The Ex Factor

Chapter 4 The Accidental Proposal

Ani

Ani had a terrible habit, almost shameful in modern times—she was incorrigibly on time for everything. She did her best, slowing her walk right down on the way from the tube to the restaurant, but she was still only four minutes late. She ordered a gin and tonic in the almost-empty restaurant, and when she thanked the waiter he said something in reply. ‘I’m sorry?’ He said it again and she realised—Hindi. ‘Er…I only speak English, sorry.’

She’d hoped it would be a cool Brick Lane place, of the type Rosa was always having to do features on, where they served the food in hammocks or only ate cereal or things on toast. She looked at the laminated menu—a bit of curry was stuck on the side. It wasn’t a cool place. And Will was late. Despite years of dating, Ani had not been able to reconcile herself to the lax attitude to time most people displayed. On impulse she texted Marnie: Waiting for late date. Many misgivings.

Marnie came back: Might be OK? Give him a chance!

Horrible Indian restaurant. Twenty minutes late. Rebound man.

Hmm. Three strikes already. May as well stay though—a girl has to eat.

That was true, Ani thought. It was nice having Marnie back, rather than off roaming the world somehow. She’d actually missed her. Despite everything. So she stayed, but she’d already eaten her way through five poppadums with lime pickle when Will walked in the door. Twenty-five minutes late. Just inside her threshold for ‘no longer pretending it’s OK’, which was half an hour. ‘Hi!’ She half rose, wondering if they’d hug, then sat down again when he pulled out a chair. ‘How are you? Good Christmas?’

‘I—OK, I suppose.’ He sighed deeply. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just—well, I ought to tell you. I had a run-in with Kat last night.’

Kat? Who the…? ‘Oh. Your ex?’ Ani tried to infuse the syllables with threat, understanding, and indifference all at once. It was hard.

‘Yes, she—well, she came around. Said she wanted to get a few things.’ Ani braced herself to hear they’d slept together. ‘She gave me back the ring,’ he said, dolefully. ‘Her engagement ring.’

‘Oh—well—is that good? Maybe you can sell it?’

‘They have almost no resale value. It’s worth like a tenth of what I paid.’

‘How can that be? The metals at least—’

‘The truth is, Ani, jewels have no real value. It’s like everything with weddings. It’s worth what you’ll pay for it. When you still believe you’re in love. But take that away and it’s just a cake, or a dress, or a bit of metal.’

Ani was thinking through the implications of that. ‘It’s almost as if you’re buying…’

‘Hope,’ he finished bleakly. ‘Yeah.’

Hope, she thought, eyes focused on a smear of pickle on the passing waiter’s shirt. Hope was what kept her going on date after date, year after year, thinking, what if this, tonight, was the one, and she cancelled because she was tired and really wanted to watch The Good Wife? What if her perfect man, the love of her life, slipped her by because she wasn’t paying attention, because she slacked off for a second, because she was too impatient and sharp and scared them away? But she could now see that, despite Marnie’s encouragement, tonight’s hope was outside the restaurant, setting off sadly down the street. What had Marnie said? A girl has to eat. ‘I haven’t had any dinner,’ she said firmly. ‘Shall we order?’

‘Oh. I guess. I’m not sure I could eat much.’

The waiter came. ‘Any ideas?’ she said to Will, brusquely. ‘I’ll have a lamb bhuna and a peshwari naan, please.’

He was staring at the menu. ‘It all sounds the same to me. Kat and I used to eat in a lot, salads, healthy stuff. She really kept in shape.’

‘So why did you pick this place?’

‘I thought you’d prefer it.’

Ani held her breath till her ears popped. ‘Look, my parents aren’t even from India, they grew up in Uganda. Just pick something.’

‘I don’t like spicy food,’ Will said to the waiter. ‘So something mild. A korma?’

Ani and the waiter exchanged a look that needed no translation.

