The Single Girl’s To-Do List

by Lindsey Kelk

  Em, on the other hand, did not look elegant. She looked stunning. Her red strapless gown clung to her curves like it had been made for her and the skirt fell all the way to the floor in a cascade of delicate pleats. Every time she moved, it moved with her, a deep slash in the front of the skirt revealing yards of leg right up to her thigh. A slash of MAC Russian Red lipstick lit up her entire face and she’d somehow managed to tame her curls into Veronica Lake-style waves. It was ridiculous. If it hadn’t been woefully inadequate, I’d have said she looked like Julia Roberts going to the opera in Pretty Woman, except she was twice as beautiful and somehow managed to give the impression that she’d be better in bed than a pro. It was quite impressive.

  The owner of the winning lighter held his arm out to Emelie. ‘Let me get you that drink,’ he beamed like a lottery winner. His friends accepted defeat, looked at each other for a moment before one of them held his arm out to me.

  ‘Charmed,’ I muttered, taking him up on his offer. Whether he liked it or not.

  Within five minutes of sailing through the doors of the hotel ballroom, Emelie and I had lost our escorts and were merrily quaffing champagne at the free bar.

  ‘This is amazing,’ I said, staring around with wide eyes. ‘How do you not come to these things every night?’

  ‘They’re usually really boring.’ She accepted a questionable-looking canapé from a very handsome waiter. ‘But we should do this more often, girls’ night out. You’re not that likely to meet the love of your life in a dark room in Vauxhall.’

  ‘Don’t,’ I shuddered. First and last time I ever went to Fire Nightclub with Matthew. Do not, I repeat, do not open the wrong door in that place. Terrifying.

  ‘I can’t remember the last time we did a girls only night.’ Em sipped from her champagne flute delicately. I tried not to chug. As much fun as this was, I still felt wildly out of place. The easiest cure for that, of course, was booze. I was pretty sure Shakespeare said something similar. Probably used more words though.

  ‘The last time we were out properly on a Saturday night was last Christmas.’ She smoothed down a stray strand of my hair and smiled. ‘At that thing with Matthew and Stephen.’

  ‘How is that even possible?’ I returned the favour and brushed a touch of loose eye shadow from underneath her eye. I was a perfectionist. ‘That’s months ago. And we’ve totally been to The Phoenix since then. Loads of times.’

  ‘Two hours in the basement of a pub once a month is not the same as “out”,’ she explained. ‘I’m not complaining, I know when you’re with someone you don’t want to be trekking around London in high heels when you could be at home watching The Inbetweeners with your boyfriend but, from an entirely selfish perspective, I’m really happy you’re here now. I’ve missed you.’

  I didn’t really like the picture Em was painting. Maybe I had abandoned her a little bit over the last few months. In days gone by, even when Simon and I first got together, we would be out round town more often than not but, once we’d bought the flat, I’d started to hibernate a little. Having her as a constant presence for the last few days had felt so natural. I’d totally taken our friendship for granted.

  ‘I’ve been so pathetic,’ I moaned. ‘Honestly, I don’t deserve you to be this awesome. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Shut up,’ she pulled me into a hug and brushed away my apologies. ‘I’m always here for you whenever you need me. And yeah, so we haven’t seen each other as much as we used to, but that’s what happens. You were always there for me when I needed you. That’s what matters.’

  ‘I’ve missed you too,’ I said with an awkward half-hug. ‘Time just got away from me. Now everything’s changed, I feel a bit like I’ve been sleepwalking the last couple of years. If I’d opened my eyes to the situation sooner, maybe I wouldn’t be here now.’

  ‘Hindsight is a fine thing.’ Emelie nodded towards two tuxedo-clad guys at the bar. ‘As is that. Blond or brunette, which do you want?’

  I considered the options. They were both attractive; the blond guy was chiselled, clean cut, tall. The darker-haired guy looked more like the Geography teacher everyone has a crush on in Year Eight.

  ‘Brunette.’ My mouth felt dry. My armpits felt sweaty. Perfect pick-up combo. ‘Remind me again what this is? In case it comes up?’

