by Zoe May
I shake my head and watch them for a few more seconds. I’m not bothered about being seen; Chris is so entranced with Laura that he’s not even going to notice me. I let out a sigh before turning to leave.
My phone buzzes as I step back out onto the street. It’s Kate again.
Are you kissing yet?? Or am I interrupting?! Okay. I’ll stop texting :p xxx
I smile sadly and put my phone back into my bag. I can’t face texting back right now. I need a moment alone to just think. I walk away from the pub in the direction of the river, feeling my heart sink with every step. I should have realised that Chris would be with Laura. They’re probably making up for having missed each other last night. She’s probably a regular feature of the battle games club anyway with her passion for painted figurines. I’d imagined Chris was going to be cut up about what happened between us; I thought I’d have to make amends, but clearly he couldn’t care less. Maybe he didn’t leave Lyn’s party because he was upset over what he’d seen; perhaps he just randomly upped and left and didn’t have the good manners to say goodbye.
A car swerves to avoid me as I step out into the street, lost in thought. I gasp, scooting back as the driver slams down on his horn. Embarrassed, I look both ways several times before venturing back across the road, pushing thoughts of Chris out of my mind until I reach the safety of the pavement opposite. A couple around my age walk hand-in-hand down the street sharing a joke. The woman looks away from her partner and her face clouds over when she sees me looking. She frowns – a little irritated – and I realise I must have been giving them a look, probably failing to conceal my growing sense of sadness and bitterness that relationships never seem to work out for me. I scurry past and keep my head down until I reach the river, which is teeming with people. Tourists and Londoners sharing relaxed strolls, couples and families ambling along. I keep walking, following the river away from the hustle and bustle. I pass the Oxo Tower where Kate was with Max just last night and wander past the Globe and then, not far in the distance, is the Shard, gleaming in the crisp winter light. I walk towards it, like I have so many times over the past few weeks, when I’ve headed back to Daniel’s after work, filled with that smug disbelieving feeling that I was actually staying there. That my boyfriend lived at The Shard! Seeing its striking, imposing structure, towering over everything else and knowing that I was going to have dinner right at the very top before making love to my gorgeous model-esque boyfriend made me feel on top of the world. But looking at it now, it feels remote and distant, a sharp structure slicing the sky. I picture Daniel in his beautiful flat so high up and separated from everything, whilst I’m down here. Both of us equally alone.
I get nearer and nearer, until I feel unnervingly close. The last thing I need right now is to run into Daniel. I cross London Bridge and then walk along the opposite side of the river, hoping I’m just about far enough away. The path is less busy here, lined with tall office blocks with benches facing the water next to tiny patches of grass where workers can presumably enjoy their lunch. I sit down on a bench and try to gather my thoughts as I look out at the gleaming water, juddering under the autumn breeze. I’m sure Chris was about to kiss me last night. I could try to blame the alcohol, and claim that he was just drunk, but there was definitely a spark between us. It was there when we decorated the cake and when we took selfies in the photo booth. But even if Chris does like me, he’s clearly into Laura too and can I blame him? Not only is she gorgeous and a fan of the same geeky things he’s into, but she’s his girlfriend. She’s the one who gave him a chance. She recognised him for the amazing guy he is. She chose him and I don’t have a right to just swoop in and take him away because I’ve suddenly realised Daniel isn’t the one for me. Life doesn’t work like that. I can’t just have what I want whenever I want it. I missed my chance with Chris, whereas Laura took hers. She deserves him far more than I do.
I let out a long sigh. The worst part of all this is that I can’t really be angry at anyone but myself. I can’t blame Chris for wanting to stay with Laura and not being available at my beck and call and I can’t blame Daniel for all his Prince Charming shenanigans, because while he may have wanted to be with me for the wrong reasons, wasn’t I doing the same? Daniel liked me for my simplicity, my pliability, my wide-eyed wonder, and while it’s depressing that he was never really into me for me, would I have been as into him if it hadn’t been for all his trappings? If I’m honest with myself, the lavishness of Daniel’s life imbued mine with a dazzle and an excitement it ordinarily lacks. Despite everything, the last few weeks have been pretty incredible – the exclusive clubs, the lavish dates, the delicious food (even the finger dipping bowl!), the gorgeous clothes and just the general luxuriousness of living with Daniel. It has been lovely to be pampered, particularly with my parents away and my friends all coupled up, but if all that had been stripped back, would I have got quite so carried away? Would I have been quite so taken with Daniel? I think of Chris and his Gustav Flaubert quote, ‘Anything becomes interesting if you look at it long enough.’ But with Daniel, the opposite is true. He’s interesting the second you look at him: the good looks, the expensive clothes, the effortless confidence, and yet the longer you gaze, the less interesting it all becomes. The sparkle wears off, and there’s not really a lot there.