She did her best after that, and they chatted about food, about work, about Louise and Jake and whether they were really as happy as Louise would make out—nothing like a little shared bitch to grease the wheels of social interaction—but at the end of the day it was a cheap Indian restaurant with strip lighting, blaring Indi-pop from a TV in the corner, and only three of the tables occupied—one with a rugby team, who chanted and whooped every time someone took a drink. ‘Down it! Down it!’ Ani looked at her phone surreptitiously and realised only forty minutes had gone by. Suddenly she didn’t care if it was rude—she wanted to go home.

Will clearly had the same idea. He’d taken out his wallet and was staring into it.

‘Shall we just…’

‘It’s here,’ he said mournfully.

‘What is?’

He held something aloft, winking and glittering in the strip lighting. ‘I forgot I put it in here. I—I—How could she? How could she?’ He burst into tears.

At that exact moment the waiter clocked the ring, and nudged the others, who started clapping and cheering. ‘Congratulations! Wedding bells!’ Ani realised, surreally, they were singing an off-key version of ‘I’m Getting Married in the Morning’. The rugby boys caught on and started whooping again, and two other miserable-looking couples, insulated in anoraks against the cold January night, joined in with some desultory applause. Ani was still reeling. Will seemed to have frozen in shock.

‘Ding dong, the bells are gonna chiiiiime…’

‘Get in there, mate! Give her one! A kiss I mean, haaaaaa.’

‘No, no, there’s been a—no…’

‘So do not let them tarry, ding dong…’

‘Nice one! Wedding night five!’

Will stood up, knocking the remains of his ultra-mild curry onto his cream trousers. What had she been thinking? She could never love a man in cream trousers. This was what happened when you settled for less than perfect, when you gave people the benefit of the doubt. He shouted, semi-hysterically: ‘I don’t want to marry her! I just want to marry Kat, and she doesn’t love me any more!’ And he flung the ring across the room, where it bounced off a framed picture of the Taj Mahal and landed in the insipid rosé wine of a woman in a green anorak.

Later, when she’d dispatched a weeping Will in a taxi, and paid for her meal and his and also the wine of the anorak woman, and explained to the disappointed waiters that no, she wasn’t Kat, and fended off two offers to ‘give her one instead’ from rugby boys, Ani took out her phone to delete his number. She never should have added him in the first place—no contacts in the phone until date two. Stupid.

She found herself trudging along in the cold, the collar of her Reiss coat pulled up against the wind, taking out her phone to text Marnie. Marnie would understand. And that—almost, maybe—made up for everything else. She saw she had a WhatsApp message from Rosa and clicked on it as she walked. Ooohhh noooo may have got commissioned to write a piece on the stupid dating project. Might have to do it now.

Why not? Ani thought. Nothing could be worse than almost getting accidentally engaged in a restaurant with wipe-clean menus. And her friends would do a better job of finding her a man than she was herself. It wouldn’t be hard. Me too, she typed, before she could change her mind. What’s the worst that could happen?

Chapter 5 A Decaf No-Syrup Low-Fat Soy Latte

Helen

‘Great news!’ said Marnie down the phone. ‘Ani and Rosa are totes in for Project Love.’

Helen’s heart sank. ‘Ani’s in? Are you serious?’

‘Apparently she had some really awful date and changed her mind, get her to tell you about it. So you’ll do it, won’t you?’

No no no no no. ‘Ach, I don’t know. I haven’t dated in years.’ Two years, to be exact. She hoped Marnie would never do the maths.

‘All the more reason to start!’ Helen and Marnie saw the world in very different ways. Marnie kept an ever-growing list of things to try—eating bull testicles, hiking the Inca trail, wakeboarding—while Helen kept a list of ‘things I’ll quite happily die before I ever do, thanks very much’.

‘I don’t know, Marn. What if it all goes horribly wrong, or he wears Superman pants like Ani’s date, or he’s secretly a serial killer? I just read a story exactly like that in Take a Break.’

