Is This It? Page 6

‘Good morning,’ Nancy said, as she appeared beside the till.

  ‘Good morning. I like your rain coat.’

  ‘It’s yellow.’

  ‘Is yellow your favourite colour?’

  ‘No, red is. But Mummy couldn’t find a red one.’

  Her grandad smiled at me and I felt an ache in my chest.

  ‘Are you running storytime today?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I’ll be doing it at twelve. Are you joining us?’

  ‘I like the snail one,’ Nancy said.

  ‘Me too, it’s one of my favourites,’ I said.

  ‘And I like bears and cats and penguins.’

  ‘Have you read the one with the bear and the piano?’

  She jumped up and down with excitement.

  ‘I bought it for her last week,’ her grandfather said. ‘She requests it every bedtime.’

  Nancy tugged at her grandad’s hand and they walked off.

  As I watched them go, I momentarily thought about calling Gramps, before going back to sorting the bookshelf.

  At 11.45 a.m. I went into the story room. There’s a whopping steel beam in the middle of the room that they’ve turned into a tree and hanging from all the branches are quotes from various children’s books. There were a dozen or so children waiting patiently with their mums, dads, minders and grandparents sitting nearby.

  I read enough Julia Donaldson to make my eyes sore before our time was up, and we had to call it a day. I thanked the children for being such good listeners, even though they lasted about seven minutes before they got bored and started fidgeting/crying/whinging or all three. This was the sort of time that Dilys likes to pop by to tell me I lack authority and confidence and I’m going to be an embarrassment in the classroom. This is when I tell Dilys to fuck off.

  As I got up from my seat, I saw Anna standing at the back of the room. She was munching on a cucumber and smiling in my direction. I walked over to her.

  ‘I didn’t know you were coming,’ I said, kissing her on the cheek.

  ‘I brought you lunch.’

  ‘You’ve never brought me lunch before. What a treat.’

  ‘It’s leftover BBQ from yesterday. The smell’s putting me off.’

  ‘Thanks for thinking of me.’

  ‘I forgot the sauce, so the meat will be a little dry. And I forgot the salad.’

  ‘So, it’s just dry BBQ meat?’

  ‘Yes, and half a charred pepper.’

  ‘Well, it’s the thought that counts.’

  We walked arm in arm to the café and found a seat.

  ‘Did you know that Mam sent me an article about air pollution and the damage it can do to pregnant women? According to the Daily Mail, my child could be born with severe disabilities.’

  ‘You know you shouldn’t read that—’

  ‘I didn’t choose to read it, did I?’

  ‘I didn’t say you—’

  ‘It sent me into a tenebrous Google-shaped hole, and now I’ve convinced myself the baby will be stillborn.’

  She took another bite of her extra-large cucumber. I saw the vein on her forehead vibrate.

  ‘Anna, don’t take this the wrong way, but, have you done any mindfulness recently?’

  ‘I don’t have the time! I told you, work’s busier than ever.’

  ‘You need to make time. You’ve got to take care of your mental health, especially with a baby on the way.’

  She groaned. ‘You’re so preachy now that you’re all zen and happy in yourself.’

  ‘I am not—’ I stopped myself before swearing. ‘I am not preachy. I work in a gift shop, I can’t get anyone to text me, let alone date me, and last night I ate a packet of microwavable rice for dinner that cost ninety-nine pence.’

  ‘Why didn’t you come over?’

  ‘I need to fend for myself.’

  ‘We’ve signed up for hypnobirthing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s a course where I pay someone three hundred pounds to tell me how to breathe.’

  ‘Sounds riveting.’

  ‘Sorry, this is boring. How are you? Did you finish the dating profile?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, getting my phone out to show her.

  ‘These are great,’ she said, flicking through the photos. ‘You’ve got a bit of that morning-sickness glow going on. I miss that glow. Now it’s just sweat.’

  ‘I’m yet to find anyone decent on there.’

  ‘You’ve only been looking a day, darling.’

