He nodded.
The stalls were empty when I pushed open the door. I returned from my recce to find Nick scrunching his eyes up, reading a text.
‘She wasn’t there.’
‘I know, she texted me,’ he said flatly.
‘Is everything OK?’ I sat back down. ‘Fuck, I just realised I haven’t checked to see where Jack is.’ I clicked on the app again, no texts. ‘Little fucker has just ditched me without letting me know.’
‘It happens, apparently,’ Nick said. ‘I’ve been ditched too.’
‘What? During an actual date? That’s a bit shit. What reason did she give?’
He shrugged.
‘You don’t want to say?’
He shrugged again and sucked his lips inwards, reverting to the awkward bugger he usually was.
‘Are you OK?’ Even though I had been unceremoniously dumped, I found I was fine about it.
‘Yep, do you want another drink?’ he asked suddenly galvanised.
‘Why the fuck not? I’ll get them, same again?’
*
My head was pounding like a second heart, a teeny hammer chiselled away emphatically behind my left eye. This wasn’t my ceiling. What had happened to my ‘stepping into my power’? My unattached inquisitive exploration of my new self without bowing to the patriarchy? And how the fuck did I even know what any of those words meant? I must have been subjugated by Radio Four…
‘Do you want a tea?’ Nick said, poking his head round the door.
I lifted the duvet to scan my body to make sure I was clothed. I noticed I was wearing a Clash T-shirt: classy. And that my period had started. Not so classy.
‘I’m really sorry, but I think I have bled all over your bed.’ Nick didn’t bat an eyelid.
‘Do you want me to go to the shop and get you something before work?’
I goggled. Was he for real?
‘No, I mean yeah, but don’t bother. That’s too much trouble, I can run home in a sec.’
‘Ali, it isn’t. I don’t mind. The shop’s just there. Did you know they sell everything? I was in there the other night and found disposable knickers. I can get you some of those.’ He played it straight so I wasn’t entirely sure if he meant it.
‘Why were you looking in there for disposable knickers?’
‘I wasn’t, I just said I found them, next to the deodorant.’
‘They obviously know their market round here!’
‘So shall I get them?’
‘The knickers?’
‘No! Tampons, pads? What’s your poison?’
‘Tampons, please.’
He nodded. ‘Back in a mo.’
I ventured to the loo and blotted away the worst of the Rorschach stain, then jammed my pants full of bog roll so it felt like I had the Weekend Guardian down there, before stripping the bed. Thankfully it was just a Snow White splattering rather than The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and the mattress protector was pristine underneath.
As I bunched the sheet up in my hands something felt fundamentally wrong. Had we snogged? No. Did I fancy him and wished we had snogged? I didn’t think so. Was it awkward like it usually was when Linda was here? No. Did it feel normal? Yes! I didn’t have the visceral urge to run out of the house, climb in my bed and pull the covers over my head like usual after an embarrassing incident. We had just talked and talked in the pub, he’d apologised for being a dick about Norman and we laughed, then ordered a pizza back here before I passed out in front of the TV. He’d woken me and asked if I wanted to lie down in the spare room. I had drunk a lot but blacking out wasn’t my party trick, neither was executing a messy vomcano. However, wine and periods were like oil and water.
I stood fully dressed in the kitchen aimlessly opening the clinical cupboard doors playing hide and seek with the washing machine, when Nick returned.
‘It’s the one on the end,’ he pointed. ‘But don’t bother. I can do it when I get home.’
‘Actually, I can do it at mine. Sorry again.’ He handed me a blue plastic bag synonymous with the zombie apocalypse shop.
‘Ah, my disposable knickers. Thanks. How much do I owe you?’
‘Nothing! I got you a collection. I wasn’t sure what, er… you needed.’
‘Thank you for last night. I had a real laugh – those two losers don’t know what they’re missing!’
He smiled and treated me to the blokey head nod.
‘When is your mum here?’
‘Tonight. But don’t feel you have to come round. I know you have Grace.’
‘I can bring her; we’ll pop in about eight? I have an amazing dress for Linda.’