‘You don’t need to marry the guy! Just have two drinks, then politely leave if you don’t like him. That’s the minimum—just one is rude, you may as well tell them to their face they’re an uggo.’

‘See, I don’t know any of these rules.’

‘It’s like a game, Helz. You love those. Imagine you need to get to the top level. Remember when we used to play the Game of Life all the time? It’s just like that, only your dearest friends will choose your little blue pin for you.’

‘But games make sense. You take action, you get results. People are so—well, let’s just say their programming seems to have some serious bugs.’

‘But I think it would be good for us. Get us out of our ruts. And it’s ages since we did anything fun together.’

What rut was Marnie in? She was living the dream, meeting hot guys on beaches and never paying tax. ‘We had dinner literally two nights ago. I still have the hangover.’

‘Come on. I’ll be your best friend!’ It was an ironic yet non-ironic nod to Marnie’s stock phrase all the way through their childhood and teenage years. Aw, Helz, if you don’t steal your dad’s Drambuie we won’t have enough booze! Aw, Helz, have a smoke, everyone else is. Aw, Helz, snog weird Nigel who smells of egg sandwiches! And Helen was the only one who ever got caught, and then her mum would turn to her with cloudy, hurt eyes, and… ‘No,’ she said, surprised at her own firmness. ‘I really can’t. Honestly. Do it without me.’

‘But—I’ll be your best friend.’

‘You already are my best friend,’ said Helen, feeling guilty—but not guilty enough to join in with the stupid dating project. ‘Look, let’s do something just the two of us. How about lunch today?’ Before Marnie left, the two of them used to meet up at least twice a week, sometimes even catching the tube together on the way to other things, just so they could chat and catch up. Maybe they could get that back. Never mind that a spontaneous lunch would throw out Helen’s food rota and she might not eat all the tomato soup before its use-by date. She could hear voices in the background. ‘Are you in a café?’

‘Yeah. I’m just…updating my blog about vintage fashion.’

What blog? ‘Oh. Well, if you’re busy—’

Marnie paused. ‘No, no, I’d love to. I’d have an hour, would that be enough?’

‘Of course. See you at, say, the Milk Bar? It’s this new place. Supposed to be cool.’ What if it had stopped being cool in the two days since she’d read about it in Time Out? Would Marnie sniff and say, God, not that place, we should clearly be going to that café in Shoreditch where you eat all your food off of old CDs.

‘Great. Can’t wait to see you.’

Helen looked at the latest batch of ‘is my partner cheating on me’ emails, and pushed her chair away from her desk. Who cared if Thursday was ‘clean out the shower and mop the floor’ day? Just for once, she was going to do something spontaneous. Marnie was back in town, and that meant things would start to happen. They always did. Though not always in a good way.

* * *

‘Hi, hi, sorry, sorry, I’m late. Gosh, it’s busy.’

Marnie arrived just after Helen had done the hard work of finding a table in the hip but hopelessly impractical coffee shop. She was currently staking out a space on a sagging sofa, beside a bearded hipster with arm tattoos and a Mac. They were both compulsory, it seemed. Marnie was soberly dressed for her, in jeans and a plain black T-shirt. She gave Helen a squeeze, then eyed her, shaking her head. ‘I just can’t get used to you looking so different.’

‘Do I look that different?’ Helen tugged self-consciously at her skirt, worried she was overdressed beside Marnie’s understated look.

‘Massively. You look…pretty. Really, really pretty. I mean, not that you didn’t before, but…you know.’

Helen dipped her head, embarrassed. ‘I was going to order, what would you like?’

‘Oh, I’m not very hungry. Just a green tea, please.’

‘Not coffee?’ Usually Marnie ran on about seventy-five per cent espresso. Did Helen even know her best friend any more?

She shuddered. ‘No thanks.’

After the endless order—butter or spread? Gluten-free bread? Soy milk or dairy? Decaf? Sugar?—Helen squeezed back in, knocking against the coffee of the hipster. He took in a hissing breath. Marnie faced him. ‘Hey, we’re really sorry. It’s just so cramped, isn’t it? Aren’t the suitcases daft?’

