“IT’S IN MY CORNFLAKES!” I shrieked.
“Yeah, there’s a few in here,” he said. “I saw a bunch running out of the bin bags last week.”
I stared at him aghast. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve seen mice in here, and you didn’t think to tell anyone?! What’s wrong with you, Will? We need to buy traps and . . . and poison.”
“Ellie,” he said, “we live in London. Obviously we’re going to have mice. Besides we have a four-bed in Haggerston with a living room and only pay £550 each. We’re lucky we just have mice.”
“As opposed to?” I asked. “Oh fuck, do you mean RATS?”
“Calm down,” he sighed. “You can’t have mice and rats at the same time.”
“They’re . . . mutually exclusive?”
“Exactly,” he said. “Anyway, are you going to eat those cornflakes? I’m starving.”
“There is a mouse in the box,” I said slowly. “Do you not get this?”
“Whatever.” He shrugged. “I’ll just take the mouse out.”
I stared at him in incomprehension and backed out of the kitchen quickly, straight up the stairs to Emma’s room.
“Em,” I cried, as I pushed open her door. “There’s loads of mice and Will doesn’t care. What do we do?”
“Ugh, I know,” she said, as she paused the program she was watching on her laptop. “I’ve just been getting Serge to bring me food or staying at his more.”
“Right, well, some of us don’t have a boyfriend to rely on, so . . . shall we buy some traps and try and get rid of them?” I asked in frustration.
“Meh, I don’t think they really work,” she said. “Besides, it’s not like they’re rats.”
How was my best friend okay with mice living in our cereals? I shook my head at her and went straight to Ollie’s room. I knocked and waited for him to reply.
“Come in,” he called.
I pushed open the door and walked into his room. It was all gray, and the only effort he had put into decorating it was a collage of pictures of him and Yomi stuck onto his wardrobe. They were both so attractive that they looked like a celeb couple. She had massive green eyes and a weave that made her look like Beyoncé. Ugh.
I walked straight past her smiling face and sat down on his bed.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Mice,” I announced. “Apparently they live with us and I found one in my cornflakes.”
He laughed. “Shit, I can’t believe they got into your food.”
“I know. Who knew mice love store-brand cornflakes?”
“Glad to see we don’t have middle-class mice. Maybe we should name them,” he suggested.
“Or,” I said, “perhaps we could, um, exterminate them all?”
He scrunched up his face at me and I stopped myself running over to touch it. “How do you propose we do that?” he asked.
“Traps? Poison? Pest-killing men?”
“I think the men only come in for rats and stuff, and I reckon they’d be pretty expensive, but I guess we could try the others. The only thing is that poison means the mice will eat it then die wherever they are. We could have dead mice living in our walls.”
“Ohmigod, ew.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, so, traps?” I asked.
“Two options: lovely humane cages that just catch them without hurting them but cost loads, or cheap traps that snap their legs and get blood everywhere,” he said.
I groaned and collapsed back onto the bed. It smelled musty but in a sexy kind of way. Ew, it was probably his and Yomi’s sex smells. I sat up again. “You don’t want to do anything either, do you?” I asked him.
“The others want to leave the mice alone too?”
“Yeah, and I can tell you do as well. Am I the only one who wants to eat food that’s not contaminated by mice poo?”
“I think so,” he said. “But, hey, if we keep the house extra clean for a bit, they’ll go away on their own. Or, at least, there’ll be less of them.”
“Okay,” I sighed. “And there was me thinking that living in an East London flatshare would be glamorous.”
“Nothing glamorous about earning the minimum wage in our twenties,” he said.
“But at least you have an actual job,” I said. “Doesn’t advertising pay well?”
“Not in your first year, and not when every graduate in London is willing to do it for free as an internship.”
“Ah, yeah, that would be me.”
“Don’t worry. I did my fair share of interning too. And journalism is way cooler than advertising so I reckon it will pay off in the long run.”
