Just My Type: The brand-new HILARIOUS novel from the author of THE YEAR OF SAYING YES

by Hannah Doyle

  That *may* have happened.

  ‘Oh and what was the name of that one you broke up with because you found out he lied about his age?’ Violet’s warming to her theme.

  ‘Frank the Fetus,’ butts in Bruce, biting his lip.

  ‘Yes, thank you for reminding me. . .’ I reply, over the sound of Violet falling into a fit of hysteria.

  The truth is, I don’t have the best dating history and some of the dates I’ve been on have been borderline comical. . . In hindsight and after drowning the memories in a shit tonne of gin. And then a bit more gin. Still, it’s never ideal to be the single girl at the butt of everyone’s jokes. I may be a tiny bit picky, but surely there’s nothing wrong with that? I’ve experienced first-hand the all-consuming heartache that comes from an unexpected breakup. From finding out that the man you thought of as pure gold was nothing more than fool’s gold, at best. Seeing someone you love with all your heart doubled over in physical pain after a revelation like that never leaves you. I guess that’s why I’m so particular. I know what I like in a man and I’d really rather not cut corners. As for James, he’s 100 per cent my type on paper. I am trying so hard not to put any pressure on myself – on us – but I do wonder if James might be the real deal. Could my luck finally be in? That’s why I’m all the more nervous about meeting his parents next weekend. Every time I think about it, I want to barf a tiny bit.

  ‘I’m sorry Jas,’ says Bruce. ‘Come on, back to James. . .’

  ‘I like him,’ I bite my lip. ‘And not just because he’s ridiculously fit. I don’t know how I’m going to sit next to him through a whole marriage ceremony without ripping his clothes off. He looks so fine in a suit.’

  ‘I love a man in a suit too,’ Violet coos. ‘You’ll have fun on the Eye, I’ve been on a date in one of those cute little pods before. He’d booked a private capsule and we were served champagne. Do you think James will do that for you?’

  ‘I highly doubt it. It’s just a Thursday night date, it’s not like we’re getting engaged or anything. . .’

  ‘Wait, what if he does propose?’ Bruce asks, gripping the sides of his chair.

  I shake my head firmly.

  ‘He won’t. It’s way too soon.’

  ‘But you like him, right?’ Violet asks.

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘And he likes you?’

  ‘I think so. He watched a whole episode of First Dates with me the other night without complaining and I was blatantly crushing on Fred the entire time.’

  ‘Such romance!’ Violet rolls her eyes. ‘As you know, I’ve been proposed to quite a few times now.’ Here we go. ‘One ex asked me to be his wife after just three dates.’ Poor, misguided fool. ‘The best thing to do, if you’re not quite sure, is simply kiss him on the cheek and tell him you’ll think about it.’ And rinse him for a few more champagne-fuelled dinner dates before you realise he is a complete plank.

  As if sensing my internal monologue, Bruce steers us back to safer ground. ‘Vi, let’s focus on you. This tan is looking just perfect. I’ve got a new TV star coming up in fifteen so shall we get those balcony snaps done?’

  ‘Fabulous! Now, did we get those lemons sorted?’

  My killer boobs. Will James propose? Violet’s bloody lemons. I’ve been racing through these topics on repeat for the entire tube journey. By the end of today’s shoot the all-too-familiar sinking feeling had set in, which has a lot to do with my boss being so, um, challenging, but Bruce perked me up with some tanning goodies to try before Cannes.

  I’m clutching the bag of products in my hand, camera in my backpack, as I walk along the Southbank. It’s a perfect May evening, the sun just dipping behind Westminster, throwing a golden glow over London’s most famous landmarks. The Thames glistens and I smudge on some lip balm as I walk. Normally I’d slick some lipstick on for a date, but James isn’t into it, so lip balm will have to do. Violet would have blocked out the afternoon and dedicated it entirely to getting ready if she’d been the one with a date. She once went to a Harley Street skin specialist because she’d woken up with a spot and wanted it professionally treated before she met up with one poor fool guy. I am definitely more low maintenance than my boss. I don’t have the time to be contouring myself a new nose every morning and besides, even the sturdiest foundation couldn’t withstand a day of running around after Violet.

  Tall, dark, handsome (tick, tick, TICK!) James is striding towards me and I give him a giddy wave, then feel immediately self-conscious.

