The Single Girl's To-Do List (18 page)

‘But I don’t want to.’ I went to my last line of defence: whining.

‘What if Asher is your soul mate?’ Emelie asked through a mouthful of naan bread.

‘He’s probably not though,’ I whined again.

‘Em said he was hot,’ Matthew said without looking away from his phone. ‘Get out of the house.’

‘Have fun on your date.’ Em waved her hand around randomly, her eyes trained on the X Factor auditions repeat. She was certainly doing her best to fill the Sky Plus box up with as many anti-Simon shows as humanly possible.

‘I hate you both.’ I let myself out with a huff. ‘I’m going, aren’t I?’

‘And you’re going to be late,’ Matthew pointed out. ‘Fuck off.’

‘I’ll leave condoms by the bed,’ Em called.

Turning on my ballet flats, I stomped out and slammed the door. As much as you can stomp in ballet flats. Which it turned out was quite a lot if you really put your heart and soul into it.

Predictably, the bus was late, meaning I only just made it to the yoga class in time. Asher, sitting up at the front of the room, gave me a relieved smile and a wave as I dashed in, clumsily unrolling my mat and clobbering two other students round the head with my foam blocks. Thank god I hadn’t picked up the wooden ones.

‘Good evening everyone,’ Asher began. I sat cross-legged and tried to look as serene as possible. Out of his tux, Asher was still very cute, although I sort of missed his geeky glasses. Hopefully they’d be reinstated for drinks. His yoga outfit was thankfully not made of Spandex. Perhaps he was the one? Perhaps we’d end up living on an ashram with our beautiful bendy children Clover and Paxo. Hang on, that was the stuffing.

‘Shall we start tonight’s practice with three ohms and quiet the voice in our mind?’ Asher called out to the class in a disturbingly calm voice. Maybe he could tell I was considering naming our first-born child after a Christmas dinner table staple.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, but the little voice in my mind refused to play along. Instead of ohm-ing, it seemed to be tutting loudly and whispering something that sounded rather a lot like ‘Christ? Really?’

Yes brain, I replied unhappily, really.

‘How did you find it?’ Asher asked at the end of the session. I sat on the floor, red-faced and sweaty, rolling up my mat and praying that I would never unroll it again. I stared up at him, not quite able to believe he was asking. I’d spent half the class in corpse pose, silently crying, and the other half tearing my hamstrings off the back of my legs, audibly crying.

‘It was challenging,’ I said, after spending at least half a minute trying to think of an answer that wasn’t a lie and didn’t include the words ‘fucking horrible’.

‘Wasn’t it?’ he beamed. ‘So what do you feel like doing?’

Sitting on the floor, looking up at his open, happy face, I had a sudden vision. Asher and I in perfect warrior poses with two identical little Ashers trying to copy us and falling over in adorable bundles of geeky, glasses-wearing joy. Snapping back, I bit my lip.

‘Drink?’ I suggested.

‘And then I called her a vacuous cow,’ I said, finishing up my hilarious ‘the day I shouted at a supermodel story’ and my second glass of red. ‘And marched off.’

‘Right. Wow. That’s um, yeah. Wow,’ Asher said for the umpteenth time, finishing up his third beer. He drank a lot for a yoga teacher, I thought. That wasn’t a tick in the ‘future father of my children’ column.

‘But you know, onwards and upwards. My round.’ I stood up. ‘Another of the same?’

‘Right. Yes,’ Asher said. ‘Another.’

Standing at the bar, I looked back at our table. OK, so he was a bit quiet, but he seemed nice. And he couldn’t be evil or anything if he taught yoga, surely? After class, we’d ducked into The Lexington, my theory being that if my hamstrings gave up, I’d be able to crawl home. Jamie, the bartender, nodded acknowledgement and lined our drinks up on the bar.

‘All right, Rachel?’ he asked, taking my twenty.

‘Not so bad.’ I returned his smile and took my change. ‘Busy night?’

‘There’s a band on upstairs so it’s pretty quiet actually,’ he said, nodding slightly over to where Asher was sitting playing with his phone. ‘What’s all this?’

‘Oh, new … friend,’ I pulled a face. ‘Simon and I broke up.’

‘Bloody fast worker,’ he replied. ‘I suppose there’s no point messing around.’

‘He seems all right,’ I nodded.

