideally you wanted to be found with unshaven legs, wearing your least favourite outfit, and perhaps with spinach caught in your teeth. Ani, in every other way a devout rationalist, believed firmly in the powers of the jinx. Unfortunately, she was not very good at being unprepared for things.
‘Do you have your Boots Advantage card?’ asked the man at the counter.
‘Yes,’ she sighed, digging it out. Of course she had. She always did everything right. So why couldn’t she manage that in her love life?
* * *
Rosa.
Amazeballs dating plan!
Rosa received Marnie’s email on a painful morning at work, during which she was trying to keep her head, if not actually under her desk, then as far down onto it as it was possible to get. Her temples throbbed in steady rhythm with the clacking keys around her. On her desk sat three different types of liquid—a bottle of water, a giant coffee, and a can of Diet Coke. None of them had helped—she should have realised that, as the others had tried to explain over the years, nothing could touch a Marnie hangover.
Unable to face the email at first, she went back to tapping at her feature on ‘head-desk-space’, the hot new in-work meditation trend that was sweeping the nation. Only trouble was, it didn’t exist. So far she had two hundred filler words on January—Now the last of the mince pies has been eaten and the New Year’s resolutions are starting to shake, it’s time to reaffirm our goals for the year. A recent study—here she’d added square brackets and a note to herself saying ‘FIND OR MAKE UP LATER’—says that 67% of us want to be more fulfilled in work. The solution? Meditations and exercises we can do at our desks.
Her phone beeped and, hoping for the magic inspiration that would finish off her feature, she grabbed it. Ani. Have you seen M’s email? She was really serious??
Rosa sent back a surprised emoji and opened her personal email again. She usually kept it closed, as Suzanne was not above snooping: ‘So I notice you’re having painful periods, I want five hundred words on that by three.’ The message from Marnie read Super awesome fourway dating plan!!!!! Five exclamation marks. The points on them seemed to wink at Rosa’s hungover brain.
Hi lovely ladies! Rosa groaned out loud. Following last night’s totes fun dinner, I have gone and done some further thoughts on our v v sensible plan. ‘Totes’ had really crept in as a word, Rosa thought. Maybe there was a feature in that… How your thirties are your new twenties. How thirty-something women are pretending to be younger, maybe because their husbands are leaving them for teenagers in cartoon T-shirts.
She read on.
So, I think the best thing to do would be to each pick a friend, then set them up with an ex of our choice. We’re bound to at least find someone decent that way. (TripAdvisor for men!) However I think there need to be some rules.
1. Only exes we are over! We don’t want broken hearts or unresolved tensions getting between us.
2. They must be nice. No hairy backs or creeps (unless you think your chosen friend will like that).
3. You must tell your friends every single detail! At the very least we can use this as a v v good social experiment. I’m thinking we should call it Project Love—the mission is to find us all a lovely date without the risks of going online.
Rosa groaned for a final time, disturbing the somnambulist occupant of the next desk, Sleepy Si, who did the night shifts. ‘Sorry,’ she mouthed, as he settled back. She sent another emoji to Ani, this one startled and a little upset. In her current state of mind, the smiley faces seemed to sum things up better than words.
‘Rosa?’
She took a deep breath. How did Suzanne manage to move around without making a sound? Did she have some kind of pact with the devil whereby she could defy the laws of physics? ‘Yes, hi!’
Rosa’s boss was standing over her, tapping one stiletto heel. With her leather trousers and teased blonde hair, she looked like Stevie Nicks with an account at Cos. ‘Meeting room. Now.’
Rosa scurried after her, wondering what Suzanne’s problem could be. Had the barista put full-fat milk in her latte? Had her childminder allowed the twins to watch Rastamouse again? Oh Lord, David was in the meeting room, along with various hacks from different parts of the paper. She slunk into a seat, trying to make herself as small as possible. David looked fresh and youthful, his facial hair shaved into some odd little beard. No doubt it was all the rage with the under-twenty-fives.