Amazingly, the man, who looked as if he hadn’t smiled since iOS 6 came out, was responding. ‘No problemo. You’re right, it’s so pretentious here, but the coffee—’ he kissed his fingers, non-ironically ‘—it’s really the best.’

‘That’s great. Enjoy your drink.’

He smiled back. ‘Here, I’ll move to that table over there. Give you some space.’

Amazing. Helen had forgotten—it was always like this. Marnie winning people over, blagging things, powering through problems. Helen doing the admin, the clear-up, holding the coats. ‘How are you?’ she asked. ‘I meant to ask—you’ve got somewhere sorted? To live I mean?’ She should have checked this before. Bad friend. But then again: reasons.

‘Oh yes. Lovely people, arty types. Cam and Susie and Fred.’

‘Did you know them before?’

‘No, I just moved in yesterday. It’s like guardianship,’ she explained. ‘You know, like we live in an empty building and the rent’s cheap. It’s so cool. It’s an old school. We use the PE showers!’

Didn’t sound cool at all to Helen—no locks and a big draughty building full of dust more like—but what did she know about the latest trends in communal living? She hadn’t even had a flatmate in two years. ‘Great. Great. And work?’

‘Oh, I’m…’ Here Marnie paused. ‘Well, I’m looking into a few things. Teaching and so on, art, drama…’

Perhaps that explained the all-black and the restricted lunch hour. Maybe she was in the middle of a drama workshop or something cool, and Helen had dragged her out to hear her own ‘news’, which would consist of Mr Fluffypants catching a mouse and (not unconnected) her plans to re-cover her armchairs. ‘So tell me all about the trip! Was it amazing out there?’ It must have been for you to stay away for two years!

‘Where?’

‘Brazil. Or was it Argentina?’

‘Oh. Well, both, sort of. I moved about a lot. What have you been up to all this time?’

‘Um…you know. Working.’ And feeling guilty, and missing you, and generally pining over Ed and staying in a lot. Maybe she could work the Mr Fluffypants story up into a better anecdote if she did some impressions. She didn’t tell Marnie about the website, because she was always afraid someone would ask the name of it, and also she didn’t want to mention Karl for some reason. Marnie would only suggest Helen ask him out. Which was clearly a ridiculous idea. Helen tried to think of something cool she’d done in the past two years. Read every issue of Take a Break magazine? Knitted a hat for the cat? Thought seriously about writing some Game of Thrones fan fiction? God, she really was in a rut. ‘Nothing’s changed, really.’

‘That’s not true! You’re living on your own, you’re working from home now… What made you change jobs?’

‘Oh, I just… I felt like something different. Bit more flexibility.’ The flexibility to make sure she rarely had to leave the house, more like.

‘How’s your mum?’ asked Marnie, sipping her tea daintily.

Helen shrugged. ‘Oh, she’s… I think she’s all right. You can never be sure though. She could go at any time. How’s yours?’

Marnie grimaced. ‘Same. On to boyfriend 165, or something.’

‘Have you been to see her?’

‘And be interrogated by Mr “UKIP just say what we’ve all been thinking” about when I’ll find a proper job and get a mortgage? No thanks.’

Helen almost asked about Marnie’s dad, then didn’t. Marnie hadn’t seen him much since she was thirteen, when he’d finally made good on his lifelong promises and walked out. Time to change the subject again. Her mum, Marnie’s dad—both topics to be avoided if possible. ‘Soooo…do you have an ex in mind? You know, for the project.’ Again, Ed’s name seemed to float between them, and Helen waited for Marnie to bring him up, but she didn’t.

‘Depends who it’s for. It’s quite healthy really. I mean why shouldn’t we pass on dates we haven’t sparked with?’

A millions reasons, Helen thought. Because we’re British. Because, ew. Because people are people and not robots and feelings are bound to be hurt and things will get messy. She didn’t say any of this. Instead, she said, ‘And you think it would be OK?’

