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

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СКАЧАТЬ sure,’ I said quickly. ‘He’s my boyfriend. We own a flat. We’re going to get married. We’re going to have babies. How many times do we have to go over this?’

      ‘I just don’t think your soul mate should spend a month in the spare room while he “works things out”.’ Matthew loved his air quotes. ‘I’m not saying you weren’t happy before, but you’re not happy now. Things change, you know, that’s not always bad.’

      ‘Please don’t start on about soul mates.’ This was my least favourite part of the conversation and we’d had it enough times. Between them, Matthew and Emelie were keeping Clinton’s Cards in business – hopeless romantics the pair of them. ‘And it hasn’t been a month yet, so don’t exaggerate. I don’t have a problem with it so you shouldn’t. He just needed a little bit of time to … you know … just to work stuff out. Isn’t he better than the others?’

      ‘Yes but honestly, love, the others weren’t up to much,’ Matthew examined his fingernails to avoid looking at me. ‘You don’t have the best taste in men, you know. But I don’t want you to throw yourself after this just because it’s familiar.’

      ‘Seconded,’ Emelie piped up, clutching an empty wine glass. Going to the bar was definitely going to be the easiest way out of this. ‘Too many people stay with blokes that are past their sell-by date out of habit.’

      ‘It’s not that at all.’ I stood up and looked around again. No sign. ‘He’s got a good job, he’ll be a great father, he’s not a wanker and I love him. Now who wants what to drink?’

      Emelie raised her hand.

      Matthew folded his arms. ‘Glad you got to the most important part first. Clearly he’s the one.’

      ‘If you’d had my parents, you wouldn’t believe in “the one” either,’ I replied. ‘Now, disgusting house white all round?’

      I turned on my heel to head for the bar, trying not to lose my temper. There was a reason Matthew was being so unnecessarily emo so I had to let this go. Aside from the fact he was just looking out for me, his ‘soul mate’, Stephen, had left him six months ago for a 24-year-old underwear model and he still wasn’t anywhere near over it. I’d never seen such a messy break-up in my life and pretty much avoided mentioning Steven, models and underwear at all times. Which sort of limited our conversation this evening. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk about him, it was just that whenever he did, he went sort of catatonic for a few hours and then I got a phone call three days later to say he’d woken up in Mexico and needed me to feed his cat. Well, that was when he’d had a cat. The joys of being a former trolley dolly who was currently burning through a pretty hefty inheritance. Most people I knew broke up with someone, went out, got drunk and woke up on a night bus in Peckham. Matthew got drunk, went to Heathrow, got on a plane and woke up in Rio. With someone called José. We still didn’t know very much about José but they were Facebook friends, so that was nice.

      I twisted and turned through the growing number of bodies on the dance floor and weaselled into position at the bar. I placed my order and turned to look back at my best friends, now gesturing wildly at each other and cackling like witches, harsh words forgotten. They left me exhausted. And I wasn’t quite sure what I’d do without them.

      ‘All right, sis?’ Paul sidled up beside me, winked at the girl behind the bar and started sipping his pint before I’d even opened my mouth. ‘Emelie’s looking fit tonight.’

      ‘Don’t bother.’ I ordered the wine and gave him the sternest look I could muster. ‘Aren’t there any other lucky candidates ready to catch whatever you’re passing round this evening?’

      ‘Oh god, yeah, loads.’ He turned around and leaned against the bar. ‘But none of those would piss you off quite so much, would they?’

      ‘You’re so funny.’ I grabbed the bottle and headed back to the table. With Paul hot on my heels. Well, flats.

      ‘Matthew,’ he nodded, before slipping onto the seat closest to Emelie. ‘Em.’

      I pretended not to see her blushing for the sake of my own sanity.

      ‘So, what are you doing sitting down?’ Paul asked. ‘This DJ’s amazing.’

      ‘We were just counselling your sister.’ Matthew took the wine from me and topped up everyone’s glasses. Ahh, the great British Friday-night tradition of binge-drinking. ‘That’s a serious job, you know.’

      ‘She won’t listen,’ he replied. ‘Don’t waste your breath.’

      ‘Rach.’ Emelie tore her eyes away from my little brother just long enough to spy Simon arriving. I looked up to see him roll through the door and straight up to the bar with a group of people I didn’t recognize.

      Simon. My Simon.

      I couldn’t believe it was four weeks since I’d laid eyes on him. Half of me felt as though he’d kissed me on the head on his way out this morning, and the other, like I was looking at a complete stranger. He was still in his smart jeans-and-shirt ensemble that he wore to work on casual Fridays. If he’d been stuck in the office late, he’d be wanting a drink. Probably a whisky and Coke, even though I knew what he really wanted was Malibu and lemonade. Given his sloped shoulders and slight stagger, it seemed as if he’d had a couple of drinks already. He looked tired. It made my heart hurt not to be able to go over to him and kiss him hello. But that wasn’t part of the plan.

      Sitting at a table, moping into a glass of wine wasn’t going to win him back. I forced my face to put on a smile for the first time in what seemed like forever and took hold of Emelie’s arm. ‘Come on, I want Simon to think we’re having fun.’

      ‘Any chance we could actually just have fun?’ she asked. ‘Because that’s probably more believable than pretending.’

      ‘Just dance with me,’ I slid my black leather clutch under my arm and pulled her towards the floor. Matthew and Paul followed, Matthew never one to miss an opportunity to get his dance on and Paul presumably sensing an opportunity to touch Emelie up a little bit. As Smokey Robinson blared out of the speakers, conversation was no longer an option, so I closed my eyes and started to move, hoping that Simon was watching. After a decade of dancing together, I could feel Matthew and Emelie without needing to open my eyes. Em was leaning against my back, partly to try to look sexy and partly because she was already too drunk to dance without support. Matthew would have his hands thrown in the air at the side of me, singing along, his fast footwork lost in the throb of bodies. I felt Em drift away and a pair of man hands gripped me around my waist. I put my head down, smiled to myself, not wanting anyone to see and leaned back into Simon’s chest.

      ‘Hi.’

      Of course it wasn’t Simon. It was a complete stranger. And not one you would want touching you. I stopped suddenly, giving him just enough opportunity to spin me around and dip me low on the dance floor. Emelie and Matthew were too busy busting their own moves to notice, and my brother had adopted the official ‘I can’t see this so it isn’t happening’ tactic, as was the way when someone was having a crack at your sister.

      ‘Oh my god, get off.’ I tried to wriggle free but my suitor must have been almost a foot taller than me. And five stone heavier. He simply picked me up and held me in the air. I placed my hands on his shoulders to steady myself as my shoes slipped off my feet. Which didn’t stop me landing what could have been a very, very painful kick if it had hit two inches to the left.

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