Jason Connell, Editorial Whizz-Kid, swept in, buttoning his suit. Rosa caught a whiff of lemon aftershave, masking the unmistakable scent of Alpha Male. ‘We’re up crap creek,’ he said succinctly. ‘Five clients have pulled their ads from this week’s supplement. We’ve even lost the underwear chain More Than a Handful, and they’ve been advertising with us since 1994.’ How did he know all this, when he’d only been in post for a month? Rosa supposed she ought to feel alarmed, but such was the horror of her hangover that nothing else could get to her. Not even David, taking notes in the corner like the school swot he was. ‘So I need ideas. And fast.’
She was dimly aware that people were saying things. ‘How about a piece on ways to save cash?’ The Money section. Reviled and mocked for the rest of the year, January was their one chance to shine, and even Jason gave them a brief smile for the effort. ‘Maybe. Thanks.’
‘What about the rise of mumpreneurs?’ That was David, who worked on Business. It wasn’t a bad idea. Rosa saw Suzanne’s nostrils twitch—he was treading on their turf.
Jason nodded. ‘Good. That kind of thing. We need something really snazzy. A big piece that will make people choose us over other papers and magazines.’ He pointed to Suzanne and Rosa. ‘There’s scope for Features to take market share from monthly consumer magazines too, if we come up with something good.’
God, what recycled guff could they peddle this time? Ways to revive your flagging sex life? Top winter sun destinations? Both things Rosa now had no use for.
‘Rosa.’ Jason’s steely eyes were fixed on her, and she felt an odd blush rising up her neck. ‘Any ideas?’
‘Um…organic veg boxes?’
A terrible idea. She heard Suzanne suck in air through her teeth. But Jason smiled encouragingly. ‘That workplace meditation idea—what did you call it? A lifestyle hack?’
‘Er, yeah.’
‘Right. Well, I want more like that. It’s January. Everyone’s in a rut, miserable, wanting to change their life. Except they don’t want to change their life at all. No one actually wants to quit their job and move to Bali.’
Rosa was nodding. She understood exactly what narrative they were selling: change without having to go through any actual change.
Suzanne snapped her fingers in Rosa’s face, hissing, ‘Come on, ideas, ideas.’
‘What, more?’
‘Yes, more. This is what we pay you for.’
It wasn’t, thought Rosa. They paid her to sub-edit, and she did features for no extra on the side, but her mind had gone blank. ‘Um…um…’
‘Come on!’ Suzanne’s face was almost moving—and you really didn’t want that. Everyone was staring. Jason, David. All waiting for her to say something decent, anything to prove she was still capable of journalism. ‘I want an idea, Rosa!’
Rosa said the first thing that came into her head. ‘Um… what about a pact to date your friends’ exes?’
* * *
Helen.
Helen read Marnie’s email with a sinking heart. She was still in her dressing gown, though it was gone midday. The business card of the weird IT guy was in her pocket, poking into her stomach. She reread the line: We don’t want broken hearts or unresolved tensions getting between us!
Well, that was one rule that had been broken for years. She wondered if Marnie had thought of Ed when she’d suggested this dating swap. It was her idea to pass on exes. Would she even mind if it was him?
She looked down at her phone. Imagined typing it. Hey, Marnie, sorry I forgot to mention this but I kind of slept with Ed? But no. She couldn’t. And she couldn’t do this dating pact. Because Helen knew from bitter experience that one of the worst things you could ever do was fall in love with your friend’s ex.
Chapter 4 The Accidental Proposal (#ulink_e5ebf1fd-831d-5103-8951-b1cc3d9c9a18)
Ani
Ani had a terrible habit, almost shameful in modern times—she was incorrigibly on time for everything. She did her best, slowing her walk right down on the way from the tube to the restaurant, but she was still only four minutes late. She ordered a gin and tonic in the almost-empty restaurant, and when she thanked the waiter he said something in reply. ‘I’m sorry?’ He said it again and she realised—Hindi. ‘Er…I only speak English, sorry.’
