The Single Girl’s To-Do List

by Lindsey Kelk

  ‘Obviously,’ she muttered, clearly regretting her magnanimous moment. ‘I’ll email you.’

  ‘Thanks so much,’ I said, dragging my half-zipped case out behind me on one wheel. I just had to get out of there. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was going to do but I had to leave. But of course, for that to happen, the universe would have to be on my side in some small way. I had just made it out of the car park, and was hiding beneath a staircase waiting for a cab, when I spotted Dan stomping up the road, clutching a packet of Monster Munch with a face like thunder.

  ‘What are you doing?’ He pointed to my case with his non-pickled onion-y finger. ‘We’re not even nearly done and you’ve got some serious apologizing to do before she’ll even come back out of the bog.’

  ‘I’m really sorry but I have to go.’ I clutched my phone tightly. Could an iPhone double up as a weapon? I had a feeling there wasn’t a bludgeoning app. ‘I can’t do this.’

  ‘Rachel, you’re working,’ Dan explained slowly. ‘You can’t just leave. Remember? You make the model look pretty, then I take the photos and then we all get paid.’

  ‘I found a replacement,’ I said, ignoring his hilarious tone. ‘She’s got my directions, she’s fine. You’ll be fine.’

  ‘This morning you said you were fine,’ he countered, still not happy. ‘And now you’re screaming at supermodels. I can’t believe you’re being so unprofessional.’

  Which was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Stupid camel.

  ‘Shut up.’ I felt hot tears pouring madly down my face from nowhere. ‘I turned up today, I did my best and I fucked up, I know, but I’ve sorted it out, OK? Just let me go home, you arsehole. I can’t be here right now.’

  ‘Thank god you’re going,’ Dan shouted as I pushed past him to the shiny black people-carrier that was pulling up on the pavement. ‘Seriously, I don’t want you on my set in this state. Sort yourself out, woman.’

  I turned to stare at him, open-mouthed. This was a new height of dickishness, even for him. ‘Oh my god, you absolute bastard.’ I marched over, yanked the bag of Monster Munch out of his hand and stomped on it with what I hoped was a defiant and not-at-all crazy stare. Before I could deliver what would doubtlessly have been an epic one-liner, he reached out and pushed my hair back from my face.

  ‘Did he hit you?’ he said, touching my cheek.

  ‘What?’ I couldn’t help but be a bit confused. Did who hit me? Why was he touching me? Why was my cheekbone tingling?

  ‘You have a black eye. Did he hit you?’ He let go of my face and made fists with both hands. Very manly. ‘Your ex?’

  If it was at all possible, Dan looked even angrier than he had before I trod on his Monster Munch. I just wished I’d stolen them to eat in the car. My stomach was screaming out for a tasty corn snack.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I was very, very concerned that Dan had gone insane, until I went to wipe wet face and came away with a handful of Touche Éclat. Ah. Black eye.

  ‘No one hit me.’ I had been trying so hard not to touch my make-up, I’d completely forgotten about the actual injury. Apparently YSL was not waterproof. Which you’d think I’d know. ‘I’m a moron. I hit myself. With a bag.’

  Dan eyed me suspiciously for another moment. ‘That does sound like something you would do,’ he relented. ‘But, you can’t just fucking leave. Just have a minute and we’ll get this done as soon as, then you and I will go to the pub and get hammered and,’ he reached out and took hold of my hand, ‘we’ll talk.’

  ‘I told you, I got a replacement.’ I shook him off and pushed my case into the back seat of the taxi. ‘I don’t need to get hammered, I just need some sleep and I’ll be fine tomorrow.’

  ‘Rachel, you can’t go.’ He grabbed hold of the car door as I threw myself in after my case. ‘I mean, if you go now, I don’t want you on my set tomorrow.’

  ‘All right Dan, can we crack on?’ Tina hung out the door and pouted. ‘I don’t know how much longer I can talk about The Hills with this brainless tart.’

  I shook my head at the speed of Ana’s recovery.

  ‘That’s your replacement?’ He didn’t even turn around to look at her. ‘Myra Hindley?’

  I was fairly certain he was just making a very unfortunate reference to her hairdo so I ignored him.

  ‘Did she tell you about her dead dog?’ I could see Tina was trying to look sympathetic, but she was wearing so much make-up, she just sort of looked like a sad tranny.

