LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

technique.’

      ‘What techniques does your esteemed bastard mentor recommend?’ says Plum.

      ‘Robert? I forgot to ask him,’ I say glibly. ‘I must have graduated from his School O’Lurve.’

      ‘Clearly,’ says Plum, leaning back in her chair and pulling up one ankle to rest on her other knee.

      ‘Why are you wearing flats?’ I’m shocked. Plum’s wearing ballet shoes with very pre-loved jeans, a tank top and a blazer. She doesn’t look bad, exactly, just as though she’s made absolutely no effort at all. Very unlike her.

      ‘Because I don’t want to be crippled by walking on fucking tippytoes all night?’ she replies.

      ‘You always say wearing flat shoes on a Friday night is a sign of depression,’ I say.

      Plum raises an eyebrow and doesn’t reply for a few seconds. ‘You look good, by the way.’

      She says it without much enthusiasm but I flush with delight. I’m wearing a very crisp white shirt over tight jeans, with my white wrappy coat on top, and my favourite green heels. I did think that I was channelling Pretty With A Punch, but it’s nice to have it confirmed.

      ‘I can’t believe you roped me into this,’ sighs Henry. ‘The rugby boys can never find out, OK? Never.’

      ‘Shall we make up pseudonyms tonight?’ suggests Charlotte. ‘It might help nerves. I’ll be Cherry. Cherry Buns.’

      ‘I’ll be your brother,’ says Henry, grinning. ‘Honey Buns.’

      ‘I’ll be Chastity Rocks,’ I say.

      ‘Chastity! As if,’ says Plum, grinning at me as if it’s a hilarious thing to say. That’s a bit harsh. I’ve only done the wild thing with Skinny Jeans since I became single, and she knows that, and anyway, who is she to judge? ‘I’ll be Debbie,’ she says, adding, ‘I’ve always wanted to be called Debbie. Debbie Dateless. Or, ooh, I know – Debbie Desperate.’

      She grins gleefully at me. She knows how much I hate that word. Desperate.

      ‘Do you have any lip gloss?’ says Charlotte, cleverly knowing that the best way to diffuse tension with girls is to discuss something shallow.

      ‘I have MAC Big Baby,’ I say, taking out my make-up bag.

      ‘I have MAC Nymphette, Pink Poodle, and Prrr,’ says Plum, taking them out of her bag and fanning them out in her hands. ‘I could write a thesis on the anti-feminism and female infantilisation of MAC lip gloss names,’ I say thoughtfully. ‘But they’re really good lip glosses.’

      ‘I love MAC,’ agrees Charlotte. ‘I also have one by Chanel, called Glossimer—’

      ‘That’s a fucking amazing lip gloss!’ exclaims Plum. Charlotte looks delighted to have had the approval of someone who clearly considers herself a style maven. ‘I also use this one from Rimmel, called—’

      ‘Vinyl?’ suggests Charlotte excitedly. ‘I love that stuff! My friend Janey lives in Tokyo, and has trouble getting hold of it, so I have to bulk buy them for her . . .’

      ‘I really need to hang out with guys more,’ says Henry flatly. ‘Seriously. You’re killing me.’

      ‘Does anyone have a tampon?’ says Plum by way of response.

      ‘Where’s your flatmate?’ Henry asks me. ‘Why isn’t he here? He’d clean up at a night like this . . .’

      ‘Robert hates speed dating. You have a boycrush on him, don’t you?’ I say. Henry talks about Robert with a sort of reverence. We all went out recently for drinks, and they ended the night with a pair of Swedish twins, eating falafels in Maroush. Robert went home with one of them. Henry didn’t go home with the other. But it was still one of the best nights of his life.

      ‘No,’ says Henry defensively. ‘I just wish he was here to balance things out.’

      ‘Henry’s got a bromance,’ says Plum.

      My phone beeps. It’s a text.

      Great time last night. Would absolutely love to do it again. What about Sunday lunch? Jon.

      ‘Oh, it’s blind date guy,’ I say. ‘Sayonara, big guy.’ Delete, ignore, continue.

      ‘Fucking hell,’ says Plum under her breath.

      ‘Right, let’s go,’ says Henry, getting up. Charlotte quickly follows him and they start chatting on the way out the door.

      As Plum and I walk out of the pub, I sigh happily. After two glasses of champagne, I feel ready for whatever this speed dating night has in store for me. I may be the last single girl in London to try it, but by God, I’m going to give it my best shot.

      ‘Try not to hog all the fucking men tonight, alright, Abigail?’ says Plum, as we reach the street.

      I instantly realise what her problem is: she thinks I’m taking male attention away from her.

      It crosses my mind to say that describing herself as Debbie Desperate and/or Dateless isn’t the most attractive thing in the world, and maybe that attitude is why she’s not getting as much dating action as she’d like, but I’m a firm believer in not kicking someone when they’re down. Even if she’s being – frankly – a bit of a cow. So I just ignore her and keep walking.

      Charlotte and Henry are striding ahead, chatting away flirtily.

      ‘Looks like Charlotte and Henry are getting along,’ I say happily.

      ‘Why’d you have to bring the extra competition?’ says Plum crossly.

      That’s it. Fuck firm beliefs.

      I stop walking and turn to her. ‘Plum, what the hell is wrong with you tonight?’

      ‘Nothing,’ she says defensively.

      ‘Then why are you acting like this?’ I say. ‘You don’t need to take out your bad mood on me. You’re ruining the night.’

      Plum starts scrabbling in her bag, and I notice the tears streaming down her face.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ I say immediately. Fucking hell, I didn’t expect her to explode with misery. ‘Plum, please, don’t cry, it’s fine . . .’

      ‘It is not fucking fine,’ she says, through sobs. ‘I can’t face tonight, I c-c-c-can’t take the rejection. Dan was the last straw, I really thought it was different, I really, really fucking liked him and he’s disappeared like the rest of them. I have nothing left. I am toxic with singledom.’

      ‘Oh, Plum,’ I say, putting my arm around her. The others are still walking ahead of us to The Perseverance, oblivious to what’s going on. ‘Can’t you just . . . detach from it all? Just have fun? Just fake it?’

      ‘No I fucking can’t,’ she snaps furiously, pushing my arm away. ‘Stop giving me Robert’s advice. Everything is so easy for you. You break up and boom, you’re on dates all the time. You don’t even want them to text, and they still do. It’s so unfair.’

      ‘I am not on dates “all the time”,’ I exclaim. ‘And it’s not like any of them are any good . . . Fucking hell, Plum, being single is a novelty for me, of course I’m going to enjoy it.’

      Plum makes a sarcastic snorty-huff sound.

      ‘None of them are amazing or even that interesting. I can’t even imagine ever falling in love again, I’m just trying to enjoy myself . . . And just so you know, everything is not easy for me,’ I add. That particularly upset me. She knows how hard I fight to keep my nerves under control.

      ‘It looks easy,’ she says glumly, holding a tissue gently under each eye to dry her tears without ruining her makeup.

      ‘Well, that’s your perception,’ I reply. ‘Try

Скачать книгу