‘I don’t see why not. I wouldn’t mind if you dated one of my exes. I’d be happy if you were happy.’

Helen bit her lip. At times she had tried to convince herself of this, but she knew one thing was true: not all exes were the same. Which was why she hadn’t, and still couldn’t, tell Marnie anything about it. She changed the subject again to safer things. ‘Any other plans while you’re here?’

‘While I’m here? I’m here for good!’

There was a short silence, during which Helen thought of the past two Marnie-less years. What if she just took off again? Of course, she’d always been a wanderer—Spain, Dublin, New York, and Australia were just a few of the places Marnie had lived over the years—but she’d never stayed away for two whole years before. ‘I just meant, you know, you said London was so money-obsessed, so cold, so joyless.’ This had been the gist of Marnie’s first garbled email from the beach, after she’d up and left with no warning.

‘Not at all. It’s full of theatres and museums and lovely parks and most of all, it’s got my favourite people in it.’ She gave Helen’s arm a little squeeze, then looked at her watch again. ‘Crap, I’ve got five minutes. I better tell you my news—I’ve been contacting people, seeing who’s around.’

Everyone was around. Everyone else they knew had shown a singular lack of imagination when it came to not moving to London, or not staying in Reading, where they’d grown up. Except for Marnie, who had jet fuel in her feet. ‘Oh?’ Helen was starting to feel as if the majority of the conversation was taking place in her own head. ‘Did anyone reply?’

‘Oh sure. Anyway I started looking up a few people I’ve lost contact with, emailing…’

Suddenly, like seeing the mist clear and the cliff top under her feet, Helen realised where this conversation was going. Oh God. Here it was at last.

‘So I dropped Ed a line! It’s been two years after all, I think it’s time we caught up.’

Helen’s heart was racing as if she’d downed a quadruple espresso. Did Marnie know? No, she didn’t. She couldn’t. She heard her own voice try to stay casual. ‘And was he about?’

‘Well, I haven’t heard back yet. He’s probably quite busy, you know with his music and stuff.’

Thank God. And yet there was something else—a tiny treacherous stab of disappointment.

Marnie and Helen had been close, before. So close they were sworn ‘sober death picture friends’. This meant that if one should happen to die suddenly, the other was charged with making sure the officially released photo was one where the deceased looked sober and upstanding, and not one of them clutching tequila shots in a bikini, which would make Daily Telegraph readers shake their heads over the marmalade and decide they probably deserved to be horribly murdered anyway. But now, Helen had no idea what her friend was thinking. Was Ed just another guy to her now? After all, she’d broken up with him.

Marnie was saying, ‘If he is around, anyway, I think I’ll ask him to my welcome-home drinks. It’d be nice to catch up.’ She leaned forward to reach her tea, and Helen saw something round her neck. A necklace with a pale green stone. The birthday necklace. Oh God.

She swallowed hard. ‘You’re having welcome-home drinks?’

‘Well, sure. Why not?’

‘Um… No reason.’ Helen realised she would have to go, and that would mean maybe seeing Ed, after all this time, and being in the same room as him, and talking to him. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She would have to. And then, she also realised, all her defences suddenly caving in like a kid’s sandcastle, she was going to join in with the stupid project, and go out with whoever one of her friends picked for her, because anything was better than the way things were after Ed, and nothing was as stupid as what she’d done back then. And anyway, she owed Marnie. Big time.

Marnie was standing up, swallowing the last of her tea. The hipster man paused in frowning at his Mac to watch her. Even in plain black, she was the most striking woman in the place.

‘Hey,’ said Helen, faux casual. ‘That project—you know, if you’re all doing it, I guess I will too. Count me in.’

‘OMG! Really?’

‘Yeah, why not. It’ll be fun.’ In the same way that gouging out your eyeballs was fun.

‘Awesomesauce! We’ll find you someone lovely, I promise. Listen, I’ll pay for this.’