The Single Girl’s To-Do List

  ‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ I replied. ‘I’m very popular.’

  ‘And you’re wearing a dress again.’ She gave me a half-hug, checked whether or not anyone was looking and inhaled a handful of dry-roasted peanuts. ‘It’s so pretty.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I gave her a little spin to make the full skirt flare out. ‘I’m almost out of new outfits but nothing that survived the cull seemed appropriate.’

  ‘Your old clothes weren’t appropriate for milking cows,’ she replied. ‘There were fabrics in there I couldn’t even identify.’

  I stopped spinning and shoved a Mini Cheddar in her mouth. ‘You threw away my wool coat. Aka my only coat.’

  ‘Rach, my love,’ Em said through a mouthful of cheesy biscuit. ‘That was not a wool coat. It had never even been near a sheep. If that coat saw a sheep, it would climb off your body to go and take a closer look and ask you what the fluffy bah-ing thing was.’

  ‘I still don’t have a coat,’ I grumbled. ‘Glad you decided to come casual, though – wouldn’t have wanted you to dress up too much.’

  Emelie had gone all out for Matthew’s party. Which was something of an understatement. Emelie had gone all out for the Notting Hill Carnival. At what point had she sat down and decided this was a good outfit in which to attend a house party, I did not know. In all her stylish wisdom, my best friend had teamed bright red sequined hot pants with fishnet tights and a slouchy striped T-shirt that sloped just low enough on her left shoulder to show off her new tattoo. Her glossy auburn hair was five times its usual size, a mass of haphazard curls pushed over one shoulder, and I assumed the black strappy patent platforms I could see by the sofa were hers. She looked like an off-duty Pussycat Doll. Or a very, very high-class hooker.

  ‘I just thought it might be nice to try a bit,’ she said, looking back into the living room where Dan was sitting on the opposite end of the sofa to Matthew, trying not to look as if he was interested in what was on the TV. Which, to be fair, was very interesting, regardless of sexual orientation. Who knew you could get that many people in a hot tub? I supposed they were all doing their best to squeeze together and make space. ‘So, I was talking to Dan the man?’

  ‘That must have been fun,’ I said quickly. ‘Do you know where the tzatziki is?’

  ‘He’s not going out with Ana any more.’ She kept me locked in an even gaze. ‘Apparently they had a massive row after … um, you set sprinklers on her and I smacked her in the gob.’

  ‘Shocked.’ How had she managed to get all of that out of him in five minutes at a party? I’d had him in my house painting for half an hour and hadn’t been able to work out what the hell was going on with him and Ana. ‘He told you all that, did he? Word for word?’

  ‘Yeah … Funny how he’s ended up here tonight,’ she replied. ‘Hypothetically speaking, if he were interested, would you be interested?’

  ‘If you’re asking for permission to make a move, I won’t remind you that you’ve agreed to go to my dad’s wedding with my disgusting brother and I won’t remind you that Dan is a massive, massive player.’

  I chose to ignore the fact that I felt as though I’d just stabbed myself in the gut repeatedly with a rusty butter knife.

  ‘Not me.’ She paused to give Pete, my next-door neighbour and local middle-aged postman, a wink as he sidled past to get to the fridge. Poor Pete looked as if he was about to have a heart attack. ‘You.’

  ‘It’s Dan.’ I held my hands up to emphasize the weirdness of what she was proposing. ‘I mean, Dan. We’ve worked together for years, we’re friends. Sort of. I couldn’t.’

  ‘So?’ Em refused to let it go. ‘Things change. You’ve changed. And, more importantly, he’s tall, he’s gorgeous and he’s here.’

  She had a point.

  ‘And I just want to get my hands in his hair.’ She pulled her own hair and fluffed the ends. ‘And the eyes, Rachel, the big brown eyes. Do not tell me you don’t want a go on it.’

  ‘Please, I’m eating.’ I would have made a great politician. Probably.

  ‘Rach?’ Helena, my upstairs neighbour, appeared at my side with air kisses and a bottle of vodka. ‘Is it me or does it say “Simon is a dick” on your living-room wall.’

  ‘Sort of, yeah.’ I gave a considered nod. ‘I might have to give it another coat.’

  ‘Shout if you need help,’ Dan shouted across the room. ‘She’s not very good.’

  Could he hear us? Could he hear Emelie? Shi-i-i-t.

