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The rest of the meal seem to pass easily enough, and Tig concentrated on focusing individually on their problems, but had long since stopped trying to offer solutions. Ame simply wanted to moan, and Dana seemed to offer up work problems because she didn’t want to moan about anything important, but didn’t want to be left out.
‘You coming?’ Ame asked, putting her coat on and leaving a tip on the table. Dana had already run for the DLR to get to Greenwich. Ame and Tig always travelled home together after the dinners, but tonight she just didn’t feel like it.
‘I’ve got to collect some stuff from Ruby, and then I think I might go to the studio for a few hours. All this talk about my photography has got me thinking,’ she lied, hoping Ame would just let it go for once.
‘You’re going to go now? How will you get home?’
‘Probably call Sergei for a cab, don’t worry about me.’ Tig hugged her best friend, inhaling the ever-present smell of Chanel No. 5 that had always defined her, even when they met in the bar during Freshers’ Week.
‘I’m not worried about you! What if I get attacked on the way home?’ Ame said, appalled. It took a second for that glint to appear in her eye, and for Tig to realise she was joking. It had been ages since she’d been able to properly read her best friend.
The minute Ame was through the door, Tig collapsed back into her chair, breathing a deep sigh of relief. It was the first time she’d felt able to breathe all night.
‘Here you go.’ The new barman reappeared with a large glass of red wine. ‘You look like you need it.’
‘I’ve been getting that a lot today,’ she frowned. ‘Do I look like an alcoholic?’
‘You look like someone sitting in a bar with a sad, wistful look. And when I bring women chocolate cake to cheer them up, they look at me like I’m the devil.’
Tig raised an eyebrow. ‘You need to hang out with better women.’
‘I’m trying,’ he grinned.
She tensed, then decided that maybe, yes, not every man needed the Wrath of Tig. Especially when they had green eyes and toned arms and tattoos. Not that he wouldn’t turn out to be a massive dick, and it wasn’t like it mattered, but … well, he was quite nice to look at. And he brought her wine. And there was the possibility that he might bring her cake.
‘We didn’t do the name thing,’ Tig gestured between them.
‘Right. I’m Ollie.’ He reached out to shake her hand, whilst she stared at him before shaking back briefly.
‘Formal. Okay.’
‘You’re Tig. Ruby said you’re a regular,’ Ollie nodded. ‘What’s Tig short for?’
‘Tigerlily.’
‘Bullshit!’ He laughed, and watched as she raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.
‘Um, and by that I mean, my name is Ollie and I’m new here and nervous and jetlagged and once again going to use every excuse I can to undo what I just said. Tigerlily. I like it.’ He made a face, wincing at her to see if her stern impression had weakened. ‘How about if I give you free chocolate cake and back away slowly? That sound good?’
She broke, smiling a little to herself. Somehow he was even more appealing chewing at his lip, nervously dragging a hand across his jaw. It was nice not to be the one saying the wrong thing for once.
‘It’s okay. I get it a lot. My parents are hippies.’ She paused. ‘Also, today is the first time in months I’ve managed to talk to a man without wanting to throttle him for things that my ex did, so, you know, congratulations on that. I’m afraid I don’t have a prize for you.’
Ollie tilted his head to the side like he was trying to tell if she was joking. ‘Okay, in which case, definitely cake. Let’s try and keep this whole “not throttling me” business going.’
He had a nice voice, she decided, warm, with a slight American lilt behind the London sharpness. She wondered what that was about, whether he was jetlagged from a trip back from America. And then Tig realised it was none of her business. But she smiled again, and shrugged, because you never turn down cake. A yell from behind the bar broke the moment, and he grinned, saluting. ‘Lovely to meet you, Miss Tigerlily, I’ll return with your bribe momentarily.’ He went to walk away. ‘Oh, wait, Ruby said you’d left these papers here?’
He placed a collection of letters and notes on the table, smiling as he rushed back to the bar.
Tig traced the mosaic tabletop with her fingers, riffling through the papers absentmindedly as she sipped her wine. Things were changing, she could tell. Everything was already starting to get better. Her positive attitude had created a positive situation. Maybe this rut was finally done.
There was an unopened envelope in the pile, thick and cream, her name written in royal blue ink. It looked official. Tamara was probably getting married, or Dahlia, or any of the other nice enough posh birds from uni that she had never really been close to, but who still insisted on calling her ‘bestie’ and crushing her ribcage whenever she ran into them on Essex Road.
