Chapter Three Carys #2
‘And thank you, about confirming your name and not being, you know… I just mean, I don’t want to make a faux pas on my first day.’
She holds up her hands, presumably to make me stop word-vomiting. ‘After today, I barely remember my own name.’
‘I’ve heard it’s Dolly.’
‘Oh yeah, that’s it.’ She jokingly hits herself on the forehead, and we both laugh.
There’s that calm again. I wish I could say I wasn’t always like this, oscillating wildly between awkward and messy and comfortable and nervous.
It’s definitely more pronounced right now, because I want Dolly to like me.
She’s my roommate, and maybe a friend? I never really know about the latter until someone tells me, if I’m honest.
It feels strange to still be at square one after the Situation, but we didn’t really get a chance to speak in that way. Maybe I should ask Dolly about herself now, so I panic a little less. If we’re missed, I’m sure Bridget will come get us.
I sit down on my bed cross-legged the way I like to but shouldn’t because my knees always get angry. ‘So, where are you from?’ I ask.
‘Liverpool, born and bred.’
This throws me a little because her accent does not say Scouser to me. Maybe she’s posh and went to private school? She sounds posh to my naive ears.
‘I’m just over the border. But not the holidaying part of North Wales. I’m from Wrexham.’
She narrows her eyes at me, but there’s a flicker of a smile on her red lips. ‘By the ‘holidaying part’ do you mean Anglesey, or the caravan parks along the Rhyl seafront?’
She’s got me there. I did mean Anglesey.
The posher holidaymakers don’t generally hit up the caravan parks and the rickety old fairgrounds (more fool them, I think).
I know accent doesn’t always mean everything, but for English people it does tell you a lot.
Someone with an accent like hers usually has one of those second homes they’re trying to triple-tax people into selling.
Did I read her that wrong? Dolly doesn’t seem upset by my misjudgement.
‘Auntie Carol took me and my cousin Jas to one of the caravan parks on the coast for a holiday when we were teenagers, but I think it was way further round than you. Shell Island it was called, and it was bizarrely not an island.’
‘Many shells?’
‘I mean, as many as you’d expect to find on a beach but not so much to name yourself after the fact.’
I snort-laugh again. Dolly seems able to summon them from me.
‘Anyway, Carol had this notion we’d do a load of “wild swimming”, but it was too cold to do more than stick a toe in.’
‘We just call that swimming.’
Dolly barks with a laugh, and I feel proud. I want to make her do that again.
The group cheers from the living room, and we both glance at the door. My stomach sinks, because really I’d love to just stay here and talk to Dolly more. Sharing a room doesn’t seem quite so scary anymore.
‘Time to face the music?’ I ask, and we both get up from our beds.
With one last glance in the mirror, I straighten my back and stand a little taller, welding a smile to my face.
I’ve already made Dolly laugh; I can befriend the other eight women out there.
Bridget seems friendly. Maybe we’ll all fall in love with the men of our dreams (individually, with no competition), and there’ll be no fights and it’ll all be chill and nice and edited into a nice show… Right?
I fling open the door with too much gusto and it clatters hard against the wall, making me flinch. The sound echoes through the warehouse like a struck drum.
There’s no time to be nervous or scared of myself; I need to bury all that. It’s time to be friendly, approachable, supportive Carys. A girl’s girl.
When we stride into the living room, all the other women are curled up on the couches and stare right at me. It’s unnerving but probably because I just slammed a door loudly. I can do this.
With all the false courage I can muster, I loudly announce, ‘Let’s get ready to find our men, girlies!’
To my relief, they all whoop and cheer.
Bridget jumps up, dislodging soft furnishings and almost several drinks. ‘Yes, babe! Let’s get this party started!’
I follow Bridget to the bar where she empties the end of the Prosecco into the last bronze cup for me. ‘There’s tiddly in there, babe, sorry.’
‘For the best,’ I say as I take it from her. ‘Drinks-Carys can come out to play another night.’
Bridget laughs throatily. ‘Oh, I can’t wait to meet her.’
I’m so glad there’s someone else Welsh here – we’ve got something to bond over.
With a hand on the small of my back, she leads me to the couches.
I notice Dolly has perched herself on an arm next to the incredibly beautiful girl with the braids, and they’re already chatting away.
There’s no space for me to sit there, so I squeeze in next to Bridget and an Irish girl who immediately introduces herself as Niamh.
