The Single Girl's To-Do List (22 page)

‘You remind me of one of mine,’ Jenny replied. ‘So, what’s the real deal, you want to get back with the ex? Is he the love of your life?’

‘No,’ I said without thinking. ‘He isn’t. He was just there. I was too busy getting on with every day; I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to what was going on at the time. Really it should have ended ages ago.’ Hearing myself saying those words was so strange. Because they were so true. How had I not realized before now?

Jenny leaned her head to one side and pulled a random strand of hair straight out before letting it spring back into a coiled curl. ‘Happens to the best of us, honey. Don’t beat yourself up over it. My trick is to worry so much about what I don’t have, I don’t realize what I’ve got. And it’s only when he gets up and leaves that I miss him. Now that sucks.’

‘I wish I had some sage advice for you.’ I took my third glass of wine.

‘I find “don’t be a dick” works in most situations,’ she replied. ‘I’m just not good at following my own advice.’

‘Do you know what you want now?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, I just want to be with him but he’s moved on. I can’t do anything.’

I couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting this girl. She was sweet, she was beautiful and she was so clever. What was wrong with this man?

‘I want to say never give up, if that’s what you want.’ It was rubbish advice but it was all I had. ‘Just tell him how you feel.’

‘Maybe,’ Jenny focused her gaze back on me. ‘And what is it you want? Now you know all this awesome new stuff about yourself?’

‘I want to be with someone who wants to be with me.’ I really didn’t think before answering. ‘Someone who wants me to be happy. Who wants the best for me.’

Like Dan? Asked the voice in my head.

‘So just a super-cute, good guy who loves you – and is exciting but trustworthy, fun but dependable, and would be there for you no matter what?’ Jenny suggested. ‘Yeah. The dream. I wish I could say he definitely exists.’

Except maybe he does repeated that annoying little voice.

I pushed it away and raised my glass to hers. ‘Is that too much to ask?’

‘Yes,’ Jenny replied, checking her watch and sinking her drink. ‘This is super-fun, honey, but I’ve got to run. I’m in room three-oh-seven. Give me a call if you’re around tomorrow, OK? I feel like there’s more work to be done here.’

‘I appreciated the therapy session. You have a fun evening.’ I couldn’t help but feel a little sad that she was leaving.

‘The therapy session was my fun,’ she threw a beautiful, expensive looking bag over her shoulder and leaned across the table to kiss me on both cheeks. ‘And god knows, you British girls need it more than most.’

The crowd around the bar parted like magic as I watched her hair bounce off towards the exit. Well, that was interesting. Even more interesting was that it had now been near enough two hours since Matthew had left for the bar and I was officially giving him up for dead. Bed was calling. Which I imagine was sort of what had happened to Matthew, he probably just wasn’t sleeping in it.

‘I can’t believe you’re actually going on a date with your school crush.’ Emelie was merrily munching on pastries in bed, despite my repeated warnings not to get crumbs under the covers. I was busy trying on every outfit I’d brought with me. Nothing felt right. Redhead Rachel had, for some reason, failed to show up this morning and I was as nervous as an X Factor auditionee who was only there because my dead dad had made me promise to try.

‘It’s going to be so awesome. You’re totally going to marry him.’

‘Nothing like putting pressure on a situation,’ I muttered into the mirror on the back of the door. ‘This? Is this OK?’

I’d opted for the strappy, pale yellow sundress decorated with a tiny white swallow print that fell just above my knee, together with white ballet flats and, because I was having to play this one without my overconfident alter-ego, a cardi. Just in case.

Em nodded, swallowing a mouthful of croissant.

‘It’s fine.’ She moved on to pulling apart a mini-muffin. ‘You’re going to marry your childhood sweetheart and I’ll probably end up marrying your slutty brother. It’ll be like a movie.’

‘Don’t even joke about it.’ I fussed with my hair, pulling bits back, letting them drop around my face and then pulling them back again. Why did nothing look right? Why was this so hard? ‘You know I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.’

‘I don’t know,’ Em replied. ‘I reckon he and Ana would make a good couple. If I don’t get in there first.’

‘Emelie,’ I whined. This conversation was not helping me be my most calm and wonderful self. ‘Out with it. Do you really like Paul or is this just some desperate cry for help?’

