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Chapter 2 Pickled Eggs and Popcorn

Helen

‘The reservation was like for seven?’ The waiter gave Helen a scowl as he took her to the table (not actually a table but an old school desk, this being a trendy London eatery).

‘I know, I’m just early.’ Twenty minutes early. Helen-time. She wanted to check it wasn’t too noisy or too busy, and that they had a good table, not too close to the door or loos. It had to be nice, since she was dragging Ani and Rosa out on a school night. And things with Marnie might be a little weird, after her disappearing act. She felt another flare of nerves in her stomach.

‘Because like I can’t hold the table?’

Helen looked around the empty place—it was a Tuesday night in January after all—and tacked on a conciliatory smile. ‘Of course. They won’t be long, I promise.’ The waiter sniffed. He had tattoos up both arms and one of a butterfly on his cheek.

She wondered who should sit where—if only it was acceptable to make out place cards for casual social occasions! But despite it all, Helen was excited. For months now she’d had a slight, a very very slight, third-wheel feeling. Rosa and Ani had met in uni, and even though they’d all been friends for years, Helen was always aware she was the newcomer. But Marnie—well, ever since day one of primary school, Marnie and Helen had come as something of a package deal. ‘Like those twins, where one is living inside the other and slowly eating it,’ as Marnie had once cheerfully put it. Before Marnie left, the four of them had been a tight-knit group, where no one ever got left out or felt alone. Maybe they could go back to that? Helen’s stomach dipped again. So many things had happened since then. It seemed unlikely.

Rosa was the second to arrive, unwinding her long scarf from her plait. ‘I couldn’t stay another second,’ she declared. ‘I swear, working with David, it’s like—’ She mimed a rope around her neck. ‘I’m going to have to change jobs. Go back to Puzzle Weekly or Knitting Times. Oh God. And today I actually had to fabricate a whole trend that helps you chill out at work.’

‘I’m sorry. Want some Rescue Remedy?’

‘Yes please.’ Rosa opened her mouth and Helen squeezed in a few drops from the yellow bottle.

‘Berocca?’

‘Go on then.’

Helen rooted around in the massive handbag she always carried. Ani called it the Doombag, because it contained solutions for everything that could possibly go wrong in life, short of full-scale nuclear war. Ani herself arrived just then, shouting into her phone. ‘Tell them the offer is derisory. Yes, that actual word. D-e- Can’t you just look it up?’ She waved over to them. ‘I have to go. Just get it sorted, will you?’

Rosa put a guilty hand over her fizzing orange drink. ‘It’s, um, a new cocktail?’

Ani raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think caffeine is a good idea for you right now, judging by the manic texts I’ve been getting all day. How’s the fake trend?’

‘Booming,’ said Rosa glumly. ‘How was court?’

Ani took off her jacket, revealing a cream silk shirt and tweed skirt, and fluffed out her neat bob. ‘Well, we lost, and the opposing barrister was really hot—’

‘Ooh, was he?’

‘—yeah, so obviously I was really rude to him and basically called him a twat—’

‘Of course.’

‘—and then my sleazy client hit on me.’

‘Ew.’

‘Worse—I realised it was the first time anyone’s asked me out in months.’ She looked round. ‘No Marnie then?’

‘It’s only twenty past,’ said Rosa, checking her watch.

‘Will she show?’

‘Of course. She texted earlier.’ Helen wished she felt as confident as she sounded.

‘I bet she’s got a lovely tan,’ said Rosa, stabbing at the retro pickled eggs the waiter had just brought. ‘Maybe I’ll move to South America too. Leave behind horrible cold London and my horrible boss and horrible David. Marnie’s probably picked up some gorgeous Brazilian beach dude.’

‘Or dudess,’ Ani reminded them. ‘Remember that Dutch girl she went out with?’

‘Oh yeah.’ Rosa sighed. ‘God, I am such a dating novice.’

The waiter was eyeballing the empty place. ‘Are you expecting the rest of your party soon?’

