‘Er, yes actually,’ I frown. ‘Did you read it, too?’
She laughs heartily, head thrown back, hair long past the stool. ‘I sure did!’ she laughs some more. ‘And I wrote it!“The seven relationships every woman has before she finds the one.” Right? I was going through my cuts book in this very pub a few months ago and pulled out that copy ofCosmour. I think I left it here actually.’
‘Oh my GOD!’ I shout and Franco looks over, worried. I wave at him reassuringly and turn back to Demi. ‘You’re Demi Doris?’
‘That’s me!’ she giggles.
‘Well then, I need to buyyoua shot!’ I declare, delighted. ‘It was probably your copy of the magazine we found. That article changed everything for me.’
She frowns again. ‘But not for the better, by the sounds of it.’ She pauses. ‘I’m sorry.’
I give her a small smile. ‘Oh, I don’t know, really.’ I study the wood of the bar for a moment. ‘I think it’s been more good than bad. It feels better to know than tonotknow, if that makes sense? And now it feels like I can just move on, knowing that’s it for me when it comes to love. I’m done.’
She snorts. ‘What?’
‘None of them are The One,’ I say slowly. ‘So I guess that’s it. The article said research confirmed it, remember?’
This time – as she leans forward to me – she actually does fall off her stool. I catch her in my lap, and she can’t stop laughing as she rights herself. ‘Oh my god, don’t be ridiculous, Esther! Didn’t I just sayIwrote that article?! Me! Stupid, clueless, perpetually single me! It was just another feature assignment between mass redundancies. Bloody magazines, dying all over the place. The whole thing made no sensereally anyway. It was only meant to be a fun, fluffy piece, y’know? Something to lighten the mood between Taliban features and sex trafficking.’
‘What are you talking about? It was exactly right about me!’ I am outraged.
‘Was it, though?’ She peers across the space between us as she tries to get back on the stool. ‘Or did you just see what you wanted to see?’
I shake my head, furious. ‘No, no, I’ve had all of them – The First Love, The Work Mistake, The Friend With Benefits, The Missed Chance, The Serious One, The Overlap, The Bastard…’ I recite them so easily. They’ve been looping through my brain ever since I read her article.
‘It’s like psychic readings or horoscopes,’ she says, waving her hand. ‘People read or hear what they want to in them. I mean, like, if you’ve ever been a teenager, you’ve got a first love! Even if it was unrequited or – I don’t know – a Jonas Brother.’ I screw up my nose at this but she ignores my reaction. ‘We’ve all been in love for a first time, haven’t we? And as for the rest, they’re just obvious.’ She pauses, sloshing her drink on the bar a little. ‘And I bet your exes could’ve been described in a thousand other ways, and you still would’ve recognized them.’ She thinks for a second. ‘Like, I bet if I’d included a category called The Messy Break-Up’ – Idris flashes through my head – ‘or The Secret One’ – Carl now – ‘or The One With All The Ups And Downs’ – that would be Rich – ‘or, I dunno, The Guy Who Was Almost Good Enough’ – Will – ‘every relationship can be described in a thousand different ways.’
Back on her stool, she seems to have sobered up a little more now as she continues. ‘We’re human beings, and we’re a little bit of everything. So every relationship has its good and bad moments. I was writing a feature with a very strict word count – the sub editors shouted at me a lot – and you can’t include nuance in everything. But life isfuckingnuanced, Esther. I promise you, you will definitely fall in love again one day, if it’s what you want. Maybe you’ll find a soulmate of some kind, maybe you’ll just find a good guy you can share a family with. Maybe you’ll find friends or a job you have that kind of passion for, and a relationship won’t matter so much—’
I interrupt her then. ‘Idohave a job and friends I feel passionate about!’ I shout this a little too loudly and Franco glances over again. ‘I absolutely love my work, and I love my friends!’
Demi regards me solemnly. ‘Then why was this mission so important to you?’
Her words stump me.
I have absolutely no idea.
Whyishaving a relationship so important? Before all this, my life was rich and full andfun! Me, Lou and Bibi sharing and giggling in this pub every weekend. Me and Katie killing it at the Norris Museum during the week. I was really, truly happy. The only part that dragged me down – the part that made me think Ihadto find someone – was dating. Dating was the only thing that made me miserable.
So maybe that’s the problem. Dating. Chasing a mythical great love that may or may not make me happy – that’s thereal problem here. Not my life – my life is great! Or it was. Before I fucked it.
Suddenly it all fully hits me. I’ve ruined everything. I’ve ignored Lou and pushed her away. I’ve told Bibi and Alex to get out of my life. I’ve barely made any effort with work in months. If they weren’t already going to fire me soon, they’re certainly thinking about it after I abandoned my post without a word today. Who could blame them?
‘Right.’ Demi scrambles for her bag. ‘I’m off, babe. Nice chatting to you.’ She staggers away towards the exit and I sit for a moment, feeling the full weight of everything.
It’s too much and I run for the disabled loo just off the kitchen, tears already running down my face. I’ve only been in it once before – several years ago – and I dive in, thanking my lucky stars it’s unlocked. I couldn’t face sweet drunk women in the ladies’ offering me tissues and lipsticks. I slam the door shut and turn around, leaping five feet in the air when I realize it’s already in use. By Franco.
‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Franco!’ I shriek, grabbing for the door, and wailing slightly, as tears stream down my cheeks.
‘Whoa, whoa!’ He’s waving his hands and flecks of liquid are spraying everywhere. ‘It’s OK! Esther! I was just washing my hands!’ He shows me and I calm down ever so slightly. ‘Are you all right?’ He peers at me worriedly. ‘You’re crying – what’s wrong?’
He puts a hand on my arm and I inhale a big, shuddery breath.
‘It’s nothing!’ I try to say but my voice comes out as a squeak.
‘Just sit down for a minute,’ he instructs in a firm, nice voice. ‘Here, I’ll take the baby changing table.’ He perches, waving me towards the loo. ‘And you have a sit there.’
I nod, following his instructions. I’m too weak and drained to protest.