She pulled her most attractive truffle-pig face and concentrated hard on a muffin. ‘I don’t know.’ She popped a piece of muffin in her mouth. ‘I know you think it’s disgusting, but don’t you think it’s time I gave the whole boyfriend thing a go?’

‘Yes, but not with my brother.’ I swiped a tiny little Danish from the breakfast tray before she cleared it. ‘And not because it’s gross but because he’s not good enough for you.’

‘He could be sitting outside my bedroom window serenading me every night and you wouldn’t think he was good enough for me,’ she pointed out. ‘You’ll never see past him being your brother.’

I thought back to what Jenny had said about ‘The One’ in the bar the night before. Was that how she felt about Paul? Had I been standing in the way of them being together for years? If it didn’t still turn my stomach, I’d feel just awful. But it did so I didn’t.

‘Jesus Christ, I love this city.’ The door swung open towards me as Matthew crashed through it, still in the clothes he’d worn to travel in on Sunday morning. And with the five-hour time difference, that was well over twenty-four hours ago. Although, by the looks of the outfit and Matthew’s face, they’d both clearly spent some time on the floor overnight. ‘I met someone.’

‘You don’t say.’ I held my arms out and spun for approval.

‘You look lovely,’ he said, shedding his clothes and walking towards the shower. ‘I’m sure you look lovely.’

‘Um, what’s with the nudity?’ Em shouted across the room as his boxers hit the floor. ‘I’m eating. And I thought you were the world’s biggest prude?’

‘Just because I don’t want to see you naked doesn’t mean you should be denied the privilege of this,’ Matthew bowed with a flourish before ducking into the shower cubicle. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Brunch with Ethan,’ I took one more deep breath, blew it out and picked up my bag. ‘Is it warm out?’

‘Don’t know, I never left the hotel,’ he shouted over the running water. ‘Met a delightful artist downstairs. His name’s Dallas; he stays here when he’s in the city. Lives in some godawful place where they have to kill things to eat them.’

‘You
have
to kill them?’ Em sounded sceptical.

‘I’m not saying there isn’t a Tesco’s around there somewhere but you get the idea,’ he said, soaping up. ‘It was a brilliant pick-up line anyway.’

‘I’d better go,’ I said, looking at my watch and trying to ignore the gut-churning nausea in my stomach. Really, butterflies would have sufficed. ‘Really, do I look all right?’

‘You look very cute,’ Emelie confirmed. ‘If I hadn’t seen you since I was sixteen, I’d be very impressed.’

‘I was a total loser at sixteen.’ I fussed with my hair one last time before throwing my bag over my shoulder and checking for the hotel room key. ‘Braces, Sun-In, three-inch turn-ups on all my trousers. Not good.’

‘Then you’re already on a winner.’ She settled back on the bed and turned on the TV. ‘He’s expecting sixteen and gross. He’s getting twenty-eight and amazing.’

‘True,’ I muttered. ‘Wish me luck.’

‘Good luck,’ she said with a wave. ‘Text me, let me know what you’re doing.’

Matthew drew a smiley face in the steam on the shower door and waved. And then drew a giant penis and gave me a thumbs-up. I took that as my cue to leave.

Even in the crowded café, I spotted Ethan immediately. Amongst all the flannel-shirt-wearing, beanie-hat-sporting hipsters, his big blue eyes, bright blond hair stuck out like a very attractive sore thumb. He looked exactly the same. Until he stood up. While I’d spent the last ten years playing house and powdering supermodel’s arses, it looked as if Ethan had spent a decade bench-pressing bears. He was big. Really big. He met my eyes, did a second take on the hair, which I suddenly remembered was bright red instead of dark blonde, and then gave me a wave. And suddenly I was Body Shop White Musk, Robbie Williams and a packet of Chipsticks all over again.

‘Rachel?’ As soon as I was within grabbing distance, he wrapped his arms around me in a massive hug. So absence really did make the heart grow fonder. I couldn’t even pass him sheet music without blanching before. ‘It’s so good to see you.’

‘You too.’ I was almost too afraid to sit down. He was so pretty. The Facebook photos really hadn’t done him any justice; he was just a very handsome man. Really, he looked so incredibly clean-cut, I kept expecting him to pull a piece of wood out from under the table and start sandpapering, or for a giant golden Labrador to bound up and lick his face. If I didn’t do it first. Not my usual type, but beggars can’t be choosers. Especially when the choice was Adonis or nothing.

