The Ex Factor. Eva Woods

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      ‘It’s done.’ She put some cash down on the counter, then blew a kiss and dashed off. Helen watched her go, off to her cool life, while Helen was heading home to her cat and her box sets. She wondered how it was you could know someone so well, and still not know them at all.

      * * *

       Marnie.

      ‘You’re late,’ said Barry, tapping on his oversized Casio watch.

      ‘I’m sorry, I just lost track of…’

      ‘No excuses. I’ll have to dock you a quarter-hour’s pay.’ Marnie opened her mouth to say she was only six minutes late, and had he seen how busy the streets were, but she closed it again, tying on her apron. No point in arguing. She needed this job, and as far as Bean Counters was concerned, Barry was the lord and master of all he surveyed—except when the regional manager stopped by once a month. ‘And turn your phone off,’ Barry hissed. ‘We have to give the customers our full attention during their beverage experience.’

      Beverage experience? Marnie fumbled her phone out of her jeans, spotting a message from Cam, her new flatmate. That was the one who stood too close, rather than the one who peed with the bathroom door open, or the one who she’d already caught ‘accidentally’ going through her backpack. It said: Party tonite bring ur own stash. She didn’t want to go to a party, stash or no stash. She wanted to cosy up in her own nice place and watch TV. Exactly what Helen would be doing, no doubt. A place that was warm, and clean, and didn’t contain any sleazy flatmates or recreational drugs, or, for that matter, any bedbugs—she scratched her arm, reflexively. She sighed. Would she ever have that?

      ‘Marie! Get your arse in gear!’ Barry was pointing frantically at the counter, where a line of customers was waiting, tapping their feet at the thirty-second delay. She thought about telling him her name was Marnie, and that her arse was not and never would be any of his concern, but again, what was the point? With a bit of luck she wouldn’t be here long enough for it to matter.

      She took her place, pasting on a smile. ‘Good afternoon, welcome to Bean Counters. Are you ready to begin your beverage journey?’

Chapter 6 The Ex Factor

       Helen

      ‘Right,’ said Marnie, looking round at the other three. ‘We’re all here. Time to start…Project Love.’ They had gathered in Rosa’s flat, which she now lived in alone, David having shacked up with The Intern—apparently, a nasty break-up was what it took to get a place to yourself in London, even a tatty new-build on the scruffy end of Willesden Green.

      Ani groaned. ‘We can’t call it that.’ She was shoving Kettle Chips into her mouth like letters in a postbox. She waved the bag at Helen, who shook her head. She was prone to anxiety-eating and knew that if she had even one crisp she’d probably end up eating Ani’s head, and then it was goodbye four-stone weight loss, hello being lifted out of her house by a crane.

      ‘Are you going to stay here, Rosa?’ she said, trying to postpone the inevitable.

      Rosa grabbed one of her Moroccan-print cushions and stuck it over her face, her standard response to anything divorce-related. ‘I don’t know. We’ll have to sell, I guess. So enjoy this while you can.’ Rosa indicated her tatami matting, her carved Indian table, and all her pretty ornaments. There was a photo of her wedding day over the piano, happy faces pushed together. Rosa in vintage lace, David with a top hat, and, in the background, Ani, Helen, and Marnie—who’d flown in from New York ten minutes before the ceremony—in red bridesmaid dresses, throwing confetti. Helen averted her eyes from it—her dress had been ordered in a size twenty. ‘I spent years decorating this place,’ said Rosa miserably. ‘I thought we’d be here for ever. Or at least until we bought somewhere bigger in the suburbs. He always said I loved Ikea so much, I must have Stockholm syndrome.’ Ani met Helen’s eyes—they’d have to watch Rosa, or she’d slide into another wine-and-weeping marathon.

      ‘Well,’ said Helen brightly, ‘I love living on my own. Think of all that fun decorating you can do. I’ll lend you my fabric swatches!’

      Rosa gave what sounded like a stifled scream into the cushion.

      ‘Come on,’ said Marnie impatiently. ‘We need to get started on Project Love.’ She was kneeling at the coffee table with a notebook, like a child playing at school. Today she was wearing a daisy-print dress, her hair in clips. She looked younger than the Intern David had skipped off with. Ani was sitting at Rosa’s feet, while she stretched out on the sofa. Helen had the armchair, a fancy grey modular thing David had liked, but which made her nervous she might spill red wine on it.

      ‘Do we have to do this?’ she said, hopefully. ‘I’ve brought a DVD of Mean Girls.’

      ‘We do,’ said Rosa, muffled. ‘I’ll probably get fired if I don’t. And I’ve already been dumped and my husband’s left me for a—’

      ‘We can do it, but we’re not calling it Project Love,’ said Ani, cutting her off.

      Marnie pouted. ‘But that’s what it is! A new approach to finding happiness.’

      ‘No, no, we can’t. It’s too optimistic. We might jinx it.’

      ‘Didn’t think you believed in that,’ said Rosa, from behind her cushion.

      Ani blushed a little. ‘Trust me. When you date a lot, you start to believe anything. Otherwise you’d have to think it was your fault every time something promising turns into an 18-cert horror show.’

      ‘That’s not the spirit.’ Marnie frowned. ‘Positivity, people!’

      ‘OK, OK. Let’s call it Project “Maybe we’ll meet a guy who isn’t awful and a liar and a cheat, or who won’t accidentally propose to you, then burst into tears in an Indian restaurant”.’

      Rosa removed the cushion and rubbed Ani’s shoulder with her stockinged foot. ‘That won’t happen again. You’ve definitely taken one for the team there. Hey, why don’t we call it the Ex Factor or something? You know, because… exes.’

      The others considered it. ‘Did you just come up with that right there?’ asked Ani suspiciously.

      Rosa picked at a thread in the cushion. ‘Um… It was Jason’s idea actually. For the article, you know.’

      Another look from Ani to Helen. Helen said, ‘Is it “Jason” now then? Not “Scary Editor Surf Dude”?’

      ‘He’s not so scary. He’s quite nice actually.’

      ‘Is he hot?’ asked Marnie, suddenly interested.

      ‘Oh, I guess,’ said Rosa, vaguely. ‘I don’t really notice other men, you know. Anyway, he can’t wait to see the piece.’

      Helen’s stomach lurched at the thought of the article. This was really going to happen.

      ‘I don’t mind what we call it, so long as we do it,’ said Marnie. ‘Now what we’ll do is write down our names, then pull them out of a hat. Do you have a hat, Rosa?’

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