‘Well, I’d hold out for better than all right, if I were you, but as long as it’s fun.’ He gave me a half-smile and moved down the bar to serve the next punter.

Fun. Hmm, was I having fun?

‘So how long have you been into yoga?’ I asked, setting Asher’s beer down on the table in front of him. His long legs were folded up underneath his chair, yoga mat off to the side.

‘Cheers. Been a couple of years now,’ he said, pushing his glasses back up his nose. ‘I love it.’

I nodded. Good, healthy lifestyle. Tick. ‘What made you start?’

‘Actually an ex got me into it,’ he admitted, sipping his pint. ‘He’d be practising for years and it was like, if I ever wanted to see him, I had to go to bloody yoga class. I’m glad I did now, though – much happier having yoga in my life than him.’

I felt my eyes widen against my brain’s command and very slowly spat my wine back into my glass. For some reason, I was not quite able to swallow …

‘Your ex was a
him
?’ I was sure my voice wasn’t quite as high-pitched as it sounded in my head.

‘Yeah, oh god, that’s not a problem, is it?’ He looked nervously across the table. ‘I forget some people aren’t always totally OK with, you know, that.’

Before I could answer, a strapping six-foot yoga god wandered into my vision, pushed me over onto my arse and swooped in to give Asher a great big kiss. I sat on the grass weeping while my fantasy children sobbed, ‘why, daddy, why?’

‘Totally OK with that,’ I said, having another, considerably more successful go on the wine. ‘Totally.’

‘Phew.’ He jokingly wiped a hand across his forehead. ‘Like I say, ex. Long time ago ex.’

I was fine with it. Really. Who wouldn’t be in this day and age? Aside from my dad. Again, big tick in the yes column from my mum probably. But I was fine with it.

‘I did the teacher training after we broke up.’ Asher sat back in his chair and stretched out his legs. I couldn’t even move mine. Still. And it had been two hours and three glasses of wine since I’d even attempted a downward dog. ‘Can’t believe my distraction ended up changing my life.’

‘I can kind of understand that.’ I sipped my wine. ‘Really.’

‘Good to know.’ He leaned forward across the table and looked around before nodding for me to come closer. I put down my wine. Was he going to kiss me? Was this the start of something wonderful? ‘I know we’ve only just met, but I actually run a naturist class on Saturdays and then some of us kind of get together afterwards. At my house. You could come along tomorrow if you wanted to?’

I sat back, pressing my lips in a thin, white line.

‘Is that the loo over there?’ he asked, pointing towards the doors at the side of the room. I nodded silently, staring ahead and not moving. All that time on corpse pose had come in handy after all.

As soon as he disappeared into the toilet, I whipped my phone out of my bag to send Em our agreed ‘get me the hell out of here’ text message. I’d had enough. I glanced up at the toilet door. No movement.

‘I’M A CELEBRITY, GET ME OUT OF HERE’ I typed as quickly as I could and kept my phone in my hand.

I had a text from Dan. My thumb hovered over the open button for just a moment. Most likely he was going to say he couldn’t make the party, that Ana had tightened the chain on his balls and summoned him home. Try as I might to pretend otherwise, I felt a bit disappointed.

‘Can I bring anything tomorrow?’

Huh. It was a nice text. But I still had no idea what was going on and I hated not knowing what was going on. Matthew’s best bet was that it was exactly that, a bet; while I didn’t like being the subject of a wager, I was prepared to accept it was a likely option. And also, as Em immediately pointed out, I was perversely sort of flattered. As long as it wasn’t a pull-a-pig sort of bet. That wasn’t flattering to anyone.

I was brief in my reply. ‘Just yourself. And booze. Loads of booze.’

‘Checking in?’ Asher retook his seat. ‘Or just letting your friends know I’m not a serial killer?’

‘Well, I don’t know that yet, do I?’ I really didn’t want to be on a date with the naked yoga orgy-meister any more. ‘No, I just got a text.’ I waved my phone around in the air, just to illustrate the point.

‘Anything exciting?’ he asked, trying to readjust the boys subtly. He was unsuccessful, I noticed immediately. This was one of the major problems about a post-yoga date. Spandex or not, his ensemble left very little to the imagination – and I wasn’t even that imaginative. And that would have been embarrassing even if we weren’t sitting in my local surrounded by men in jeans and other assorted normal-person outfits.