“Mmm, maybe,” I said. “Anyway, on less depressing topics, how’s stuff with Yomi?”
“Yeah, good,” he said. “But, I guess . . . well four years is a long time to be together and long distance is hard at the moment. It will be easier when she’s not still up in Bristol and she’s back here in London.”
“Yeah definitely.” I nodded, as though I was highly experienced with long-term, long-distance relationships. “I’m sure it will get easier soon.”
“I hope so,” he said. “It’s getting to that weird time where I’m twenty-five and I’ve had the same girlfriend for four years. I kind of miss playing the field.”
Oh my God. My dreams were coming true. Ollie wanted to break up with Yomi. I forced myself to breathe calmly. I couldn’t suggest they break up or it would look bad. I had to be subtle.
“Maybe you should?” I asked. Subtle was overrated.
“Ah, who knows what will happen. You’re lucky, you don’t have to deal with any of this crap.”
“Mm, yeah, so lucky that no one wants to date me. They just want to bleed on me.”
He laughed. “That’s more action than I’ve got all week. Anyway, are we going to go clean this kitchen or what?”
“Let’s do it,” I said. “Maybe my man-repelling powers will work on these mice. Fingers crossed they’re male.”
“What if they’re gay mice? They’ll be all over me.”
“Ha ha. They’d be over Will more like.”
“Hey, I’m not that bad.”
“I know. I mean, I, uh . . . Kitchen?”
He grinned at me. “Kitchen.”
9
“Would anyone like tea?” I asked.
There was silence. I stood up and leaned across my desk so I was facing my colleagues. “Guys, tea?” I repeated.
The three writers all ignored me. Hattie, the youngest, shook her head, but Jenna and Camilla didn’t even bother to look up. I sighed to myself and walked through to the mini kitchenette alone. The more I tried to be friendly to the other office workers at the London Mag, the more they ignored me. Maybe if my next online date belonged to their Chelsea circle, I might get the occasional greeting.
I pulled out my phone as the kettle boiled. There had been no word from JT ever since I had abandoned him in the Holly and Ivy. Which was fair enough really. But there had also been a categorical silence from anyone semi-normal on OKCupid. Perhaps JT had sent round a warning email putting everyone off me—even though he was the one who’d bled on my face. I couldn’t even find a sluttier selfie to attract the swarms to my profile.
I went to the search section of the site and selected my filters. I wanted someone over six foot, with a degree so we had stuff in common, and . . . ooh it would be nice if they spoke a foreign language. And worked in . . . finance/banking/real estate. Then they could afford to pay for my dinner.
I pressed search. Five results came up. They were all above the age of forty. Two were female. I sighed and deleted all my filters. Then I selected “aged 23–30” and “male.” Foreign languages and degrees would have to wait.
A couple of the men looked attractive. If only these guys would ask me out instead of all the cree
ps, but they never did. Unless . . . I asked them out first? It had worked for JT, and Emma was right—it didn’t really feel like rejection when they were just pixels. Besides, they could be lying and secretly be seventy-year-old perverts.
Without giving myself a chance to change my mind, I tapped out a message to Ben84.
“Hey, how are you? Been on here long?”
It wasn’t Pulitzer Prize–winning, but it wasn’t like any of the men sent me well-crafted witty messages. I may as well just send the same message to multiple men. I’d sent it to eight different people when I felt someone hovering over my shoulder.
“Maxine,” I cried out. “Sorry, I . . . uh didn’t notice you there. Would you like a tea?”
“Hmm, the kettle boiled about five minutes ago. What are you so engrossed in?” she asked, narrowing her carefully made-up eyes at me.
“Oh, it’s um, nothing,” I mumbled. “Just personal messages, sorry, I shouldn’t look at them at work.”
