The Single Girl’s To-Do List

by Lindsey Kelk

  ‘I like having a boyfriend,’ I said defensively. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’

  ‘And there’s nothing wrong with Mum wanting to be on her own.’ Paul finished the pizza and wiped his hands on his jeans. ‘And there’s nothing wrong with me playing the field until I decide otherwise.’

  ‘As long as you’re not playing the field with my best friend, I don’t care.’ I handed him a napkin. ‘It’s this whole “I hang around until it’s not fun” attitude. That’s not how relationships work, you know.’

  Paul shook his head and tore his eyes away from the waitress for a moment. It looked as if he was about to give me the benefit of his extra years of dating wisdom. Or burp.

  ‘I get it, I do. We haven’t got the best parental role models as far as relationships go, but you can’t go around telling everyone you’re right and they’re wrong just because you don’t want to be on your own.’

  ‘You make me sound like a monogamy nazi,’ I complained. There was no way he was going to Psych 101 me on this. Just because I didn’t like the idea of casual dating didn’t mean I was a complete mental.

  ‘Your walk does have a touch of goose step to it,’ he said, standing up. ‘At least she’s not on her fourth wedding. Are you going?’

  ‘I’ve got to, haven’t I? You’re not going to bail?’

  ‘No, I’m going.’ He looked as though he’d been caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. ‘You haven’t talked to Emelie?’

  ‘Of course I’ve talked to Emelie?’ I narrowed my eyes. ‘Since when do you talk to Emelie?’

  ‘Just the other night.’ He waved off my glare. ‘After I’d punched your boyfriend in the face, we were talking.’

  ‘No, that’s fine.’ Mum wandered back up to the table and absently stroked my head as she sat down, knocking half my hair down. ‘Yes, tomorrow. Blessed be.’

  Blessed bloody be.

  I necked my wine and then smiled as genuinely as I could. Which probably wasn’t very.

  ‘Anything you want to say?’ Mum asked.

  ‘Paul ate all your pizza.’

  ‘Rachel thinks you need a boyfriend.’

  ‘Children,’ my mum sighed, rubbing her forehead. ‘I should have just had cats.’

  ‘Couldn’t agree more,’ Paul raised his glass.

  ‘Or at least stopped at one,’ I replied. ‘Definitely just stopped at one.’

  After Paul had finished eating everyone else’s dessert and I’d spent a thrilling twenty minutes on the 214, trying to avoid making eye contact with a scary-looking tramp obsessed with singing the entire score of The Little Mermaid, I arrived home to an empty flat. A Post-it from Emelie explained she’d had to go home to pick up some stuff she needed for work and that she’d be back late. An overly complicated note from Matthew told me he needed to pop home to do something but to call if I needed him, which I assumed meant he had a date and didn’t know how to tell me. Well, I had to be home alone sooner or later.

  Sitting on the sofa, staring at the blank TV screen, my brain immediately started flitting around. I wondered what Simon was doing, how I was going to pay the mortgage on my own, when I was supposed to start my next job, why I still hadn’t bought Matthew a birthday card for Saturday. There was only one way to shut myself up when my brain started messing around like this. Picking my handbag up from the floor where I’d dropped it, I fished around for my notebook. A list would help. I had so much to do. Except, well, I didn’t. Without a boyfriend to look after, there really wasn’t anything that had to be done – besides my to-do list.

  Feeling one of Emelie’s promised horrible lows coming on, along with an almost overwhelming urge to call Simon and beg him to come back to me, I picked up my phone. My hair couldn’t take another funny turn. And he had said to call if I needed him.

  ‘What’s up?’ Matthew answered on the first ring.

  ‘My mother’s a witch and my brother’s an arsehole.’

  ‘That’s a terrible thing to say about your mother.’

  ‘She’s joining a coven,’ I said, holding the list up in front of me. I was literally itching to put a line through something. ‘I got fired today.’

  ‘Did you finally punch Dan?’

  ‘I called the model a vacuous oversexed cow,’ I yawned.

  ‘Is she?’ I heard some skittering around in the background, hushed words not meant for me.

  ‘Yes, but that’s not the point,’ I replied. ‘I’m blaming my hair. It makes me do things I would never do. Is someone there? Is this a bad time?’