  ‘I’m amazing,’ I countered. ‘I totally did all the edging on my own.’

  ‘Whatever.’ He turned back to his conversation with Matthew. I turned back to Helena with slightly redder cheeks than I’d had before.

  ‘So, um, I saw on Facebook that you two had broken up.’ Helena hedged around her point awkwardly. ‘Is everything OK?’

  Helena was a great neighbour. She took the post in when we went away, she never made excessive noise and she always had milk and teabags. Unfortunately, she was not a star singleton role model. Despite being perfectly good looking, successful and – as far as I knew – disease free, Helena could not give it away and she was this close to turning 38. Given the way she was staring at Dan, I wasn’t worried that this was because she was being too subtle in her approaches.

  ‘Everything’s fine.’ I did not want to get into the break-up story at that second. It was Matthew’s night. At least until midnight. Or until I finished the whiskey. Whichever came first. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘We should go out together,’ she suggested with a friendly nudge. ‘Unless you haven’t already moved on.’ Another pointed stare at Dan.

  ‘No, I’m officially single now,’ I replied. ‘Professionally.’

  ‘Brilliant.’ She slid an arm around my shoulders and hiccuped. ‘No one knows more about being single than me. Been single for ever, darlin’. I’ll show you the ropes.’

  I accepted her parting slap on the arse with a cheerful laugh. Single forever. Now there was a cheerful thought.

  ‘Rach, your phone.’ Em pointed towards a gently vibrating iPhone on top of the TV. Dashing past the Jersey Whores, I grabbed my phone, ignored the mass jeers from the crowd that had settled on and around the sofa to watch and slipped into my bedroom. It was a message. From Ethan. I nudged the pile of jackets and cardigans over to one end of the bed so I could sit down and read it properly.

  I’d replied to his ‘I’d totally ask you out’ message earlier in a fevered hour-long session of writing, deleting, writing, editing, deleting and eventually sending. The general gist of it was that he should be careful what he wished for, that I couldn’t believe he was single and that I travelled a lot for work so a trip to Toronto wasn’t out of the question. Which it wasn’t. Sort of. I couldn’t wait to see what he had to say. I really hoped it didn’t include mention of a restraining order.

  ‘Hey, hope you’re having a fun Saturday night. Today was brutal. There was an incident with an oboe/light-saber battle. Being a teacher is tough sometimes.’

  Too cute.

  ‘Hmm, why am I single? Good question. I guess I don’t know the answer or I wouldn’t be! In the interests of full disclosure, I was actually in a pretty serious relationship until the beginning of this year but that didn’t work out. She moved away, I didn’t want to. And so, the singleness. I don’t think I’m very good at it, though, otherwise I’d have more exciting plans than hanging out with my dog on a Saturday night. Any exciting plans your end that I should be jealous of?’

  Tucking my hair behind my ears, I started my reply. Emelie would be mortified: imagine replying to a message from a boy Straight Away. But he was so sweet – how was it possible that he was still so sweet? I wanted to sound interesting and fun but not like a crazy party girl. I’d managed to keep The Savoy Incident to myself – this one should be easy. Writing messages was so hard, how did anyone ever get together through internet dating?

  ‘Hi! Happy Saturday!’

  Good start, Redhead Rachel congratulated m
e. Now, let’s just bang this one out and not take an hour like we did this afternoon.

  ‘I do not like the sound of your job – lightsabre oboes? I hope you’re getting danger pay. I’m having a party for my friend’s birthday. He’s currently sitting on the sofa watching gay porn while everyone brings him drinks. I think he’s having fun.’

  And then I was lost. We’d done all the ‘but you’re so cute!’ parts – how did I carry this on without it just becoming about the weather and what he was eating for dinner. Should I carry this on? I knew it was pointless, long-distance email flirtations rarely ended well, but I wasn’t ready to give up the kick I got every time my phone buzzed.

  ‘Staying in with your dog sounds like a lovely Saturday night. Especially when you compare it to this gay porn birthday party. I hope you have some equally thrilling plans for the weekend?’

  I sent it before I could think better of it and then lay back on the bed for a moment. I loved my friends and I loved that they’d all trekked over here on a Saturday night at short notice for the party, but I just needed a minute to myself. I was so tired. Being single was hard work. Throwing a party, getting tattoos, screaming at supermodels, going to yoga, dating morons, running, cutting and colouring your hair, breaking the law, selling your ex-boyfriend’s ultra-rare vinyl and then spending the money on designer undies and painting your flat, all in one week, really took it out of a girl.