“It looked like a dating app to me,” she said. I stared at her in shock. Was she spying on me now? As if it wasn’t enough that I worked unpaid fifty hours a week and acted as her personal assistant most of the time. “Well, don’t look so shocked, Ellie. You’re not the only one using them—they’re huge at the moment. I want to do a feature on them. Maybe you can collate your experiences as research for Camilla to write up.”
“Or I could write it myself,” I suggested boldly. This was my chance. I could write about JT, and go on more dates, and interview people using it. It would be my first proper feature. It was perfect for me, I could—
“No,” she said. “I’ll get Camilla to message you about it later.” She poured the water I had just boiled into her mug and walked off.
• • •
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I cried, as I sunk my head into Lara’s fur scarf. “Work is so rubbish, we have mice at home and my date nose-bled on me.”
She pulled my head up by my ponytail. “Right okay, can you get out of my scarf, please,” she said.
“Sorry,” I mumbled and shifted away to sit on the chair next to her. “I’m just so tired.”
“Yeah, how are you, Lara? How is it being in your final year of uni? What’s going on with Jez? Have you been on any more online dates?” she asked herself loudly.
“Fine, I’m sorry,” I sighed. “We’ll start with you. What’s up?”
“Ellie, I am on track to get a first in Law from one of the best universities in the country. I am attractive, smart and cool.”
“Um, where exactly is this going?”
“And yet, and yet, I am still semi-obsessed with a pathetic man called JEZ—which isn’t even a real name by the way—who prefers weed and KFC to me. What the actual fuck is wrong with me?” She groaned and threw her head into her perfectly manicured hands.
I stroked her head sympathetically. She had a point. Jez was a waste of space who was so below Lara’s league that it was embarrassing.
“Excuse me, please, can we get a bottle of the house red and a baked Camembert?” I called out to the waiter. “Actually—let’s make that two.”
“Two bottles or two cheeses?”
“Cheese, obviously.” I turned back to Lara. “Anyway, maybe you’re obsessed with him because . . . the sex is amazing?”
“Yeah, it is good that I come every time, but that’s only when he is sober enough to get it up.”
“Why don’t you just end it, Lar?” I asked. “We’ve been through all these pros and cons a million times and each time we just get to the same conclusion—you’re so, so, so much better than him.”
“I know,” she sighed. “But we aren’t exclusive, so I can date other people and I’m not technically tied down to him, which makes me think that it’s not a big deal and I may as well have fun with him while I’m waiting for someone better to come along.”
“It does sound perfect,” I admitted. “But I’m guessing you’re so involved with him that you don’t actually feel that single?”
“Exactly,” she cried. “I’m so hung up on him that I don’t even want to see other guys and, whenever I try and stop seeing him, I miss him too much to last more than a week.”
I stroked her arm sympathetically. “I’m sorry, it’s such a shit catch-22. Hey, is this cashmere?”
“My mum’s. Yeah, it’s shit. I guess I just have to resign myself to a life of depressing misery and . . .”
“Occasional fantastic sex?”
“Exactly.” She sighed loudly. “Anyway, your turn. Mice and Maxine?”
“Don’t even,” I groaned. “She is awful and is apparently now spying on my dating life—but refuses to let me write about it.”
“She never lets you write anything,” said Lara. “Why is this such a surprise?”
“It’s not, but it doesn’t make it any less shit.”
“Have you stood up to her?”
“Yes! It’s so frustrating. I don’t know what to do any more. It’s my own catch-22,” I said woefully.
“How’s it going with Ollie?”
“What about him?” I asked innocently.
“Ellie, every time I mention his name you basically swoon. Everyone—including Ollie—knows you love him.”
“Oh fuck,” I said, feeling the blood rush from my face. “Really?”
“Yes, you idiot. Even Yomi probably knows.”
“Ugh, whatever,” I said, deflated by the mention of the girlfriend. “It’s not like it’s even an option. It’s just a stupid crush; it doesn’t mean anything. I just like looking at his face.”
“I reckon you like a bit more than his face.”