‘Just a friend,’ I stuttered over the word slightly. ‘A guy I work with.’

‘He’s a make-up artist?’

I thought he sounded a little bit too amused by the idea of a male make-up artist for a bisexual yoga-teacher.

‘He’s a photographer,’ I clarified. ‘We work for the same agency.’

‘I’ve never met a make-up artist before,’ he mused. ‘Can’t imagine spending all day touching up someone’s lipstick.’

I smiled politely and threw back half my glass of wine. It was drink it fast or throw it over him and I didn’t want to cause a scene. Where was Em? Where was my phone call?

‘What made you want to do it as a job? The make-up thing, I mean.’ Asher rubbed the end of his nose. Had it always been that big?

‘Well, I used to like art at school but I was no good at it and I was always doing my friends’ make-up.’ I had the short answer down pat. It was a question I was asked a lot. ‘The more I did it, the more I really loved the idea of making something beautiful, using make-up to transform someone. That’s it really.’

‘It’s interesting because obviously you don’t look like someone who wears a lot of make-up,’ he said while I sat on my hands. ‘It’s probably because I’m a man but, really, I just don’t understand the thrill of covering your face in crap. No one looks better like that. I mean, the other night? All those women done up like complete tarts? No thanks.’

‘Well, I don’t go around covering people’s faces in crap,’ I said. ‘Thank goodness.’

‘It’s just a weird job though, isn’t it?’ He just didn’t know when to stop. ‘Did your parents never freak out and tell you to get a real job?’

‘Nope.’

‘And the whole “artist” thing. Really? Make-up
artist
? I mean, if you were a real artist, wouldn’t you be offended?’

‘Nope.’

Despite the fact that my glare could have frozen the seventh circle of hell, he carried on.

‘Always fancied being a photographer though.’ He laid his phone on the table to show an entirely unremarkable shot of London from Waterloo Bridge. ‘I’ve always had a good eye.’

I couldn’t count the number of times I’d seen Dan deal with amateur photographers. Putting them down with a look was one of his gifts. Occasionally it took a patronizing smile or polite laugh. I understood; we both had jobs everyone thought they’d be able to do. After all, I was just touching up someone’s lipstick and putting crap on their face.

‘I think it’s probably a more difficult job than people realize,’ I said diplomatically, ignoring his phone. ‘Dan is really talented.’ I thought back to the photo in the gallery the night before. He really did have an amazing eye for creating something stunning. When he wasn’t taking pictures of Ana in her knickers.

‘Yeah, if I hadn’t had to get a job, I could have studied photography. It’s not reliable though, is it?’ Asher’s tone was decidedly defensive. ‘I mean, I suppose some people just luck into jobs, don’t they?’

‘He didn’t luck into it,’ I replied with equal aggression. ‘He worked really hard. Being a photographer doesn’t just happen – you have to do years as an assistant, you’re always having to study new techniques and work with new equipment. And then there’re the long hours and all the travelling. And if you’re as good as Dan, it is reliable.’

Asher looked pissed off.

‘Same for make-up artists,’ I muttered into my wine glass. My phone was still dormant in my bag. Where the bloody hell was Emelie? If she was texting my brother instead of saving me from a night in the cells when I clubbed this idiot to death, there would be trouble. ‘It goes a bit further than touching up people’s lipstick.’

‘Do tell,’ he said, looking at his watch.

‘You know, I would, but my friend just texted me and I really need to leave,’ I said, knocking back the rest of my wine and throwing my bag over my shoulder. ‘Thanks so much for tonight.’

‘Did your friend really text you?’ he asked, standing up but not looking particularly surprised.

‘Nope,’ I flounced past him. ‘Bye.’

‘You forgot your yoga mat,’ he shouted after me across the loud and now busy bar.

‘I don’t care,’ I shouted back.

Which was true until I got outside and remembered it wasn’t actually my yoga mat and now I owed Matthew twenty quid. Bugger.

Best. First. Date. Ever.

‘Oh, you know me so well,’ Matthew shouted over the music and waved his present around gleefully. ‘Can I put it on?’

‘DVD yes, condoms no,’ I replied.

