Chapter 16
16
GRETA
‘Babes, are you sure you have to go through with this?’ asks Tiggy.
It’s Wednesday night and she’s stretched out on my sofa, intermittently stuffing crisps into her mouth between sips of wine.
‘It’s just two more dates. One bloke called Travis and the other called Ollie.’
She makes a face.
‘What?’
‘I’ve just never liked the name Travis.’
‘It’s not his fault his name’s Travis. He might be a perfectly nice bloke.’
She rolls onto her side, leaning on her elbow, and rests her head in her hand. ‘Isn’t he supposed to be a dud?’
‘That doesn’t mean he’s a bad person – just that he’s not for me,’ I reply, slightly defensive.
‘What is up with you? Last week, you were all, “Only two more dud dates…” then Sunday, you were calling it off and now you’re back to going on the dud dates. It’s not like you to be so’ – she flaps her hand in my direction – ‘flip-floppy. You’re also being defensive.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just been mad these past few weeks. I’m all over the place.’
‘No shit. I’m ten seconds from calling 999 and reporting a body snatching.’
‘It’s not that bad. It’s just that once I really thought it through and talked it over with Poppy, I realised it’s not such a big deal. It’s just two more dates and then I get to meet Harrison.’
‘And there’s that. What if he’s not what you’re expecting? You’ve already told your mum and dad you’re dating him.’
‘To be accurate, you told them that.’ She stares at me, clearly unimpressed by my semantics. ‘Which I am very grateful for,’ I add.
‘I should think so. If it weren’t for me, you’d be on a date with Ian tonight.’
‘Ha-ha,’ I reply sarcastically.
‘And what about Ewan?’ she asks, throwing me a scrutinising look.
‘What’s with the look? I told you, Ewan and I are friends .’
‘Hah!’ she scoffs.
‘We are!’
‘You see him nearly every day, you have these “lovely conversations”’ – she waggles two fingers to denote air quotes – ‘ and you described him as handsome,’ she retorts.
Why did I tell her so much about Ewan on the way home from Mum and Dad’s? Oh, that’s right – because I didn’t expect my best friend to weaponise something I told her in confidence.
‘He is objectively handsome.’
‘Ah-hah!’
‘But that doesn’t mean I fancy him.’
‘Mm-hmm,’ she murmurs, clearly unconvinced.
‘Besides,’ I continue, hoping to curb her insinuations. ‘Harrison was handpicked for me and even if I did fancy Ewan – which I don’t – it would be rude not to at least meet Harrison.’
‘To who?’
‘It’s “whom” and to Harrison – and Poppy – and Anjali. A lot of work has gone into making this match.’
‘Mm-hmm,’ she replies again, her lips pursed with judgement.
She sits up suddenly and opens the drawer of my coffee table, taking out the notepad I keep in there in case inspiration strikes.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m making a list,’ she says, finding a pen and clicking the end of it. ‘Of all your men.’
‘You hate lists,’ I say dryly.
‘That’s how confusing this is. I’m being driven to list-making!’
‘And they’re not “my men”,’ I toss at her, but she ignores me and starts writing.
I don’t know why she’s bothering. I have no doubt Harrison is everything I’m searching for. Well, there’s some doubt – reasonable doubt – but if I don’t meet him, then I’ll always wonder, ‘What if?’
While I’ve been contemplating my match with Harrison – again – Tiggy has completed her list. She regards it thoughtfully.
‘Can I see?’ I ask, craning my neck.
She hands it over and I chuckle as I read down the page.
Marcus – fat-shaming arse – NO FUCKING WAY
Aman – lives with mum – NO FUCKING WAY
Travis – bad name – ???
Ollie – naturist (OMG) – ???
Ian – too old and (maybe) too sad
Harrison – love of Greta’s life???
Luca – fit but not fit for purpose
Ewan – Greta’s hot friend
‘You put Luca on the list?’ I ask.
‘Yes, and I crossed him out.’
