by Lindsey Kelk
9.13 p.m.
Hmm.
9.33 p.m.
There are more than a million good reasons for him not to have replied to that message yet. Men don’t check their phones all the time, do they? They can’t put them in their pockets in case it gives them cancer of the nads. He probably hasn’t got his phone.
9.45 p.m.
He’s definitely seen it. There’s no way he hasn’t seen it. Maybe he’s just playing it cool.
10.07 p.m.
What the fuck was I thinking? I should NEVER have texted first. That’s probably the reason it didn’t work out with Seb. Our entire relationship was founded on him having all that power over me, knowing that I caved and texted him because I was so desperate to have him in my life. And it was such a stupid message − I didn’t even ask him a question! How is he supposed to reply if I don’t ask him a question? That’s messaging 101. I am so bad at this. And now I’ve ruined it forever. I’m going to run a bath and leave my phone in the other room and think very carefully about THAT TIME I TEXTED A MAN FIRST AND RUINED MY LIFE.
10.42 p.m.
A text! But it’s from Lauren. Wanting to know if I have an ‘in’ at Vera Wang.
So it begins.
I’m going to bed. I’m being ridiculous.
11.17 p.m.
Just checked. Nothing.
11.33 p.m.
Still nothing.
11.45 p.m.
He replied! HE REPLIED.
He sent me a smiley face! What does that mean?
12.04 a.m.
God, I almost wish he hadn’t sent anything at all … How do I reply to a smiley face? This is insane.
12.32 a.m.
A bloody smiley face? REALLY?
Weddings are all about love and commitment, not just the love between the bride and the groom but the love shared between everyone in attendance. Love can come in a thousand different shapes and sizes. Take a moment to think about this: what does love mean to you?
There’s no love like puppy love! What was the name of your first boyfriend?
Gowri Gopalan. We were both seven. It lasted from morning playtime until afternoon break.
When was the first time you ever said I love you and meant it?
To Seb, two months after we started going out. He said it first when we were on a night out, but I thought he was drunk and being stupid and I couldn’t say it back. I had to wait until we got home and I thought he was asleep, and then I said it and he smiled and kissed me on the top of my head and said, ‘Shut up, Maddie.’
If you could tell the bride and groom something you’ve learned about love, what would it be?
My mum and dad always say they don’t go to bed on an argument. I would say, if he’s got nothing to hide, why won’t he let you use his phone to order a pizza?
8
Half asleep and barely caffeinated is never my ideal state, but Tuesday morning had decided it wanted to be especially shitty. Sarah wasn’t responding to my cheery texts suggesting we meet so I could break the news about the job, Lauren had sent me fifteen summer wedding Pinterest links by 8 a.m. and I was already on the bus when I saw the deodorant marks on my jumper. Then I burnt the top three layers of skin off my tongue with a cup of molten lava trying to pass itself off as a flat white. And as if I wasn’t already feeling enough like a shit grown-up, no matter how many times I slung my handbag at the key card sensor, the gate to the building would not open.
‘Oh, bloody hell,’ I lisped painfully, pressing my hand to my heart as Matilda pressed her security pass against the wall and it flung open immediately. ‘Sorry, you made me jump.’
‘Good,’ she said, giving me a tight-lipped smile. ‘You won’t be nervous, then. Come with me − you’ve got a meeting with Mr Colton.’
‘When?’ I said, nervous.
‘Now,’ she replied. ‘Let’s take the stairs.’
I feel as though it’s worth pointing out that we work on the fifth floor of our building, and expecting someone to walk up five flights of stairs in high heels when they’ve barely slept because they were obsessing over the meaning of some ill-thought-out emoji communication and then putting them in a meeting with the MD of their company is incredibly cruel. And on top of that, she expected me to make polite conversation as we went. The woman is a monster.
‘Do I look OK?’ I asked, pulling at my jumper.
‘Maddie −’ she held open the door to our floor, looking cool and composed while I offered her a sweaty thank you − ‘I think we both know that if you have to ask, you already know the answer to your question.’