Matthew’s party was going better than I had anticipated. Having been desperate to eradicate all memory of the night before, I’d really thrown myself into the party planning. There were ridiculous amounts of booze in the kitchen, more food than would ever be consumed by the assembled masses and I’d even dug out the fairy lights to create a bit of interesting lighting. It was also something of a plus that the low lights meant you couldn’t read ‘Simon is a dick’ on my living-room wall. Which you could in direct sunlight. Still. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Matthew was already worse for wear, Emelie was doing a fine job as secondary hostess keeping everyone’s glasses full and I hadn’t freaked out once. Result.

‘So what did you do today?’ I asked Matthew, taking a moment out of refilling the chips and dips to sit down on the sofa with the birthday boy. He wasn’t bouncing off the walls as I might have expected. Worrisome. ‘You don’t seem your usual desperately self-involved birthday self?’

‘Oh god, I don’t?’ he looked utterly stricken. ‘Sorry, distracted.’

‘I know, that’s what’s bothering me.’ I ruffled his hair and tried not to look at my own TV screen. I assumed he was suffering First Birthday Without Stephen Syndrome and tried not to push it. ‘Are you OK? Did you have a nice day?’

Matthew, on the other hand, could not tear his eyes away. ‘Today? I slept, watched telly, had a wank. What’s tall, dark and dickhead doing in the kitchen?’

He was of course referring to Dan. He’d arrived dead on the dot of nine with a bottle of whiskey, a bottle of vodka and a case of beer. Never let it be said that the boy could not take direction. And yet, since he’d walked through the door, we’d barely spoken. I was pretty much resigned to the fact that I’d misread the situation and he was just being friendly and supportive because I’d been dumped. And by ‘resigned to’, I of course meant ‘relieved by’.

‘He seems all right.’ Matthew poured us both tumblers full of whiskey. He had eschewed the beer and wine options much, much earlier in the evening ‘I forgot how hot he was.’

‘Yeah anyway, back to you, birthday boy.’ Whiskey was good. ‘Is everything really OK? You just seem a bit down. As in more than your usual “everyone’s a knob but me” down.’

‘I know, I’m a miserable bastard,’ Matthew threw back his drink and poured another. ‘It’s just, whatever. Birthday blues.’

‘Watch your porno and be quiet then,’ I ordered, giving him a kiss on the top of his head before marching back into the kitchen in search of the Doritos. It was a classy party.

‘Matthew having fun?’ asked Dan as I slid past. Tonight’s ensemble combo included dark indigo skinnies, a checked white shirt, pale blue cashmere V neck and a skinny black tie. I had to admit, he looked really good. If a little warm. I was in my new sleeveless sky blue silk dress and I was roasting.

‘Like the child that he is, he’s fine now that I’ve told him he can put his video on,’ I said, peering back into the living room. I knew Matthew wouldn’t want me to go into his soul-wrenching heartbreak, so I didn’t. Yay me. ‘You OK?’

‘Yeah, I was talking to Emelie. She seems nice when she’s not punching out my date.’

‘She is,’ I said. Nice? Date? Were they back on? Argh. ‘Are there any more crisps anywhere?’

‘She’s really hot.’ Dan reached up to the top shelf where he’d hidden the snacks.

‘She is.’ There was no way on god’s green earth he’d come to my party to hit on my best friend. Was there?

‘No need to be jealous.’ He set the crisps down and then turned to hold my gaze. ‘You’re hotter.’

I coughed, choking on a freshly acquired Dorito.

‘Rach!’ Matthew shouted from the living room. ‘There’s someone knocking at the door.’

‘Then answer it,’ I replied, not taking my eyes off Dan.

‘I’m watching porn,’ he yelled back. ‘And it’s my birthday.’

‘I’ll get it,’ Dan said. I looked away quickly, just not quickly enough. ‘Can you put the guacamole into that blue bowl? It’s the green lumpy stuff.’

‘You’re so funny, I could wet myself.’

‘Not in the kitchen, please.’ He placed his hands on my waist as he slid past me into the living room. Hmm, there was that funny flushing feeling again. He really needed to stop touching me. Or start doing it more regularly. I wasn’t sure which. Whiskey made me very indecisive.

‘This is a really great party.’ Em replaced Dan in the kitchen, nibbling delicately on a carrot stick. Which was annoying given that I’d bought Mini Cheddars especially for her. ‘There are so many people here.’

‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ I replied. ‘I’m very popular.’

‘And you’re wearing a dress again.’ She gave me a half-hug, checked whether or not anyone was looking and inhaled a handful of dry-roasted peanuts. ‘It’s so pretty.’

