The Single Girl's To-Do List (19 page)

‘No, not really.’

The bed bounced lightly as she threw herself down beside me. ‘This bed is comfy.’

‘And now there’s plenty of room in it.’ I stretched out to grasp the opposite end of the duvet.

‘That’s one good reason why I don’t allow sleepovers,’ Em advised sagely. ‘Always call them a cab before they get comfy.’

‘I take it all back,’ I said, eyes closed. ‘You and my brother are a match made in heaven.’

‘Ha,’ she replied. ‘We’ll see about that.’

Em was quiet for a moment.

‘Is everything OK?’ she asked. ‘In general? With you?’

‘I think so.’ I didn’t bother opening my eyes. ‘I just need a minute.’

‘I’m really proud of you, you know,’ she said, finding my hand and giving it a squeeze. ‘You’re handling this like a pro.’

‘What kind of pro exactly?’

Before she could answer, my phone started vibrating on the bed between us.

‘International number,’ she said, standing up and slipping out through the door. ‘Ooh.’

I sat up straight. International? Could it be?

‘Hello?’ My heart was absolutely racing and I had a terrible case of dry mouth, only partly due to the amount of whiskey I’d drunk.

‘Rachel?’

It was Simon. Almost exactly eight days to the second since he’d done the deed, it was Simon.

‘Hi,’ I whispered. I wanted to hang up. I wanted to shout and scream but I couldn’t. I just listened.

‘I’ve been meaning to call all week,’ Simon started slowly. ‘See if you’re all right.’

‘It’s Matthew’s birthday.’ I was determined to make it through in one piece. Where was Redhead Rachel when I needed her? ‘We’re having a party.’

‘Well, tell him happy birthday from me.’ He coughed awkwardly. ‘Listen, I talked to an estate agent about putting the flat on the market today.’

He was already talking to someone about selling the house? I held the phone tightly, not saying anything, just feeling it getting hotter and hotter against my ear.

‘So, if you want to buy me out, we can talk about that.’ The same cold voice he’d used the last time we’d spoken was back. Obviously this was the business end of the phone call. ‘I’d just like it sorted out sooner rather than later.’

Eloquent words at the right times had never really been my strong point. As my performance with Ana had proved, I’d never been a girl who excelled at lucid arguments and knocked her opponent down with a single sentence; but
nothing
…? I couldn’t come up with
anything
? That was just rubbish. So I did the only thing I could do. I hung up. I just wasn’t going to deal with this right now.

‘Can I come back in?’ Em asked once she was already back through the door. ‘Was it Ethan?’

‘Simon.’ I stared at the wall in front of me. ‘He wants to sell the flat.’

‘
Enculé
,’ Em bit a nail. ‘What did you say?’

‘I hung up.’

‘Good girl.’ She gave me a tight smile. ‘What do you want to do?’

‘It’s a birthday party, isn’t it?’ I gave myself a mental and physical shake. He was not going to ruin my evening. ‘Let’s get our cake on.’

‘Yay.’ Em clapped and brushed down my dress. ‘You look gorgeous by the way. Fuck that guy.’

‘Fuck that guy,’ I repeated. The words had a very comforting cadence, especially when repeated over and over and over.

‘Happy birthday to you,’ Em dimmed the lights and began singing as I stepped carefully through the living room, holding my amazing cheesecake aloft. Well, holding my slightly sunken on one side but surely still edible cheesecake aloft. It was the first cake I’d made since a pineapple upside-down cake in Home Ec and, god help me, this one had better be edible.

The party seemed to have thinned a little since my time out, but Dan was still there, albeit trapped in a corner by Helena, and Matthew was holding court on the sofa while his BFF and premier trolley dolly, Jeremy, furnished him with the appropriate drinks and snacks. Everyone else seemed to be smiling. This was officially a good party.

‘Where did you get that?’ Matthew’s reaction to my culinary expertise was not exactly what I’d been hoping for. ‘I hope you’ve got the receipt.’

‘She made it, you knob.’ Em cracked him round the back of the head. ‘So shut up and eat it.’

‘You made it?’ His eyes glowed with love and booze. ‘But you can’t make tea?’

‘I know.’ I was too proud of myself to be offended. ‘And I don’t even think it’s going to taste horrible.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ He steeled himself and cut a slice, avoiding the candles. The whole room was silent. Matthew stuck his fork in with impressive commitment and shovelled a giant mouthful towards his face.