  ‘Charity thing; they’re always charity things,’ she hiccupped as she finished one glass of champagne and readily accepted a second. I really wanted to tell her to calm down; there was no way she was chucking up on the night bus looking like that. ‘I want to say children’s charity.’

  ‘You are a great philanthropist.’ I couldn’t help but stare at all the attractive men around us. Granted, they were in tuxedos and everyone alive looked hotter in a tuxedo. It was just a stone-cold fact. Just as the man coming up to us was a stone-cold fox. The blond.

  ‘Ladies.’ He nodded to us both but I knew before he even started which of us he had come to talk to. I wasn’t even offended. At this point, I was very close to adding ‘go gay with Emelie’ to the to-do list. ‘Would you like to dance?’

  Ever the good friend, Emelie looked to me for approval before accepting his arm and venturing towards the dance floor. I waited for the Geography teacher to make his move, but instead he held position a few feet away, staring somewhere off to the left of my ear. Oh god, what did I have to lose?

  ‘Hi,’ I held my hand out and prayed he would take it. After an incredibly uncomfortable couple of seconds, he did. ‘I’m Rachel.’

  ‘Asher.’ He didn’t quite smile but he didn’t turn and run either. ‘I’m sorry, I just really hate these things. Tim dragged me along; his wife is pregnant and she’s not feeling well and he didn’t want to come on his own and I hate wearing a suit and it’s been a really long day and … Well. Hmm. Quite.’

  Because it wouldn’t be enough for one of us to be socially awkward, would it? Nothing like a bit of verbal diarrhoea to get things off to a good start.

  ‘What do you do?’ I asked, watching married father-to-be Tim whisk my friend around the dance floor. Funny how he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring while he danced with the prettiest girl in the room.

  ‘I’m a yoga instructor.’ He sounded much more comfortable in familiar territory. ‘Tuxes aren’t my usual uniform.’

  ‘Suppose not,’ I gave him a supportive smile and tried not to imagine him in a downward dog. Champagne wasn’t good for me. ‘Where do you teach?’

  ‘Oh, all over London.’ He picked up a glass of champagne from the bar and knocked half of it back in one. Good boy. ‘Do you practise?’

  ‘I dabble.’ I’d been to one class, refused to accept that bending could be difficult and immediately put my back out. ‘I’m more of a runner.’

  I’d tell him that was a lie after he proposed.

  ‘You should come to one of my classes.’ He coloured up a little bit underneath his heavy glasses. I liked it. ‘One class and I promise I’ll convert you.’

  My brain told me to laugh girlishly and accept. Instead I made a sort of snorting noise, blushed from head to toe and sank an entire glass of champagne.

  ‘Could you excuse me for a moment?’ Asher backed away slowly. ‘Back in a minute.’

  Of course you will be. I watched him all but run towards the exit. Of course you will be.

  I managed almost an entire minute before I began to feel conspicuously alone on the edge of the dance floor. Rubbing my bare arms, I accepted a refill on my champagne and decided to take a turn around the room. My experience of balls was limited to the dances attended by Meg and Jo in Little Women and Jane Austen adaptations. They were always taking turns around the room. Not that this event could really compare; for starters there wasn’t a bustle in sight and I couldn’t see a Judi Dench anywhere.

  Following a sign for ‘silent auction’, I headed down a darkened hallway, my heels sinking into extraordinarily plush carpet. Since I’d already sank three free glasses of champagne and blagged a free ticket from one of the patro
ns, maybe I felt obliged to donate something somehow. Didn’t seem like it would be the kind of event where I could chuck a tenner in a bucket at the end of the night, and I was almost certain no one was walking around selling raffle tickets.

  The auction room was almost empty; just a few partygoers wandered around looking at the paintings and photographs on display, occasionally pausing to write on slips of paper and pop them into envelopes beside each work. I stopped in front of a black and white photograph. It was beautiful. A wide desert sky, clouded over, with someone kneeling in the lower left-hand corner, her face in the shadows. It was one of those moments where someone is caught completely off guard and isn’t trying to be anyone. It felt raw and honest and just very special. And according to the guide price, the charity was expecting to get five thousand pounds for it. No wonder it was a silent auction, I thought. That direction was presumably to stop me shouting ‘bloody hell, how much?’ out loud.

