I nevertheless follow him to the outside deck.
The cool night breeze is a welcome relief. It is a cloudless night and the fairy lights looped across the side poles blend with the stars in the sky. The air is tranquil, and the thumping of the music feels almost distant.
I lean on the handrail with a sigh and take a peek at him. Am I drunk or is he quite gorgeous? I finish my drink for some Dutch courage and squint at him.
‘You fancy my friend Lola? Like all the guys in there?’
He retorts quietly, ‘No disrespect to your friend. She’s a little too uninhibited for me.’
He watches the ripples in the water, dark as ink. ‘What about you? Do you fancy any of my friends in there? The ones who were staring at your girlfriend?’
‘No, I didn’t notice any of them. Just you. My name is Emily.’ I extend a hand and a friendly smile.
‘I’m Josh.’
Josh and I end up having a quite pleasant conversation. I don’t do anything humiliating like trip over myself or say anything I might regret later.
Turns out we both love Japanese food and we both prefer shopping online rather than in stores.
We laugh about friends and family trying to fix us up, and the latest absurd trends in men’s fashion.
He teases me about the size of my handbag. We debate the necessity of its contents versus the corresponding weight: make-up bag, deodorant, mini-straighteners, wallet (‘Lord, how many cards and old train tickets do you have in there?’), protein bars to prevent hangovers, paracetamol and ibuprofen to cure hangovers, a big bottle of water, a small bottle of water actually filled with vodka, fold-up flats, phone, Kindle, headphones, cardigan, sunglasses.
He talks about food raves and mentions the next one in Hackney. It has to be a hint. He wants us to meet up again!
He likes me, I’m sure of it. The way he listens when I speak, the way he laughs at my lousy jokes. I have visions of us sauntering in the park and cycling along the forest tracks, him feeding me sushi with chopsticks. Pray he’s not gay or already married.
I successfully manage to steer the conversation towards movies again and suggest catching the latest action blockbuster in a couple of weeks. We’re just exchanging numbers (Yessss!) when three guys join the upper deck to smoke fags and call out at Josh.
‘Hey Joshie boy! We were looking for you. The party’s at Chris’s. It’s lit. Let’s move on.’
One of the men stares at me then taps his mate on the shoulder. ‘I recognize her. It’s the girl on Tinder who asked us here. Sam had the same message. Sam, it’s her, isn’t it?’
He takes out his phone and shows my Tinder message to the others. The other chap rudely gapes at me. ‘So how many men have you asked out tonight? C’mon, tell us. Bit of a gangbang, girl? Josh, going for easy pickings, are we?’
My ears burn with indignation. He might just as well have called me a slut. He could have ruined my chances with Josh! I want to ram my heel into his eye socket.
I hope Josh, in manner of knight in shining armour, will verbally defend me. But he refuses to meet my gaze. I look for an appropriate comeback but nothing comes out of my mouth.
Instead, Lola’s high-pitched voice lashes out. ‘Let me tell you why we had to ask so many of you losers here tonight. Because 99% of you are lobotomised arses with small dicks. We’re still looking for the 1%. We’re leaving.’
Lola drags me away before any more damage can be done, scolding me all the while for wandering off on my own.
Carla disappeared a while ago with a cute work colleague. I give her a ring to make sure she’s all right, she says she’s having a blast with him. How she can dump a guy and find another one the next day? I need her to tell me her secret.
Emily
Sunday. My flat. 11 am.
‘Stop playing with it. It won’t make it go away,’ I reprimand.
The mornings after are always painful. This one more particularly so.
Carla has been scratching her tattoo since its unfortunate discovery in the early hours. She crept home while us girls were still sleeping in, recovering from the pub crawl that followed the London Batten Bridge Boat outing.
‘I blame you, Em. You shouldn’t have let me leave with Freddie.’ Carla says sulkily.
‘That is so unfair!’ I protest. ‘You told me he was your colleague and you gushed about the stroke of serendipity meeting him there. One minute you were cosily chatting to him, the next you were gone. When I called you afterwards, you said everything was under control and you were going to Freddie’s. Lola said a rebound shag would do you good. What was I supposed to do, call the police and say my consenting 30-year-old sister has gone off with a bloke, can you please check up on her?’