‘Thanks,’ I gave her a little spin to make the full skirt flare out. ‘I’m almost out of new outfits but nothing that survived the cull seemed appropriate.’

‘Your old clothes weren’t appropriate for milking cows,’ she replied. ‘There were fabrics in there I couldn’t even identify.’

I stopped spinning and shoved a Mini Cheddar in her mouth. ‘You threw away my wool coat. Aka my only coat.’

‘Rach, my love,’ Em said through a mouthful of cheesy biscuit. ‘That was not a wool coat. It had never even been near a sheep. If that coat saw a sheep, it would climb off your body to go and take a closer look and ask you what the fluffy bah-ing thing was.’

‘I still don’t have a coat,’ I grumbled. ‘Glad you decided to come casual, though – wouldn’t have wanted you to dress up too much.’

Emelie had gone all out for Matthew’s party. Which was something of an understatement. Emelie had gone all out for the Notting Hill Carnival. At what point had she sat down and decided this was a good outfit in which to attend a house party, I did not know. In all her stylish wisdom, my best friend had teamed bright red sequined hot pants with fishnet tights and a slouchy striped T-shirt that sloped just low enough on her left shoulder to show off her new tattoo. Her glossy auburn hair was five times its usual size, a mass of haphazard curls pushed over one shoulder, and I assumed the black strappy patent platforms I could see by the sofa were hers. She looked like an off-duty Pussycat Doll. Or a very, very high-class hooker.

‘I just thought it might be nice to try a bit,’ she said, looking back into the living room where Dan was sitting on the opposite end of the sofa to Matthew, trying not to look as if he was interested in what was on the TV. Which, to be fair, was very interesting, regardless of sexual orientation. Who knew you could get that many people in a hot tub? I supposed they were all doing their best to squeeze together and make space. ‘So, I was talking to Dan the man?’

‘That must have been fun,’ I said quickly. ‘Do you know where the tzatziki is?’

‘He’s not going out with Ana any more.’ She kept me locked in an even gaze. ‘Apparently they had a massive row after … um, you set sprinklers on her and I smacked her in the gob.’

‘Shocked.’ How had she managed to get all of that out of him in five minutes at a party? I’d had him in my house painting for half an hour and hadn’t been able to work out what the hell was going on with him and Ana. ‘He told you all that, did he? Word for word?’

‘Yeah … Funny how he’s ended up here tonight,’ she replied. ‘Hypothetically speaking, if he were interested, would you be interested?’

‘If you’re asking for permission to make a move, I won’t remind you that you’ve agreed to go to my dad’s wedding with my disgusting brother and I won’t remind you that Dan is a massive, massive player.’

I chose to ignore the fact that I felt as though I’d just stabbed myself in the gut repeatedly with a rusty butter knife.

‘Not me.’ She paused to give Pete, my next-door neighbour and local middle-aged postman, a wink as he sidled past to get to the fridge. Poor Pete looked as if he was about to have a heart attack. ‘You.’

‘It’s Dan.’ I held my hands up to emphasize the weirdness of what she was proposing. ‘I mean,
Dan
. We’ve worked together for years, we’re friends. Sort of. I couldn’t.’

‘So?’ Em refused to let it go. ‘Things change. You’ve changed. And, more importantly, he’s tall, he’s gorgeous and he’s here.’

She had a point.

‘And I just want to get my hands in his hair.’ She pulled her own hair and fluffed the ends. ‘And the eyes, Rachel, the big brown eyes. Do not tell me you don’t want a go on it.’

‘Please, I’m eating.’ I would have made a great politician. Probably.

‘Rach?’ Helena, my upstairs neighbour, appeared at my side with air kisses and a bottle of vodka. ‘Is it me or does it say “Simon is a dick” on your living-room wall.’

‘Sort of, yeah.’ I gave a considered nod. ‘I might have to give it another coat.’

‘Shout if you need help,’ Dan shouted across the room. ‘She’s not very good.’

Could he hear us? Could he hear Emelie? Shi-i-i-t.

‘I’m amazing,’ I countered. ‘I totally did all the edging on my own.’

‘Whatever.’ He turned back to his conversation with Matthew. I turned back to Helena with slightly redder cheeks than I’d had before.

‘So, um, I saw on Facebook that you two had broken up.’ Helena hedged around her point awkwardly. ‘Is everything OK?’