But I can’t be angry at him because rather than trying to use or hurt me, he was just as misguided as I was. All this time I’ve been dating, I’ve been holding out for my love at first sight moment, a love-struck epiphany and that stupid philosophy – handed down from my parents – has blinded me to decent guys like Chris. It’s hard not to fall for Daniel at first sight and that magnetism got me hooked. But if my parents shaped me, then how can I blame him for striving for something similar to what his dad had with his mum? After all, she was just a village girl from Croatia, a diamond in the rough, and he swept her off her feet, transporting her into a different existence – one in which she was probably so wide-eyed with wonder that she’d go along with everything he wanted to do, just like I did. Maybe Daniel was just trying to recreate what they had. I shudder at the thought. I definitely don’t think I’d have wanted to end up with his mum’s lonely-sounding life.
My phone buzzes again, snapping me out of my reverie. Another message from Kate.
Me again!! Hope I’m not interrupting anything ;P Twiddling my thumbs. What happened?? Xxx
I type back.
He’s with Laura. They’re happy together. I’ll explain later. xxx
My phone buzzes again as I put it back in my bag. I scan the message: Kate telling me she hopes I’m okay, and then I stash my phone and look back out at the river. I watch a boat, which seems to be hosting some kind of party, as it traces its way down the Thames. As I sit, watching it chug along, I can’t help feeling as though everyone I know is moving on except me. My parents, like the passengers on that boat, are on their cruise ship right now, travelling the world. Kate’s moving in with Max and starring in a career-defining role in The Mousetrap. Chris is in a proper relationship with Laura. Sandra’s embarking on a new romance with Ted, which even if it is a bit shudder-inducing, is still some sort of progress. Tom’s coming out of the closet to Lyn. Even Lyn, whose been a pillar of security in my life for so long, is moving on. And although my life has been a bit more exciting recently, despite everything, I’ve still somehow ended up in exactly the same position I was in before: I’m still single, I still hate my job and I’m still living in a crummy old flat in Lewisham.
I gaze at the boat until it drifts out of sight and contemplate what to do next. A pigeon hops onto the arm rest of the bench and regards me with its beady eyes before flapping off to eat some crumbs. I watch it for a moment until another boat distracts me as it works its way down the river. I realise I can either sit here and feel sorry for myself, letting the world pass me by just like these boats, sitting back as everyone else’s lives spring into action, or I can force myself to make some serious changes. I know I’m going to have
to do the latter, because I don’t want to get left behind. I don’t want to end up on this bench in a year’s time in the same situation I’m in right now; it’s time to shake things up.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A year later
DaGift2Womens: Hi Sophia, If you were a vegetable, you’d be a cutecumber
RazzleDazzle: Hey, I just googled what I should say to a girl with a cute smile!
RazzleDazzle: So… I see you’re playing hard to get. I’m quite literally doing the opposite and playing getting hard haha
Ryan29871: I would literally swim the length of The Thames with 45lbs tied to my scrotum just to have the chance to share a spaghetti dinner with you on a webcam with dial-up connection
Hunglikeadonkey84: Hi Sophia, if you are ever need a sperm donor for future children, I’m your man xx
ImFaizon: You look really beautiful. Also, you have these really long hairs which add spices to your crispy beauty.
BearHug: If you and I were bears, I would fight larger bears to establish dominance to win the right to woo your bear heart. I would watch over you while you hibernate and bring you all the salmon you wanted.
Don’t worry, I’m not still on Dream Dates. In fact, the last message about bears (I mean seriously, what the hell?) was the last I ever received. I guess it was the final straw.
