Chapter 2
Chapter Two
‘So, to get this straight,’ said Nicky. ‘A council worker with a voice like a Sacher Torte, who you’d never seen before in your life, knew your first names. Both yours and Shaun’s, so it couldn’t have been a lucky guess.’
‘Yes!’ said Evie. ‘It was very weird.’
Nicky nodded once and took a thoughtful sip of wine. Evie couldn’t tell if she agreed or was working out how to commit a good friend into psychiatric care.
‘And this person also told you that Shaun was shallow and self-absorbed, and you were well shot of him.’
‘Um, they didn’t phrase it quite like–’
Nicky waved her hand as if shooing a fly.
‘Okay, I guess that’s fair,’ Evie admitted. ‘But he also called me out for staying with Shaun. Which I don’t think is fair at all .’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I loved Shaun!’
Nicky’s bright blue eyes widened. ‘Mate, really?’
‘We engraved our initials on a heart-shaped padlock and attached it to the Millennium Bridge,’ said Evie. ‘I kept the key on a chain around my neck.’
‘Did it turn green owing to being made from super-cheap metal?’
‘Only a little bit …’
‘Mate.’
Evie fiddled with the base of her wine glass, too downcast to drink.
‘I thought I loved him,’ she said. ‘I always had that excited bubbly feeling when I saw him. He made me laugh. And he was very good at – you know.’
‘Parcheesi? Dry stone walling?’
‘Don’t wind me up, Nick, I’m not in the mood. I’m in a mood, but not that one.’
‘Sorry.’ Nicky reached over and squeezed Evie’s hand. ‘And I’m sorry you’re sad. I really thought your relationship with Shaun was the same as with your other boyfriends. A casual, easy thing. Here for a good time, not a long time.’
Evie searched her friend’s face. ‘A good time, not a long time? That’s the kind of relationship you think I’ve been looking for?’
Nicky frowned. ‘Well … so far, you’ve only picked guys who think ‘commitment’ refers to that movie about an Irish soul band.’
‘Not true!’ Evie protested. ‘What about Jason? We almost got engaged!’
‘And how many other women has he ‘almost’ got engaged to?’ Nicky pulled out her phone. ‘Let me check the latest membership numbers of the ‘Jason Gannon is a Lying Arsehole’ Facebook group.’
Evie refused to give in without a fight. ‘What about Tony, then? He was sweet, and very caring. He lit scented candles around the bed and massaged me with essential oils.’
‘And now he’s in Bali making a fortune out of rich American women,’ said Nicky. ‘But I’m sure he thanks you for teaching him that undiluted ylang-ylang can cause a nasty case of allergic dermatitis.’
‘I itched for days,’ said Evie, glumly. ‘And in places you really shouldn’t scratch in public.’
‘Mate.’
Nicky pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘I’ll get us another round. Same again?’
Evie nodded. Any other time, she’d have been happy to be there, in the pretty outdoor space of her favourite bar, on a warm summer’s evening, drinking wine with her best friend. But Nicky’s words had thrown her. It had never occurred to Evie that there was a pattern to her relationships. And that the pattern might be one she’d created herself.
She remembered what the unusual council worker had asked her: what did she want? Up until now, Evie had thought she’d wanted Tony and Jason and Shaun. Handsome, easy-going men who were fun to be around. Who didn’t take life too seriously. Who didn’t take anything too seriously. Including their relationships with her.
Was what Nicky said true – that Evie had chosen them because she knew they weren’t keepers? If so, why? Why did she want that kind of man?
‘What’s wrong with me?’ she said out loud. This time, the universe declined to answer.
Evie watched as Nicky came out of the bar carrying two large glasses of rosé. Her friend was six feet tall and reed slender, with long, wayward blonde curls shoved into a messy ponytail. She was at least a foot taller than Evie, whose own shoulder-length curls were dark brown to match her eyes. Whereas Nicky never wore makeup, Evie wouldn’t be seen dead without her winged eyeliner and rosy lip gloss. She’d offered to give Nicky a tutorial, but Nicky had replied that washing her hair was enough aggravation in her life.
Born in New Zealand, Nicky had grown up on a sheep farm, and her attitude to life was brutally practical. She’d once won a contest that required her, among other things, to take the cap off a beer bottle in one stroke with a fish slice. A short relationship with a British veterinary student had brought her to London, and now she worked at an urban riding school. Evie had met Nicky three years ago at a mutual friend’s party, where Nicky had given Evie complete shit about her job.
‘A social media manager?’ Nicky had said. ‘You mean you get paid to do what any idiot can do for free?’
Evie’s employer was a chain of plumbing supplies shops in North and East London, run by two blokes in their fifties.
‘Yes,’ she’d replied. ‘But I also have to explain what metadata is and why they must never, under any circumstances, post Minion memes.’
‘I take it back,’ Nicky had said. ‘You’re worth every penny.’
Nicky set the glass of rosé in front of Evie, who barely waited for her friend to resume her seat before speaking.
‘Am I weird? Am I defective?’ Evie demanded. ‘Why am I sabotaging my own relationships by picking men who are never going to stay? And why have I only just figured out that’s what I’m doing? Why did you know when I didn’t? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Whoa, back the truck up,’ said Nicky. ‘First, you’re no weirder than the next weirdo. We’re all a bit cray-cray, nothing to be ashamed of. And why would I say anything? First, it’s none of my beeswax, and second, you’re only twenty-eight. It’s not the 1950s where you’re on the shelf if you’re not married by age eleven or whatever. Why worry?’
Evie could see Nicky’s point. Even if she weren’t young, there was no pressure on her to settle down. Women weren’t defined by their relationships. Evidence suggested that they might actually be better off all round if they stayed single. Evie wasn’t wedded to the idea of being wedded, and though she liked kids very much, she didn’t believe her life would be a waste if she didn’t have any.
But that wasn’t the problem. Her problem was that she’d not been aware . Up until today, Evie had thought she’d been fully in control of her decisions. When in fact, it now looked like her subconscious had been at the wheel all the time, steering her around like that parasitic flatworm that turns ants into zombie slaves. Her subconscious had been keeping its motivations hidden from her. Time to bring that the treacherous sneak to heel.
‘I’m going on a journey of self-discovery,’ she announced. ‘I need to find out what’s going on in my brain.’
‘If that’s what you want,’ said Nicky. ‘But I’ll tell you now, mate, if you start buying cushions with Live, Laugh, Love on them, I’m going to stage an intervention.’
Evie lifted her glass and clinked it against her friend’s. ‘Agreed.’