  ‘Whatcha doin?’ Emelie’s head popped around the door. ‘You’re missing all the fun.’

  ‘Am I?’ I asked without sitting up.

  ‘No, not really.’

  The bed bounced lightly as she threw herself down beside me. ‘This bed is comfy.’

  ‘And now there’s plenty of room in it.’ I stretched out to grasp the opposite end of the duvet.

  ‘That’s one good reason why I don’t allow sleepovers,’ Em advised sagely. ‘Always call them a cab before they get comfy.’

  ‘I take it all back,’ I said, eyes closed. ‘You and my brother are a match made in heaven.’

  ‘Ha,’ she replied. ‘We’ll see about that.’

  Em was quiet for a moment.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ she asked. ‘In general? With you?’

  ‘I think so.’ I didn’t bother opening my eyes. ‘I just need a minute.’

  ‘I’m really proud of you, you know,’ she said, finding my hand and giving it a squeeze. ‘You’re handling this like a pro.’

  ‘What kind of pro exactly?’

  Before she could answer, my phone started vibrating on the bed between us.

  ‘International number,’ she said, standing up and slipping out through the door. ‘Ooh.’

  I sat up straight. International? Could it be?

  ‘Hello?’ My heart was absolutely racing and I had a terrible case of dry mouth, only partly due to the amount of whiskey I’d drunk.

  ‘Rachel?’

  It was Simon. Almost exactly eight days to the second since he’d done the deed, it was Simon.

  ‘Hi,’ I whispered. I wanted to hang up. I wanted to shout and scream but I couldn’t. I just listened.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to call all week,’ Simon started slowly. ‘See if you’re all right.’

  ‘It’s Matthew’s birthday.’ I was determined to make it through in one piece. Where was Redhead Rachel when I needed her? ‘We’re having a party.’

  ‘Well, tell him happy birthday from me.’ He coughed awkwardly. ‘Listen, I talked to an estate agent about putting the flat on the market today.’

  He was already talking to someone about selling the house? I held the phone tightly, not saying anything, just feeling it getting hotter and hotter against my ear.

  ‘So, if you want to buy me out, we can talk about that.’ The same cold voice he’d used the last time we’d spoken was back. Obviously this was the business end of the phone call. ‘I’d just like it sorted out sooner rather than later.’

  Eloquent words at the right times had never really been my strong point. As my performance with Ana had proved, I’d never been a girl who excelled at lucid arguments and knocked her opponent down with a single sentence; but nothing …? I couldn’t come up with anything? That was just rubbish. So I did the only thing I could do. I hung up. I just wasn’t going to deal with this right now.

  ‘Can I come back in?’ Em asked once she was already back through the door. ‘Was it Ethan?’

  ‘Simon.’ I stared at the wall in front of me. ‘He wants to sell the flat.’

  ‘Enculé,’ Em bit a nail. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I hung up.’

  ‘Good girl.’ She gave me a tight smile. ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘It’s a birthday party, isn’t it?’ I gave myself a mental and physical shake. He was not going to ruin my evening. ‘Let’s get our cake on.’

  ‘Yay.’ Em clapped and brushed down my dress. ‘You look gorgeous by the way. Fuck that guy.’

  ‘Fuck that guy,’ I repeated. The words had a very comforting cadence, especially when repeated over and over and over.

  ‘Happy birthday to you,’ Em dimmed the lights and began singing as I stepped carefully through the living room, holding my amazing cheesecake aloft. Well, holding my slightly sunken on one side but surely still edible cheesecake aloft. It was the first cake I’d made since a pineapple upside-down cake in Home Ec and, god help me, this one had better be edible.

  The party seemed to have thinned a little since my time out, but Dan was still there, albeit trapped in a corner by Helena, and Matthew was holding court on the sofa while his BFF and premier trolley dolly, Jeremy, furnished him with the appropriate drinks and snacks. Everyone else seemed to be smiling. This was officially a good party.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ Matthew’s reaction to my culinary expertise was not exactly what I’d been hoping for. ‘I hope you’ve got the receipt.’

  ‘She made it, you knob.’ Em cracked him round the back of the head. ‘So shut up and eat it.’