‘You look great,’ Ethan reached out for the glass of water in front of him. ‘I don’t think I would have recognized you on the street. You were always such a tomboy. And the hair! Wow.’

I was sitting in a café in Toronto with Ethan Harrison. The Ethan Harrison. As in ‘Rachel Loves Ethan 4 eva IDST’, Ethan Harrison. Sigh, swoon, thud.

‘You look just the same.’ Aside from the muscles and the lack of braces and the muscles and the extra foot in height. And the muscles. I couldn’t quite look him in the eye so I stuck to the collar of his white polo shirt and promised myself I’d try to work my way up. ‘You sound a bit different though.’

‘Yeah, I suppose I’ve picked up the accent,’ he laughed. ‘My dad is Canadian so I’d always had a twang at home. Once we got out here, it just came out of nowhere.’

‘One of my best friends is from Montreal, I’m totally used to it.’ I ordered a coffee and built up to his chin. Good, solid, square jaw. His straw-blond hair was just starting to curl around his ears and, while it was a lot shorter in the front than it used to be, my heart fluttered at the thought of there being just enough for me to reach over and brush it out of his eyes. If I weren’t sitting on my hands. In a café in Canada. Opposite Ethan Harrison. Where
was
Redhead Rachel? Sixteen-year-old Rachel was not qualified to handle this.

‘Isn’t it strange?’ Ethan scratched his head and his bicep strained against the cuff of his T-shirt. His arms were even bigger than Dan’s. Not that I was thinking about Dan. ‘If you’d told me ten years ago that you and I would be sitting here now, I would never have believed you.’

‘That has been a recurring theme lately,’ I agreed, pushing all thoughts of London out of my mind. ‘Although, to be fair, if you’d told me a week ago I’d be sitting here, I wouldn’t have believed you.’

‘It was a last-minute job?’ he asked. ‘In Vancouver?’

I stared at him for just a second too long. ‘Yes. Vancouver. Last minute. Job,’ I nodded. ‘It’s a shoot. For a magazine.’

‘And you’re a make-up artist?’ He sounded surprised but he was still smiling. ‘That’s so strange. I just don’t remember you being one of those girls.’

‘One of what girls?’ I was always curious to hear what other people thought of me. Apart from Dan. I didn’t need to hear what Dan thought ever again. Because I wasn’t thinking about Dan. Eurgh.

‘Oh, I don’t mean anything bad.’ His cheeks burned with an adorable embarrassed blush. Ahh. ‘It’s like, there was a whole group of girls who wore so much make-up at school. The Lip Gloss Girls. That was what I called them.’

‘The Lip Gloss Girls?’ I laughed, knowing exactly who he was talking about. I had been insanely jealous of each and every one of them. ‘That’s awful.’

‘You know, Louise and Claire and all those others – they were, like, constantly putting on that gross lip gloss.’ He pulled a face as a very pretty waiter in a black knitted cap brought over coffee. Professional experience said male model. Ordering-from-male-models-posing-as-waiters experience said he would absolutely get our order wrong. ‘I remember thinking it looked like they had glue all over their mouths. Who would want to make out with that?’

‘Yeah, I wasn’t really into all that stuff then,’ I pressed my own lip-glossed lips together and willed the sticky shine to Go Away. ‘I love it though. I meet a lot of interesting people.’

‘Really?’

‘No,’ I replied immediately. ‘Nearly all people are horrible. Just awful.’

‘You always were funny,’ Ethan placed a hand over mine. I tried not to have a stroke. ‘It’s really good to see you. I got to say, I’m loving the internet right now. This totally makes up for all those godawful online dates I’ve been on.’

‘Big fan of Match.com?’ I tried to sound casual, but really I was desperate to know. There must be something horribly, horribly wrong with him that I couldn’t see. Nazi sympathizer? Video-game geek? Puppy kicker? There had to be something wrong with either him or all the women in Canada. I was this close to proposing with an onion ring.