‘Very soon. We’ll be happy to move if you fill up.’ Ani was pleasant and assertive—Helen resolved to copy her in future. ‘So Marnie’s been in South America all this time?’

Helen shrugged. ‘I think so. It was Argentina last I heard.’ Soooo gorgeous, the food is to die for, the kids are beautiful… Marnie’s life was like a travelogue, beamed out via Facebook and Twitter. Nothing ever went wrong. Every day was hashtag-blessed. But communication had been sporadic for a while now—Marnie too busy having the time of her life to get in touch, most likely.

Ani was looking at the menu. ‘Well, should we order? Oh, surprise, surprise, pulled pork. Tell me this, is there any un-pulled pork in the whole of London right now?’

Helen was starting to feel anxious, checking the time, when she realised—like the night bus you wait for so long you slip into a sort of hallucinatory state—Marnie was there.

* * *

There was something about Marnie. A shimmer in the air around her. Even though Rosa was sad and Helen was worried and Ani was tired, all three of them looked up as she came in, and one by one they smiled.

She was thin, was Helen’s first thought. Thin, and incredibly pale given she’d been travelling, and she’d cut her strawberry-blonde-copper-ginger hair into a short crop. It would have made someone else look like a dinner lady, but on Marnie it was cute, child-like yet sexy. She was wearing a vast cape, which again came out more catwalk trend than ‘Little Red Riding Hood: the London Years’, and a short dress the colour of sunshine. Her big green eyes flicked over them, faltered. ‘Guys, I’m late—I’m not used to the tube…’

Helen was on her feet, gathering her up. ‘Never mind. You’re here!’ Marnie smelled like she always did, of exotic spices and airport lounges. For a moment, Helen felt the name hover between them. Would Marnie mention Ed? God, she hoped not.

Marnie’s arms met behind Helen’s back, and she pulled away, staring. ‘Oh my God! Look at you!’

Helen blushed. ‘Oh. Yeah.’

‘How come you didn’t tell me?’

Helen didn’t say: Er, maybe because I haven’t heard from you in months. She said, ‘Oh, it’s no big deal. I just joined a gym and stuff.’

‘Um, hello, you must have lost, what—three stone?’

‘Four,’ said Ani. ‘She looks amazing, doesn’t she? Hey, it’s great to see you.’ Ani was on her feet now too, embracing the other side of Marnie, and Rosa draped herself over them, so the four women were enmeshed in a kind of eight-armed hug monster.

Marnie squeezed Ani: ‘God, you look like a grown-up, I love the suit,’ then kissed Rosa’s wan cheek: ‘Sweetie, I’m so sorry about David. I want to hear everything.’ Soon they were sitting down, and the waiter, suddenly happy and smiling after the application of Marnie’s magic smile and her warm, ‘Hi! How’s your day been?’ was bringing extra pickled eggs and sneaking them popcorn in little tin buckets.

‘Pulled pork,’ said Marnie, looked at the menu. ‘What’s that? Sounds like what they used to put in the ‘mystery meat’ sandwiches at primary school. I’m not paying £17.99 for school dinners, they can do one.’

The others burst out laughing. ‘Marnie,’ said Ani, raising her jam-jar cocktail. ‘London has missed you.’

* * *

It was almost as if Marnie had never been away, Helen thought, trying to manoeuvre her head-sized burger into her mouth. As if she hadn’t just left two years ago, without even saying goodbye, only surfacing to email from various exotic locales. Everyone was carefully not mentioning it, though Helen was dying to ask: Why did you go? Why didn’t you tell me? But then, she was keen to keep the conversation away from the events of two years ago. They’d just been listening to the sorry tale of Rosa and David’s breakup, retold for Marnie’s benefit.

‘…I’d no idea anything was even wrong. I just thought he was a bit stressed at work…’

‘Ah love, that must have been horrible.’

‘And this girl had started as an intern. Daisy. You know the sort, all cute and helpless and, um…twenty.’

(Cute and helpless was Marnie’s thing, and Helen had time to realise this, quickly panic, and then relax in relief. Marnie was not twenty, not even close.)