  ‘Yes but no, I can talk.’ He clearly didn’t want to go into more detail than that so I let it go. ‘And you’re missing a vital fact here. You did do them. Maybe you’ve always been a redhead at heart. Have you done anything on the list today?’

  ‘No,’ I admitted. ‘I really wanted to, but what with work and dinner with my mum, today just sort of got away from me.’

  ‘It’s not too late: go out and rob an off-licence,’ he half joked. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yeah, I thought I might do some online shopping or something.’ I pulled my laptop out and rested it on my belly. ‘I still need a dress for my dad’s wedding. Because I need all the dresses now. And, you know, actual clothes.’

  ‘You did get a bit brutal on the clear-out,’ he replied. ‘Women have got the internet all wrong, though. You know it’s really only there for porn, don’t you?’

  ‘And for ex-boyfriends to humiliate you in an international public forum.’

  ‘And for that,’ he admitted. ‘You haven’t been stalking him, have you? Take it from an expert, it’s really not worth it.’

  In the first few post-break-up weeks, Matthew hadn’t taken his eyes off his phone. He was constantly checking for status updates, new photos, comments on friends’ notes. Anything that would give him a clue as to what was happening in Stephen’s life now that he was no longer a part of it. It was like cyber self-harm. And only now could I completely understand the draw.

  ‘You know what we could do.’ I opened Facebook, hovered over the search box and then began typing in a name. ‘We could stalk my first crush instead.’

  ‘Oh, we could.’ Matthew suddenly sounded animated on the other end of the line. ‘That would be fun and nonviolent.’

  ‘I was sixteen,’ I reminisced. ‘His name was Ethan, he was gorgeous and I was completely obsessed with him. It was all very late Nineties David Beckham. He was the trumpet player in this summer orchestra thing I went to.’

  ‘You were in an orchestra?’ I could hear him trying not to giggle. I hoped it was at me and not as a re action to anything else that might be happening in his flat. ‘What did you play?’

  ‘Violin. Badly.’

  ‘Did that put Ethan off?’

  ‘I can’t imagine it helped. I sounded like I was trying to abuse a guinea pig. I’m not musically gifted.’

  ‘I know, I’ve heard you sing.’ Matthew yawned again. ‘So tell me all about Ethan. I’m determined to get you giddy about boys again.’

  ‘I’m going to get giddy over someone I haven’t seen in twelve years?’

  ‘Can’t hurt, can it? Little bit of catching up, maybe some online flirting. This is what Facebook is for.’

  ‘I thought it was for your boyfriend to let the entire world know you’re a used-up old hag who he wouldn’t spit on even if you were on fire.’

  ‘What’s his surname?’

  ‘Harrison, Ethan Harrison.’ I tapped his name into the little box at the top of the page. ‘He was blond. And gorgeous.’

  ‘Like me.’

  I let that one sit for a moment.

  ‘Did you kiss him? Did he touch you up behind the bike sheds?’

  ‘Sadly not.’ I refused to look at the numbers racking up underneath my shopping cart. ‘He wasn’t interested, I think he thought I was a boy. I did look a bit like a boy, to be fair. It was all very traumatic, lots of longing looks through the music stand, scribbling his name inside my composition books.’


  ‘I’ve got about seventy-five thousand Ethan Harrisons,’ Matthew complained. ‘Can we narrow this down a bit?’

  ‘Yep,’ I nodded, looking at the same search page. ‘He went to a different school to do his A levels and then I heard he’d moved to Canada with his family, so try that maybe? I must have cried for about a month after he left, just lay in my room listening to “Eternal Flame” on a loop.’

  ‘Mine was Ryan Smith,’ Matthew replied. ‘He was such a thug. I’ve never been able to listen to “My Heart Will Go On” since. What a heartbreaker. Are you still looking?’

  ‘Yes,’ I was down to five possibilities. This was actually quite exciting.

  ‘Well? Which one is he?’

  ‘He’s the beautiful one,’ I said, clicking on a photo of my schoolgirl crush, all grown up. ‘He’s the really, really hot one. Dark blond hair, Labrador in the background, father of my future children.’

  ‘You had good taste as a teenager,’ he whistled down the phone. ‘He is hot. And I never agree with you on boys.