  ‘You like it?’

  I was so busy trying not to look shocked at the price of the photograph, I didn’t see him coming. And even if I had, there was no guarantee I would have recognized Dan in a tux in the first place. Wow. Never having seen him in anything other than jeans and T-shirts, the transformation was startling. The intense black fabric of his tux contrasted with the sharp white shirt, making his light tan glow, and the perfectly fitted formality of his outfit clashed against his slightly too long brown curly hair. He really was not a bad-looking man. Tall, broad, gorgeous dark brown eyes …

  ‘I love it.’ If anything was going to tear my attention off that picture, it was going to be him. Something winged and fluttery was happening in my stomach. But this was Dan, couldn’t possibly be butterflies, more likely killer moths. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘And good evening to you too,’ he replied. ‘I work with the charity. I’m assuming you’re here with Emelie?’

  ‘Yes?’ OK, so I’d been a bit rude, but really, he’d taken me by surprise. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Because I was the one who got her involved with the charity in the first place. I introduced her after your birthday party two years ago?’

  Blank stare.

  ‘At karaoke?’

  Blank stare.

  ‘Karaoke Box? Smithfield?’

  ‘Ohhh,’ the penny finally dropped. He really did have a good memory. ‘Well, it’s a great photo anyway.’

  ‘It’s one of my favourites.’ He handed me a small stiff card programme. Desert series number four, Daniel Fraser. It was his picture. ‘You were on the shoot, don’t you remember?’

  ‘Oh my god, I was.’ I took another look. Dan took this? ‘Morocco, isn’t it? What, four, five years ago?’

  ‘Four,’ he nodded. ‘You look beautiful by the way. I wasn’t sure it was you at first.’

  ‘Same.’ I wasn’t quite sure what to do. The last time we’d spoken, it was with raised voices. And then there was the terrible Monster Munch hate crime. Still felt bad about that. ‘So.’

  ‘So,’ he took my arm in his. ‘Walk?’

  This was the second time in two days I was positive someone was going to kill me. When I had a boyfriend, I could go weeks without fear of homicide, months even. I really hoped this was just teething trouble and not a regular part of singledom. We walked out of the gallery in silence, up a sweeping staircase and stopped once we reached a grand balcony, overlooking the ballroom. Phew, witnesses. I spotted Emelie in her red dress right away. I was so proud of her; she looked as if she was having the time of her life.

  ‘Should we be up here?’ I looked around nervously. I was pathologically terrified of Getting into Trouble and the balcony was all but pitch-black, only lit by the dance floor below. Didn’t seem like somewhere we should be.

  ‘Should you be here at all?’ Dan asked. Thankfully I could hear the hint of a smile in his voice. ‘Don’t actually remember seeing your name on the guest list.’

  ‘I’m Em’s date,’ I reminded him. ‘I was on there, just under my other name, plus one.’

  ‘So you’ll go gay to get into parties just to see me, but you can’t be arsed to stick around and finish a job?’

  I took that to assume he wasn’t mad at me any more.

  ‘I want to say sorry for Monday.’ Deep breath, genuine-sounding apology, beg him to take me to Sydney with him, go and get more champagne. You can do this, Summers. ‘Everything went a bit blank. She opened her mouth and I just saw red.’

  ‘So I see.’ He responded by taking a strand of my hair and running his fingers along to the end. As it dropped back onto my neck, a shiver ran down my spine and all the way back up again. ‘Did the red hair make you crazy or did the crazy lead to the hair?’

  ‘The list led to the hair.’ I mentally slapped myself around the face. Dan Fraser did not make me tingly. Dan Fraser made models and morons tingly and I was neither. Most of the time. ‘As you’ve probably noticed, I can’t be trusted to take care of myself, so Em and Matthew have made me this list to … oh god, it sounds so stupid saying it out loud.’