‘Ooooh, tell me he didn’t…’

‘It came up on his phone. He was too stupid to turn off the messaging…’

‘Oh my God, the utter dick.’

‘And I asked him and he said they were in love, and he was moving in with her—I mean, Jesus, she lives with four other students in some fleapit…’

‘I can’t believe it!’

‘And Mum and Dad, you know what they’re like, they think they’re so lefty and hip, then suddenly Mum’s crying on the phone to the rabbi and Dad’s down the synagogue with David’s uncle trying to sort it all out—they’re not even practising, it’s ridiculous…’

By the end of the story Marnie’s eyes were jewel-bright with tears, and Rosa was half crying, half laughing. ‘At least I kept the flat. And at least I never have to listen to his stupid Bob Dylan B-sides ever again. I guess, if I’m honest, I should have known he wasn’t happy. I mean, I actually had to beg him to have sex with me instead of watching Robson Green’s Extreme Fishing. But now I’m thirty-two, and I’m single again, and I have no idea what to do. How do you date? I don’t even know. You’re the dating expert—help me!’

Marnie swirled her glass of ‘Brigitte Bardot’s Knickers’ (it being against the law to have non-ironic cocktail names in London), a concoction of Campari, gin, and Fanta, and looked at Ani and Helen. ‘Hmmm. What about you two, any romance?’

When Marnie wasn’t there, Ani was too pessimistic to discuss her love life, Helen just didn’t date (because: reasons), and Rosa had been happily married until a few months ago. So at the question, a silence fell over them. Helen cleared her throat. ‘Ani got asked out by her client,’ she said.

Ani rolled her eyes. ‘Mr “I had sex with my kids’ auntie under the Christmas tree”, yeah, great. If I’m lucky he still has his Santa suit. Otherwise, no, still nothing that sticks. Mum and Dad are starting to despair of me, I think.’

‘And you, Helz?’

She went for an ironic shrug and ended up spattering chipotle mayonnaise on her chin. ‘Do Dr Derek Shepherd and Walter White, crack dealer, count as men? Because I’ve been spending a lot of time with them.’

‘No, box sets do not count.’

Helen squirmed. Marnie couldn’t know the real reason Helen hadn’t dated in two years. ‘Ach, it’s such a lot of hassle and heartache—tell her about your last date, Ani.’

‘The one where he took out his contacts and said, “You could be anyone now!”, then his cat bit me on the foot? I still have the scar.’

‘Not him, the other one.’

‘The one who took off his trousers and he was wearing Superman pants? Or the one who didn’t even have a bedroom? Honestly, he was living in an actual airing cupboard.’

‘I was thinking of Blubbing Ben, actually.’

‘Oh God, yes. Wait till you hear this, Marn.’ Ani launched into a story of a date she’d had recently, the punchline of which was ‘and then he spent the whole evening crying on my shoulder, and the worst bit was, it was a dry-clean-only top’.

Rosa shook her head over her ‘Brighton Rock and Roll’—peach schnapps, vodka, cream soda, a stick of actual rock to stir it. ‘I don’t know why you can’t just date someone nice, Ani.’

‘You sound like my mum. I’m trying to find someone nice—I date all the time. You guys don’t know what it’s like. I don’t want to put you off, Rosa, but if you decide to jump back into the water, well, online dating is like deliberately swimming into a big shoal of sharks.’

Marnie was nodding. ‘My friend Caty, do you remember her? The one who does reiki healing and has that weird little sausage dog? She was seeing this guy she met online, and it was all going really well, except he wouldn’t invite her to his place. He said his flatmates were always there, the place was a mess, he needed to clean up, blah blah. Then one day he says, fine, come round. So she goes, and it’s lovely. Like a really nice clean grown-up place. And the next morning they’re making waffles in the kitchen, and she’s in his shirt, just like in a romcom.’

‘With yoghurt?’ said Helen, transfixed despite herself by the image.

