Is This It? Page 5

  ‘You love bringing that up, don’t you?’ Dad said.

  ‘Tell Ivy how long it took you to propose.’

  ‘Six months and four days,’ he said, without missing a beat.

  They looked at each other and smiled. I saw Dad’s hand move to take hers under the table. How is it that I have the perfect model of a relationship right in front of me, but I can’t even get a man to send me a text?

  ‘If I got engaged after six months, you’d have something to say about it,’ I said.

  ‘Please don’t say you’re engaged again?’ Mam said. ‘Is this why you wanted to take us for lunch? You’re getting married?’

  ‘I’ve never been further from getting married.’

  ‘Just make sure he’s Welsh next time,’ Mam said.

  ‘It’s difficult to meet a Welshman in London.’

  ‘Fine, but at least date a Celt.’

  ‘I’d be very happy to, but the right person hasn’t come along yet.’

  ‘Maybe Ivy’s not ready,’ Dad said.

  ‘Ready? Jamie left her over a year ago!’

  ‘It was only last November that we almost got back together. I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got.’

  ‘I know you are, darling. I think you could try harder, that’s all.’

  The waiter came over and asked if we were ready for our wine.

  ‘Yes!’ I said, a little too loudly.

  After enduring a tense discussion between Mam and the waiter over how to pronounce Rioja, Dad asked me how I was feeling about the interview.

  ‘I keep flitting between fierce optimism and absolute dread,’ I said.

  ‘And today?’

  ‘Absolute dread.’

  ‘Ivy … ’

  ‘It was a joke, Dad. I just wish they’d ring me. I hate the not-knowing part.’

  ‘You’re taking a great big leap of faith with this teaching thing,’ Mam said, stuffing a cheese croquette into her mouth.

  Mam loved calling it a ‘thing’, like it was a phase I was going through. I had spent months trying to prove to her it was much more than this. She even found me in the garden once, standing in superwoman pose, shouting ‘I AM TEACHER. I AM WARRIOR’ into the night. It was Dad’s idea; we’d had a few too many Tia Marias and he thought it would soothe my nerves.

  ‘We want you to know that, whatever happens, we’re proud of you,’ she said.

  ‘I’m going to give this everything I’ve got.’

  ‘We know that. Focus on being the best you can be, Ivy. No distractions.’

  ‘We want you to be happy,’ Dad said.

  ‘Me too,’ I said.

  A week later, I got accepted as a first-year teacher trainee at Clerkenwell Primary. I’d spend two-thirds of the year training on the job in Mr Reid’s class, and the rest at university.

  I rang Mam straight away to tell her. She put me on loud speaker, so that I could repeat the good news to Dad. We cried and cheered; Mam popped the champagne, Dad moaned that all Mam does is pop champagne and Mam argued that it was Asda’s own brand, which doesn’t count.

  They told me how proud they were of me, and how proud I should be of myself.

  I said I was, because for the first time in a long time, I truly, genuinely was.

  7

  I met Mia at a cocktail bar in Fitzrovia. She wanted to take me somewhere fancy to celebrate. I was told to dress up for the occasion, but I couldn’t afford to buy anything new, so I raided Anna’s wardrobe and borrowed an emerald green velvet trouser suit with a lace top. I wanted to be sexy, but not OTT. Mia on the other hand only does OTT. She arrived wearing a long dusty-pink satin slip, with very thin, delicate straps, over which she wore a full-length cape, covered in gold sequins. She said she woke up feeling like Ariel from The Little Mermaid, so naturally this was the outfit choice she went with.

  ‘You’re showing me right up,’ I said. ‘You look incredible.’

  ‘I need to feel strong and empowered for this new role.’

  ‘You know Ariel gave up her voice for a man?’

  ‘Oh, shit, you’re right. Forget Ariel. Give me Jennifer Aniston, or Chrissy Teigen.’

  ‘Do you think you talk about Jennifer Aniston too much?’

  She took a sip of her Negroni and stared at my chest.

  ‘I’d love boobs like yours,’ she said. ‘They bounce a little whenever you move. I like watching them.’