It was fair. Short skirts and ankle boots looked cool in theory, but when you were unexpectedly called in to see the boss, it looked like you’d put on the bottom half of a cowgirl costume. Sarah would look amazing in this outfit. Lauren wouldn’t be caught dead in this outfit. I was probably about to die in this outfit, so that left me somewhere between the two.
‘Madeline.’
Mr Colton was already in the HR meeting room. Mr Colton was wearing a suit and a tie. Why had I chosen today to mix it up a bit? This is what happens when you decide you’re cool enough to have a one-night stand. First it’s going home with strange boys, then it’s the misguided belief that you have the ability to put together an ‘interesting’ outfit.
‘Mr Colton,’ I replied, taking the seat opposite. Matilda followed me in and popped herself down in the chair next to the boss. ‘You look nice.’
He looked at me over the frame of his fancy glasses.
‘Great thooz,’ I said, smiling broadly. I tried a bit harder with my burnt tongue. ‘Really nice shoes. Classy.’
‘Thank you, Madeline.’ He took a piece of paper from Matilda, exchanging it for an ‘Are you sure?’ expression.
The only people who had ever called me Madeline were my father and my sixth-form tutor, which gave this whole interview a feeling of being called into the headmaster’s office. I was thirty-bloody-one − why did I still feel like a naughty little girl?
‘Thorry if I thound funny, I burnt my thung.’
‘You’ve been with us for quite some time now, haven’t you?’ he said, scribbling some notes on what I assumed had to be the CV I had hastily pulled together for Matilda. ‘Nearly ten years as Shona’s assistant?’
‘Thee’s very good at what thee does,’ I replied. It wasn’t a lie. She might be an unpredictable twatbag of a boss, but she was bloody brilliant at throwing a party. I rubbed my tongue on the top of my mouth until I got the feeling back. ‘I’ve learned tho much.’ Try again. ‘So much. So.’
Thank God.
‘She is very talented,’ he agreed, and handed the CV back to Matilda, steepling his fingers. ‘You’ve never talked to us about a promotion before, Madeline, is that correct?’
‘It is,’ I said, shifting in my seat. My bare thighs were stuck to the leatherette and it was Not Comfortable.
‘Then why do you think you should get one now?’ Colton asked. ‘What makes you think you’d be a great events manager?’
I looked over at Matilda and fought the urge to say ‘because she told me so.’
‘Because I am excited about the opportunity,’ I said slowly, encouraged by the head of HR’s encouraging nods. ‘I have the experience and I think I’m ready for more responsibility?’
I didn’t mean to make it sound like a question, but it didn’t sound like something I would say. Two weeks ago, I’d spent three days trying to find three trained seals to perform at a one-year-old’s circus-themed birthday party. Surely that was enough excitement for anyone?
‘Obviously, where possible I do like to promote from within the company,’ Colton said. ‘And you have definitely put in the hours. But without wanting to discourage you, this would be a big step up the ladder. As part of the selection process, we’re asking you to do a piece of work. A test of sorts.’
‘A test?’ I asked, visions of a Hunger Games-style arena running through my mind. I could never pull off that kind of leotar
d and I’d be dead inside ten minutes.
‘We’d like you to take on a special project,’ Matilda elaborated. ‘Victoria left behind a number of events. Shona has taken on the majority of them, as I’m sure you know, but this one only confirmed yesterday. We would like you to manage it.’
I opened the folder she handed me and leafed through the pages inside. Gay couple, adopted baby, big celebration. No request for zoo animals. Yet.
‘We’ll still be advertising for the position,’ Mr Colton replied while I flipped through the event request form, ‘and interviewing accordingly, but as I said, I would very much like to promote from within. Someone we already know is a team player. Someone we trust.’
I looked up abruptly.
‘Does Shona know?’ I asked. It suddenly occurred to me that this could be a test. Matilda was going to pull her face off and it would be Shona underneath and she would punch me in the stomach until I wet myself while Mr Colton stood on the table and did a tap dance.
‘I’ll tell your manager,’ Matilda said. ‘We’ve got a new person starting on Friday who I’ll be placing in your team. She’ll be able to take on some of your responsibilities while you’re on the project, but you will still be Shona’s events assistant − I can’t take you out of the job entirely.’