  ‘You made it?’ His eyes glowed with love and booze. ‘But you can’t make tea?’

  ‘I know.’ I was too proud of myself to be offended. ‘And I don’t even think it’s going to taste horrible.’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ He steeled himself and cut a slice, avoiding the candles. The whole room was silent. Matthew stuck his fork in with impressive commitment and shovelled a giant mouthful towards his face.

  ‘It’s not horrible. Is it horrible?’

  ‘It’s not horrible,’ he confirmed, taking another bite to prove his point. ‘It’s actually good.’

  A sigh of relief echoed round my living room as everyone relaxed. I hadn’t poisoned the birthday boy; they could go on with their evening.

  ‘Good work, um, Rachel?’ Jeremy said. I nodded confirmation that Rachel was in fact my name. He’d been Matthew’s best gay buddy for years and he still couldn’t tell the difference between Emelie and me. ‘You’ll make someone a lovely wife one day.’

  ‘Yes, well, quite. If you would just excuse me for a moment.’ I gave him my best dazzling smile, turned on my heel and marched straight into the bathroom. Where I let out the most pathetic howl I’d ever heard – and I’d been there when Matthew got his tattoo. The party responded accordingly with absolute silence.

  ‘Jeremy, you knob,’ I heard Emelie screech, before a far calmer version of the same voice spoke through the bathroom door. ‘Rach? You all right in there?’

  ‘Not really,’ I replied from my elegant seat on the toilet.

  I spun the toilet-roll holder around and around until all the specially purchased triple-layer Velvet was on the floor.

  ‘Can we come in?’

  ‘Probably not best.’

  ‘Helena says she needs a piss,’ Matthew said.

  ‘Helena can go home and have a piss.’ Oh my but my voice sounded a touch manic.

  There was some mumbling outside the door, followed by footsteps, shuffling, doors banging and more mumbling. Rather tha
n worry what people were thinking, I concerned myself with getting all that toilet paper back on the roll.

  ‘Rach,’ Em called, still on the other side of the door. ‘Matthew and Jeremy want to go dancing so everyone’s going to Popstarz.’

  ‘Everyone?’ I tried to imagine Postman Pete in the middle of a throbbing gay dance party. I suppose you never really knew your neighbours …

  ‘Yeah, I’m a bit sleepy, though, so we can stay home and demolish the rest of that cheesecake. If there’s any left.’

  It was the most diplomatic way of saying ‘everyone has left because you’re mentally unstable but I’m staying on suicide watch’ with a side of ‘But hey, remember you made that cheesecake and it wasn’t awful? That’s your reason to live!’ that I’d ever heard.

  ‘No, you should go,’ I croaked. ‘I just need a minute. And then I’ll come and meet you.’

  ‘I’m not in the mood—’

  ‘Emelie. You should go,’ I said firmly. ‘I just want to go to bed and I’m not in the mood for a sleepover.’

  Further muffled debate outside the door.

  ‘Hey, Rach, Em’s coming to Popstarz so just get in a taxi and come if you want?’ Matthew yelled. He actually sounded glad to escape. His mind hadn’t been at this party from the beginning. If I wasn’t losing my own tentative grip on sanity on the toilet, I might have thought more about where his was.

  I smiled and ran a finger along the hem of my pretty dress. Sorry, dress. You deserved better than this, I thought.

  ‘Get off you, daft cow,’ Matthew hissed. It sounded like he was enduring some physical opposition to his declaration. ‘Not you, angel. Just telling Emelie not to be retarded, I know you’re fine. We’ll see you later.’

  ‘See you later.’ I tried really hard to make it sound like I wasn’t crying.

  Waiting until I heard the front door slam shut, I stood up amidst a sea of bog roll and sighed unnecessarily loudly. It made me feel better. Redhead Rachel gave me a foul look in the mirror as I opened the door and peered out. Empty glasses, cans and discarded paper plates everywhere. Nothing like the aftermath of a party to make you feel like shit. I had to clean up. I had to take the dress off to clean up. Reaching around for the zip, I unfastened the dress and shucked it off. Such were the benefits of living alone: you could be in your underwear in your living room and no one saw. Or cared. I let the silk swoosh onto the living-room floor and stepped out of the puddle of pale blue prettiness. Just before I heard footsteps coming up the hallway.