‘Ooooh, the walk of shame!’ Norman called out from his front door, as I stumbled back to my house with the sheet. I turned round to find him smiling, wrapped in his red silk dressing gown.
‘It isn’t what it looks like,’ I shouted over my shoulder.
‘It never is. The walls have eyes and ears!’ He started laughing and I waved goodbye.
I checked my phone when I got in and there was a message from Jack in Bumble.
I am so sorry I was a no-show last night. My dog got run over and I got carried away with the vets. He’s OK, just a broken back leg. Poor thing in a cast. Would you forgive me and be free another time?
Your poor dog. I hope he’s OK. Of course I will forgive you. I met with a friend and we ended up having a good night, so it’s all good. I’m free Saturday afternoon after four.
44
Nick
Nick smiled politely when Ali squeezed in the story about Jack and the injured dog while Grace had nipped to the loo. Nick didn’t want to admit that he thought it was a ruse because maybe Jack’s other date had fallen through, or hadn’t put out or he was actually married and his wife had come home unexpectedly just as he was leaving to meet Ali on Wednesday night. He kept his thoughts to himself. He’d heard all the outlandish stories about dating apps, about ghosting, about husbands and wives having secret profiles to test if they still had ‘it’. A self-indulgent ego massage after familiarity had bred contempt. Hell, he had been Kelly’s test. A long test, six and a half months until he’d ended it. He’d had to because he’d started to question his moral compass, something he hadn’t faced before. He didn’t want to be part of someone’s family imploding and he also realised he liked Ali more than he cared to say.
She had started creeping distractedly into his head during boring meetings; he’d dreamed about her a few times – not bathetic romcom scenarios or smutty sex dreams, just ordinary stuff. In one of them they were at Sainsbury’s buying a chicken for dinner. He caught himself hoping he would see her outside of the Mews in ‘real’ life. He watched her on the vlog more than once. There was something about her that loosened the strangulating barrel straps around his rusty heart. It wasn’t just what she looked like; she was kind, and for some reason that was a huge draw – a new experience for him. Yes, she had a child, but normally where that would have been a no tick on his Tinder profile preferences, with Ali, it wasn’t an issue. Grace was part of her and he wanted to show her his skateboard and see if she could stand up on it. He could buy her a small helmet…
He’d felt tied up inside when he suspected Ali was having an affair with Carl. When he caught them kissing after the party, he was staggered with how much it had unplanted him. He didn’t know what to do about it, though. What usually worked didn’t. He’d broken it off with Kelly, so that distraction wasn’t available any more. So he fired up Tinder and Bumble and scouted for someone to ameliorate his temporary dip into what felt like teenage madness. The alternative of manning up and flying solo was just too harsh right now.
He was usually content to be alone. Work, Mum, his friends up north and down here were enough, and if life or work was melting his brain, dating apps were his fall guys. Pre Ali, Emily would easily have poured oil on troubled waters, and she was lovely. But she wasn’t Ali, something that she had kindly pointed out on the date that Ali had three-wheeled on.
<
br /> I’m not upset, I can just tell when I need to leave. Your eyes said it all. I have better offers so I hope you’ll both be very happy. Emily x
The text hadn’t even garnered giving a mini fuck, and then what transpired had been the most magical, easy, fun evening he had spent for as long as he could remember, since Shelley all those years before. He couldn’t imagine ever running out of things to say to Ali. The air of innocence that she spun out from her laughter and amusing stories was refreshing. She also scared him in equal measure because he could tell she didn’t feel the same way.
‘Oh, son, you have it bad,’ his mum had said when Ali took Grace home.
‘What are you talking about?’ he’d protested.
‘Alison.’ She didn’t need to elaborate.
‘You’re barmy!’ He’d been fortifying his emotions with indifference and a quiet observation while his mum had cooed over the elegant party dress, and got caught up in Ali’s excitement at suggesting she host a Christmas party so Mum could wear it.
‘Not as barmy as you if you let this one slip through your fingers. She’s a jewel. Don’t let pride get in the way.’