  And the prize for Dorkiest Photographer of the Year goes to. . .

  ‘Jasmine, hi,’ he half-smiles as a bunch of ominous charcoal clouds loom behind his head.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Fine, just. . .’ He looks distracted, fidgeting with the top button of his work shirt. ‘Shall we just get this over with?’

  ‘And they say romance is dead,’ I say, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him. I love having a tall boyfriend. I used to get called Jasmine the Giraffe at school and I’m pretty sure my attempts to explain that Jasmine and giraffe don’t fully alliterate didn’t win me any cool points.

  ‘How was your day? I spent the afternoon staring at Violet’s arse. So, same same for me,’ I chat as we join the snaking queue.

  James peers down at me in a really weird way. WTF is going on? I’m about to quiz him further when a big fat droplet splatters onto my forehead.

  Then it happens again.

  ‘It’s raining,’ states James. He’s really pulling out all the stops on the chat front tonight.

  We’re ushered into a capsule and I try to hide my disappointment that the weather has gone tits up. So much for my pictures of the city at sunset. Still, I can just chill out and enjoy a date with my boyfriend now. My boyfriend who appears to be repeatedly patting the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

  Bruce’s earlier words pop up in my head.

  What if he does propose?

  He won’t. Will he?

  Oh holy crap. Will he?

  Suddenly my brain’s in freefall. I like James and of course I can see it happening in a couple of years. He’s exactly my type, after all. But now? It’s way too soon and we don’t know each other well enough yet. I can’t be saying ‘I do’ when I don’t even know if he prefers thick-cut chips or skinny fries. Ketchup or mayo. Country walks or city strolls. Crime dramas or comedy box sets. Oh my goodness I’ve lost my tiny mind. I’m wondering if I have time to sneak off and google HOW TO TURN DOWN MARRIAGE PROPOSAL AND NOT GET DUMPED when we start to move and it’s too late, I’m trapped in a see-through egg on a giant hamster wheel with a man who may or may not be about to spectacularly balls up our relationship.

  James’s conversation has not improved since we started circling over London. As if in solidarity, the weather has got progressively worse too. Giant ink-grey clouds have clustered over us and huge rain drops are pummelling our capsule. Meanwhile James is looking more thunderous than he did when we met by the river and I am so on edge that my palms have started to sweat. It’s really not the ideal date look. I imagine that in years to come, when we’ve got over this blip and actually are living in marital bliss, we’ll both have a good old LOL about this horror show of a first proposal. But for now I am feeling increasingly uncomfortable. The deafening silence between us means that everyone else in the capsule is flashing us sympathetic looks. We’re that couple. James’s resting bitch face has piqued the interest of a little kid who keeps pointing at him and shouting, ‘MUMMY LOOK AT GRUMPY’. Plus someone in here definitely didn’t remember to apply deodorant this morning. That someone might be me.

  James eventually breaks the silence.

  ‘Jasmine, we need to talk.’

  I think I’m going to be sick. I’ve finally found the perfect boyfriend, so why is he about to mess things up?

  ‘It’s about us.’

  The sound of thunder starts to rumble overhead.

  READ THE SCENE, JAMES! There’s a storm outside and your girlfriend does no
t smell fresh and a little girl thinks you are called grumpy. Now is not the time to propose, man!

  He sighs, looks up to the heavens and pats his breast pocket once again. I can’t take this any longer.

  ‘DON’T DO IT!’ I shout, reaching out to stop him pulling out the ring box I just know he’s carrying. In my enthusiasm I accidentally punch him on the chin.

  No one is even pretending to talk amongst themselves now. All eyes are on us.

  ‘I’m so sorry!’ I say as James rubs his jaw and looks a bit dazed.

  ‘Don’t do what?’ he asks.

  ‘Don’t. . . Oh James! I’m sorry to do this. Because the truth is I do really like you and things are going so well for us but we absolutely don’t need to change that right now. I certainly don’t need this,’ I tap at his pocket and find nothing but his chest underneath.

  James looks baffled.

  ‘You don’t need. . . My heart?’ he asks.

  ‘No, no, I do need that. You’re great! I love your heart!’

  Awkward pause.