She tells us that Lina, the girl with long black hair, is Scottish, so we can all bond over how strange English people are.
I smile and laugh, though obviously, I don’t want to be bitchy because I am a girl’s girl to all now.
I try to keep up with all the names as conversations slip and slide over each other around me.
Three near-identical tanned girls with long blonde hair sit together, and I glean they are somehow all called Hannah. There’s a Hannah C., a Hannah P. and a Hannah S., though I’m not yet sure who is who. With Bridget, they look like a matching set.
‘Sooooo,’ says Niamh loudly, grabbing everyone’s attention. ‘What are we looking for in a man?’
‘A man with nice teeth,’ says one of the Hannahs with a clipped Southern accent, which causes a few people to burst into laughter. ‘Look, I can handle anything but bad teeth!’
Whit leans forward to look right at her. ‘Hang on, I thought the whole point is that we can’t see what they look like?’
‘Only for the first two dates, and then we get the face reveal.’ Bridget gestures violently with her now emptied cup. ‘Hannah C. is right – looks matter. We’re just giving them a chance to flash their personality first. This isn’t Love Is Blind, babes.’
‘More like Love is Blurry,’ says Dolly, and this time I manage a much more controlled, pretty and crucially snort-less laugh. An on-camera laugh. A wifely laugh.
‘Teeth matter!’ insists Hannah C. ‘They’re like the windows to the soul.’
‘More like to your mouth,’ Whit counters.
‘Isn’t that the eyes?’ Niamh asks.
Hannah C. gasps. ‘Why would you put someone’s eyes in your mouth?’
‘Come on, you’ve got to be attracted to your partner,’ insists Priya, a woman who radiates Grown-Up Adult vibes.
‘We all want a wee ride to come home to,’ agrees Niamh.
Whit nods. ‘Yeah, I’m not getting engaged to someone I don’t want to engage with, but I don’t have any preconceptions about his looks.’
‘So, what are you looking for?’ Dolly asks.
Whit laughs awkwardly. ‘I have no expectations of finding someone who wants to date me. Even if they like me, surgeons basically live at the hospital. Our hours can be nuts. It’s why hospital staff date each other, but I don’t want to shit where I eat.’
Dolly barks with laughter, as Priya coughs awkwardly.
‘It would be cool to meet someone who likes me and isn’t bothered by that being a big part of my life.
I guess I’m on Wedded Bliss for a good time, if not a long time,’ explains Whit, and my God, I wish I could be that relaxed about anything.
Maybe when you’re used to slicing people open, a reality television dating show feels like small fry.
‘Well, I’m looking to get married,’ another Hannah says a little haughtily, a Bristolian lilt to her rs.
I guess Whit’s relaxed attitude didn’t land well with everyone. Before anything can escalate, I say, ‘I’m looking for stability, and someone who is good to me. I’m open to who they are as a person.’
This gets a few nods. Dolly gives me an approving wink.
‘I don’t think I know what I want. Dating is so hard. I never feel like we’re on the same page,’ says Lina. She has the softest voice I’ve ever heard in my life. I could curl up inside it. Earlier, I heard her mention she teaches Pilates and I have no idea how anyone stays awake in her classes.
‘But you want to get married, right?’ asks Bridget.
‘Yes, of course. And I feel like I’m upfront with men about that, but then we get to date four, and I find out it’s casual.’
Everyone in the room groans.
‘Isn’t it always,’ sighs Dolly, shaking her head. I wonder what she’s been through. And everyone else of course, but as my roommate, I want to be able to support her.
‘Or they say they’re being honest about what they want, but you don’t find out the truth until you are six months in and falling for him,’ Priya says.
Lina shivers like something crossed her grave.
‘The number of men who’ve said they want kids when they don’t,’ whispers Bridget. She sounds so small and sad that I grab her hand and squeeze. She squeezes back.
‘Basically, we’re all looking for men, not boys,’ says Dolly, and everyone cheers our empty bronze cups together.
This seems to snap Bridget back to herself. ‘What’s everyone’s type?’
I knew this would come up eventually. Unfortunately, I truly do not know what my type is.
My high school to university boyfriend Mikey was a sweet little blond guy with a-mouse-from-a-Pixar-film vibes.
He’s been my only relationship, and all the other men I’ve dated had little in common looks-wise.
They were all nice, though! I’m not convinced not knowing my type is why I’ve yet to have a life-altering connection.
Maybe looks aren’t that important for me?