‘Then why add him at all?’
‘To remind you how far you’ve come.’
‘And Ewan?’ I ask.
‘You tell me.’
‘I did tell you. He’s my friend – not my hot friend,’ I say, stabbing the paper with my finger.
Is this one of those ‘methinks the lady doth protest too much’ situations? There have been a handful of moments over the past few weeks when I’ve wondered if Ewan has been flirting with me, but I’ve always dismissed them – in part, because I’m not the type of woman men typically flirt with. And maybe flirtation is a normal element of male–female friendships. Having never had one before, I’m completely in the dark!
Just like I am with dating.
I’m a thirty-five-year-old, professional woman who has dedicated so much of my life to my career, my social skills – including the ability to read signals from men who may or may not fancy me – are so underdeveloped, I should be fitted with romantic training wheels.
‘Want to tell me what’s going on in there?’ asks Tiggy.
‘What?’ I’ve been so distracted traversing the landscape of my non-existent love life, I’ve dropped out of the conversation entirely. ‘Sorry, I’m rubbish company tonight.’
‘You are.’ She holds up her phone. ‘But at least I’m caught up on the fallout from the Soulmates Unseen reunion.’
Tiggy not only loves romcoms, she also watches all the reality dating shows – and scours socials for the ‘hot takes’. Maybe I should start watching those shows – I’d probably learn something.
My mind lands back on Harrison and for the first time since Poppy gave me his profile, I feel a twinge of trepidation – and not about the assignment itself, but about him .
‘Tiggy, what if I’ve built him up so much in my mind, he turns out to be a disappointment?’
‘Harrison?’
‘Yep.’
She blows out a long breath. ‘Babes, that’s my biggest worry, out of everything else going on.’
‘Oh.’
‘I just don’t want to see you get hurt. And this is bonkers. You’re going on dates with duds and pining after a bloke you’ve never met… You’re Greta Fucking Davies, don’t forget – badass magazine editor, stylish woman about town, best friend extraordinaire – and this whole thing has your knickers in such a twist, your lady parts may never recover.’
I scrunch my nose at the last bit – Tiggy knows I hate it when she says ‘lady parts’.
‘Sorry,’ she says, ‘I meant your vagina .’
‘Yeah, yeah, I get it.’
‘Sorry for the tough love. Actually, no, I’m not, because I love you and I hate seeing you out of sorts.’
‘I know. And thanks.’
She reaches over to pat my arm. ‘Look at it this way: on the weekend, you get to date a bloke who likes to wander about in the nude and then you get to write about it. How many people can say that?’
We lock eyes, and she smirks, then starts sniggering, and I can’t help but join in. Tiggy’s right: this whole thing is bonkers. How on earth did I end up in this situation?
We laugh for a good solid minute, and I don’t even care that we’re both laughing at me. It’s a wonderful release.
When the laughter fades away, I take huge, gulping breaths, then expel noisy sighs until my breathing steadies.
‘Right,’ I say, sitting up straight. ‘Two dates this week, finish my bloody articles, and meet Harrison next week. I can do this.’
‘Too bloody right,’ says Tiggy. ‘Raise your glass.’
I do.
‘To Greta Fucking Davies,’ she toasts.
‘Ha!’ I laugh, then we clink glasses and drink.
I’m bolstered by the reminder that I am in fact, Greta Fucking Davies, and with Poppy’s advice and my bestie on my side, I can most definitely do this.
As I hypothesised to Tiggy, my next date, Travis, is not a bad person. But he’s also not for me. I felt like I was on a speed date/job interview, with relentless questions being fired at me in rapid succession. I’m shocked he didn’t have a clipboard.
As I near the Tube stop, casting my mind back over our one-hour date, sentences start forming in my head. This happens sometimes – the lightning strike of inspiration – and by the time I take a seat in a middle carriage, I have the opening paragraph of my next article mentally written. I take a small notebook from my handbag – a writer’s must-have – and start scrawling before it disappears.