  Here’s a fun fact about me: I don’t deal well with awkward pauses. I’ll fill them with waffle until someone takes pity on me and interrupts.

  ‘I probably love you a little bit.’ Too late. All aboard Jasmine’s Waffle Express. ‘Not loads just yet because we’re still so new, but definitely a bit. I can see myself falling in love with you soon. But not this. Not yet. Promise you won’t be too disappointed? And don’t worry, your sister’s wedding will be totally fun so you really don’t need to feel like a fool. We’ll just go back to normal. Just James and Jasmine. Do you prefer mayo or ketchup with your fries, by the way?’

  PLEASE STOP TALKING JASMINE!!

  James looks absolutely baffled.

  ‘Where is it?’ I add as an afterthought.

  ‘Where is what?’

  ‘The ring? I thought it was in your pocket. Why else would you keep patting it?’

  A streak of lightning pierces through the twilight.

  James frowns.

  ‘What ring?’

  James isn’t always this stupid, I promise you. He got three whole questions right at the pub quiz the other day even though he hates pub quizzes and only went because his firm have just taken over the pub’s accounts. Plus the man has a degree.

  ‘The engagement ring,’ I whisper. It really would be good if we didn’t have an audience. It would also be good if the little girl wasn’t singing ‘If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it’. She seems to know all the moves. If I wasn’t in the middle of the world’s most heinous proposal, I’d join in.

  My boyfriend’s eyes widen in horror. He leans back against the rail and gives a shake of his head.

  ‘Jasmine. . .’ he says very, very slowly. ‘I am not going to propose.’

  ‘Oh thank goodness for that!’

  ‘I was going to tell you that it’s over.’

  More thunder.

  ‘OVER?’ I shout across the little girl, now singing ‘We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together’.

  It’s over?

  ‘Yes. Sorry Jasmine. It’s not working for me.’ James shrugs and turns to look out over a very soggy London.

  ‘What? That’s it? It’s just “not working”. That’s not a reason to break up. I need more information than that,’ I squeak.

  James sighs and pats at his breast pocket one more time. Then he pulls out a handkerchief and hands it to me. So that’s what he’d been storing in there all along.

  ‘You’ve got a bloody cheek to think I’d cry over this,’ I sniff, totally crying over this.

  ‘Oh Jas. Don’t be sad. It was fun while it lasted, right?’

  ‘So why can’t it carry on lasting?’ I whisper, willing the tears to piss off back into my eyeballs.

  ‘Look, I’m only twenty-six. . .’

  ‘SO AM I!’ I interrupt.

  ‘I’m just not ready for anything serious.’

  ‘Neither am I! I was freaking out when I thought you’d propose today. Freaking out, James.’

  ‘Yeah. . . that was never going to happen.’

  Oof.

  ‘I’m meant to be meeting your family next weekend. That was your idea,’ I point out, my mind reeling.

  ‘I know. And I am sorry. To be honest, I was just trying to get Mum off my case. She’s been banging on about the seating plan for my sister’s wedding and insisted on me bringing a plus one. But it’s okay, because my mate Rob can come. He’s actually pretty excited about it ‘cos my sister has some fit mates and he really wants to bone a bridesmaid.’

  Another rubble of thunder booms all around us. I stare at James in disbelief. The little girl is still working her way through Taylor Swift’s finest break up songs.

  ‘IT’S TOO SOON FOR SWIFTY’ I turn to her and yell. And when the ride is finally over I barge out of the pod in a rage, my bag of tanning products smacking into people as I make my escape.

  Mila has gin. Mila does not object to emergency sorrow-drowning on a school night. Mila has just ordered fried chicken on delivery. Mila is the cheese on my taco and the jam in my doughnut. My bestest friend pours us both another drink as she tries to get to the bottom of why I thought James was going to propose.

  ‘Bruce and Violet planted the idea in my head,’ I sniff.

  ‘What does bloody Vomit know?’ She tuts. Mila calls my boss Vomit. Did I mention that she’s the best?

  I examine the nails on my left hand. ‘It’s not Violet’s fault. I shouldn’t have been so stupid. I completely misread the situation. It was so embarrassing. I’m such a knob!’

  ‘You are not a knob,’ Mila soothes. ‘James is a knob. I mean, come on, who breaks up with someone on the London Eye? What an absolute c-unit.’