I gently pat Savlon on her skin, which she has rubbed red. ‘Should I put a plaster on it?’
‘No, better let it breathe, it will crust over.’ Carla sighs, defeated.
‘Maybe you could have something else tattooed over it. Like a dolphin?’ I suggest.
‘A dolphin.’ Carla repeats in consternation.
‘Or just finish the word with something else.’
‘What were you going to have tattooed?’ Lola asks as she brings us another round of teas.
‘Freddie said Carla wanted to have FUB for Fuck U Ben. When the tattooist completed the U, she changed her mind, saying Ben didn’t deserve to have any mention of him on her body. And she ran out of the parlour,’ I explain on behalf of Carla, who cannot bear to tell the story once more. I suggest, ‘What about adding an N in the end so it becomes FUN? Or FUNK?’
‘Boring, Em! Carla, just go for it. FUCK OFF or something to die like FUTILITARIAN. Or FUCK FUNDAMENTALISTS,’ Lola advocates.
‘You could easily turn the U into an O. You can have FOXY then,’ I advise.
‘Em, honest. Foxy? I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ll just avoid strapless and tank tops until I figure something out. Was it the see you next Tuesday I heard this morning at the door?’
Ben came to look for Carla at ours. He tried Louise’s but she’s still in Abu Dhabi, and he knew she wouldn’t stay at Jess’s as there is no room nor peace there with two little children. Carla was dozing in the bedroom after her crazy night and I turned him away.
‘You need to move on from the loser. I’m totally over Leo. I barely think about him at all these days.’
‘What happened to that guy from Match? Max something?’
‘MaddMaxx? Nah, he’s been ghosting me.’ I concede as I check my phone in the crazy hope there might be news from him I would have failed to notice.
Only a reply from Jess
‘Real ink or henna? You mean Louise’s tattoo right? Can get infected. TCP and Savlon xx’
I asked Jess for advice this morning when Carla came home hungover with the tattoo fiasco. Where is Jess when Carla needs all the sisterly comfort she can get? Too busy with her affair, I presume, disheartened.
‘Sup with the bloke from yesterday, Em? The one with the lumberjack shirt? Any news? Carla, you want jam on yours? Or just butter?’ Lola shouts from the kitchen.
‘Just butter! What bloke, Em?’ Carla queries, cheered up by the bit of gossip.
‘Josh? No chance. He’s great but he thinks I’m a tart.’ I sigh.
Lola returns to the lounge with a stack of freshly buttered slices of toast. ‘Well, if you like him, you can get him. You are Khaleesi. He will bend the knee. Practical matter. Do you have his number?’
‘Yes. But—’
‘No buts. Get in touch. Tell him you’ll do him the honour of meeting up. And we’ll set up more Match dates for this week.’
The only thing I want to do right now is crawl under the duvet with a pint of ice cream and some vodka, (preferably 50% ABV), and forget about Leo, MaddMaxx, Josh, uni and my credit card bill. I’m also acutely aware that Lola will twist my arm until I dial Josh’s number with my other free hand. Humph. Better harness my Khaleesi power than argue with Lola.
I retreat to t
he kitchen, one of the few places in the flat not filled with bags of Carla’s stuff. I grab a pack of dry macaroni and spell out COFFEE on the worktop with the pasta shapes. I take the bag of Colombian coffee beans and spell with them OR PASTA?. I photograph my creation and send it to Josh, bewildered by my own boldness.
Wait. What if he hooked up with a pretty girl last night after we left the party boat? And they’re still snuggled up in bed right now having late morning sex and reading the Mail on Sunday? While I’m all alone (well, flatmate and sister do not count as company), with wild hair and panda eyes from the mascara I didn’t remove after we got back in?
The world is unfair.
I miss Leo.
I surreptitiously call up on my screen a shot of Leo and myself. It’s a selfie from the time we spent the weekend in Bristol at Leo’s parents. We’re both licking the same ice cream in the photo, the sun warm on our bodies, relaxing in a park where a jazz band played. It was such a glorious day. Leo showed me all the sights of his hometown. We popped up to the care home to say hi to his nan. In the evening, we strolled to the playground where he used to hang out when he was a little boy. We smoked weed and held hands, sitting on the swings next to each other, as he told me how he got a scar on his knee falling off that very swing fifteen years ago. He took me to his favourite greasy spoon for breakfast in the morning. It felt like love. It felt real. The funny thing was that his mother told me I was the first girl Leo had ever brought home.