  ‘Get out of the car,’ Dan demanded, kicking the bumper with his Adidas Sambas.

  ‘I’m sorry, I won’t do this again.’ I could feel the tears threatening again. I wasn’t sure if it was the hangover, the humiliation or Tina’s face, but I had to leave. ‘I’ll be back in the morning.’

  ‘No, you won’t, because you’re off my set.’ Dan slammed the door shut. ‘You’re fired.’

  ‘What?’ I spluttered out the window. ‘You can’t fire me.’

  ‘All right, maybe I can’t fire you, but I can throw you off my fucking set. Now do you mind, me and Andy Warhol here are going to be busy correcting your mistakes.’ He turned and vanished back inside, Tina giving me a thumbs-up and following.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘That arsehole.’ My mum dropped a slightly floppy slice of Pollo ad Astra pizza back onto the plate and stared at me, mouth hanging wide open. ‘Why didn’t you ring me?’

  My mother and I had a standing Monday evening dinner date at Pizza Express. We varied location to mix it up a bit but, like her daughter, Sarah Summers was a creature of habit. On the odd occasion, we’d have company, Simon, Emelie or Matthew usually. If it was a blue moon, my brother might come too and, given my circumstances, he had promised he’d come along this evening. We’d been there for an hour. No sign of him.

  ‘Because you would have called him an arsehole and then spent the next three hours telling me how you always knew he wasn’t the one for me and how this would just be the universe’s way of making room for my soul mate,’ I said, dunking a dough ball in garlic butter. Really, there were times when Pizza Express was all you needed in life. I’d picked the relatively swanky Kentish Town restaurant to try and make it feel like a slightly classier occasion. It wasn’t really working.

  ‘I would not,’ Mum denied vehemently, still not ready to tackle her posh chicken pizza.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I may, may, have suggested that everything happens for a reason,’ she relented. ‘And actually, I know you’re going to tell me to shut up, but your Saturn return is due to start very soon so this does make a lot of sense. Clearing the decks, presenting you with the problems you need to solve. Saturn always brings important life lessons.’

  I was always being told how I was the double of my mum – and it was true. Or at least it was before my makeover. We had the same blonde hair, the same blue eyes, and I’d inherited her short stature, small boobs and dry sense of humour. What hadn’t been passed down was her inexhaustible ability to believe the best in people. She and my dad had met as teenagers, fallen hopelessly in love, married within months, knocked out me and my brother and then, after fifteen years of heart-warming bliss, my dad met a new soul mate – his secretary – and sodded off to start a new family. Five years later, he did it again. In two weeks, he’d be on to ‘The One’ version 4.0. Despite this, Mum remained the eternal optimist and they were still best friends. Seriously, he regularly popped round for a cup of tea and, on occasion, she had been known to babysit my step-siblings. It was too weird for me but they seemed pretty happy with the arrangement. Didn’t mean she wasn’t completely mentally imbalanced though. Once upon a time, my mum was just a generally chipper person. Then she started saying things like ‘everything happens for a reason’, followed by ‘the universe always gives you what you need as long as you are open to its energies’. For the last two years, she had moved onto the hard stuff – astrology. It wasn’t a pretty addiction but my brother refused to be involved in the interventi
on. I had explained that his ‘whatever makes her happy’ rationale would only lead her onto worse things – Tarot cards, Ouija boards, psychics – astrology was clearly a gateway drug.

  ‘He was always going to be a problem though, you knew that,’ she said after a couple minutes of silence/me ignoring her last comment.

  ‘I did?’

  I did?

  ‘Don’t you remember when I did your charts? You being a Virgo and him a Scorpio, it was never going to work out. Opposite ends of the spectrum: nightmare.’ She tucked back into her pizza, much happier. It was the astrological equivalent of ‘I told you so’.

  ‘If we could knock off the Mystic Meg shit, that’d be fab,’ I said without really thinking.

  ‘Rachel Lulu Summers,’ Mum replied just as fast. ‘We don’t swear in restaurants.’

  My mother’s appalling taste in music meant that I had suffered for twenty-eight years. Literally a handful of people knew my middle name and two of them were dead. Natural causes, though: I hadn’t done anything dramatic.

