My choice of mobile phone – a basic pay-as-you-go model from Argos and the cheapest smartphone in whatever the digital equivalent of their iconic paper catalogue was these days – was always a source of amusement to anyone who noticed it. Yes, it was clunky, but it ran all the apps I needed. And a dating app certainly didn’t fall into that category. I reeled off my pre-rehearsed answer whenever this subject came up.
‘I can’t be arsed with it, Elle. The blokes on there are mainly on the prowl for one-night stands. And the ones who claim to be “open-minded” tend to dismiss anything you care about while trying to frame it as an “intellectual debate”.’ My over-exuberant air quotes brushed the wine glass and it started to topple. Elle swooped in to save it.
‘That’s a literal summary of all our male colleagues,’ she said, moving my glass out of harm’s way.
Except Billy.Or maybe I’d been wrong about him all along. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d scared a bloke off by – as one ex had succinctly summarised – ‘expecting too much, too soon’. Although, in his case, it’d been my quite reasonable suggestion that I leave a mini tube of Sensodyne toothpaste at his place that had sent him running for the hills.
‘C’mon, Elle, let me have my phone back.’
She sighed and skidded my phone along the table towards me.
‘And he didn’t say anything about doing a digital detox while he was away or anything like that?’ she asked.
‘Nope, in fact…’
I looked down at the screen to review its tortuous insights.
‘…yup, look – he’s online right now. And only a couple of hours ago he posted a Reel of himself with one of those ironic unicorn inflatables. Argh, what am I even saying?’ I briefly re-introduced my forehead to the tacky table – it really could do with some Purdy & Figg. ‘I don’t want to spend my spare time obsessing over the online exploits of a man who’s treated me like shit. I’m thirty-eight years old, for fuck’s sake – I shouldn’t be reduced to this! I just want to meet someone, Elle. Someone who I can meet at home after work and binge-watch telly with. Is that really too much to ask for?’
‘Strong life goals there, Mally.’
‘Oof, you know what I mean. I want to connect with someone who… gets me. Like what you and Rory have.’
Talking about relationships and the deep connections I craved didn’t come easily to me, unless I was pouring everything out in one of my emails to my younger sister, Livvie. Elle was the opposite. Back at school, our conversations had revolved around her latest crushes – yes, plural – and seemingly endless love-life dilemmas. Finding a life partner was less of a mission for her and more of a YO! Sushi-esque conveyor belt of blokes, practically begging for her to select them.
She’d met Rory during freshers’ week as soon as we’d arrived at uni and he’d followed her around like a lost puppy from the outset. But, unlike all the others, she’d permitted him to stay on the scene. And he had, despite Elle messing him around endlessly for three years.
They’d finally made things official shortly before graduation and had been together ever since, though it took Rory an age to convince Elle to move in with him, and even longer to have a kid. But she was always at her most relaxed in his company. And he was blatantly still so smitten with her. It was easy to see why: even without her perfectly proportioned figure, flawless porcelain skin, poker-straight glossy brown hair and almost obscenely large almond-shaped hazel eyes, her magnetic personality alone was enough to get her noticed. Success was always going to come easily to Elle – professionallyandromantically.
Unlike me. What I lacked in charisma I tried to make up for with my self-deprecating humour and unshakeable reliability. And while I had no real qualms with my pale, mousy but pleasant-enough appearance, I wasn’t in possession of that carefree girl-next-door vibe that would attract attention from anyone who didn’t already know me. I was very much the ‘kooky yet weirdly organised best friend’ to Elle’s chaotic yet magnetic ‘main character’. No wonder I found meeting decent men so bloody labour-intensive.
‘More than anyone you deserve some luck on the relationship front. Look, we need to get to the bottom of this. And we will. But I don’t have any answers for you right now. What are you up to Friday night?’ Elle asked.
‘Friday? I thought Tuesdays were your only child-free night?’
‘They are, but Rory’s going to be out until God knows when on Friday for his work Christmas do and it’ll just be me and Frannie. So why don’t you come to mine for the night? You can give me a hand getting her to bed and then we can have a cosy night in with a film and a takeaway and try and figure out your next move.’
‘I swear we had this exact conversation when we were like fifteen – minus the toddler element.’
‘Yeah, except this time we won’t be drinking my mum’s sherry while miming to “Lady Marmalade” in my bedroom mirror. We can upgrade to a nice bottle of pinot grigio I’ve been saving, watch whatever you fancy on Netflix and hope Frannie doesn’t wake up and insist we watchOlaf’s Frozen Adventurefor the sixty-eighth time this year.’
I shivered at the prospect of watching anything from theFrozencanon. I used to love watching Disney films, but these days they triggered way too many difficult memories. And I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to watch one that centred around the unbreakable bond between two very different sisters.
‘Yeah, go on then.’
‘And maybe we can also have a teeny-weeny chat about that article you keep promising to write for me and never do?’
These ‘teeny-weeny’ chats about writing an article for our employer,The Helix– one of the UK’s leading lifestyle, entertainment and features websites – were a regular fixture of our conversations. Elle was always on the lookout for ways to commission cheap – or, let’s be honest, free – content.
‘Here’s me thinking we’d made it through a night without you bringing that up,’ I said. ‘I still can’t think of anything remotely interesting to write about. The people you commission forThe Helixall have so much to say, whereas I’ve got nothing. Unless you want me to write about chocolate-based breakfast cereals, in which case I can have an article with you by nine a.m. tomorrow.’
‘Let’s pop a pin in that particular idea, eh, Mally?’ Elle placed her wine glass down and grabbed my hands firmly. ‘Seriously, though. You know I’m the features editor, right? And I could simply commission you to write something with no questions asked?’
She squeezed my hands tightly as if to emphasise her clout.
‘I know, but I don’t even work in editorial. It’d be awkward – everyone would assume I’d been commissioned because we’re friends. I swear most people still think that’s how I got my job anyway.’
She sighed and released her grip, sliding her glass towards her. I did the same.
