The Single Girl’s To-Do List. Lindsey Kelk

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      They were the worst liars ever.

      ‘What did you just put in your pocket?’ I asked Matthew.

      ‘Nothing.’ His voice was higher than mine.

      ‘OK, give it here.’ I held out my hand. ‘Whatever it is, give it.’

      Matthew and Emelie looked at each other. Giving him her best Care Bear stare, Em shook her head but he just nodded and pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket and bit his lip.

      ‘Matthew,’ Em put her hand on my shoulder, holding me back, ‘don’t.’

      ‘Why don’t you get dressed first …’ he started, but I was too fast. Pushing Emelie onto the sofa, I narrowed my eyes, tightened my ponytail and checked the towel. Before jumping onto the sofa and leaping onto Matthew’s back. With one arm around his neck, I grabbed at the piece of paper in his hand while he ran around in circles, squealing like a woman.

      ‘Get her off!’ he shrieked, lapping the room like a headless chicken.

      Emelie rolled back on the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her, hands pressed against her face. I wasn’t sure if she was laughing or crying and I really didn’t care. All I knew was that I was getting that bloody piece of paper. Matthew was on his fourth lap of the living room when I finally managed to snatch it out of his hand. At the exact same time as I lost my towel. Ignoring the fact that at least three of my neighbours were watching me take a naked piggyback ride around my living room on a six foot four gay man, I slid to the floor and quickly scanned the note.

      Matthew came to a standstill, panting far too heavily for a man who worked out as often as he did. ‘Jesus H Christ,’ he wheezed, eyes wide and a look of complete horror on his face. Em composed herself quickly and wrapped my towel around me. But I wasn’t too worried about being naked at that moment. I was far more concerned with the contents of the note.

      It was pale and blue and lined with raw, torn edges down one side where it had been ripped from a notebook. My notebook. Someone had been in my bag, ripped a page out of my notebook and left me a very brief message.

      Rachel,

      I’m sorry. It’s not going to work. I’m away with work this week and then I’m moving out.

      Sorry.

      Simon

      I read it three more times before looking up at my friends. Matthew’s expression was somewhere between traumatized and apologetic. Emelie just looked so incredibly sad. I opened my mouth to say something, anything to break the tension, but all I could manage was a sharp intake of breath. This was it? This was all I got? The note scrunched up too easily, until it was just a few sharp corners in my palm, and when I opened up my fist, it sat there like a tiny ball of nothing. When I opened my eyes, it was still there. A tiny, innocuous piece of paper that had just completely broken my heart.

      ‘What time is it?’ I asked.

      ‘Half eleven?’ Matthew guessed.

      ‘Is the pub open?’

      ‘It’s London,’ Em picked up her handbag. ‘There’s always a pub open somewhere.’

      I nodded and clutched my towel closed around me. ‘I’ll get dressed then.’

      Happily, we didn’t have to search for long. Within the hour we were safely stashed away in a dark corner of a dark pub up the road from my flat. With a bottle of white wine on the table and three orders of posh fish fingers on their way, we were set up for the afternoon.

      ‘So your options are, we can get drunk, slag him off and stagger home with a kebab.’ Matthew ticked off the options on his fingers. ‘Or we can get drunk, you can cry and embarrass yourself horribly, then we stagger home with a kebab.’

      ‘Tell me there’s an option three.’ I tried to stop myself from poking my finger through the hole in my leggings. I’d blame my shoddy ensemble on the speed with which I’d got dressed, but really, most of my clothes were either entirely too much or just a bit shit. No one cared what the make-up artist was wearing on set and I’d developed something of a black leggings, white T-shirt uniform over the last couple of years. Didn’t take too much thinking about when you were rummaging in the drawers at five a.m.

      ‘Option three, we get drunk and plan your fabulous new life and then stagger home with a kebab,’ Matthew finished.

      ‘Do I get a vote?’ Emelie waved her hand in the air. ‘I want option three. And I’d also like to suggest pizza instead of kebabs.’

      ‘No, it’s got to be kebabs,’ Matthew declared. ‘This is the only time I can eat one without hating myself afterwards. All calories consumed within forty-eight hours of a break-up are null and void.’

      ‘Any more rules I should know about?’ I asked.

      ‘Oh god, loads,’ Em chimed in. ‘You’re allowed two sickies from work, three late-night phone calls to me and himself without any complaining, as much ice cream as you can humanly consume. You get to go on a credit-card-trashing spending spree as long as you only buy completely ridiculous things you’ll never wear in six months’ time. What else?’

      ‘You’re allowed to shag someone completely inappropriate as long as they’re really fit,’ Matthew added. ‘And you never have to call them again.’

      ‘Probably give that one a miss for now,’ I said, checking out my split ends. ‘I’ve had a bikini wax, maybe I could just get vajazzled for you?’

      ‘I don’t even want to know.’ Matthew plucked his iPhone from the selection on the table as it began to vibrate. He took a quick look, swiped at the screen and stared for a moment.

      ‘Are we keeping you from something important?’ Em asked so I didn’t have to.

      ‘You’re always keeping me from something import ant,’ he replied. ‘But I still love you. But back to Ms Summers. Have you got a busy week?’

      ‘Working on Monday, the shoot will probably run over to Tuesday,’ I shrugged. ‘More knicker work. More Ana. More Dan.’

      ‘Then we haven’t got long to get you started on the road to recovery.’ Em took a tentative sip of her wine. It was a little bit early, even for her, but god bless her for giving it her all. ‘And over your hangover.’

      ‘I can’t believe he’s just gone.’ I rested my elbows on the table. ‘Is that what usually happens? They just leave?’

      ‘Never had one stick around long enough to answer that question with credibility,’ Em admitted. ‘I lean towards just not answering calls and texts until they stop trying.’

      ‘And you know, I personally favour the screaming row complete with plate smashing, potential violence and optional public scene at three in the morning,’ Matthew said. ‘Leaving a note seems terribly middle class and straight to me.’

      ‘What do I do though?’ I knocked back half the glass of wine. Start as I meant to go on and all that. ‘I mean, after the wine and the kebab. How am I supposed to be single?’

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