‘It’s not horrible. Is it horrible?’

‘It’s not horrible,’ he confirmed, taking another bite to prove his point. ‘It’s actually good.’

A sigh of relief echoed round my living room as everyone relaxed. I hadn’t poisoned the birthday boy; they could go on with their evening.

‘Good work, um, Rachel?’ Jeremy said. I nodded confirmation that Rachel was in fact my name. He’d been Matthew’s best gay buddy for years and he still couldn’t tell the difference between Emelie and me. ‘You’ll make someone a lovely wife one day.’

‘Yes, well, quite. If you would just excuse me for a moment.’ I gave him my best dazzling smile, turned on my heel and marched straight into the bathroom. Where I let out the most pathetic howl I’d ever heard – and I’d been there when Matthew got his tattoo. The party responded accordingly with absolute silence.

‘Jeremy, you knob,’ I heard Emelie screech, before a far calmer version of the same voice spoke through the bathroom door. ‘Rach? You all right in there?’

‘Not really,’ I replied from my elegant seat on the toilet.

I spun the toilet-roll holder around and around until all the specially purchased triple-layer Velvet was on the floor.

‘Can we come in?’

‘Probably not best.’

‘Helena says she needs a piss,’ Matthew said.

‘Helena can go home and have a piss.’ Oh my but my voice sounded a touch manic.

There was some mumbling outside the door, followed by footsteps, shuffling, doors banging and more mumbling. Rather than worry what people were thinking, I concerned myself with getting all that toilet paper back on the roll.

‘Rach,’ Em called, still on the other side of the door. ‘Matthew and Jeremy want to go dancing so everyone’s going to Popstarz.’

‘Everyone?’ I tried to imagine Postman Pete in the middle of a throbbing gay dance party. I suppose you never really knew your neighbours …

‘Yeah, I’m a bit sleepy, though, so we can stay home and demolish the rest of that cheesecake. If there’s any left.’

It was the most diplomatic way of saying ‘everyone has left because you’re mentally unstable but I’m staying on suicide watch’ with a side of ‘But hey, remember you made that cheesecake and it wasn’t awful? That’s your reason to live!’ that I’d ever heard.

‘No, you should go,’ I croaked. ‘I just need a minute. And then I’ll come and meet you.’

‘I’m not in the mood—’

‘Emelie. You should go,’ I said firmly. ‘I just want to go to bed and I’m not in the mood for a sleepover.’

Further muffled debate outside the door.

‘Hey, Rach, Em’s coming to Popstarz so just get in a taxi and come if you want?’ Matthew yelled. He actually sounded glad to escape. His mind hadn’t been at this party from the beginning. If I wasn’t losing my own tentative grip on sanity on the toilet, I might have thought more about where his was.

I smiled and ran a finger along the hem of my pretty dress. Sorry, dress. You deserved better than this, I thought.

‘Get off you, daft cow,’ Matthew hissed. It sounded like he was enduring some physical opposition to his declaration. ‘Not you, angel. Just telling Emelie not to be retarded, I know you’re fine. We’ll see you later.’

‘See you later.’ I tried really hard to make it sound like I wasn’t crying.

Waiting until I heard the front door slam shut, I stood up amidst a sea of bog roll and sighed unnecessarily loudly. It made me feel better. Redhead Rachel gave me a foul look in the mirror as I opened the door and peered out. Empty glasses, cans and discarded paper plates everywhere. Nothing like the aftermath of a party to make you feel like shit. I had to clean up. I had to take the dress off to clean up. Reaching around for the zip, I unfastened the dress and shucked it off. Such were the benefits of living alone: you could be in your underwear in your living room and no one saw. Or cared. I let the silk swoosh onto the living-room floor and stepped out of the puddle of pale blue prettiness. Just before I heard footsteps coming up the hallway.

‘Oh, bloody hell.’ Dan stood at the living-room door, shielding his eyes. I didn’t know whether to be ecstatically happy or mortified that I was wearing my minxish new lingerie. I suppose it was better to flash someone in the lingerie of a burlesque performer as opposed to that of your average nan. He quickly pulled off his jumper and threw it in my general direction. It was just about within the scope of my understanding that I was supposed to put it on.

‘I’m sorry,’ I squealed, my head lost inside the soft fabric. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought everyone was gone.’

‘I came back for my keys.’ He peered through his fingers. ‘The door wasn’t shut properly.’