  ‘It’s not a restaurant, it’s a Pizza Express,’ I sulked. I was a South Park T-shirt and pair of DMs away from reverting to my 15-year-old self. If I wasn’t careful, she was going to stop my pocket money. Or cry. Which I just couldn’t take.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, taking a deep breath. ‘I’m out of order. You’re right, it is for the best.’

  She faux-yawned and wiped at her eyes. In case I didn’t feel horrible enough.

  ‘And I won’t swear if you won’t use the “L” word.’ I pushed the plate of dough balls over to her. The most dramatic apology known to man.

  ‘So you’re all right then?’ she asked, giving her nose a scratch. ‘I know you’ve got Emelie and Matthew and whatever, but you don’t have to pretend with me.’

  ‘I’m not all right,’ I admitted quietly. ‘And it’s the first time I haven’t been, which is why it’s horrible. But I will be. Got to be, haven’t I?’

  ‘I don’t know where you get that attitude from,’ Mum marvelled, sitting back in her seat and smiling. ‘You’ve always been so rational. So level-headed.’

  ‘Your stellar parenting, I’m sure,’ I smiled back, nabbing one of the dough balls.

  ‘I’m sure.’ She raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I thought I was the sarcastic one.’ I chased the dough ball with a bite of her pizza. I always got the worst food envy.

  ‘Everything I know I learned from you,’ she promised. ‘But seriously, it’s definitely over? With Simon?’

  ‘Definitely definitely.’ I looked around the room at all the happy couples enjoying their mid-priced Monday-night pizza extravaganza. Bastards. ‘I mean, he’s gone. He left a note. We talked yesterday.’

  My mum really didn’t need to know about our pre-note activities. If only because she’d probably hunt Simon down and kill him like a dog. Which might be fun but I’d hate to have to go and visit her in prison. They were always in the middle of nowhere.

  ‘I just can’t believe he’d be so heartless.’ She shook her head, tight blonde pixie crop shimmering under the overhead lighting. ‘But you know Scorpios, emotionally detached. Cold.’

  ‘Mother.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  I stared at the last dough ball until Mum sighed and pushed the plate back over to my side of the table. ‘I don’t know why you bother ordering anything else. You haven’t touched your salad.’ She pointed with her fork. Manners. ‘You are eating, aren’t you?’

  ‘I am,’ I said, actually trying to think when I’d last consumed solid food. That wasn’t pizza. ‘Matthew and Emelie are taking care of me. They’re not going to let me starve or fall asleep in the bath or do anything silly.’

  ‘Yeah, I can see that with the hair,’ she replied, spearing a giant piece of tuna from my plate. ‘I can’t believe you did that to yourself.’

  ‘You don’t like it?’ I modelled my new bob, flourishing my hands for full effect. ‘It’s been a bit of a hit with everyone else.’

  ‘Well obviously it looks lovely,’ Mum backtracked. ‘I meant I’m not convinced they’re going to stop you from doing something stupid. As evidenced by the fact that you just told me you hacked your own hair off with kitchen scissors. Your lovely hair.’ She sighed loudly and took a moment’s silence for my butchered mullet.

  ‘First-aid scissors,’ I corrected. ‘And it’s fine. It’s on my list.’

  ‘You and your silly life.’ She looked lovingly across the table. For one silly minute, I thought it was at me.

  ‘Get into an argument with your hairdresser?’ I felt a hard slap on the back of my head. ‘Or are they retraining Freddie Krueger? Care in the community or something?’

  ‘Paul,’ I greeted my brother with the enthusiasm he deserved. Given that he was ninety-seven minutes late.

  ‘All right Mum?’ He ducked down to give our beaming mother a kiss on the cheek. While Mum and I could stand in for Doc and Dopey if the panto was running out of dwarves, Paul was the opposite. He was massive, almost as tall as Matthew and, given that Matthew was practically a genetic freak, that was big. But his height was about the only thing he’d got from our dad. Two sets of bright blue eyes looked at me from across the table now, and Paul’s blond crop was almost the same style as our mum’s. Which was a bit weird actually.

  ‘So, she told you she’s been dumped?’ Paul picked up a fork and started on my salad. And Mum’s pizza. At the same time.