  ‘I can’t be arsed,’ I said, scraping charcoal off the pepper.

  ‘It’s modern dating, Ivy. You need to commit – Oh! What about this one?’

  There was a very attractive man on the screen with luscious blond locks. He looked a bit like Rapunzel – if Rapunzel was sexy and male. He had piercing blue eyes and scrumptious pink lips. Anna read out his profile.

  ‘He’s thirty-five, a product manager – not sure what that means—’

  ‘I think that means he’s techy?’

  ‘Likes the outdoors and The Big Bang Theory.’

  ‘I could never get into that show.’

  ‘Who cares about the show, he’s hot.’

  He was hot. He was hot with a ridgeback, hot with a guitar, hot with his arm around a teenager holding a laminated certificate, and hot on a canal boat with a woman I presumed was his mother.

  Anna started typing.

  ‘Hey,’ I said, ‘what are you doing?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Don’t you dare message him.’

  ‘I’m not messaging him.’

  ‘Anna! Stop it!’

  She gave me the phone back.

  ‘You little shit, you swiped right.’

  ‘I swiped right.’

  ‘How do you even know how to do that?’

  ‘Don’t make that face. I’m forcing you to take the plunge!’

  ‘I am plunging! I set up the profile, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, but, knowing you, you’ll probably sit on the app doing nothing for three years before you actually get the guts to connect with someone.’

  ‘It’s been one day! I haven’t been on a proper first date in over four years. I’m allowed to be nervous.’

  She held out her hand for me to hold. ‘Sorry, I’m being a dick. You’re marvellous and I love you and you should go at whatever pace feels right.’

  After a few minutes, my phone beeped. I looked down to see a notification from Serendipity telling me that Nick had ‘liked’ me back. I showed Anna the screen and she let out a little yelp.

  ‘Christ, that was fast,’ she said.

  I opened the app and there was a message from Nick.

  ‘Hey, Ivy. Great to connect! Fancy a drink on Thursday?’

  ‘Ives! You’ve got yourself a date!’

  ‘Do you think he sounds desperate?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m not sure about the “great to connect” part.’

  Anna snatched the phone off me and replied to say that yes, I would like a drink on Thursday. He wrote back suggesting Millie’s in Soho at seven o’clock.

  ‘You’re going on a date!’ she said, clapping her hands.

  I tried to mask my anxiety by shovelling some charred pepper in my mouth.

  9

  I’d arranged to meet Mia at mine after work on Thursday. I asked her to bring over some appropriate date attire but stressed that it had to be my sort of appropriate, not hers. If it were up to her, I’d be covered in lace, or glitter, or both. Her original suggestion was to wear an ivory satin gown with lace trimming on the shoulders, paired with dark-brown cowboy boots. Both were Noah’s dead aunt’s. To amuse her, I tried them on.

  ‘I look like a Texan bride,’ I said. ‘And I smell like a dead cow.’

  ‘You’ve never looked better.’

  ‘Have you ever asked yourself why you own so many prairie dresses?’ I said, sifting through the pile of clothes she’d brought over.

  ‘What’s the vision f
or tonight?’ she asked. ‘Who are you channelling? Do you want him to see “fun, all-nighter Ivy”, or “about to start teacher-training Ivy”?’

  ‘Are they mutually exclusive?’

  She put her hand to her forehead and let out an agonised sigh.

  ‘What is this?’ I said, pulling out a tie-dye velvet robe.

  ‘That’s for when I want to channel Jennifer Connelly from Labyrinth.’

  I threw a pillow at her and told her she was from another planet.

  We settled on something from my own wardrobe: a floral midi dress with buttons down the front. Mia said that because it fell to my calves, it made me look classy, but that the cut on my cleavage gave me a ‘sensual edge’, which was, according to her, the ideal combination. I put on some red lipstick and off I went.

  ‘Be you, but not too you,’ Mia said, as we parted ways. ‘You’re going to kill it.’