Within a few weeks of my crisis on that bench, Kate moved in with Max and then Lyn went to live with Tom, and despite my big visionary plans to change my life, I still felt completely lost. Old habits die hard and I suppose I thought I could distract myself with a bit of swiping, lift my mood by maybe finding a nice guy to take me out for dinner. But then I began to realise, as the crazy messages started pouring in, that just because dating apps are quick and easy to download, and it’s fun to see who you match with and occasionally, you can strike up an intelligible conversation, it doesn’t mean they’re good for you. Even if I managed to wade through all the nut-jobs to find one decent-enough guy, going out for dinner with him might prove a reasonably fun was to pass an evening, or at least give me an anecdote to tell Sandra and Kate, but it’s not like it was going to make me happy deep down. Yes, it would be easier to ignore my problems and throw myself into dating, but I’d been doing that for too long already.
Deep down, I knew there were too many things that weren’t quite right in my life and I was going to have to tackle them head on before I could find someone. I felt like a misshapen piece of a jigsaw who was only going to fit with the wrong piece. And I couldn’t ignore the mounting evidence that for some reason, dating just wasn’t working out for me. With 72 failed dates (including Daniel) behind me and an offer from a man called BearHug to bring me salmon and be my bear companion, it finally felt like the right time to quit.
I took a week off work and went back to Worcester to clear my head and catch up with my parents, who had finally returned from their cruise and had the happy bright-eyed glow of people who had seen the world. That positive energy was contagious and helped me get out of my funk, inspiring me to tackle the changes I was going to have to make. I realised I needed to move out of mine and Kate’s crummy old flat. Kate had already paid her rent until the end of the month and I’d been meaning to advertise for a new flatmate, but every time I sat down to make a listing, I’d ended up getting distracted and doing something else; it didn’t feel right. What I really needed was to move out and find my own place, however small. I needed to learn how to live alone. But it wasn’t just my living situation that demanded drastic change. It was high time I stopped whining about editing papers on catheters, complaining about Ted and his punctuation manuals, or moaning about how I never have enough energy left at the end of the day to write, and actually got a new job, one I might even enjoy. After some long pensive walks along the canal, some good, home-cooked meals and some invaluable heart-to-hearts with my mum, I came back to London with every single dating app deleted from my phone and a mission: to overhaul my life.
I started by looking for a flat in Lewisham and they were okay I suppose, if you wouldn’t mind living so close to the DLR that you don’t just hear the constant chug of trains but also feel them vibrating. Or if it wouldn’t bother you that when you open your bedroom door, it jams into the end of the bed. Or if you weren’t fussed that your bedroom window was opposite the balcony of another flat, where an overweight old man likes to sit smoking and people-watching. Okay, so they were pretty awful. Really awful, in fact. I began to get so weary of all the dead-end viewings that Rich ended up offering to put me up, saying I could stay in the converted loft of his and Jack’s terraced house. It was a sweet offer, but much as I adore Rich and Jack, I wasn’t exactly sure I could handle seeing them day-in-day-out, and renting off them would have made me feel ever-so-slightly like the sad singleton mate, or worse, the mad woman in the attic. But after my tenth unsuccessful viewing – a flat where the communal area smelt inexplicably of rotting meat – I was strongly considering giving Rich a call.
I went to Costa for a pick-me-up latte and began despondently scrolling through flat ads for the millionth time that week when one listing, that the estate agency must have only just uploaded, caught my eye. In fact, it was hard for it not to catch my eye since it appeared to be a castle. I clicked on the link and found that it wasn’t some spammy clickbait trick, but was in fact a converted period property. Nearby, in fact. The building was part of a stunning complex of converted military barracks that looked like something straight out of Harry Potter. And yet inside, the flat had been done up in a gorgeously sleek modern style replete with nice touches like real wood floorboards and pretty spotlights. I immediately dialled the estate agent’s number and on a whim, arranged a viewing for that afternoon. The estate agent picked me up a few hours later and the moment we drove into the development - an enclave of beautiful castle-like buildings shielded away from the hustle and bustle of London by tall wrought iron fences - it felt like stepping back in time. I loved it. I loved the clean kebab-free staircase leading up to the flat. I loved the thick brick walls that made it completely silent inside. I loved the fact that the bedroom and the kitchen were big enough to feel spacious but not so big that they didn’t feel cosy. I even loved the estate agent, who wasn’t anywhere near as annoying as the rest, all of whom had acted like they wanted to be my new best friend, just to make a sale.
