Epilogue
‘Can you help me grab this one, babe? It’s a little heavy.’
I could feel the heavy, medium-sized box sliding out of my hands like a greased watermelon before Theo swooped in and saved it, setting it down with ease.
We’d spent the past two days shuttling back and forth between his shoebox East London flat and mine, stuffing furniture into storage and tripping over boxes labelled things like ‘miscellaneous wires that will never be used.’
‘Sit down, babe, I’ve got the rest,’ Theo said, pressing a kiss against my forehead like the gallant man he was.
After bringing in the last of the boxes, we both sat on my sofa, sweaty and tired, yet content. Theo took out his phone and, after a few minutes, played the latest episode of The Jungle Diaries on loudspeaker, while I cuddled up to him and placed my legs on his lap.
‘Is this the episode?’ I asked, excitedly.
‘Yep, Simi’s producer emailed me a couple of days ago,’ Theo responded, grinning proudly.
‘Yo, yo, yo! Welcome back to The Jungle Diaries, with your girl, the one and only, Simi P! And listen, you lot have been wilding in the listener letters this week. I mean, the inbox has been on fire – questions about spicing up your sex life, shaking things up in the bedroom, and let’s be honest, who doesn’t need a little upgrade now and then?
‘But here’s the real tea: I’ve got a special treat for you.
We’ve only gone and bagged ourselves a brand-new contributor – our very own resident sex and relationship expert.
That’s right, baby: Jericho is in the building!
He’s gonna be diving headfirst into some of your juiciest, most unfiltered questions, and trust me, you do not want to miss this.
Stay locked in – he’s coming up in the next half-hour, and it’s about to get real spicy! ’
Confused, dear reader? Allow me to catch you up.
Yes, Theo and I are officially a thing. A proper thing.
Capital T. No more transactions, no more OuiMeet, no more wondering if his car ride to Aldi was included in the hourly rate.
Two weeks after my mum’s wedding showdown, he asked me to be his girlfriend.
Naturally, I said yes – but only on the condition that he retire from his escorting gig.
I wanted him to be mine, and mine alone.
He admitted he needed a month to get his finances in order, and like the progressive, supportive feminist I am, I waited …
(OK fine, I sulked for the first week, but growth, people, growth).
And now here we are: Theo’s temporarily moved in with me while house-hunting in Stockwell; a mere six-minute walk from my flat.
He’s eyed up a gorgeous three-bedroom semi-detached house opposite Larkhall Park that’s a bit of a fixer upper, but it meant it only cost a mere ￡800k.
I didn’t even want to begin to think about how many OuiMeet dates he’d had to go on over the last three years in order to save up the deposit on that.
He’s even dropped the casual ‘you could move in with me, you know’ bomb, which I pretended not to hear because I was too busy silently screaming into the abyss.
Our relationship? Going from strength to strength.
We’ve both said the L-word now – mmhmm, that L-word – and shockingly, neither of us combusted afterwards.
Funnily enough, my mum eventually came around to the whole Theo situation – though not before Aunt Gladys got herself excommunicated from all future family events. (Honestly? Served her right. She can take her passive-aggressive potato salad elsewhere.)
As for my mum and Femi, they insisted on having a Very Serious Chat? with Theo about his OuiMeet escapades.
I refused to attend on the grounds of ‘absolutely not’, but Theo came back looking alive and intact, so I assumed it went …
well enough. Apparently, once they realised I was happy and that Theo had a well-paying full-time job (because God forbid we don’t quantify love in annual salary), they relaxed.
In fact, Mum even whispered that he was ‘quite handsome’, which, frankly, I didn’t need to hear.
Things between my dad and me seem to be going OK.
I can see that he’s making the effort to repair our relationship with his daily telephone call check-ins and fortnightly dinner dates.
He now ends every call telling me he loves me, which has meant the world, and we’ve slowly been able to establish boundaries where he can still share and be vulnerable with me without the trauma dumping.
He still isn’t 100 per cent over Mum, but I did spot the Hinge app on his phone a couple of months ago, so …
progress, I guess? He still doesn’t know about Theo’s ‘other’ job, because he left the church before the exposure, and that’s how it’ll stay.
Sade and Kofi also moved in together, I’m happy to report! About two months ago, Sade also stopped ordering alcohol with her meals whenever we’d go out. Mm. Wonder what that means …
Around the same time, Kofi also got a new job; a higher position at a private hospital in Chelsea, leaving me to man the admin on my own, which was great for me as it meant an increased pay packet and my own office, at last.
Oh! And Jeff? Gone. Fired. Turned out he’d been having an affair with Tanya, the 22-year-old junior member of our orthopaedic team until she finally grassed him up after he broke it off – classic Jeff move, the slippery bastard.
Honestly, good riddance; he always gave me the kind of weird ick you can’t wash off, like when your Uber driver insists on telling you about crypto.
Apparently, according to Femi, Jeff and Veronica have initiated divorce proceedings.
Tough titty, I guess. Back to Theo – so, in a stroke of sheer genius (or chaos, depending how you look at it), I convinced him to write into Simi P’s podcast. She’d put a call out for dating, sex and relationship experts, and at first I’d only suggested it as a joke.
But Theo, being Theo, went full PhD dissertation mode and sent in this long, heartfelt email detailing his years in the escorting industry and all the wisdom he’d gathered along the way.
And guess what? They actually messaged him back!
What started as a few trial runs answering listener questions about sex, body image and the occasional ‘why won’t he text me back?
’ spiralled quickly. Simi P and her producers loved him – like, really loved him.
Next thing I know, my boyfriend has a six-week stint as their resident sex and relationships expert.
And yes, he’s doing it under his old ‘Jericho’ moniker, which makes it sound way more mysterious and sultry than ‘Theo, from South London’.
I’m looking forward to doing life with this very handsome, very caring, safe man and, even though it’s been less than a year, I can honestly say I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Who would have thought?
But here’s the real kicker: somewhere between him making me laugh until I cried and him always kissing me on the forehead like I’m his most precious thing on earth, I started to feel …
secure. In myself. With him, yes, but also just with me.
That confidence has bled into everything: I’ve been advocating for myself at work, setting boundaries with my parents, and walking around like I’m the CEO of my own damn life.
So, yeah. Turns out I do believe in love now. And apparently, all it took was an ex-escort, a bit of family drama, and a meltdown or five to get me there.