‘Yep. They are totally eating yoghurt. Probably he’s dabbed some on her chin and licked it off. Anyway, you can see where this is going.’

‘Oh no.’ Rosa buried her head in her hands.

‘Oh yes. So the door goes and it’s his wife. That’s right, she’s home early from her holiday. With the kids. So that’s internet dating,’ said Marnie grimly. ‘Every time you think it can’t get worse, you hit another rock bottom. A new low standard every time.’

‘It’s not all like that,’ Helen said. ‘I mean, I would know.’

‘Of course, I forgot you ran that dating site.’ No surprise—Helen never talked about her job. Because: more reasons.

‘How come none of us have ever used it? Maybe I should, now my husband’s left me for a teenager.’ Rosa was attacking her drink as if it had personally offended her.

Helen wished she hadn’t said anything. She usually succeeded in making her job sound so dull no one ever wanted to ask about it. ‘Um, well, it’s sort of a bit…niche.’

‘Trust me, Rosa, babe, you don’t want to go online,’ said Marnie, shaking her head. ‘No offence, Helz. I’m sure you do a great job. Rosa just needs to be eased in.’

‘None taken,’ she said, with huge relief. Mentioning her job, how stupid. That and Ed were two topics that needed to be avoided at all costs.

‘She’s right,’ said Ani, who was on her third ‘Why Hasn’t He Kahluaed?’ (Kahlua, pineapple juice, a dash of paprika.) ‘I went on Tinder, and I got chatting to this guy who seemed nice, so I asked him out, and he said could we just meet in a park so in case we didn’t like each other we could save money on drinks, and we met up and it was freezing and we walked round in the rain for half an hour and then he tried to shove his hand down my top.’

Helen no longer felt like drinking the rest of her ‘Sloe Dirty Orgasm’, a sloe-gin martini with an unfortunate splash of Bailey’s leaching through it. Across the table, Rosa was also looking crestfallen. ‘Sounds awful. Is there any point? I might just stay home and watch The Great British Bake Off, like the spinster I’m now inevitably to become.’

‘I’ve got a better idea.’ Marnie wiped the remains of her aubergine dip from her plate—as Ani pointed out, London food was more like Milupa every year. ‘Ladies—and sorry to lump you in, Rosa, babe—but am I right in thinking that what we have here are four totally single women?’

Helen hadn’t known Marnie’s romantic situation, was afraid to ask. And there was no need to usually—she would tell you herself, in Technicolor detail. ‘I guess so,’ she said cautiously, as Rosa slumped into her spicy coleslaw.

‘So why is it? Why are we all single? Look at us.’ Marnie spread her arms. Helen moved a glass out of her way. ‘We’re amazing, sassy women.’

‘That’s the problem,’ said Ani. ‘They don’t want sassy women.’

‘No,’ said Rosa gloomily. ‘They want twenty-year-olds who wear Miffy T-shirts to the office.’

Marnie said, ‘I bet that’s not true. You must all have one nice ex, who isn’t a total moron or douchebag.’

‘I’ve been with David since I was nineteen,’ said Rosa sadly. ‘I met him in a lecture, and then he showed me how to use the soup dispenser in the canteen. It was so romantic.’

Marnie’s gaze turned. ‘And you, Ani?’

‘Oh, I’ve dated loads of people, as you know. But I’m considering stopping it all and taking up stabbing myself in the eye with pencils instead.’

‘And were any of them nice?’

Ani shrugged. ‘A few were fine. Just no spark, you know. Nothing ever seems to get off the ground.’

‘Because she’s commitment-phobic,’ said Rosa, stabbing at her drink.

‘I’m not commitment-phobic! I’m just looking for something very specific.’

‘Which doesn’t exist. No one’s perfect, Ani.’

‘Well, I’m not giving up just yet. Believe me, when you handle as many divorce cases as I do, you want to get it right.’

Helen knew it was her turn next. She took a large bite of her burger, and a swill of ironic cocktail. ‘I don’t have any recent exes,’ she said, quickly. ‘I’ve sort of been off dating since you—since I last saw you. You know, keeping up with my busy schedule of Netflix and cleaning the bathroom.’