  I laughed. ‘Thank you, Mia.’

  ‘And for someone who doesn’t care about their appearance, you always end up looking killer hot.’

  ‘I care about my appearance; I just can’t afford to do anything about it.’

  ‘You don’t need to do anything about it … you’re perfect.’

  I watched as she stirred the ice around the glass with her finger. When she got bored of this, she started to twirl large parts of her hair around her fingers, before putting thick strands in her mouth, like I saw the children do at school.

  ‘Mia, can you stop eating your hair, please?’

  She looked around the room before lowering her voice to a whisper.

  ‘I have to tell you something, but you must promise not to judge.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Promise!’

  ‘OK, OK, I promise.’

  ‘Last week, I walked through Hatton Garden. You know, where all the diamonds are.’

  I looked at her, baffled.

  ‘Noah asked me how my day was, and I couldn’t tell him I’d been looking at rings all afternoon, so I had to make something up.’

  ‘Why were you shopping for rings? Does my mother have something to do with this?’

  ‘I wasn’t shopping for rings, I was looking at them. Haven’t you ever gone into a jeweller’s and tried on something outrageously expensive?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re judging, and you said you wouldn’t judge.’

  ‘Sorry, carry on.’

  ‘I told Noah I’d gone there for research. I said that my agent had sent me a script for a new BBC drama, based on the heist.’

  I shook my head, not knowing what on earth she was on about.

  ‘You know, the one in two thousand and fifteen? They stole all the diamonds. They’re meant to be turning it into a film, or something.’

  ‘And you’re auditioning?’

  ‘No. Well, yes. I told Noah I was, anyway. I said I was reading for the role of doting wife number two. I’m amazed he didn’t clock on. Obviously, if this were happening for real, I’d be up for doting wife number one.’

  ‘You do realise this is far worse than if you’d have just been honest with him about where you were that afternoon?’

  ‘I know! And now I have to pretend I went to this sodding audition.’

  ‘No! Say it was cancelled.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. That’s much better.’

  ‘Honestly, Mia.’

  ‘Stop it, I know what you’re thinking.’

  ‘You can’t start obsessing about this. You’ve been together for five years, you’re Mia and Noah. People should write sonnets about you.’

  ‘I need a project.’

  ‘You’re about to start performing in the West End.’

  ‘I know!’

  She put her head to her knees. I moved closer and put my arm around her. She raised her head dramatically then shook her whole body, as if she were trying to get rid of every irrational bone in her.

  ‘I’m over it,’ she said.

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘I’ll probably bring it up in five drinks’ time, but for now, I’m over it.’

  Mia started playing with the ice again. I moved her hand away from the glass.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Tonight’s about you. Tell me everything, you angel goddess.’

  ‘There’s not much to tell. The most exciting thing in my life right now is that I get discounted sandwiches at the museum café.’

  ‘It’s going to be mad in there over summer with all the children off
school.’

  ‘I’m about to venture into a classroom of twenty-five four-year-olds. I need all the help I can get.’

  We finished our cocktails and walked to a French bistro that an actor friend of Mia’s had recommended. I was glad she was paying; whenever her actor friends recommend anything it always ends up costing me a fortune, and now more than ever I needed a cheap night out. Mia lives rent-free in Noah’s dead auntie’s house, but I don’t know how the rest of them have so much disposable income. They spend most of their time in second-rate private members’ clubs pretending to be on their laptops whilst secretly looking out the corner of their eye trying to spot actual celebrities.

  Mia ordered in perfect French, flirting with the waiter the entire time.

  ‘Stop making that face and get your phone out,’ she said, when he’d taken our order. ‘We need to get started on Serendipity.’

  ‘What’s “Serendipity”?’

  ‘The dating app.’

  ‘Is that its actual name?’

  ‘Yes. Why’s that funny?’

  ‘It’s idiotic. The whole purpose of the app is, by its very definition, the exact opposite of the meaning of serendipity.’

  Mia looked mystified.

  ‘This will be my new little project,’ she said, beaming.