‘Not hardly.’ He let go of my hand. My heart shattered into a million tiny pieces. And there was a chance I was suffering from an epic case of internal monologue hyper-bole. ‘I haven’t been single that long. Me and my ex broke up earlier this year and I sorta spent all summer sulking. Now it’s almost time for school again. I’m just way too busy to really date properly. It’s hard work out here.’

But you wouldn’t be too busy for a long-distance relationship with your childhood sweetheart, I thought. Wonder what he’s doing next Saturday? Possibly getting a little bit ahead of myself.

‘What about you?’ He gave me a look. ‘Lots of online action?’

‘Ha,’ I snorted. Very sexy. ‘Not quite. I haven’t been single that long either, though.’

When I actually added it all up, after drinks with my new BFF in the bar the night before, it had been less than two months in twelve years. I’d started going out with my first boyfriend in the October of Year Twelve, and Simon and I had been broken up for eight days. There was no wonder I needed help.

‘This place is pretty great.’ He waved a hand around at the café after we’d ordered breakfast. I’d gone for the breakfast sandwich, exactly as it was advertised on the menu. Ethan had attempted to request a couple of substitutions to something resembling a fry-up and been greeted with repeated confusion from the hot server. As a waiter, he made a great model. I expected to be doing the make-up on his Armani underwear campaign any day. ‘Some friends of mine hang out in the bar sometimes but I’ve never been.’

‘Yeah, I heard it was a nice spot,’ I agreed. I’d already decided to keep to myself the fact that I was only staying at The Drake because my gay best friend’s gay best friend got a shag every time he visited. Why blow the mystique?

‘So what are your plans while in Toronto?’ Ethan reached across the table to give my hand another squeeze. I was definitely going to have a stroke. ‘You’re here today and tomorrow, right?’

‘Yep. Two days and then on to Vancouver.’ I was actually a very passable liar when I had my story straight. I imagined this would come to work in my favour should I ever need to explain Simon’s mysterious disappearance. ‘I don’t really have any plans while I’m here, though. I ended up meeting the stylist when I got in last night.’

That wasn’t so much a lie as a grammatical error. Technically. Jenny was
a
stylist.

‘So, you want me to show you around?’ He gave me another flash of that big white grin and I felt myself flush from head to toe. ‘I’m not much of a tour guide, but I’m sure I can do the sights.’

I was very satisfied with the sight in front of me as it was, but it was always nice to show willing.

‘Sounds brilliant,’ I confirmed. ‘I’d love to.’

It didn’t take me long to fall in love with Toronto. Between my charming tour guide and the almost offensively friendly people, not to mention the abundance of maple syrup shoved sideways into every foodstuff available, it was nearly impossible not to. By mid-afternoon, I was ninety-five per cent sugar. And I was perfectly happy with that.

After breakfast, we came out of the hotel and hit the street. Ethan pointing out little art galleries, vintage boutiques and every single dog that went by. Everything about the morning was horribly cute. Even though the neighbourhood had adopted a New York sort of attitude, all artfully distressed fabrics, buildings covered in political graffiti and every shop manned exclusively by skinny boys in plaid shirts and fertility impairing tight jeans, they all maintained their native hospitality. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d said hello to so many strangers. And as a dyed-in-the-wool Londoner, I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, until I’d had my second maple syrup macchiato, at which point I more or less felt brilliant about everything.

By the time we’d crossed everything off Ethan’s sightseeing list (sadly it wasn’t a physical list) we’d visited the CN Tower, the Hockey Hall of Fame, walked down the boardwalk, considered going inside the Royal Ontario Museum but settled for just judging the bizarre architecture (it looked as though a spaceship had crashed into the V&A), and eventually set up shop in the rooftop bar of the Thompson hotel, where I could see all of Toronto laid out in front of me. (Despite my terrible lemming tendencies, I had to admit the view was beautiful. And as long as I stayed away from the edge, I was OK. Ish.) I’d drawn a line at checking out the Bryan Adams star on the Canadian walk of fame, but I did appreciate his enthusiasm for his heritage. I was also knackered and very much wanted a little sit-down. Em and Matthew had both texted to say they’d spent the entire day sitting on their arses on the roof deck of our own hotel, slowly getting drunk and eating everything on the menu. Despite the fact that I’d had a lovely, lovely day, I couldn’t help but be a little bit jealous.