‘Mum, I don’t have any feelings for Ali.’ As he said the words they cut like a deep betrayal so that he almost winced.
‘Just tell her how you feel or ask her out. This Jack is a bounder; we both know that. She’s not the best judge of character, by the sounds of things. It could be your chance to shine. He’ll let her down at some point…’
Nick stared at his mum. He hated it when she was right. But acknowledging it meant it was real, and if it was real, it meant he could fail.
‘What do I do?’ he asked in a weary voice.
45
The Penny Drops
‘Hiya,’ Nick said, his voice sounding like he’d swallowed a pack of razor blades. ‘You got a minute?’
‘Yeah, do you want to come in? I’m meeting Amanda in a bit, but it’s fine. Is everything OK?’
‘Yes.’ He followed me into the living room and I sat down on the sofa while he balanced on the edge of the chair like he was ready to take flight at the first sign of trouble. The room inexplicably felt charged and I noticed his hands were trembling.
‘Look, I was wondering if you wanted to go out for a drink sometime,’ he blurted out, looking like he’d surprised himself as well as me.
‘Oh. As in a date?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ He looked like the prospect of it was in the same league as root canal without an anaesthetic.
‘Wow. I mean, that’s really sweet of you, but I don’t see you that way.’
‘I know, but I thought I would ask, see how you feel. I’ll go.’
‘No, you don’t have to go. I’m obviously dating people on Bumble, but I… it feels weird going on a date with you, because of, well, because we’re neighbours.’
‘But you and Carl?’ Touché.
‘I know. But nothing happened, and I’m glad it didn’t. This is where I live and I can’t shit on my own doorstep. Look at Jo and Debbie. It’s so uncomfortable for them, so bad that Jo is moving out for a while.’
‘But Jo and Debbie are different.’
‘How so?’
‘You’re all part of the Mews clique. I’m not. I can go for weeks without seeing anyone. Anyway, there’s no point. I just thought because we had a great time the other night when we got dumped, you might want to give it a spin. But no worries.’ He stood up and rubbed his hands together like he was trying to warm up. ‘Have a nice evening with Amanda.’ He looked right at me, his sharp blue eyes unexpectedly unnerving me. He walked towards the door and opened it.
‘Thanks. Have a good weekend. And I’m sorry. I’m happy to have a drink as friends.’
‘Sure. Well, don’t let my embarrassing declaration stop you from visiting Mum.’
‘Don’t be silly. She’ll never forgive me. She’s helping me plan the Christmas party!’
‘It’s still not the end of the summer!’ he groaned, stepping into the corridor. ‘Bye!’
I sagged against the back of the sofa; my stomach tied into a slipknot that only I had the key to release.
*
‘So you turned down the chance to go on an old-fashioned date with someone you like as a person. Who went out and got you tampons after you bled all over his bed, whose mum adores you, and instead you’d rather take your chances with Bumble psychos? I need reinforcements. Why the fuck is Jacqui in Australia? She needs to help me here.’
Amanda knocked back the dregs of her red wine in one fell swoop and promptly poured another glass as we sat in our usual banquette in the Bishop. It was busy, for once, people having migrated back to the city after spending the summer abroad or in their holiday homes on the coast. Fuckers. This was the beginning of August Bank Holiday weekend and the official slide of summer into autumn. The leaves had already started crisping up round the edges on the horse chestnut trees lining Lordship Lane, and the low-slung sun burned in the sky, barely managing to break over the roofs at the Mews, casting shadows where once it had toasted the corner of the garden. School started in a week.
‘Help you with what? Persuading me to date someone I don’t really fancy?’
‘No, making you see he was doing a Julia Roberts. He seems like the kind of guy that won’t keep trying; I don’t get the impression he responds well to the Palaeolithic “treat them mean, keep them keen” rule of dating, or any kind of game. He’ll cut his losses and let you go.’
‘Julia Roberts?’
‘Yes, you know, from Notting Hill – “I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.”’
‘Oh God, I love that scene. I can’t help how I feel, though, and he lives over the road.’
