‘Of course we are.’ I choke it out, my voice sounding weird and forced.
But we are, aren’t we? I’ve always thought I’d want to get married and have kids at around twenty-seven – and I’m only a few months away from that. That seemed so old when I was seventeen and mapping out my whole life. The trouble is, I still don’t feel any older than seventeen. I’m not ready for any of this grown-up stuff. And this isn’t the first time Idris has talked – very casually, I might add – about our future together.
I know he wants marriage, I know he wants babies. He’salso two years older than me, which means he’ll be thirty in a year. Which feelsold.
I can feel sweat prickling my armpits but the rest of me is cold.
Where has this come from? I love Idris, Ireallylove him. We’ve had an amazing two and a half years together and he’s everything I could ask for! What’s wrong with me?
Idris kisses me again, lightly this time. ‘Shall we head back to the table? Carry on the matchmaking?’ He winks jokingly and I titter politely.
‘Um, yes, you go ahead.’ I wave him off. ‘I just, er, remembered I forgot to actually go for a wee when I was in there! Too busy chatting to Lou, what an idiot!’
I run back into the ladies’ before he has a chance to say anything else, diving into a cubicle. In there, sitting on the floor, I breathe hard as the room spins around me.
What’s wrong with me?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Oh, the indignity.
I was just minding my own business, shopping in Zara, and I came face-to-face with a fucking mannequin wearing my entire outfit. It’s so humiliating and I will be writing to head office to complain.
Worse still is that I can’t leave yet. It’s the middle of the day and I’m the only shopper in here, which means a sales assistant has been following me around offering to ‘help’ for ten solid minutes. Now, I have never participated in a war zone, but I cannot imagine it is worse than the social awkwardness of being tailed by a bored shop assistant.
‘I’m fine, don’t need help!’ I tell her because she’s looking at me again. Looking at me like I want her help. ‘Ha-ha!’ I say, pointing at my clothes and the matching mannequin – y’know, to make up for not wanting any help. She only looks confused by the gesture, though, so maybe the outfit looks very different on a headless, life-size Barbie?
‘I’m here!’ Alistair’s out of breath as he joins me, throwinglanky arms around me for a hug. ‘Sorry I’m late, the brown line was broken again.’
‘Don’t worry!’ I let him catch his breath, taking him in. He looks undeniably great; bright-eyed and happy. He’s dressed up again, today in smart trousers and a dark blue shirt, French-tucked. I mentally thank Tan France for bringing men everywhere this style.
‘Oh hey, that mannequin looks like you!’ Alistair points at the offending dummy.
‘Shut up,’ I mutter, embarrassed. ‘I had it first, that bitch is always copying me.’
‘What a cow.’ He shakes his head, smiling. ‘But you know what they say? Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.’
‘That is nonsense,’ I scold. ‘You know what the most sincere form of flattery is?Flattery.’
‘OK,’ he laughs, showing off his adorable teeth. ‘In that case, Esther, may I just tell you that you look wayyyy better in that outfit than the mannequin.’
‘Oh my god, you’re so sweet,’ I simper, side-eyeing my rival. It reallyissweet because it’s not true. That plastic bitch has the whole sexy model, swan-neck thing going on.
I have a random midweek day off, thanks to a massive weekend-long wedding at the museum. I’d been useless in the planning stages, letting Katie take care of everything while I doodled the names of my exes at my desk. So I wanted to make sure I was front and centre at the actual big day. It was exhausting, with a thousand last-minute crises that needed resolving. Half our agency waiting staff didn’tshow up and I ended up having to be a waitress myself at one point while simultaneously cueing up the musicians in the main hall. But that’s the thing about events – everything can be falling apart behind the scenes as long as no one front of house can tell. And it was all worth it when the bride hugged me at the end and said thank you. It’s such a buzz. I’d kind of forgotten how much I love my work. I have a renewed determination to stop being bad at it.
It also kept me distracted from waiting by my phone for yet another weekend, hoping for an email from Idris. I was grateful my boss gave me today off, but I also couldn’t sit around at home all day, with only my own stupid company to keep me busy.
I’ll be honest, I messaged Alistair as a bit of a last resort.
Usually my flatmates would join me for a distraction outing like this, but despite not working today, Bibi and Lou were both mysteriously unavailable. Lou hasn’t even called me back and I tried ringing, like, three times. They’ve both been acting a bit strangely lately. I don’t know what’s going on and they keep brushing me off when I ask. I tried Alex next, but she was busy with work and Sofia wasn’t answering her door either. I’m feeling a bit abandoned, truth be told.
So I messaged Alistair to see if he fancied a shopping trip. And he did.
We wander around, picking items up and throwing them carelessly back on the shelf. The bored shop assistant shoots us daggers, but at least we’re giving her something to do.
Maybe I should email Idris again?
No, too much. Bibi would tell me off.