She opened it, noticing the sweet lace edging, the soft feel of the textured paper. Expensive. She’d spent ages looking at invitations. She’d gone with a more informal feel, more shabby chic, laid-back. More like them … like her.
She scanned through the parents to the names of the happy couple. She thought she would fall off her chair with the shock, and held tight to the table for fear the world was turning on its axis. Darren was getting married. The bastard.
*****
Her only choice was to get as drunk as possible. And it wasn’t far off closing time at Entangled.
‘Hey, Michelle?’ Tig waved over to the dark-haired girl behind the bar. ‘Could I have a bottle of red wine, two shots of sambuca, and absolutely no judgement, please?’
Michelle blinked a couple of times and then shrugged. ‘I’ll bring it over.’
That was how Tig came to be craned over the invitation, tracing the embossed lettering and wondering who the hell Abigail Jensen was.
‘Uh oh, what happened here?’ Ollie sat in the chair next to her.
‘Nothing,’ Tig grumbled, not looking up.
‘Well, when I left you ten minutes ago, there was a glass of wine. There is now half an empty bottle.’
‘Or half a full bottle,’ she said seriously, ‘plus two shots of sambuca. I hate sambuca.’
‘So …?’ Ollie tilted his head to the side again, and she got the feeling she was a fascinating exhibit in a museum, like a strangely grotesque thing you’d find in one of those old-fashioned circus acts. It was irritating.
‘Here,’ she thrust the invitation at him, and refilled her wine glass.
He held it close to his face, then held it at arm’s length, squinting. He looked at her, and said, ‘Well, that is tacky as fuck.’
‘Really?’ Tig replied, hopeful.
‘No idea, seemed the thing to say.’
Tig rolled her eyes, and slumped back in her chair, arms crossed.
‘Ex?’
‘Yup.’
‘How long?’
‘Broke up seven months ago …’
Ollie winced.
‘On Valentine’s Day… five days before our wedding,’ she finished. His eyebrows shot up.
Ollie ran a hand through his hair and sighed deeply, his eyes wandering around until they settled on her. Pity. She couldn’t stand pity.
‘Do you want that cake now?’
‘Promises, promises,’ she said. ‘Thanks, but I think I’m okay.’
‘You do seem okay. How are you doing that?’
‘Sheer force of will,’ she exhaled, ‘and alcohol.’
She sipped at her wine, a little more delicately now, allowing the warmth to settle in on her. Ollie was a surprisingly comforting presence. Moaning at someone who didn’t really know you, didn’t try to fix everything. Maybe that’s what the Misery Dinners were trying to achieve, when really they all needed therapy.
‘So, why’d you break up?’
She tapped at the table, trying to find the best way to phrase it. She’d been asked that question so many times at the beginning. To strangers, she said it just didn’t work out, spared Darren for some reason. Some days, when she was feeling kind, it was that they were too young, the spark had gone, and you grow out of each other. But it was the sort of evening where she had to be brutally honest.
‘He dumped me because I started going to the gym and my tits got too small. Apparently.’
Ollie coughed. ‘Well, obviously he’s an idiot. A blind idiot. A massive, blind idiot.’
Tig grinned, somehow comforted when other people lost their cool.
‘Not that it’s polite to point such things out,’ he added primly, ‘but really … your boobs are magnificent.’
‘Magnificent?’ She tilted her head to the side.
‘Not that I’ve looked. But you know, peripherally, the idea of them that I got from only looking at your face during all our interactions would suggest that they’re magnificent.’
She snorted. ‘Thanks, I think.’
‘You are most sincerely welcome, Tigerlily,’ he grinned.
What was going on here? Why was he sitting with her, listening to her moan, offering her cake and telling her how great her boobs were? Was he trying to make sure she was on his side, knowing Ruby would probably ask her opinion on the new bar staff? Ame would have told her to stop being an idiot and realise he was trying to shag her. Dana would have shrugged and said she really didn’t get men and their motivations. He was painfully beautiful. Thick Bambi lashes and green eyes that seemed a little too bright to be natural. She felt awfully plain around him, sitting in her yoga pants, clutching her wine glass, tugging at her red braid. There would have been a time when she’d have walked in, and talked to Ollie without thinking anything of it. Not questioning his motivations, just secure in knowing that she was a good enough person to talk to. Funny how dropping a few dress sizes had changed the game. Well, that and Darren.