‘He said he never sees anyone for weeks, and I believe him – his nickname is the Spy, after all! And you can help how you feel, open your eyes and look from a different perspective. It isn’t always lightning bolts, wet knickers and shagging up against a wall. It can be a slow burn, a long game, a choice, or an old-fashioned courtship that makes you feel like you’ve found your way home.’
‘You shagged Chris on the first date!’
‘I know, but I didn’t let him in my heart for months. I even binned him. I didn’t believe I actually liked him liked him. That took time. We even had this conversation in reverse, remember?’
‘Yes, I remember.’ I recalled telling Amanda she was irrational for dumping someone as lovely as Chris, who seemed to be crazy about her. But all she had needed was the space to catch him up…
‘You have nothing to lose by going on a date, just one date. And if it feels forced, if you feel icky inside, don’t go on another one. You’ve technically already been on one with him.’
‘As friends! Well, I have my date with Jack tomorrow; I’ll see how I feel after that.’
*
Jack was handsome, for sure, and he churned out the animated chat that I usually found entertaining, but I felt I was overlooking something. He was talking about the dog, an amusing anecdote about him trying to cock his leg and falling over from the weight of the plaster, wee cascading like the peeing statue in Brussels I’d sniggered at on a school trip. But all I could think about was I wanted to be at home. That it was a Saturday afternoon, that I could be sorting stuff for work next week, making cakes for Grace. That he wasn’t a gangly ginger streak of piss. Jack had just bought me a second drink and I found I didn’t want it. I felt displaced. His eyes weren’t the right eyes. I couldn’t dredge up the words to join in the banter, someone else occupied my head.
Are you at home?
No reply.
Suddenly it mattered. Why did it matter now? Why hadn’t it mattered yesterday? Cunty McFuckflaps.
It’s Ali BTW.
No reply.
It was five by the time I speed-walked back to the Mews from the Plough pub. Poor Jack – I’d garbled some shite about period pains and high tailed it out of there, deleting my Bumble profile as I steamed up the r
oad with Black Beauty for company whistling under my breath.
Nick’s car still wasn’t parked in front of his house. Should I knock in case he had left it somewhere else? What if he was on a date? What if I didn’t really like him and this was just some Beardy Weirdy shit that Amanda had planted in my head to fuck me over, in the nicest possible way, of course. I’ll knock. No I won’t. Yes, just do it. But what if he tries to kiss you and it makes you want to vom? What if he doesn’t? I knocked. I shouted through the letterbox. Now who was being a stalker?
‘Hello, decided he’s the one for you after all?’ Norman said through his kitchen window. He’d opened it specially to enjoy the show.
‘Do you know where he is?’ I asked calmly
‘He went away this morning, with a rucksack. I’m assuming he’s away; it’s the bank holiday, after all.’
‘Oh.’ I felt crushed.
‘Do you want to come in, darling? I have a G and T with your name on it.
‘What made you change your mind?’ he asked once I’d slumped on the sofa.
‘I don’t know whether I have. I just need to see. I don’t know how I feel, Norman.’
‘Not many of us do at the beginning.’ He smiled at me, his eyes twinkling. ‘Rochelle replied.’
‘Oh, Norman. You must think I’m so rubbish! What did she say?’
‘That she’d love to meet me. That Ambrose doesn’t know she’s in contact.’
‘And?’
‘I’m meeting her and her baby on Monday in a café near where she lives in Sidcup.’
‘Oh, you must be so excited.’
‘I am, but also weirdly feel very similar to you. What if we don’t get on? What if that whole “blood is thicker than water” stuff is a myth? What if I don’t want to carry on a relationship with my family who let me down?’
‘Rochelle didn’t let you down. That was your parents. She’s different. I think you’ll get on like a house on fire.’
‘Well, I think you and the Spy might find the same.’
I walked back home at nine after a fair few drinks on an empty stomach, my head whooshing. Ransacking the bread bin was the last thing I vaguely remember before going to bed…
The Single Mums Move On Page 30