  I’d painted my nails for the occasion, but by the time I arrived at Millie’s, I had chipped most of the polish off, revealing a tinge of yellow that you usually only find on the deceased. I’d put too much hairspray on the right side of my head, so I spent most of the Tube journey into town trying to puff up the left side, which was rather flat in comparison. I was also a little bloated and could’ve easily passed as a woman nearing the end of her first trimester. If this wasn’t adversity, I didn’t know what was.

  I spotted Nick at the bar right away. I never know what to do with my hands and, walking towards him, all I could think about was where to place them. I thought about Mam and how she says that I frown too much, which led me to think about the anti-wrinkle cream she said I needed to buy to counteract the frown lines. I then started thinking about the cost of anti-wrinkle cream, and whether it was all a con. Should I carry on with my usual moisturiser, or was it time to move on, as Mam had said?

  He got up from his seat and, with the kissing incident from the interview still on my mind, I put my hand out to shake his. We said our hellos and smiled at each other in that awkward way you do when you’re on your first, first date in four years. It felt like I was shaking his hand for hours. My hand was a bit sweaty. Everything was a bit sweaty.

  ‘Ivy, how are you?’

  ‘Good. How are you?’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Good.’

  More awkward smiles.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, please. I’ll have a gin and tonic.’

  He called the waiter’s attention and ordered our drinks: gin and tonic for me, and a lemonade for him. I gave him a subtle look-over as he talked to the waiter. Why was he drinking lemonade? Was he training for some sort of ultramarathon? Was he hung-over, and dehydrated? Perhaps he had recently undergone surgery and was on extra strong painkillers?

  ‘So, how are you?’ he asked again.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks. And you?’

  It felt like we’d had this exchange seventeen times in the past two minutes.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I must seem a bit out of it. I’ve been crazy busy this week.’

  ‘Not at all,’ I said, scanning his face. He really did look like Rapunzel. I started to think about all the other, attractive cartoon characters: Aladdin, Pocahontas … Mufasa.

  ‘What do you do?’ he asked.

  ‘I start my teacher training in September, at a primary school in Clerkenwell.’

  ‘That’s amazing. You need a lot of patience to work with kids. I mentor a few teenagers at church. CV building, interview training, that sort of stuff.’

  The talk of church should have sounded an alarm bell, but I was too impressed by the many strings to his hot, angelic bow to care.

  ‘Ah, that would explain the young man in the photo,’ I said.

  ‘What photo?’

  ‘On your profile. He’s holding a certificate? I bet that gets a lot of likes. “Here I am out in the community, helping someone less fortunate than me”.’

  Nick looked wounded. ‘Jack died of a knife stabbing earlier this year.’

  ‘Shit. I’m so sorry. I was trying to make a joke. I’m sorry.’

  There was silence as I tried to find something redeeming to say.

  ‘Do you do a lot of work with the church?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah, a fair bit. I started a band. We write our own material.’

  ‘Cool. What sort of music is it?’

  ‘Do you remember the band Creed?’

  ‘Creed? As in the American Christian rock band from the nineties?’

  ‘Yeah, I love those guys.’

  There was no hope for us.

  ‘Do you volunteer?’ he asked.

  ‘I started volunteering at a care home last year, but it’s not so much volunteering any more. I go to see Maude, who’s one of the residents. She likes to hold me accountable for things – the elderly are good at that, aren’t they?’

  Despite the initial awkwardness, the conversation flowed for the next half hour or so. He asked a bit more about my teacher training, and about Wales. He’d spent many summers in Tenby, so at least we had that in common, but talking about coastal paths can only get you so far.

  ‘I’m going to order another drink,’ I said. ‘Do you want something a bit stronger?’

  ‘I should have said, I’m a Methodist – I don’t drink alcohol.’

  ‘That must be hard.’

  ‘Hard?’

  ‘We’re British; drinking is what we do.’

  ‘I think that’s a gross generalisation. Our drinking culture is an excuse for juvenile behaviour. Don’t you agree?’

  I decided not to order another drink.

  ‘So, kayaking,’ I said, changing the subject. ‘What other sports are you into?’