‘No one really calls me Tigerlily. It’s just Tig.’
‘Not Lily?’
She thought of Darren, all the bunches of lilies he’d bought for her over the years, after staying out late, missing her birthday, the text messages from other girls. Lilies were for apologies, and that wasn’t her anymore.
‘Nope. Just Tig.’
‘Or Tigger?’ he grinned.
‘Well, you know what the wonderful thing about Tiggers is?’
‘That Tiggers are wonderful things?’
‘No. That they will punch you in the face if you can’t get their fucking name right.’
He drew in a sharp breath, staring at her, then burst out laughing. ‘You are a strange and terrifying lady.’
‘That’s what they tell me.’
They sat quietly for a moment, listening as the faint sound of The Smiths floated around in the background.
‘How are you getting over this ex, then?’
By sitting at home each night with my bitter housemate, imagining bludgeoning him to death with my bra?
‘Um …’
‘Are you dating?’ Ollie leaned forward, as if he was suddenly her therapist.
‘I don’t date.’
‘Casual sex, then?’
Her eyebrows raised with her voice. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Well, if you’re not into dating, I assume you’re more into one-nighters,’ Ollie rationalised.
Tig felt her stomach twist. ‘I don’t really know how to date. I was with Darren since we were fifteen. I’ve never really done the dating thing. I’m not even sure we dated when we were teenagers. You just sort of ‘hang out’ at fifteen, don’t you?’
‘Yeah.’ He just looked at her. ‘I guess. So … you’ve never been with anyone except him? How long were you together?’
‘Almost twelve years.’
‘Jesus,’ he said quietly, ‘so … are you not going to put yourself out there?’
Tig paused and just looked at him, all earnest and interested, and she was angry at herself, at how bitter she’d become, because all she could do was look at him and think What game are you playing? What do you want from me?
‘I don’t tend to share all this crap with someone I’ve only just met.’
‘Sometimes that’s the best way.’
‘Well, it makes me feel … vulnerable.’ She scowled. ‘I don’t know anything about you.’
He shrugged. ‘Ollie Carver. Twenty-nine and freaking out about it. I’m here for four months waiting for my next contract to start. And I am in a uniquely good position to help you change your life. Or at least re-enter the dating scene.’
‘Ooh, smooth.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Because you shag around a lot?’
Ollie frowned. ‘No, smart arse. I actually married my high-school sweetheart, and had to learn to date once it was all over. I was you, three years ago.’
‘Oh.’ She felt her cheeks warm. ‘Sorry.’
‘No biggie,’ he shrugged, ‘but at least you know I get where you’re coming from. And it’s a lot easier without the whole wedding thing. You lose deposits, but you save on lawyers’ fees.’
Tig tilted her head to look at this guy who had her spilling her guts after only meeting him a few hours before. ‘You seem so well adjusted.’
He laughed, loudly. ‘It’s an illusion. Tigerlily, I am an absolute mess. But I live by one rule now: don’t sacrifice my life for anyone. I do what makes me happy, and I don’t give that up. No demanding girlfriends, no ultimatums, no sacrifice. No one controls me.’
Tig tried to imagine what a life without sacrifice was like, but all she could think of was letting Ame have the last few scoops of the Haagen Dazs when she wanted them.
‘You’re thinking that sounds like a pretty selfish way to live, I’m guessing.’ He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to capture her attention again. Whenever she met his eyes she was always a little startled.
‘Actually, I was thinking that sounds like a wonderful way to live. No obligations, no responsibilities except your own happiness. I like it, I think I’m going to steal it. How’s it working out for you?’
Ollie’s mouth twitched. ‘A little lonely,’ he admitted. ‘Women seem to think it’s me being a typical male – I won’t go see a chick flick with them if it’s not what I want to do, but that’s not really what it’s about. I don’t mind compromise, I just won’t sacrifice what I care about.’
Tig watched his face change, how he looked sad, indignant, and, yes, lonely. Someone had screwed him, obviously, but who was she to talk? And she certainly wasn’t at the point of prodding at someone else’s wounds, not yet anyway.
‘So you’ve got nothing against chick flicks?’