  ‘I don’t want to set up my profile now,’ I said. ‘Can we enjoy our dinner, please?’

  ‘I’ve got to at least take some photos. This place has superb lighting.’

  The waiter came over and poured us both a glass of wine. He helped Mia move the objects around the table as she tried to get the aesthetics right.

  ‘Stop moving the cutlery about,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to do a photo shoot in here.’

  ‘It’s hardly a photoshoot, Ives. Now, look to your left, out the window, and hold the wine glass in your right hand … ’

  I picked up the wine glass.

  ‘A bit lower, so it’s not covering your face. They need to see your face.’

  I did as I was told and Mia took a few photos, directing me to lift my chin up a little, smile a bit more, then a bit less.

  I took the phone off her to look at the photos – they weren’t half as bad as I’d imagined. I’d spent the day in the park and the sun had brought out my freckles. Plus, I’d managed to get through my last period without a single spot. Life was on the up.

  ‘Now … ’ she said, taking the phone back off me, ‘if it’s OK with you, I want to use this one, with you by the sea.’

  There was a photo of me in a swimsuit, in Spain. I was sitting by the waterfront, reading a book about teaching and neuroscience. I’d not told Anna or Mam at that point that I was thinking of applying to be a teacher, and whenever I could, I would sneak off and try to read bits of the book in secret. Then, I’d get so stressed about all the work ahead of me that I’d find the nearest bar and down a thousand Aperols. Maybe someday I won’t self-medicate with alcohol. No, let’s not get too carried away.

  ‘Yes, I like this one,’ I said, looking at the photo. ‘I’m having a good hair day.’

  ‘I knew I would project manage the shit out of this.’

  ‘I’m not sure about going on an app, Mia.’

  ‘Why not?’

  I drank my drink in silence.

  ‘You’re still thinking about that boy, aren’t you?’ she said.

  Considering I’d met Scott once, six weeks ago, I’m well aware of how pathetic this sounds, but the truth is that I’d thought about him a lot. I thought about what our first kiss would be like – would he be the sort of person to grab me by the waist and pull me in close to him, or would he take his time, ease into it? I thought about the glint in his eye and the way his chest moved when he spoke, but mainly I thought about whether I’d made the entire interaction up. What if I suffocated him with my tedious chat and he was just doing the courteous thing of staying at the bar with me because nobody else was there to keep me company? Maybe he was some sort of community key worker, or a Samaritan, patrolling North London bars, finding lonely thirty-something women to speak to, to make them feel better about their sorrowful, empty lives?

  ‘I don’t get it,’ I said to Mia. ‘You make a real connection with someone, they take your number and then they ghost you. What’s the point?’

  ‘Look, there’s no logic when it comes to men. But luckily, there is logic when it comes to Serendipity.’

  She showed me a photo of an excel spreadsheet on her phone. There were numbers beside words like ‘athleisure’ and ‘on the razz’.

  ‘What is this?’ I asked.

  ‘A girl in my theatre group devised an algorithm to track the success of your profile photos. She knows exactly which ones get the most likes.’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’

  ‘It works a treat for her. She’s shagging blokes left right and centre.’

  ‘I want something more meaningful.’

  ‘According to this data, we’ll need one of you in your running gear – which we’ll do tomorrow – and then one of you out on the piss – which we can do tonight.’

  ‘Is this necessary?’

  ‘Do you want to have sex or not?’

  ‘Lower your voice, Mia.’

  ‘Well?!’

  ‘Yes, of course I do.’

  ‘Then buck up your attitude.’

  8

  Mia was in one of her phases where she only watched content with Meryl Streep in it, so the next morning we cwtched up in bed with The Bridges of Madison County, lathered ourselves in a hydrating seaweed cleansing mask and wept for several hours, before getting ready for our photoshoot.

  ‘We must act now,’ she said, getting out of bed. ‘I’m worried that in an hour or so your hangover will kick in and then your skin will start to sag.’

  Her phone rang. It was Noah. She put him on FaceTime.

  ‘Hi, darling,’ she said, ‘I’m about to do the photoshoot with Ives. Can I ring you later?’