  ‘What do I do?’ I was actually stroking the screen. ‘What do I do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Matthew admitted. ‘If you were gay, you’d just send him an obscene photo and hope he sends one back.’

  ‘You’re such a cliché.’ I refused to let him sully this moment with the love of my life. ‘But since I can’t whizz off a picture of my genitals, what should I do?’

  ‘Cold shower and bed?’ Not a bad suggestion given the circumstances. This was when I realized the more open-to-interpretation items of the to-do list were going to be dissatisfying. Objectives should always be clearly defined.

  ‘Do I message him?’ I couldn’t get anything out of his profile other than this single pic, but already I’d painted an entire life for him. The photo was just him and the dog, so I’d decided he was definitely single and the dog meant he was loving and outdoorsy. I could be outdoorsy. If I put my mind to it. The shorts and T-shirt combo didn’t give a lot away and he’d cut his hair, which was fair, given that curtains weren’t really a big trend in the twenty-first century. Thank god. But his eyes were the same. His smile was the same. I suddenly had a very strong urge to start doodling Rachel 4 Ethan and listening to ‘Hit Me Baby (One More Time)’. Not that I’d bought that single. Or subsequent album. Cough.

  ‘Do you want to message him?’ Matthew asked.

  ‘I want to marry him I replied.’

  ‘Maybe save that for the second message,’ Matthew advised.

  I was still filling in Ethan’s life story when I heard a key in the door. ‘Emelie’s home,’ I told him. ‘I’d better go and put the kettle on.’

  ‘I know when I’m not needed,’ he said. ‘Use me up then cast me aside as soon as your wife gets home.’

  ‘Oh, just go back to whatever sordid scenario you were working up to before I called,’ I cackled down the phone. ‘Bye Matthew. Bye nameless, faceless stranger.’

  ‘Quite, love to the wife.’ He hung up.

  I closed up my laptop and took out the napkin. I was going to have to be careful with it – only two days old and it was already looking a little fragile. But then, it was only two days old and I had already completed two of the tasks. My transformation was well under way and I had found my first crush.

  ‘Em?’ I shouted from the sofa. ‘What are you doing in the morning?’

  ‘Sleeping,’ she said, clutching the doorframe as though she was about to collapse. ‘I had to go to that Kitty Kitty meeting this afternoon. Honestly, I thought I was going to die. Pretty sure I would have approved Kitty Kitty branded nukes today if they’d painted them Pantone 264 and stuck a cat on them. You?’

  ‘I called a supermodel a vacuous oversexed cow and got kicked off the set,’ I said, twisting around to see her properly.

  ‘Fine,’ she turned around and disappeared into the spare room. ‘You win.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘I can’t believe we’re doing this,’ Emelie groaned, her head between her knees as she stretched out in Regent’s Park. ‘Exercising is on your to-do list, not mine.’

  ‘You’re being supportive,’ I reminded her. ‘And besides, I said I’d come to your crappy charity do with you tomorrow night so shut up and run.’

  ‘It’s not even nine a.m., you torturous mare.’ She pulled an incredibly unattractive face and then set off ahead of me. ‘Why running? Why not something nice and relaxing like yoga?’

  ‘Do you recall when we destroyed my excellent credit rating inside two hours on Sunday?’ I reminded her. ‘When the lovely man in Topshop had to call my bank to confirm it was in fact me who was determined to bankrupt myself in such a short space of time?’

  ‘I have never been so proud of you,’ she nodded.

  ‘Well, be proud of the fact that I already owned trainers and this doesn’t cost us anything.’

  She twisted her head from side to side. ‘Fair enough.’

  I hadn’t been enthralled by the idea of running, but the list had to be obeyed and it was the only exercise that didn’t involve exorbitant expenditure or swimsuits. And, as it turned out, an early run through Regent’s Park was lovely. Generally speaking, I was not a morning person. Or an athletic person. But this was just lovely. All of London laid out around us, waking up to another beautiful summer’s day. It was amazing; we’d had more than three in a row. Still, it was forecast to piss it down all next week, my mum had rung to tell me. The BBC and her shaman had both told her so. No Rachel, I told myself, now is not the time to think about whether or not your mother is going to end up working the mines of a Temple-of-Doom-style cult. Now was the time to concentrate on the new you. On your wonderful run. Shake off the cobwebs, get the blood pumping. The park really was beautiful: trees, grass, the odd friendly dog walker to say hello to on the way. Brilliant. This was how every day should start. In fact, I decided, this was exactly how every day would start from now on. The new me was a runner. A redheaded runner who didn’t take shit from anyone and had filthy dreams about doing it with Ethan Harrison in the music room.