‘If anything, they are a weapon in my arsenal of tricks to get women to let me into their knickers,’ Ollie grinned. ‘I’m a sensitive guy.’
‘Like fuck,’ she snorted, and watched as muscles in his forearms moved. The guy was a machine, perfectly tuned. Sure, he seemed nice enough, but this was not a guy who cried, or whined when you went out with your friends, or made you feel guilty about things. Ollie was clearly a man.
‘I’m sensitive! I’m very good at feelings –- I knew what you needed this evening, didn’t I?’
‘Wine and cake? Yes, you’re a mind reader.’ She rolled her eyes.
‘I’m a fixer,’ he shrugged. ‘I knew what you needed tonight, and I know what you need now.’
‘Let me guess.’ She put on her shocked voice. ‘It’s to go home with you tonight and put on a chick flick, right?’
‘Ooh, look who got all defensive when she thinks someone’s trying to get into her panties,’ he snorted. ‘I’m not hitting on you. I’m offering to help you.’
‘With your dick,’ she snorted, almost itching for an argument. Stop punishing random men, Tigerlily, she thought to herself, shaking her head.
‘Hey New Guy! Little help?’ Anna at the bar called over, and he nodded, signalling to Tig that he’d be back in a minute.
She really needed to stop being so insane. Really. The guy was trying to be nice, as far as she could tell. He’d been in the same situation as her. He knew what it was like to suddenly be an adult and have no idea how to do any of the things you’re meant to know how to do as an adult. Like have a conversation with someone who wants to sleep with you.
This guy could teach me things, she thought, and then blacked out all the images her brain sent her way in response to that idea. He could teach her lots of things, lots of really bad things. But the point was, Ollie had survived. He’d been married, and he’d learnt how to date, and here he was, living his life on his own terms. She should be like that.
Her head hurt just thinking about it. She looked down at the invitation again, and reached up to undo her braid, gently rubbing the roots of her red hair with her fingertips, closing her eyes as it stung with relief. It was like every uptight bit of her sat in her hair, creeping down her neck muscles. She needed to relax.
And what was he asking of her? Nothing, as far as she could tell. He was offering advice. Maybe suggesting they hang out. He could be her Mr Miyagi, show her the wax-on, wax-off of the heart.
That was the saddest thing, she thought – that she didn’t know how to trust men anymore. She couldn’t read the signals, the intentions. She’d spent so long being sweet, chubby Lily with all the boy mates that the minute she got confident and Darren left, she was just … shell-shocked.
Matt had been the main one, one of their oldest friends, since secondary school. He was going to be the best man at their wedding. When he found out Darren had ended it, he’d been so sweet, all those text messages letting her know he was still her friend, he was still there for her, that things between them hadn’t changed. He’d come round, with wine and Chinese food and let her cry on him for an hour … and then put his hand down her top and tried to kiss her. She supposed she should have felt flattered, but really she just felt sick. The rest of the lads had turned on her after that, calling her a prick tease, thinking she was too good for them since she’d become a ‘skinny bitch’. She didn’t know how getting healthy and getting dumped made her the bad guy. And now Darren was doing it all over again. She downed the rest of the wine, and put her head on the table, so very tired of everything.
She needed a change. No more Misery Dinners. No more Darren. No more anger and bitterness. She had to let a little light in. After a night of swearing and violently vomiting up sambuca, obviously.
‘I was thinking we might be the answer to each other’s problems.’ Ollie reappeared and sat down opposite her. She slowly lifted her head off the table, and opened one blurry eye to look at him.
‘Owls blat?’
‘What?’
Tig took a deep breath and tried again, enunciating clearly. ‘How’s that?’
‘Well,’ Ollie leaned in, hands moving all over the place, ‘you need a nice, non-grabby fella to lead you into the dating world, show you the ropes, right?’
Tig shrugged.
‘And I need someone to stop my crazy neighbour from trying to get into my pants. Or wearing my pants. Or rolling around in a big pile of my pants.’ Ollie shook the image away. ‘You could help with that.’
‘You want me to beat a bitch up?’ Tig frowned, slurring slightly. ‘I mean, I could. I kick-box a lot and I could really do with releasing my aggression right now but I don’t think it’s a good idea, Ollie, really.’ She patted his wrist and smiled. ‘I’m sorry.’
He seemed to be visibly asking for patience, or mercy, or counting to ten, but when he looked at her his eyes were crinkled at the edges and he was smirking.