‘This whole time?’

That whole time, almost to the day. Deflect. ‘Well, more or less.’

Marnie wasn’t letting her off so easily. ‘But you could date if you wanted. You’re so pretty—isn’t she? And so nice.’ Ani and Rosa nodded agreement; Helen blushed into her cocktail. ‘See? And loads of boys have liked you. What about…’ Helen watched her friend mentally scroll through almost thirty years of history. ‘Donny Myers?’ she came up with, finally.

‘Oh for God’s sake. We were six!’

‘He asked you to marry him once, remember, with that note in assembly?’

‘Aw,’ said Rosa, sappily.

Helen held up her hands in disbelief. ‘Donnie Darko? You must be kidding me. Don’t you remember, he was the prime suspect when Hammy the Hamster went missing that time? And then no one would sit next to him at lunch for the whole rest of school?’

‘But apart from that, he was all right.’

‘Apart from suspected hamstercide? That’s like saying apart from those few hours, it was a lovely voyage on the Titanic.’

‘I’m sure I’m still friends with him on Facebook,’ said Marnie stoutly. ‘I could look him up. Don’t you want to meet someone?’

Ani shook her head. ‘We’ve tried. She doesn’t.’

‘She’s in a rut,’ said Rosa.

‘Hey, I like my rut,’ Helen said. ‘I’m thinking of getting it re-upholstered in fact. Maybe in a nice paisley.’ And she did like it—as ruts often were, it was very cosy and safe. Deflect, deflect. ‘What’s this all about, Marnie? Are you not dating anyone at the moment?’ If so, that was an unusual state of affairs. And hey, what about Ed? Why did you leave? What’s going on in your head?

Marnie sighed. ‘Oh, it’s a disaster out there. The last person I dated, Hamish was his name, totally gorgeous, seemed really into me, and then I go to meet him for our fourth date and he doesn’t even turn up.’

‘Hamish?’ Rosa frowned. ‘Were there not any hunky Latin lovers out there?’

‘Hmm?’ Marnie looked puzzled. ‘Oh! No, well, you know, there are lots of backpackers and that. Anyway, he won’t answer my emails or calls, just totally ghosts me.’

‘That sucks,’ said Rosa. ‘How rude!’

‘Par for the course sadly,’ said Ani. ‘More ghosts in London right now than in the whole of Ghostbusters.’

Marnie was nodding. ‘Guys. As you know, my love life has been…varied.’ There was a tactful silence. Helen ran through some of Marnie’s dates—the guy who literally went off to join the circus, the guy who bred guinea pigs in his bedroom, the guy who turned up to meet her high on ketamine… Not to mention Ed, of course. Which she was steadfastly not doing.

‘You’ve certainly given it a good go,’ said Ani kindly. ‘If dating was a job you’d be in a corner office right now.’

She meant it nicely, but there was another small silence—Marnie’s employment history was as long and chequered as her love life. She liked to describe herself as an artist when asked what she did, or sometimes a ‘world traveller’, which was a bit annoying seeing as it wasn’t an actual job, unless you were a Victorian lady of independent means and adventurous spirit, travelling with a feisty lesbian companion or dallying with the porters. Over the years, Marnie had attempted a variety of mad jobs—dog walker, life model, working in an occult bookshop—and even the odd proper one in a call centre or office. But they were thirty-two now. Helen wasn’t sure, but she suspected they were approaching the cut-off time between ‘charmingly whimsical’ and ‘forty-year-old still living in their parents’ garage’.

‘I’ve had enough,’ Marnie was saying. ‘I’m sick of moving about, different cities, different countries, meeting guys on Tinder, youth hostels, beaches… I want to find someone nice.’

Helen was afraid to say the next thing. ‘So what were you…?’

‘Guys, I’ve got the best idea.’