‘No, I totally understand,’ I replied, my pulse thumping in my ears. ‘That’s fine.’
A half-decent shag and a sort of promotion all inside a week. These were the things dreams were made of. I should buy a scratch card on the way home.
‘Well then.’ Mr Colton slapped both of his palms on the table, making me jump out of my seat, leaving half an inch of each thigh behind me. I shook his proffered hand with a grimace, my eyes watering. ‘I’ll leave you with Matilda to sort out the details. This is a wonderful opportunity, Madeline. I’m excited for you.’
‘Thank you very much, Mr Colton,’ I said, giving him a little bow. ‘I’m super-duper excited.’
He threw one more uncertain glance at Matilda and left the office, shaking his head to himself.
‘I’ve already buggered this up, haven’t I?’ I asked, my stomach falling through the floor at the thought of losing a job I didn’t even know I wanted.
‘You’re going to be fine,’ Matilda said. ‘Now sit down and pull your skirt down. It’s tucked in your knickers at the back.’
I reached around my bum, trying to pull my mini out of my pants.
‘No,’ I said, sitting down and dropping my head on the table. ‘No, it’s not.’
‘Oh,’ Matilda frowned. ‘Then, as your HR manager, I’m going to have to recommend you get a new skirt.’
‘Fair,’ I replied.
‘And as your friend as well,’ she added. ‘It’s doing you no favours, Mads. You haven’t got the arse for it.’
My dating experiences have been few and far between since Seb, but I do know that you should never agree to go out with a man on the same day that he requests the pleasure of your company. Which is why, when Lauren and Sarah asked, I told them Will asked me out Tuesday afternoon, not Wednesday lunchtime, for our Wednesday evening date.
So what if I was breaking rules, I thought, tossing my hair like a middle-England Beyoncé − they’d already been broken. One-night stands weren’t supposed to develop into real relationships, but here we were, sitting in a pub on a Wednesday night, and maybe it was the gin and tonic I’d shotgunned but I felt great about my life choices.
Even if he was fifteen minutes late.
I felt less great about the voicemail from Lauren asking if we could get breakfast before work on Thursday to go over ‘a few more ideas’ that she’d had.
That woman had already treated me to more ideas than every single bride I’d ever worked with, but at least every third suggestion was ridiculous. Yes, Lauren, you can have a candyfloss machine at your reception. No, Lauren, you can’t have Katy Perry serving that candyfloss just for Michael. Yes, Lauren, you can have butterflies released as you say your vows. No, Lauren, we can’t breed your own special hybrid butterfly in time.
Reluctantly checking my phone and ignoring the three new emails from my beloved bestie, there was nothing from Will. As an On Time Person, lateness was not on my list of must-haves in a boyfriend, but these things happened. It could have been traffic, he could have got stuck on a phone call at work, who knew? He was the one who had asked me to meet him, after all. Why would he cancel?
‘Another drink?’ the wizened old landlord shouted across the room.
Will had suggested the Butcher’s Arms, a proper old pub, for our liaison. Perhaps not the venue I’d have selected, but it did have a certain charm. Unfortunately, it also had this nosy old bugger who hadn’t left me alone from the moment I’d walked in.
‘I’m all right, thank you,’ I called back with half a smile. All the little wooden tables around me were populated by what were clearly regulars. A couple of other old men sharing a pint, one sad-looking couple with half a shandy and a large white wine in front of them, and, in the corner, a French bulldog who had been nursing a port and lemon since I’d walked in. God knows where his owner was.
‘Go on, have another,’ the landlord said, picking up a glass before I could decline again. ‘He’s running late, is he?’
‘Uh, yes?’ I replied, taking another quick look at my phone. Almost twenty minutes.
‘Stuck at the office?’ In went a very generous measure of gin.
‘I suppose?’
And then the glass got a glance at a bottle of tonic. ‘Ooh, has he not told you where he is? What a tinker. Ice and a slice?’
‘Yes please.’
‘I shouldn’t worry about it, darling,’ he said, bringing the drink to my table so I could fully enjoy his decision to shun traditional dentistry up close. ‘You two married?’