  ‘Why are you doing a photo shoot?’ he asked.

  ‘Do you think I had any say in this?’ I said, from the bed.

  Mia handed me the phone and started rummaging through my wardrobe.

  ‘She’s setting me up on a dating app. I need a snog, Noah.’

  He laughed. ‘You don’t need a photoshoot, Ives. You’re perfect as you are.’

  ‘Have you two rehearsed this?’ I said.

  ‘Tell Mia she’s got to be home by four; she promised to help me with my lines for tomorrow’s audition.’

  ‘I won’t be back late,’ Mia said.

  ‘Yes, but will you be back sober?’ Noah asked.

  ‘We’re not drinking today,’ I told him.

  ‘What?’ Mia said. ‘It’s Sunday. Not even a cheeky Prosecco?’

  ‘Good luck, Ives,’ Noah said. ‘You’ll need it.’

  I gave Mia the phone back.

  ‘See you later, darling. Love you.’

  I watched as Mia blew him kisses and he told her he loved her. I looked down at my shirt and realised it was Mark’s. I was wearing my sister’s husband’s grotty T-shirt, I hadn’t been on a first date in four years, and I was about to go pose for photos for my new dating profile. Dilys was about to say something, but luckily Mia’s foghorn voice drowned her out.

  ‘Where are all your workout clothes?’ Mia asked.

  ‘Those are my workout clothes,’ I said, pointing to a pile of greying vests. ‘I’m not spending money on stuff I’m only going to sweat in.’

  ‘What about when you’re transitioning from yoga to brunch?’

  ‘When have you ever seen me transition from yoga to brunch?’

  ‘Right, this will do,’ she said, throwing me an Adidas vest. ‘The white will serve the tan better.’

  We walked along the canal to Hackney Marshes. I refused to have the photoshoot too close to home, to avoid the risk of bumping into people I know, and Mia thought the marshes would make me look like a ‘proper’ runner. I jogged past Mia several times as she clicked away on he
r iPhone, but after the third attempt I told her my soul was dying and it was time to go home. She tried to force me into doing a tree pose because she said it would elongate my waist, but I snatched the phone off her and told her I was leaving.

  On the walk back to mine, she added filters, cropped some edges and adjusted the lighting, and, voila, we were ready to go.

  Back home, I downloaded the app and created a profile. Mia said a bonus photo of me and my family would give me a ‘softer edge’, so I scrolled through my photos to see what others I could add. There was one of me and Anna, but Anna was really tanned, and Mia said that you should only include other people in your photos if they looked less attractive than you, so I went back to the drawing board. I decided on a photo of Mam and me, on the beach. It was just after the Halle Berry incident in Spain, and we were both bent over in hysterics. Mam had insisted Anna take all photographs of her from a lower angle, so that her legs appeared longer. As infuriating as it was having to retake every photo 120 times, she had a point – our legs looked sensational.

  It was the ‘say something about yourself’ part of the profile that I found most difficult. It’s terribly un-British to write complimentary things about oneself. I needed to come across as fun, but not someone whose only hobby is getting pissed. I wanted to appear cultural, but not too up myself. Also, what was I looking for, and what if I got bombarded with pictures of flaccid penises? In the end I went for: ‘Welsh girl in London; teacher-trainee. Can draw a cracking stick figure.’ It only took me four hours.

  The next morning at the museum, as I was sorting through a pile of Julia Donaldson books, I noticed an elderly gentleman hovering outside the disabled toilets, holding a bright yellow children’s rain jacket. When I was little, I had a Minnie Mouse poncho that I used to wear when I went down to the beach with Gramps. It had ears on the hood and deep pockets for all my Pick & Mix sweets. I don’t buy anything without pockets any more. As Mia says, it’s a feminist issue.

  A little girl came out of the toilet.

  ‘I’m done, Grandad,’ she said, pulling on her cardigan. She had flame-red hair, with a red bow clip in it.

  ‘Well done, Nancy,’ he said, taking her hand and walking towards the gift shop.