  He turned around to rest his back on the banister and gave me his best Roger Moore eyebrow. It worked well with the tux.

  ‘It’s a list of things to do to help me deal with the whole being single thing,’ I confessed before I could stop myself. So that was how James Bond got so many women. It was all in the tux.

  ‘Explain please.’

  This was fine. I would let him take the piss for five minutes and then he would agree to get me on the Sydney job and then it would all be worth it. Dignity was overrated anyway.

  ‘I’ve never really done the single gal about town thing.’ I examined my rush-job manicure while I spoke and resisted the urge to start peeling. ‘I didn’t really know what to do when Simon, well, when Simon dumped me.’ It was still bloody difficult to say. ‘And I’m always writing lists for whatever and so, the single girl’s to-do list was born.’

  ‘And what is on this miraculous list?’ he enquired. At least he wasn’t laughing. ‘Apart from drastic hair alterations and getting fired?’

  ‘Getting fired wasn’t on there actually.’ I pulled the list out of my tiny beaded evening bag. I didn’t imagine for a second I’d need it but my OCD had developed a new symptom that apparently required me to carry it with me everywhere. It was my very small, very delicate, very close to disintegrating blankie. ‘See? Makeover, exercise, bungee jump – or similar, tattoo, date for my dad’s wedding, buy something obscenely expensive and selfish, write a letter to your ex, find your first crush and break the law.’

  He took the napkin from my hand and studied it for a moment. A long moment in which my heart almost stopped. Then he handed it back.

  ‘You’re going to do a bungee jump?’ Dan did not look convinced.

  Or die.

  ‘Or similar.’

  I stashed the list safely away, looked back at Bond and prepared to start begging.

  ‘So I was talking to Veronica and she said you were going to Sydney,’ I began.

  ‘Yeah, next weekend. It’s really over with Simon? This isn’t just some distraction until you get back together?’ Dan stared ahead into the darkness beyond the balcony.

  ‘Definitely,’ I confirmed. Talking about just exactly how dumped I was wasn’t aiding me in my plan to be nice to him. ‘Thanks for making sure.’

  ‘But you’re never single,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve known you for six years and you’ve never been single.’

  Without the light of the ballroom on his face, I couldn’t make out his expression without staring at him. So I did that.

  ‘First time for everything,’ I replied. ‘You’re the professional bachelor. Maybe I should have come to you for advice? What are your top tips on surviving singledom?’

  ‘Don’t be single,’ he replied instantly.

  Oh. Awk-ward.

  ‘Maybe I need to be on my own for a bit,’ I replied, feeling ten times more uncomfortable than I had in the bar. ‘Given that I haven’t been before.�
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  ‘I give you a week.’ He turned back to face me, his usual slightly mocking smile back in place. ‘I know you, you’re not the kind of girl who can be on her own.’

  ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’ I rubbed my tattoo with my thumb. ‘I already crashed and burned once tonight and I’m supposed to be finding someone to take to my dad’s wedding, not hiding from the cool kids with you.’

  ‘We’re not the cool kids?’ he asked, taking my wrist in his hands. ‘I can’t believe you got a tattoo. How far are you down this list anyway?’

  ‘Hmm, makeover, exercise, tattoo, crush, all ticked off,’ I counted in my head. ‘So four down, six to go.’

  ‘Crush?’ He traced the pattern of ink along my wrist. There was that shudder again. Oh balls. No, I was not going to have girl feelings for Dan, three glasses of champagne and a little light stroking or not.

  ‘This boy I went to school with.’ My voice was involuntarily shaky. Stupid ovaries making decisions without me. ‘I found him on Facebook, he lives in Canada now.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  I turned my attention back to finding Emelie, but she wasn’t on the dance floor. And neither was married-with-children Tim. Not ideal.

  ‘Didn’t your dad get married last year?’ Dan asked, leaning over the balcony at the side of me. He was so close, I could smell his shampoo. Nice that he’d showered especially. Not that I was thinking about Dan in the shower. ‘Or was it the year before?’