Everything about the flat was incredible and I could hardly believe such a perfect place fell within my budget! Well okay, maybe about a hundred pounds outside my budget, but I figured it was worth it since I’d save so much money on going out seeing as I’d probably never want to leave. I tactfully tried to find out why the place was so cheap but the estate agent simply insisted it was because the flat was a little far from the station, which was fine by me. I’d much rather be twenty minutes from the nearest station and living in a beautiful Harry Potter flat than stuck in some shoe box with the DLR going past every five minutes. I told him on the spot that I’d take it, even though I was still slightly apprehensive that when I moved in there’d be some terrible catch, like a huge construction site springing up next door or a weird neighbour or something. But I’ve been here for nearly a year now and I can honestly say, I still love it just as much as the first day I saw it.
Of course, it’s still in southeast London with its grotty kebab joints, Ferret Man and crazy drivers, but I’m okay with that these days. I may not live in the coolest or swankiest part of the city – far from it, in fact – but it’s my London. It’s familiar; it’s home. And Kate’s place is only a ten-minute walk away. She meant it when she said her casa was my casa and we still see each other all the time, even though I do miss lounging about on Sunday mornings eating roasted bananas and gossiping. And I miss Lyn a lot too. It sucks not having our little Come Dine With Me junk food evenings, but at least I know she’s safer now that she’s living with Tom, and that is a weight off my mind.
I get to visit her at least once a month. True to his plans, Tom turned his spacious front room int
o a bedroom, complete with a single bed, the sofa from her old place, her knick-knacks and of course, her trusty telly. It’s a lovely little space and Lyn seems happier there, despite having kicked up a bit of a fuss initially at the thought of leaving Lewisham. But she likes the company and she, Andrew and even Hamish, get on like a house on fire. Apparently, Tom plied her with sherry one evening a few weeks after her birthday party and finally admitted he was gay. He said Lyn seemed a bit shell-shocked at first and maintained that she had no idea. God knows how she failed to notice, but I think she saw Tom’s camp personality as friendly bubbliness. She sulked for a few days, but then admitted that she wasn’t upset that Tom was gay but that he’d kept it from her for so long. She was hurt that he’d been leading a ‘double life’ as she put it, and she was embarrassed that she’d been trying to set him up with everyone, including me. But she got over it and now she, Tom and Andrew are pretty much inseparable. I hate to say it, but Andrew has kind of become the new me. He got Lyn into Strictly Come Dancing and now they spend Saturday nights hanging out, eating cake and rating the contestants. Even though I do miss having her on my doorstep, it’s good to know she’s doing well.
So, with Lyn and myself both out of Longbridge Way and my living situation finally sorted, it was time to confront my next big hurdle: getting a new job. I swapped trawling estate agent ads for browsing job listings, but none of the copywriter roles really appealed. I’d save them, make a note to apply later and then let the expiry day pass without giving it a second thought. When you see a good flat, you know. Everyone wants roughly the same thing – somewhere clean, reasonably spacious, well-maintained, and in a good neighbourhood. But finding a new job is so much harder. Yes, a role might come with perks like a good salary, decent holiday leave, or even a healthcare plan, but sometimes those things just aren’t enough and I really didn’t want to trade one boring job for another. None of the ads appealed so eventually, I stopped browsing, just like I stopped doing online dating, and I did some soul-searching instead. I figured maybe I needed something completely different. Perhaps something that wasn’t office-based or didn’t even involve writing. I looked at the other things that meant a lot to me and naturally, I thought of Lyn and how much I loved helping her. I figured that maybe I ought to go into elderly care. I chatted about it with Tom, who, being a teacher and general do-gooder, naturally thought it was a great idea. He even put me in touch with his friend Gerry who DJ’d at Lyn’s party, since his wife worked in a care home and I began volunteering there a few times a week.