‘I wasn’t asking you to beat her up, Drunky McDrunkerson, but it’s good to know you have my back. I just meant, you need a fake boyfriend, I need a fake girlfriend, so … how about it?’
Tig wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, that’s in my top three most romantic invitations. Just behind “Who’s a sexy monkey?” and “Roll over”. Cheers, though.’ Tig delicately moved as if to grab her coat, leaning heavily on the table.
‘I’m not trying to shag you! I’m trying to be your friend!’ Ollie said, standing as well.
Tig sobered up quite a bit in that moment. ‘That’s what they all say. They’re your mate, and they’re your fiance’s mate, and then you lose weight, and your fiance dumps you, and all the guys who used to be your friend only care about fucking you. So excuse me if I don’t believe the random guy I met this evening about his intentions. I knew those guys for ten years, and they still screwed me over.’
Tig desperately wanted to make a smooth exit, frantically pushing her arm into the armhole of her coat, which seemed to have tangled in on itself. She finally pushed her arm through, and managed to hit Ollie in the nose.
‘Oh. my God! I’m so sorry!’
Ollie blinked a few times, hand over his face. ‘It’s fine. You really owe me a fake date now, though. What with the assault and everything.’
Tig was exhausted of all this. All she wanted was to get outside, grab a cab, eat a greasy burger and cry very quietly in her room at home. In Ame’s home.
‘Tell me why I should even be bothered considering this,’ she said blankly. ‘You have five minutes. I’m drunk and upset and if I don’t eat a burger soon I’m going to hit someone.’
Ollie pressed his lips together. ‘Good to know what I’m getting into. Food important. Right.’ He took a deep breath, looking down at her with those fuzzy green eyes, all intense and earnest.
‘I promise, I swear to you, no matter what, I won’t try to have sex with you. I literally just want to help you. I’ve been where you are, it’s scary going out into the dating scene when you’ve never done it.’ He scratched his head. ‘And yeah, I want someone to keep this nutter at bay for the last few months I’m here. Plus, I’m a good time! I’m really good at dating, at planning fun stuff and I think you’d have a good time. I just … I’d like someone to spend my time here with, and leave with no regrets.’
Tig fell into her chair with a thud, looking up at him. ‘Are you in sales, by any chance? I feel like a little devilish minion is about to present a contract at any minute, and I’ll have to sign over my soul in my own blood.’
‘Really? A guy saying he’d quite like to take you out and get to know you for a few months is satanic in your eyes?’ Ollie slumped down in the chair again. ‘Anyone ever tell you you’re hard work?’
‘All the time,’ she said, thinking of Darren. Of how he used to stop talking to her when she argued back, because I’m not going to interact with children, Lily. If you want to talk you use your inside voice. That bastard.
‘Look, if you don’t want someone to teach you how to date, and how to move forward, then what do you want?’
‘Why me for this?’ Tig asked suddenly. ‘You could pick up any pretty girl in here. No, don’t look like that – you’re cocky enough to know you’re cute. So why me?’
Ollie grinned. ‘Because you’re completely unaffected by my charms. And because any of those girls wouldn’t know it was fake. Or they’d pretend to be okay with it, and it would all get dramatic, and I hate drama. I’d thought from what you said earlier … I thought it would be mutually beneficial, that’s all.’
Tig looked down at the table, because at least the table wasn’t looking at her with wounded, puppy dog eyes and wanting her to make a decision.
‘What if I say no? Will you trawl for another heartbroken and pathetic girl whose ex is getting married?’
‘No, I’ll probably just unpack my Xbox,’ Ollie grinned. ‘Come on, there must be something you want?’
You naked on my kitchen table? Tig’s mind betrayed her cruelly and she glared at him, because, obviously, this was all his fault.
‘When do you leave London?’
‘Beginning of November,’ Ollie replied seamlessly.
She thought about it. It was only July now, and that envelope in her bag demanded she be the bigger person. Tig smiled at him suddenly, scanning his bright smile in response, how his shirt stretched across his biceps and his jeans hung on his waist. If she turned up with Ollie there was no way anyone would think she wasn’t the happiest girl on earth.
‘I know what I want,’ she said.
‘Tell me.’
Tig pulled the envelope back out of her bag. ‘I want you to go to this with me, as my date.’