  ‘So my brother said something a bit random last night.’ I ran a little faster to catch up to Em. Damn her ever-so-slightly longer legs and considerable fitness levels. ‘We were talking about my dad’s wedding and he asked if I’d spoken to you about it.’

  ‘Weird,’ she replied, stepping up the pace a little. Running was fun. Well, maybe not fun but still. ‘Maybe he thought you had forgotten about it and I would have to remind you.’

  ‘Maybe.’ I was starting to pant a little bit. Good, feel the burn and all that. ‘I just thought maybe you’d talked about it on Friday night.’

  ‘Well, that would make more sense, wouldn’t it?’ She stared straight ahead, her face hidden behind her giant swinging ponytail. ‘Because you’re hardly likely to forget your dad’s wedding, are you?’

  ‘Why are you being weird?’ Ooh, bit of stitch there. Not to worry, run it off.

  ‘I’m not being weird,’ she said, sprinting off even faster. ‘Shut up and run.’

  ‘Then why is your voice so high that the dog over there is covering his ears?’ My calves were burning but I was not giving up. Not on the running or on what was going on between Emelie and my brother.

  ‘It’s nothing.’ Em slowed down a little bit until we were shoulder to shoulder. ‘Paul just suggested that I come to the wedding to keep you company.’

  ‘To keep me company?’

  ‘Uh, yes.’

  ‘And did he extend this gracious invitation to Matthew as well?’

  ‘Uh, no.’

  I jogged slowly on in silence for a few minutes, my muscles starting to loosen up. Em slowed down and trotted along behind me, saying nothing.

  ‘And what did you say?’ I asked once we’d been overtaken by a couple of pensioners. Not embarrassing at all.

  ‘I said I would go,’ she said quietly.

  ‘And in what capacity exactly would you be attending?’ I focused on the path in front o
f me. The muscles that had been loosening up were feeling really rather tight all of a sudden. That was normal, wasn’t it?

  ‘As Paul’s date,’ she replied. ‘He hadn’t got round to asking anyone yet so I said I’d go.’

  I wasn’t sure if it was the sudden sick feeling in the pit of my stomach or the agonizing cramp that got me first but, before I knew it, I was on my arse at the side of the footpath, making some very unattractive noises and gripping my bulging calf. That part, at least, was probably the cramp.

  ‘Oh shit.’ Em was on her knees in a heartbeat. ‘Rub your calf. It’s just lactic acid, you must not have warmed up properly.’

  ‘You’re actually going to my dad’s wedding with my brother?’ I asked, tears streaming down my face. ‘Despite, well, despite having met him more than once?’

  ‘I won’t if you don’t want me to,’ she covered her face with her hands. ‘I just wasn’t thinking. It was after the whole Simon thing and he asked and I said yes and then I didn’t know how to tell you and … you know I’m an idiot. And that I sort of like him and I never like anyone and I know it’s awful because it’s Paul but still, I … I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘He’s my little brother,’ I wailed. ‘He’s disgusting.’

  ‘I know,’ she wailed back. ‘I’ll cancel.’

  As the pain in my calf started to subside, I looked up at my best friend. She looked gutted. But my brother was such an arsehole. Why was the universe testing me? Wasn’t it enough that my boyfriend had declared me boring and discarded me after one lacklustre shag and taken my toothpaste, without my brother stealing away my best friend? I lay back on the grass, narrowly avoiding a dog turd, hidden carefully from view. Ew. Maybe running wasn’t that lovely. I sat up, shook my head. They were both grown-ups. I couldn’t tell her not to go out with him. Jesus, as if this wedding wasn’t already going to be the shit show of the century, now I was going to have to watch my brother paw my best friend all day long. Aunt Beverley was going to love this.

  ‘Don’t bloody cancel,’ I sulked. ‘I just can’t believe you’ve got a date for my own dad’s wedding and I haven’t. And don’t you dare say ask Matthew because that’s just sad.’