‘What is this?’
Bugger. Lola crept up behind me and caught me unawares contemplating my selfie with Leo.
‘It’s the last photo I have of him. Don’t make me delete it,’ I beg, clutching the phone to my chest.
‘Em, I won’t play good cop, bad cop. You’re only getting bad cop, bad cop with me. Carla, what do we do with addicts?’ Lola asks, her voice dark and menacing.
‘We lock them in a room and hose them with ice-cold water! And we confiscate their phone!’ Carla replies in a matter-of-fact tone from the lounge.
Providentially, my WhatsApp chimes. Josh has sent a selfie of himself with a little boy and the caption ‘I promised my nephew I’d take him swimming, wanna join us?’
Displaying the message triumphantly to Lola, I trumpet, ‘And that’s how it’s done.’
Emily
Brandhill Leisure Pool. 2 pm.
What a ridiculous idea to go swimming when we could go for a nice meal or catch a movie. Baring all your lumps and bumps, putting your swimming and potentially life-saving skills (as there is a child involved) to the test and, worst of all, prancing about with no greasepaint on apart from waterproof mascara is not my ideal first date.
With Lola upset over my Leo shambles, I had no choice but to graciously accept Josh’s invitation, to prove I am over Leo.
I’m nervously waiting in the entrance hall. My heart does a little somersault when Josh makes his entrance, holding his nephew’s hand, who stops skipping at my sight.
‘Emily, Jamie. Jamie, Emily.’
‘Uncle Josh?’ Jamie sucks his thumb, scowling at me.
‘Yes, Jamie?’
‘Where is Tacha?’ Jamie quizzes, in hushed tones.
‘Trust kids to drop you in it. Sorry, Tacha is my ex, we broke up last month,’ Josh explains apologetically. ‘Tacha moved away, Jamie. We won’t see her again.’
‘But she always brings me Maltesers!’ Jamie argues petulantly.
Great. He’s not even five and already makes women feel inadequate.
‘Yes, but it’s a bit naughty because sweets are bad for your teeth. But if you’re a good boy, Emily will get us both ice cream later.’
As Josh queues to buy the tickets, Jamie glowers at me. I have two men to win over this afternoon – that’s too much pressure for a first meeting.
After fifteen minutes in a changing cubicle inspecting the size of my backside, I walk out feeling quite self-conscious. My bikini is a bit on the skimpy side. It actually looks OK when I suck my tummy in; I just need to remember to do it whenever my lower body is not submerged in water.
Josh, on the other hand, is quite Baywatch-esque in his trunks, and cute in perfect father figure with Jamie on his shoulders. I am so busy enjoying the bit of eye candy on offer I didn’t realize I am standing under the water bucket. I get absolutely drenched me as it tips down and I scream in surprise. Josh and Jamie fall over themselves laughing.
There’s lots of splashing, jumping, screaming and queuing for the big slides. Jamie enjoys jumping in the waves when they come on, and Josh lifts him high in the air (with his nice manly muscly arms, hmmm) and dumps him back in the water as the swell crashes over them.
Jamie eventually warms up to me and lets me share the water cannon. Unfortunately, he convinces me to follow him on the baby slide, which is designed for nothing heavier than toddlers. I’m far from 15 kilos, and I go down the slide like a cannonball. The landing pool is very shallow, with just enough water to cushion an infant’s splashdown. My bum lands in it with a resounding thud. I feel like I’ve broken my coccyx trying to tame a wild Arabian horse, but I put a brave face on it and try to hide my limping.
‘Are you all right, Emily? That was quite a touchdown. I think that slide is meant for children.’
No kidding. I am Khaleesi. I have an arse made of steel.
‘Can you please keep an eye on Jamie for a second? I’m going to get his armbands from my locker – he says he wants to go in deep water.’
Josh runs off to the lockers.
‘What are you doing, Emily?’ Jamie asks.
‘I’m pretending to be a mermaid.’