‘No,’ I said, accepting the drink with as much grace as I could muster. Oh good, he decided to sit down.
‘Engaged?’
‘No.’
‘Living together?’ he pressed.
‘We’ve only just met,’ I said, taking a tiny sip of the drink. Dear God, that was strong. I wasn’t even certain it was gin − there was a definite hint of turps about it. ‘It’s fine, he’s a lawyer, he works late.’
‘Oh no, love,’ The landlord pulled a filthy bar towel out of the back of his trousers and wiped down my table before blowing his nose into it and shoving it back into his belt. I pulled my elbows away and put my hands in my lap, turning green. ‘Knock it on the head now. How late is he?’
‘Twen— ten minutes,’ I lied.
‘If he can’t be on time for a pretty thing like you at the beginning, he never will be. You don’t want the unreliable ones, trust me,’ he said with a wink. ‘I’ve seen it all in here. Whenever she gets in before he does, someone leaves in tears.’
‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ I said through gritted teeth, desperate to spill my drink across the table and actually clean it. Whatever he’d given me had enough alcohol content to kill the germs he’d just wiped all over the surface. Maybe. ‘He’ll be here in a minute.’
‘It isn’t a good sign, though, is it dear?’ The woman sitting at the next table with her miserable husband gave me a sympathetic frown. ‘He’s right, it’s all about how he treats you in the beginning. Have you read The Rules?’
‘Have you?’ I asked, somewhat shocked.
‘That’s how I got my Bobby here,’ she said with great pride. ‘Always end the phone call first, keep them on their toes.’
Another check of the phone. Nothing. Twenty-five minutes.
‘Get yourself online.’ The landlord took over again, with the nodding dog support of Bobby and his good lady wife. ‘I like that Tinder myself, but I’ve heard good things about Match.com as well. What’s the one they do at the Guardian?
He stooped back underneath the bar and clucked his tongue at me.
‘You’re still a youngster,’ he went on. ‘No point in hanging around pubs waiting for lawyers who ar
e half an hour late to show their face.’
‘Ten minutes,’ I corrected. ‘And I’m actually thirty-one.’
Bobby and the landlord sucked their breath in through their teeth. Their discoloured, crooked and occasionally missing teeth.
‘She looks good on it,’ Bobby’s missus admonished. ‘You two leave her alone.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, braving a bigger sip of the gin, wondering if it had been made in the bath upstairs. Hendrick’s it was not.
‘Doesn’t change the facts, though, does it, girl?’ she said. ‘Whether you look it or not, you’re not getting any younger. I should lock this one down while everything’s still where it started. You need to get yourself wed.’
‘I thought I should be breaking up with him because he’s not here yet?’ I replied, defensively crossing my arms across my perfectly-pert-thank-you-very-much boobs. ‘What happened to The Rules?’
‘Out the door,’ she replied. ‘I know it’s controversial with some women, but tell me, have you thought about faking a pregnancy?’
Fifteen minutes more advice on my love life was all I could take. It was seven thirty-five, I was hungry, I was tired, and thanks to the most disgusting gin I’d ever had the privilege of tasting, I was already half-cut. It was just as well. Buzzed Maddie wasn’t nearly as distressed over Will standing her up and turning off his phone as Sober Maddie would have been. Buzzed Maddie just wanted to get inside before it started raining on her expensive blow-out and then show it off to the Domino’s delivery man. It was only right that someone should see it, after all.
The weirdoes in the pub were wrong, I told myself, jumping off the bus and beginning the ten-minute walk home. Thirty-one wasn’t old these days − I didn’t need to rush into anything. Lauren was the same age as me and she was getting married. Although Sarah was the same age as me and she was getting divorced. Seb was the same age as me but his wife was three years younger, only twenty-eight. I wondered who would get remarried first, Sarah or Steve. And would she marry an older man? Would he marry a younger woman? When we were younger, in school and in uni, we all dated people our age, but now the age gaps were starting to become more apparent. I wondered why. Were women looking for older, more mature men or were men looking for younger women with less baggage than their contemporaries? God help any woman over the age of twenty-nine if it was the former.