  ‘Paul, try and be a bit more sensitive to your sister.’ Mum slapped his arm and tried not to smile. I tried not to point out that she hadn’t told him not to swear in the restaurant. I also tried to remember I wasn’t 15. ‘She’s had her heart broken.’

  ‘Yeah Paul, I’ve had my heart broken,’ I parroted, taking my salad back, even though I didn’t want it. I had sharing issues with him, dating back to a LEGO incident in 1989. ‘Piss off.’

  ‘Language, Rachel.’

  ‘Yeah, language, Rachel.’

  The last time I’d laid eyes on Paul he was knocking Simon on his arse outside The Phoenix but despite that Neanderthal display of brotherly love, he was clearly not giving an inch tonight.

  ‘So how’s your young lady?’ Mum asked politely, signalling the waiter so Paul could order a drink. Young lady was code for ‘that girl whose voice I heard in the background the last time I called you and I can’t remember her name probably because you didn’t know it’. ‘Well?’

  ‘Uh, fine,’ Paul evaded the question and stretched with a yawn. ‘I’m knackered. Work’s been a bitch lately.’

  ‘You work in a shop selling skateboards,’ I said flatly. ‘And said shop doesn’t open until midday. How are you knackered?’

  ‘Busy time of year?’ He gave a waitress a grin as she delivered his beer. It was horrifying to watch him in action. Until he was 21, Paul had been a skinny runt of a boy, obsessed with computer games and Lord of the Rings. Then something terrible had happened to him – the combination of a pneumatic blonde called Theresa and some late-blooming testosterone. For the last ten years, he’d been burning through girls faster than he’d read the Harry Potter books. Both activities that took place under cover of darkness, in his bedroom and away from prying eyes.

  ‘Hang on, I need to answer this,’ Mum pulled a buzzing mobile out of her handbag and waved it at us. ‘I’ve applied to go on this goddess workshop in Glastonbury this weekend. I think this is the head of the coven.’

  ‘The coven?’ I repeated loudly and not with love. Paul kicked me under the table and shook his head, but Mum hadn’t even noticed. She was too busy running for the door, the phone to one ear, her hand pressed against the other.

  ‘The coven?’ I hissed at my brother. ‘Seriously? And you don’t think she’s going too far with it?’

  ‘You are so hard on her,’ he said between mouthfuls of tuna. ‘I don’t know why you can’t just let her do what makes her happy.’

  ‘Because she’s not really happy, it’s a distraction,’ I replied. ‘How c
an she be happy on her own, still convinced that Dad’s going to wake up one day and be like, “ooh, I think I might actually still be in love with Sarah, goodbye current wife”.’

  ‘You say it like it would be the most random thing he’s ever done,’ Paul deadpanned.

  ‘Touché,’ I said, turning my glass of wine thoughtfully. ‘But I just wish she would find somebody. I hate her being on her own.’

  ‘Maybe she doesn’t want to be with somebody. Some people don’t,’ he replied. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘You’re always with someone,’ I argued. ‘I’ve never ever known you without a girl.’

  ‘Not the same,’ he said, still eyeing up the waitress. ‘I like having someone around, yeah, but I’m not knocking myself out to get married. I have fun and when it stops being fun, we’re done.’

  ‘And you wonder why I won’t let you go out with Emelie,’ I said, looking him hard in the eye.

  ‘Who’s to say I wouldn’t feel differently about her?’ He was enjoying this far too much.

  ‘I so don’t understand why someone wouldn’t want to be in a relationship. Isn’t it better to have one person to share your life with? To be there at the end of the day?’ I leaned over the table and nicked a cherry tomato back. ‘Someone who puts you first?’

  ‘I put me first,’ Paul said. ‘And there’s always someone there when I need them.’

  ‘Yeah, I don’t mean the first lucky girl to answer your “who wants a shag?” text on a Friday night.’ I pulled a face when he laughed.

  ‘It’s not always a Friday but they are lucky. A quality collection of London’s finest ladies, handpicked for their high IQs, conversational abilities and readiness to turn up at mine at one a.m.’

  ‘You are disgusting, you know that don’t you?’ I took my salad back. Maturity be damned.

  ‘Whatever,’ he said, grabbing the remains of Mum’s pizza. ‘I’m just saying, not everyone wants to be you. Not everyone needs a boyfriend or girlfriend to be happy. We’re not all after two-point-four children and a semi in the suburbs.’