  I tried to focus on our conversation but his sanctimonious attitude towards alcohol had thrown me. There’s nothing wrong with being sober, or being an active member of the Methodist Church, but save us all a bit of time and put it on your dating profile. Was I wrong to assume that our date would involve sharing an alcoholic beverage or two? Had I been out of the game this long?

  I excused myself to go to the loo, where I called Anna.

  ‘I’m pretty sure I saw a copy of the Bible in his bag,’ I said. ‘Am I being mean? Tell me if I’m being mean.’

  ‘No, you’re not being mean. He withheld key information, and I don’t think you should go out with someone who carries biblical literature around with them. You don’t have a good track record with people of faith.’

  ‘He’s a bit dull. But I think the hotness is masking that.’

  ‘You could say I’m going into labour.’

  ‘What? Now?’

  ‘Pregnant people are the perfect escape goat. Go back to the bar and do exactly what I say.’

  I went back to the bar and smiled at Nick. I know there’s a direct correlation between how attractive people are and how many gins you’ve consumed, but he really was very attractive. If I’d have known there would be calibre like this at our local church, I’d have been much more enthusiastic about Sunday club.

  I took my seat and, just like that, my phone went off. It was Anna: ‘Ivy, I think I’m having contractions and I can’t get hold of Mark. Come quick.’

  ‘Fuck,’ I said.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I think my sister’s going into labour. Her husband’s on a business trip. I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Far out! I went through the same thing with my sister. Early labour! God’s magnificent plan.’

  I got up from my seat and collected my things.

  ‘Goodbye then, Nick. This has been … pleasant.’

  I don’t know why I chose that word. I don’t think I’ve ever even used that word before.

  ‘I’d like to see you again,’ he said. ‘I had fun tonight.’

  Fun? He’d nursed a pint of lemonade for ninety minutes.

  ‘You’re great, but … we’re very different people.’

  ‘That’s cool, no worries,’ he said, with his million-
dollar Disney Prince smile.

  ‘We lead different lives.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Ivy. I get it.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m trying to be honest.’

  He put one hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Always be honest, Ivy. You can’t go wrong if you’re being honest.’

  ‘You’re very wise – and handsome. Has anyone ever told you that you look like Rapunzel?’

  He laughed. ‘We’ve got to be true to ourselves, Ivy. Good luck to you and your family, God speed.’

  Strangely, his mature response to me running off made me fancy him a bit again, and for a minute there I thought, maybe I should stay. But I snapped out of it, hugged him, and ran off to tend to Anna’s fake birth.

  As soon as I turned the corner, I rang her.

  ‘I’m not doing that again,’ I said. ‘I ended up telling him we weren’t compatible, and he was so gracious about it.’

  ‘I thought everyone lied on first dates? Maybe you should see him again?’

  ‘I feel like such a tit. This is the last time I’m taking advice from you.’

  ‘Do you want to come over? We’ve got that rosé you like, and Mark’s cooking.’

  ‘I’m already on my way.’

  10

  It was a blazing hot day in July, and Dan and I were at Teddies in Soho, well into the throes of their Independence Day-themed bottomless brunch. I had spent the entire morning telling Dan all the ways in which Serendipity was the most uneventful, tedious thing I’d ever gotten myself involved with. I’d swiped left so many times that I was convinced I’d given myself RSI. There were so many men. A ridiculous amount of men, in fact – and all of them looking for a supermodel fifteen years younger than them with a PhD.

  ‘You connect with someone, have a little flirt, share a bit about yourself,’ I said. ‘They seem normal, you are normal. You’re hopeful that this might not be a complete waste of your time. But then you bite the bullet and ask them out on a date, and either they disappear off the face of the earth or tell you they’re not looking for anything serious.’

  ‘Your standards are too high,’ Dan said.

  ‘You wouldn’t be saying that if you’d seen the men I’ve asked out. It’s been almost two months and I am yet to engage in a half-decent conversation with a member of the opposite sex. It’s depressing.’