Chapter 1 #2
My phone rang. Gina, who lived in the flat below mine, had probably heard me come in and was calling to find out how the date went. Saying I thought her brother was a patronising dickhead wasn’t going to be fun.
‘Hi, B!’ Phew. It wasn’t her after all.
‘Hey, Melody!’ I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m good. Thanks for the cool bracelet. You’re such a luv, thinking of me like that. It really made my day!’
‘Glad you liked it.’ It was nothing extravagant.
Melody always wore a million bracelets, so you could usually hear her jangling before you saw her.
When I’d spotted the colourful beads on a stall in Camden Market last weekend, I couldn’t resist getting it.
She’d had a tough time lately, so I’d thought it might cheer her up.
‘Anyway, what you up to?’ she said.
‘Just back from a terrible date.’
‘Sorry to hear that, my lovely. Dating is pants.’ Exactly what I’d just been saying. ‘Let me guess: you deliberately picked someone crap who you knew wouldn’t go the distance, so either butt ugly or a boring old fart.’
‘What?’ I gasped. ‘I don’t do that!’ Yes, Edwin was boring, but I hadn’t known that when I’d agreed to the date. I’d thought he had potential, and he was handsome.
Melody made my dating patterns sound so prescriptive and it really wasn’t like that. I’d gone out with all kinds of guys over the years. I was an equal opportunities dater: I pretty much said yes to anyone who asked me. Tall, short, slim, big, good-looking, less aesthetically blessed.
Don’t get me wrong: I was no supermodel, so it wasn’t like I was inundated with offers. But whilst my friends shied away from the guys who were under six foot, even though I was five foot eleven, I didn’t. Finding someone seemed impossible enough, so I couldn’t afford to rule anyone out.
It made no difference, though. Sooner or later, they always found a reason to dump me.
I’d come to the conclusion that the perfect man for me just didn’t exist. I was never going to meet anyone who ticked all three of my important boxes: great personality, chemistry and good looks.
It was like that saying. When it comes to choosing a service, there are three options: fast, cheap or good quality, but you can only pick two. So if something is fast and cheap, it’ll be poor quality. If it’s fast and good quality, it won’t be cheap.
The way I saw it, the same principle applied to men.
It wasn’t possible to find one with the complete package.
They’d either be hot with sizzling chemistry, but have zero personality.
Or have a great personality, but there’d be no chemistry.
If I could find a guy who had a great personality and good chemistry, I wouldn’t be so bothered about his looks, but nope.
I’d only ever met one man with the complete package, but that hadn’t ended well either. Because I’d discovered that even if by some major miracle a guy did have all three qualities, he still rejected me.
Which proved my original point: my perfect man didn’t exist.
But I still wanted a partner, so rather than expecting to be swept off my feet and find the love of my life, I now considered dating a numbers game.
It was a case of just persevering until I found someone to settle with who could tick a couple of boxes and was ready for something long-term.
Realistically, that was all I could hope for.
‘Say whatever you want, but I know you better than you think, B. Anyway, I was calling to check you were coming the Friday after next?’
I racked my brain trying to think what she was talking about.
I’d known Melody for ages. We’d gone to university together, and although we texted and spoke often, we only saw each other a few times a year.
Whilst I lived in South London, she was based miles away in Coventry, raising her daughter on her own, so it wasn’t easy.
I definitely didn’t remember arranging to meet up.
‘What’s happening in two weeks?’
‘The reunion!! Can you believe it’s been ten years since we left uni! Crazy! So, anyway, Heather and a few of the others thought it would be cool to organise something. They said they’d sent you an invite?’
Oh. That.
‘Erm, I’m behind on opening my post, so I must have missed it…’ I crossed my fingers and prayed I wouldn’t be sent to hell for telling a little white lie. I remembered seeing the invitation a few weeks ago, then putting it where it belonged: in the dustbin.
‘No worries! It’s pretty relaxed. You can still come.
I’ll just let them know. It’d be great to see you!
They’ve hired a venue and everything. Tickets are really reasonable.
Even includes a couple of drinks, a buffet and a DJ.
It’s going to be amazeballs! I’ve had my childcare booked for weeks. Can’t wait!’
‘I’ve actually got plans for that Friday…
’ My second lie of the evening. Heaven help me.
Although, technically, staying at home could still be considered as having plans.
If not, I’d find something to do. Plucking individual hairs from my bikini line, walking across hot coals barefoot… anything except going to the reunion.
‘Oh really? What you up to?’
‘Um, I’ve been invited to… I’m just busy… sorry. I’m sure you’ll all have a great time, though! Maybe we can meet in a couple of weeks or something so you can tell me all about it.’
‘Hold on! I’m coming!’ Melody shouted. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go.
Andrea needs me. Think about it, though, yeah?
See if you can change these plans of yours.
’ Something told me she didn’t believe me.
Melody had always had some sort of sixth sense.
I was glad the conversation was ending. I was rubbish at lying, so if she hadn’t already guessed, it wouldn’t be long before she realised I was telling porkies.
‘Thanks for calling. And say hi to Andrea from me.’
‘Laters!’ Melody hung up.
As nice as it would be to see Melody, I definitely would not be changing my mind about going. It wasn’t a good idea.
Not because of him. That had happened ages ago, so I was definitely over it. He’d probably forgotten all about that night too. Like me, I doubted he’d given it a second thought.
All the same, in the interest of avoiding any potential awkwardness, I’d leave that memory under lock and key.
Yep. Some things were best left in the past. Which was exactly where all thoughts of him belonged.