I nodded at my toes. Well, this was awkward.

‘You all right?’

I looked up. What a bloody stupid question.

‘You’re so much better than this, you know.’ He gestured around the living room. Was he slating my decorating? Was he slating his decorating? ‘You’re not some prematurely middle-aged housewife. You’re not boring. You’re amazing.’

‘I’m prematurely middle-aged?’ It took a minute for the second part of the sentence to filter through. ‘I’m amazing?’

‘Yeah, like, you should still be doing better jobs,’ Dan said quickly. ‘Not just sticking to the local stuff because you’ve got to get home and cook your boyfriend’s tea. I think this whole break-up thing is going to be good for you.’

‘Right.’ I ignored the crushing disappointment in my chest and pulled the jumper down to my knees. ‘Well, maybe I like being at home to cook my boyfriend’s tea?’ This didn’t feel like the time to mention the fact that I hadn’t cooked Simon’s tea once in five years.

‘Or maybe you should come on the Sydney job with me,’ he added. ‘The people they’ve suggested so far are shit.’

Sydney! This was where I was supposed to be jumping up and down with joy but my feet were glued to the spot. The room was still lit by fairy lights and the remains of Mathew’s cheesecake sat on the table between us. The birthday candle wicks, black and fuzzy.

‘I talked to Veronica about it,’ I said. ‘She’s going to put me forward, I think.’

‘You’ll get it. You’re one of the best out there, you know,’ he said, leaving the safety of the doorway and walking over to where I stood, swamped by his huge sweater. I really was a short-arse.

‘And you’re funny,’ he went on. ‘You’re clever, you’re unpredictable and, with some training, you could make a half-decent painter’s mate.’

And I was lost for words. ‘Thanks?’

‘You don’t need to check things off a list to teach you how to be amazing.’ He was standing right in front of me. Close enough for me to notice he hadn’t shaved. Close enough for me to notice dark circles under his eyes. Close enough to smell his shampoo. ‘You’ll have a new boyfriend before you can blink.’

I blinked.

And then Dan kissed me.

It was short and soft and very brief but I still panicked. Pulling away sharply I clapped my hand over my mouth and locked my wide eyes on his. That was a definite kiss, not just an awkward swoop like at The Savoy. Definite lip on lip. But Dan didn’t move. He just stood there, looking at me, all soft brown eyes, full lips and chocolate curls resting on his cheekbones. He didn’t apologize; he didn’t say anything. Instead, he took my hand in his, held it down by my side and kissed me again. And this time, I didn’t stop him.

The hand that wasn’t holding on to mine brushed my cheek before the fingers curled around my face, weaving themselves lightly into my hair. His lips were soft and the gentle kisses quickly began to build into something more as my body responded. My brain was still back in the bathroom trying to work out how to get the loo roll back on the holder, and I was quite happy for it to stay there. Its services were not required. My hands reached up around his neck, combing through his curls, my feet pushing me up onto tiptoes to better reach his kisses. This was insane. I was kissing Dan. But my heart was beating loudly in my ears, determined to drown out the voice in my head that kept saying this was stupid and whiskey-fuelled and that I’d regret it in the morning, I just couldn’t find the words to make him stop. Because I really didn’t want him to.

Instead, I let Dan pick me up until my toes were off the ground, and push me backwards against my big fluffy sofa cushions, the warm weight of his body settling on top of me. His lips were still firmly fixed to mine but his hands began to wander, sliding underneath his whisper-soft jumper, settling on my lower back. At first.

‘I have thought about this for so long,’ he whispered, starting a trail of kisses from my ear all the way down my neck. I still didn’t have words but my broken breath seemed to be enough. In lieu of words, I reluctantly pulled my hands out of his hair and ran them across his broad shoulders, tracing the muscles in his back. Lugging around all the camera equipment really had made for a great daily workout. He felt so solid and strong. Loosening his tie, he unfastened his top two buttons before putting his hands to work elsewhere.

‘Oh,’ I squeaked, opening my eyes in surprise. ‘Cold hands.’

‘Sorry,’ he said, a small smile in his voice, but I could tell he didn’t mean it. Mostly because he was too busy trying to take off the jumper that he’d given me to put on five minutes before. ‘Do you wear this under those leggings every day?’

‘No.’ My voice sounded breathless and strange. ‘Or yes? Actually yes.’

Compared to the other whoppers I’d been banging out lately, it was only a tiny white lie.