Having not had the presence of mind to bring a hairband, I battle with my wet hair, which gets plastered all over my face every time I dive in and out of the pool. With Josh away for a minute, I can take the time to lie down in the shallow, dip my head back in the water and untangle my hair. I try to soak it and smooth it I come up so it looks more Ursula Andress than Edwards Scissorhands. My eyes closed, I imagine I’m on a white sand beach somewhere exotic, warm waves licking my body. Josh will come back with a freshly cut coconut for me. We will swim in the sea for hours, then retreat to our overwater bungalow for an evening of passion. Mmm.
‘Where’s Jamie?’
The words kick me in the stomach. I sit up like a shot -with wild hair- and scan the pool around me in panic. He was here. Just a second ago.
Josh spots him, tiny in the distance, standing at the deep end. He pauses then jumps.
‘Nooo! He can’t swim!’
Josh runs along the side of the pool and dives where Jamie’s flailing arms are last seen.
I am as aroused by at Josh’s stylish as horrified by Jamie’s situation. I believe my chances with Josh are ruined as I have proved myself an inadequate babysitter, hence poor future mother/girlfriend material. I rush over to the pair of them and sincerely express my regret, ‘I’m so sorry. Jamie was right by me, and the next minute he was gone.’
‘Not to worry.’ Josh replies with a dismissive wave. ‘He just swallowed a mouthful. And learnt a lesson. I think we all deserve an ice cream now. What do you say, Jamie?’
His nephew nods sheepishly.
In the coffee shop, Jamie goes for a Fab, Josh and I respectively for a Magnum and a Cornetto.
‘How did you enjoy that swim, little clownfish?’ I hand Jamie his ice cream after tearing its wrapper for him.
‘I am Nemo!’ Jamie waves his arms, pretending to flutter his fins.
‘And I’m a shark and I will get you!’ Josh tickles him playfully, growling and baring his teeth.
‘I am Nemo, Uncle Josh is the shark, and Emily is the whale!’
‘I am not a whale. I’m a dolphin,’ I correct, offended.
On the table, my phone rings. Leo’s phot on the screen. The caller name displayed is LEO. I stare at my mobile, astounded. My heart thumps with joy, hope and apprehension. Leo? Is he back? Should I pick up? I must pick up. What if he had been kidnapped and only managed to g
et free from his tormenters? What if he needs my help?
I hesitate for a split second, then pick up and whisper, ‘Leo? Is that you?’
‘You’re still hung up on him, aren’t you? The rules were simple. If he ever got in touch, you were to ignore him.’ Lola’s steely voice rings out at the other end of the line.
‘H-How?’ I stutter, perplexed.
‘We deleted Leo’s number, remember? I replaced my caller ID on your phone. To test you, see if you’d pick up. You did. You failed. Self-sabotage, Em. I’m so disappointed in you. All the dating you’re doing is not going anywhere if you’re not ready to let go of Leo in your head. All those hours picking men and outfits, strategizing. For nothing.’ Lola, full of disdain, hangs up abruptly.
I look up and meet Josh’s gaze. It dawns on me that he saw Leo’s name and photo on my phone before I picked up. He would put two and two together and think…
‘Leo, is it?’ Josh asks, his voice cold as ice. ‘Is it a new guy you only met? Or your boyfriend? Are you seeing me behind his back? Or him behind my back? I don’t even know. How many others are there, Emily? Damn, I shouldn’t have ignored the red flags. Come on, Jamie, Uncle Josh’s taking you home. You can watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse then.’
Josh gets up without meeting my eye, grabs his bag and his nephew’s hand. I consider explaining it wasn’t another guy. That it was my flatmate who saved my ex’s name under her number. But how unbelievable would that sound? I want to cry out that there’s nobody else and that I am desperately so very single. But the words get stuck in my throat.
I watch Jamie and Josh march out in dismay. Only Jamie turns back once to wave.
Emily
My flat. 5 pm.
‘Never mind Lola and her silly games. Be an adult about it all. You like him, and he likes you, otherwise he wouldn’t have asked you to come out with his nephew this afternoon. Swallow your pride. Call him. Explain it was just a misunderstanding.’
#Toots Page 16