  ‘But he was my c-unit,’ I say feebly. ‘And now I’m single, again, I didn’t get any nice pictures on my camera and I’m the proud owner of an expensive dress that I can’t return because I cut the tags out already. What am I going to do? I’m not sure I can face dating apps again. All that bloody messaging. It’s like a second job!’

  Mila pulls me in for a cuddle.

  ‘Did he explain why he wanted to end things?’

  ‘He said that he’s only twenty-six and doesn’t want anything too serious.’

  ‘Mate, you’re only twenty-six and you don’t want anything too serious just yet. . .’

  ‘I KNOW! It’s so frustrating. He ticked all of my usual boxes and we have so much in common. Same age, both tall. . .’

  Mila collapses onto the sofa with a humph.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I shouldn’t say it,’ she says, idly picking up her phone and announcing that our fried chicken is eighteen minutes away.

  ‘Say what?’ I press.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt your feelings. Ignore me.’

  ‘I just got dumped on the London Eye in a thunderstorm. The night before a huge work trip and less than two weeks before my boyfriend’s sister’s wedding. Which will be fine, by the way, because James has already found a mate to fill my shoes and neither of them can wait to gawp at the hot bridesmaids.’

  Mila looks indignant on my behalf.

  ‘I don’t think today could get any worse,’ I add, motioning for her to continue.

  ‘Well. . . We’ve been here before, haven’t we?’ Mila suggests.

  On second thoughts. . .

  ‘Way to kick a girl when she’s down,’ I sigh, falling into an abyss of self-pity while this morning’s mascara trickles down my cheeks. ‘Yes we have been here before. Yes I do end up single a lot. But James had such potential. He was one hundred per cent my type on paper.’

  ‘And yet you have the worst luck with men. Doesn’t that tell you something?’

  ‘That my best friend’s pep talk skills seriously suck?’

  Mila raises an eyebrow. ‘Try again. . .’

  ‘That I’m unlucky in love and destined to be solo for the rest of my life?’ I rub my eyes. ‘Urgh, I’m annoyed with myself for even saying tha
t last sentence out loud. I sound pathetic. Boys aren’t the be-all and end-all, are they? But I could tell myself that one thousand times and it still wouldn’t change the fact that I’d like someone to share things with. Like box sets and city breaks and the left side of my bed.’

  ‘And as it stands you’ll end up sharing all of those things with an utter knob-end,’ tuts Mila. ‘You always go for guys who are “your type on paper”. And guess what? They either turn out to be cocks or you reject them for something petty because it’s not part of your “fit”, like that guy you dumped because you thought he looked better in skinny jeans than you. Do you know what? Your type on paper sucks.’

  ‘It’s alright for you,’ I say, peering into the bottom of my empty glass. ‘You and Mike are solid as a rock. You’ve been together for two years now and I can’t even get past two chuffing months.’

  ‘Never mind me and Mike. This is about you and your happiness. How many times have we been in this exact situation? You come over after things have gone spectacularly wrong with the latest man in your life. We drink gin. I have our chicken order saved to favourites on my phone, FFS.’

  I ponder this for a bit. ‘Maybe we could try vodka and burgers next time?’

  Exasperated, Mila starts shaking me by the shoulders. ‘GIN AND CHICKENS AREN’T THE PROBLEM HERE! It’s the type of guy you go for. Let’s take a look at the evidence, shall we? You’ve just been dumped on one of London’s most famous landmarks. Seriously Jas, who does that? A buffoon, that’s who. Not someone you should want to be with. And pre-James, there was Zach, right?’

  I wince.

  ‘What happened with Zach?’

  ‘I hate to be rude but I was kind of hoping for some sympathy tonight. You dredging up my past dating failures really isn’t making me feel any better.’

  ‘And where is sympathy getting you? Absolutely nowhere, babes. You need some tough love.’

  Mila is Awful.

  ‘Fine. Zach and I had been dating for about six weeks when I mentioned my thing for city breaks and he seemed up for it, so I organised a trip to Reykjavik. I was about to pay for the flights when I called him to check his passport number. His phone rang out which was weird because he always had it on him. I tried again later and got his answerphone. Then he stopped reading my messages, he didn’t show up for drinks that night, he stopped liking my Instagrams. . .’