“I may have bumped into him in the hallway a few times in his towel, post-shower.”
“Was his body as good as you’d imagined?”
“Let’s just say I’ve now changed my shower schedule to increase my chances of bumping into him topless. Anyway, Miss Three-Dates-In-A-Month, I need your help with my dating life.”
“Oh yeah, Emma told me all about you camping out in the loo, post-blood.” She grinned.
“Great, glad to hear my love life is providing so much entertainment for you all. But, seriously, Lara, I need a second date. I feel like everyone’s lives are amazing and mine isn’t just crap—it’s, like, PG-rated.”
“I guess,” she said. “But you do have a tendency to get a bit, um, not obsessed per se, but . . . stuck on certain things. I’m sure it will happen naturally if you let it.”
I stared at her blankly. “Lara. Do we sit back and wait for jobs to offer themselves to us? Do we wait to win the lottery? No. We apply for jobs, we earn salaries and we take action. I’m not going to wait for some guy to ask me out on a date and have sex with me—I’m going to find as many men as I can and make it happen for myself. In fact,” I said smugly, “I’ve already messaged eight men on OKC today. So, I’m sure I’ll have another date coming up soon.”
“Show me, show me,” she cried, grabbing my phone from my hands. “Oh wow, you’ve got a reply from one of them. Ben84. He looks attractive.”
“You don’t need to sound so surprised.”
“And he works in graphic design, has a degree in philosophy, and he’s five foot eleven. Not bad.”
“Are these the first things you look at? You don’t read their sections?”
“Course not,” she said. “I don’t care what their favorite books and TV shows are. I just want to know their job, height, background and looks, obviously. Online dating is just like online shopping; you just scroll through looking at pictures and specs. Then you pick one and you either like it or return it. Easy. Oh good, the cheese is here.”
By the end of my evening with Lara, I had a date lined up with Ben84. We were going to go for drinks in Islington.
I leaned my head against the glass window of the night bus and closed m
y eyes. It had been amazing catching up with Lara, discussing every miserable detail of our lives and flicking through men on the app. The only thing was I hadn’t really been able to tell her that I was, well, nervous. Like, I was obviously really excited to go on this second date, and Ben84 did look promising. There was a strong chance I’d end up back at his.
It was all what I wanted, but it was also kind of terrifying. As fun as it was planning one-night stands, it kind of reminded me of the time I tried to lose my virginity to a stranger in a club and secretly knew it was a horrible idea. The idea of being totally naked in front of some random guy was terrifying. He’d see my lumpy body, my awkward tan lines, my pubes . . . What if he judged me? Worse, what if he rejected me?
Lara and Emma didn’t really ever have to worry about that—they were both gorgeous in that typical, generic way. They waxed their pubes and they were size fours. If you got them naked in bed, you’d be getting exactly what you expected. With me, it was different. I could scrub up okay, but nothing could hide my cellulite and dark body hair when I was spreadeagled on a bed. I was scared of getting to a guy’s bed and having him look at me with disappointment.
I tried to imagine what the girls would say. They’d just tell me I was ridiculous and looked fine naked, which is why I never told them this. I didn’t need to hear that standard rubbish girls always spouted at each other to make them feel better. Besides, it was too embarrassing even for me to admit that I was also secretly frightened I had a gross vagina that smelled weird.
It was fine—I could cheer myself up. Boys didn’t care about all that crap, right? They were just excited to have a naked girl opening her legs up for them. It was what I wanted too, for a number of reasons. Like . . .
1)I’ve only been waiting my whole life for a chance to date and have multiple men and fun sex and actually live my life.
2)Everyone does it. Can finally see what all the fuss is about.
3)Haven’t had an orgasm during sex yet. This is ideal way to have lots of sex and try out different things without being embarrassed.
4)Boys do it without a stigma, so I should too. Feminists would approve.
5)If it all goes to shit, I can run out of his house in the morning and will never have to see him again.
Not That Easy Page 7