Helena was a great neighbour. She took the post in when we went away, she never made excessive noise and she always had milk and teabags. Unfortunately, she was not a star singleton role model. Despite being perfectly good looking, successful and – as far as I knew – disease free, Helena could not give it away and she was this close to turning 38. Given the way she was staring at Dan, I wasn’t worried that this was because she was being too subtle in her approaches.

‘Everything’s fine.’ I did not want to get into the break-up story at that second. It was Matthew’s night. At least until midnight. Or until I finished the whiskey. Whichever came first. ‘Thanks.’

‘We should go out together,’ she suggested with a friendly nudge. ‘Unless you haven’t already moved on.’ Another pointed stare at Dan.

‘No, I’m officially single now,’ I replied. ‘Professionally.’

‘Brilliant.’ She slid an arm around my shoulders and hiccuped. ‘No one knows more about being single than me. Been single for ever, darlin’. I’ll show you the ropes.’

I accepted her parting slap on the arse with a cheerful laugh. Single forever. Now there was a cheerful thought.

‘Rach, your phone.’ Em pointed towards a gently vibrating iPhone on top of the TV. Dashing past the
Jersey Whores
, I grabbed my phone, ignored the mass jeers from the crowd that had settled on and around the sofa to watch and slipped into my bedroom. It was a message. From Ethan. I nudged the pile of jackets and cardigans over to one end of the bed so I could sit down and read it properly.

I’d replied to his ‘I’d totally ask you out’ message earlier in a fevered hour-long session of writing, deleting, writing, editing, deleting and eventually sending. The general gist of it was that he should be careful what he wished for, that I couldn’t believe he was single and that I travelled a lot for work so a trip to Toronto wasn’t out of the question. Which it wasn’t. Sort of. I couldn’t wait to see what he had to say. I really hoped it didn’t include mention of a restraining order.

‘Hey, hope you’re having a fun Saturday night. Today was brutal. There was an incident with an oboe/light-saber battle. Being a teacher is tough sometimes.’

Too cute.

‘Hmm, why am I single? Good question. I guess I don’t know the answer or I wouldn’t be! In the interests of full disclosure, I was actually in a pretty serious relationship until the beginning of this year but that didn’t work out. She moved away, I didn’t want to. And so, the singleness. I don’t think I’m very good at it, though, otherwise I’d have more exciting plans than hanging out with my dog on a Saturday night. Any exciting plans your end that I should be jealous of?’

Tucking my hair behind my ears, I started my reply. Emelie would be mortified: imagine replying to a message from a boy Straight Away. But he was so sweet – how was it possible that he was still so sweet? I wanted to sound interesting and fun but not like a crazy party girl. I’d managed to keep The Savoy Incident to myself – this one should be easy. Writing messages was so hard, how did anyone ever get together through internet dating?

‘Hi! Happy Saturday!’

Good start, Redhead Rachel congratulated me. Now, let’s just bang this one out and not take an hour like we did this afternoon.

‘I do not like the sound of your job – lightsabre oboes? I hope you’re getting danger pay. I’m having a party for my friend’s birthday. He’s currently sitting on the sofa watching gay porn while everyone brings him drinks. I think he’s having fun.’

And then I was lost. We’d done all the ‘but you’re so cute!’ parts – how did I carry this on without it just becoming about the weather and what he was eating for dinner. Should I carry this on? I knew it was pointless, long-distance email flirtations rarely ended well, but I wasn’t ready to give up the kick I got every time my phone buzzed.

‘Staying in with your dog sounds like a lovely Saturday night. Especially when you compare it to this gay porn birthday party. I hope you have some equally thrilling plans for the weekend?’

I sent it before I could think better of it and then lay back on the bed for a moment. I loved my friends and I loved that they’d all trekked over here on a Saturday night at short notice for the party, but I just needed a minute to myself. I was so tired. Being single was hard work. Throwing a party, getting tattoos, screaming at supermodels, going to yoga, dating morons, running, cutting and colouring your hair, breaking the law, selling your ex-boyfriend’s ultra-rare vinyl and then spending the money on designer undies
and
painting your flat, all in one week, really took it out of a girl.

‘Whatcha doin?’ Emelie’s head popped around the door. ‘You’re missing all the fun.’

‘Am I?’ I asked without sitting up.