There was a sad desperation in his eyes as he peppered me with dozens of questions, one after the other. Would I be his person? As I answered each question in turn, the vibrating light of his anticipation dimmed ever so slightly until we were simply two strangers without anything else to say to each other. I made my excuse and disappointment permeated the air around him as if it were a pheromone discharged by his body.
It was impossible not to feel sympathy for him, but I could tell he didn’t want my sympathy. He wanted me to be THE ONE.
I re-read what I’ve written and make some additional notes, mostly about one of the biggest traps of modern dating: ping-ponging biographical questions at each other without ever achieving real depth in the conversation. Which, I just now realise, brings me back to the original concept for the series: swimming in the deep end of the dating pool.
But how does this fit in with ‘Dating Horrors of London’? I think back to my date with Marcus the Arse – Marcarse? He certainly won’t get any sympathy from me. I will lampoon him so severely, Taylor Swift could mine my article for lyrics.
It occurs to me that there are two angles here: dating horrors, featuring Marcarse and Aman, then one or more articles addressing the original concept and featuring an anonymised Travis.
It’s unclear where Ollie will fit, but I may need more material, which would mean more dates with different men. Oh my god, am I really considering more dud dates?
I ponder this question all the way home.
Poppy
‘All set for tonight?’ Tristan asks. Evie, Olivia, and Jacinda are coming over for our girls’ night in.
‘Let’s see… wine – check. Umm… I think that’s everything.’
He laughs. ‘And dinner ?’
‘Well, I’ve given the chef the night off, so we’ll just order in.’ He smiles, the corners of his whisky-coloured eyes crinkling with amusement. ‘What about you? What are you and Ravi up to?’
‘We’ll also order in, I suppose, considering Jacinda will be here and Ravi has the culinary skills of… well, you …’
‘Ha-ha.’
‘And can I ask… a girls’ night in? What does it entail exactly?’
‘You know, we braid each other’s hair, give ourselves facials, have a pillow fight…’ He watches me in silence, his mouth twitching as he waits for the real answer. ‘All right, we don’t do any of that.’
‘Imagine my surprise.’
‘We’ll just have dinner and drink wine, then spend the rest of the evening discussing Evie’s love life?—’
‘Exposing Tyler for the cheating bastard he is,’ Tristan interjects.
‘Well, yes, that’s part of it. Though, I’ll need to tread lightly there. No one wants to hear their boyfriend is seeing at least three other women behind their back – even if they suspect it.’
‘ Three? ’
‘Yep. It took Marie less than twenty-four hours to unearth the first two and then she discovered a third.’
He frowns intensely, and a vein pulses along his jawline.
‘Evie still intends to break up with him, right?’
‘That’s what tonight’s about. Supporting Evie to make the best decision for her romantic future. Short of that, you and Ravi can go over to his place and rough him up. How does that sound?’
‘You’re teasing me.’
‘Just a little. But it’s sweet how much you care about Evie.’
‘Yes, well, that’s my job, as her older cousin.’
I scootch closer to Tristan and press my mouth to his. ‘You’re a good cousin, to both of them. And the not-for-profit is going to be amazing.’
He smiles, his expression softening. ‘I really am so proud of them. And you’re right, I think this venture will be quite something.’ He stares off, his mind obviously having wandered. He blinks a couple of times and smiles at me again, then leans in for another kiss.
‘Are you finished with work for the day?’ he asks, his mouth mere inches from mine.
I nod. ‘Yep. My brain is fried.’
‘And how about your body?’ he asks, raising his eyebrows at me. He reaches for me, his hand grasping my bum, and pulls me even closer. I feel the hardness of his erection against my hip.
‘My body is very interested in what you have in mind, Mr Fellows.’
He chuckles as his lips graze my neck. ‘Is that so, Ms Dean?’
I murmur, ‘Uh-huh,’ and my utterance transforms into a sigh of pleasure as Tristan begins to work his magic.