And there it was. The phrase that had prefaced most of the disasters of Helen’s life, from the Sun-In green hair incident of 1994, to the vodka and peach-schnapps vomit-off of 2003. But which had also heralded many of the best days, the laughing-till-you-fell-off-your-chair days, the most precious moments, Instagram-bright.

‘What?’ said Rosa, who was the kindest of them, but who’d also missed out on the most insane Marnie times by virtue of being at home with David cooking Nigella dinners and watching box sets of The West Wing.

Marnie said, ‘Well, we’re all single. I don’t think that’s ever happened before. Sorry, Rosa. But it’s true. And we’d all like to meet someone nice.’ Helen opened her mouth to say she didn’t want to meet anyone, nice or otherwise, then shut it again. ‘But Ani’s stories are scary—and me too, I’ve had some awful times online dating. You can’t be sure what you’re going to get.’ Marnie leaned in eagerly. There was a flush to her pale face, her green eyes glowing. ‘What I’m suggesting is this—we each set one of the others up with an ex of ours.’

‘That’s crazy.’ Helen had blurted it out before she could think. She tried to never use the c-word. ‘I mean, what? I don’t understand.’

‘Simple.’ Marnie dusted off her hands and pointed round the table. ‘Rosa would, say, set Ani up with someone she’s dated. Ani’d set you up…’

‘What?’ said Helen and Ani in unison, but Marnie went on, undeterred: ‘… and you’d set me up. I’d do Rosa. That’s just an example. We could always draw names. And we’d have to have rules. Like, only nice people. The whole point is to get a better option than those online dates. A sort of Freecycle, but for guys. He-cycle, if you will.’

‘I really, really will not,’ muttered Helen. Dating each other’s exes! This was dangerous. Deflect, deflect!

‘That’s mental,’ said Ani, and Helen winced at the word. ‘Someone would definitely get upset. And how would it even work?’

‘Like I just said.’ Helen had forgotten that Marnie could be surprisingly organised and persuasive when she put her mind to something. ‘Why’s it mental? I want to meet someone, don’t you?’ She looked hard at Ani.

‘I mean, I guess, but only if…’

‘How many internet dates did you go on in the last year?’

‘Um…a few.’

‘How many’s a few?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I bet you kept count.’ Marnie was staring her out. ‘Twenty?’

Ani was turning red. ‘Um…a bit more than that, maaaaaybe…’

‘More than thirty? More than forty?’ Marnie was like Jeremy Paxman with eyeliner flicks. ‘Come on, tell us.’

‘Forty-seven,’ Ani whispered.

‘Christ on a bike,’ shouted Rosa. ‘Sorry. Sorry, Christians. I mean—just, wow.’

‘I want to find the right person!’ said Ani, still red. ‘And you know, it’s so easy online. You just click, and then if you’re free, why not meet up? It’s either that or let my parents set me up with Dad’s golfing buddy’s nephew from Leeds, who has his own mobile disco business.’

‘Exactly.’ Marnie slapped the table. ‘It’s too easy. It’s like going to Tesco. And it’s about as romantic. Whereas this way—well, we can have a man curated for us by our lovely friends, who know us so well.’ She beamed at them. ‘Think about it. It takes out all the risk—we get pre-screened, predated men.’

‘Curated,’ muttered Rosa, who seemed to be having trouble with the whole conversation. ‘I don’t know. This is all new to me. I’m still getting my head around being single.’ She bit her lip, and Helen could see her eyes were filling up. Most of their nights out recently had ended with a weeping Rosa. She looked round at her friends—Marnie flushed and determined, Ani scowling, maybe thinking of her forty-seven bad dates, Rosa on the verge of tears. And what if Marnie suddenly suggested someone take on her most dateable ex of all? No way. The subject had to be changed, and fast. And Helen, with conflict-defusing skills that Ban Ki-moon would be proud of, was the Official Difficult Subject Changer of the group.

‘Guys, it’s a lovely idea, but remember—I don’t date. Like, ever. So I’m afraid I’m out. Now, did anyone want dessert? They have an ice-cream sundae made with popping candy!’