She’d hoped it would be a cool Brick Lane place, of the type Rosa was always having to do features on, where they served the food in hammocks or only ate cereal or things on toast. She looked at the laminated menu—a bit of curry was stuck on the side. It wasn’t a cool place. And Will was late. Despite years of dating, Ani had not been able to reconcile herself to the lax attitude to time most people displayed. On impulse she texted Marnie: Waiting for late date. Many misgivings.
Marnie came back: Might be OK? Give him a chance!
Horrible Indian restaurant. Twenty minutes late. Rebound man.
Hmm. Three strikes already. May as well stay though—a girl has to eat.
That was true, Ani thought. It was nice having Marnie back, rather than off roaming the world somehow. She’d actually missed her. Despite everything. So she stayed, but she’d already eaten her way through five poppadums with lime pickle when Will walked in the door. Twenty-five minutes late. Just inside her threshold for ‘no longer pretending it’s OK’, which was half an hour. ‘Hi!’ She half rose, wondering if they’d hug, then sat down again when he pulled out a chair. ‘How are you? Good Christmas?’
‘I—OK, I suppose.’ He sighed deeply. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just—well, I ought to tell you. I had a run-in with Kat last night.’
Kat? Who the…? ‘Oh. Your ex?’ Ani tried to infuse the syllables with threat, understanding, and indifference all at once. It was hard.
‘Yes, she—well, she came around. Said she wanted to get a few things.’ Ani braced herself to hear they’d slept together. ‘She gave me back the ring,’ he said, dolefully. ‘Her engagement ring.’
‘Oh—well—is that good? Maybe you can sell it?’
‘They have almost no resale value. It’s worth like a tenth of what I paid.’
‘How can that be? The metals at least—’
‘The truth is, Ani, jewels have no real value. It’s like everything with weddings. It’s worth what you’ll pay for it. When you still believe you’re in love. But take that away and it’s just a cake, or a dress, or a bit of metal.’
Ani was thinking through the implications of that. ‘It’s almost as if you’re buying…’
‘Hope,’ he finished bleakly. ‘Yeah.’
Hope, she thought, eyes focused on a smear of pickle on the passing waiter’s shirt. Hope was what kept her going on date after date, year after year, thinking, what if this, tonight, was the one, and she cancelled because she was tired and really wanted to watch The Good Wife? What if her perfect man, the love of her life, slipped her by because she wasn’t paying attention, because she slacked off for a second, because she was too impatient and sharp and scared them away? But she could now see that, despite Marnie’s encouragement, tonight’s hope was outside the restaurant, setting off sadly down the street. What had Marnie said? A girl has to eat. ‘I haven’t had any dinner,’ she said firmly. ‘Shall we order?’
‘Oh. I guess. I’m not sure I could eat much.’
The waiter came. ‘Any ideas?’ she said to Will, brusquely. ‘I’ll have a lamb bhuna and a peshwari naan, please.’
He was staring at the menu. ‘It all sounds the same to me. Kat and I used to eat in a lot, salads, healthy stuff. She really kept in shape.’
‘So why did you pick this place?’
‘I thought you’d prefer it.’
Ani held her breath till her ears popped. ‘Look, my parents aren’t even from India, they grew up in Uganda. Just pick something.’
‘I don’t like spicy food,’ Will said to the waiter. ‘So something mild. A korma?’
Ani and the waiter exchanged a look that needed no translation.
She did her best after that, and they chatted about food, about work, about Louise and Jake and whether they were really as happy as Louise would make out—nothing like a little shared bitch to grease the wheels of social interaction—but at the end of the day it was a cheap Indian restaurant with strip lighting, blaring Indi-pop from a TV in the corner, and only three of the tables occupied—one with a rugby team, who chanted and whooped every time someone took a drink. ‘Down it! Down it!’ Ani looked at her phone surreptitiously and realised only forty minutes had gone by. Suddenly she didn’t care if it was rude—she wanted to go home.
Will clearly had the same idea. He’d taken out his wallet and was staring into it.
‘Shall we just…’
‘It’s here,’ he said mournfully.
‘What is?’
He held something aloft, winking and glittering in the strip lighting. ‘I forgot I put it in here. I—I—How could she? How could she?’ He burst into tears.
At that exact moment the waiter clocked the ring, and nudged the others, who started clapping and cheering. ‘Congratulations! Wedding bells!’ Ani realised, surreally, they were singing an off-key version of ‘I’m Getting Married in the Morning’. The rugby boys caught on and started whooping again, and two other miserable-looking couples, insulated in anoraks against the cold January night, joined in with some desultory applause. Ani was still reeling. Will seemed to have frozen in shock.
‘Ding dong, the bells are gonna chiiiiime…’
‘Get in there, mate! Give her one! A kiss I mean, haaaaaa.’
‘No, no, there’s been a—no…’
‘So do not let them tarry, ding dong…’
‘Nice one! Wedding night five!’
Will stood up, knocking the remains of his ultra-mild curry onto his cream trousers. What had she been thinking? She could never love a man in cream trousers. This was what happened when you settled for less than perfect, when you gave people the benefit of the doubt. He shouted, semi-hysterically: ‘I don’t want to marry her! I just want to marry Kat, and she doesn’t love me any more!’ And he flung the ring across the room, where it bounced off a framed picture of the Taj Mahal and landed in the insipid rosé wine of a woman in a green anorak.
Later, when she’d dispatched a weeping Will in a taxi, and paid for her meal and his and also the wine of the anorak woman, and explained to the disappointed waiters that no, she wasn’t Kat, and fended off two offers to ‘give her one instead’ from rugby boys, Ani took out her phone to delete his number. She never should have added him in the first place—no contacts in the phone until date two. Stupid.
She found herself trudging along in the cold, the collar of her Reiss coat pulled up against the wind, taking out her phone to text Marnie. Marnie would understand. And that—almost, maybe—made up for everything else. She saw she had a WhatsApp message from Rosa and clicked on it as she walked. Ooohhh noooo may have got commissioned to write a piece on the stupid dating project. Might have to do it now.
Why not? Ani thought. Nothing could be worse than almost getting accidentally engaged in a restaurant with wipe-clean menus. And her friends would do a better job of finding her a man than she was herself. It wouldn’t be hard. Me too, she typed, before she could change her mind. What’s the worst that could happen?
Chapter 5 A Decaf No-Syrup Low-Fat Soy Latte (#ulink_96f28973-f465-563c-8797-7521e80db250)
Helen
‘Great news!’ said Marnie down the phone. ‘Ani and Rosa are totes in for Project Love.’
Helen’s heart sank. ‘Ani’s in? Are you serious?’
‘Apparently she had some really awful date and changed her mind, get her to tell you about it. So you’ll do it, won’t you?’
No no no no no. ‘Ach, I don’t know. I haven’t dated in years.’ Two years, to be exact. She hoped Marnie would never do the maths.
‘All the more reason to start!’ Helen and Marnie saw the world in very different ways. Marnie kept an ever-growing list of things to try—eating bull testicles, hiking the Inca trail, wakeboarding—while Helen kept a list of ‘things I’ll quite happily die before I ever do, thanks very much’.
‘I don’t know, Marn. What if it all goes horribly wrong, or he wears Superman pants like Ani’s date, or he’s secretly a serial killer? I just read a story exactly like that in Take a Break.’
‘You don’t need to marry the guy! Just have two drinks, then politely leave if you don’t like him. That’s the minimum—just one is rude, you may as well tell them to their face they’re an uggo.’
‘See, I don’t know any of these rules.’
‘It’s like a game, Helz. You love those. Imagine you need to get to the top level. Remember when we used to play the Game of Life all the time? It’s just like that, only your dearest friends will choose your little blue pin for you.’
