Читать книгу In Case You Missed It - Lindsey Kelk - Страница 7

One of the most wonderful things about London was, no matter how much it changed, at its heart, it always stayed the same. They could open as many coffee shops and co-working spaces and Brewdog after Brewdog after Brewdog but the bones of the city stood strong, happy to slip on a new skin from time to time but always knowing its true self, underneath it all. As I emerged from the tube station at London Bridge, I took a deep, familiar breath of murky city air and smiled. I’d missed home so much.

After university, I’d lived nearby with my best friend, Sumi, and our friend, Lucy, the three of us crammed into a tiny two-bedroomed terraced affair with no functioning kitchen to speak of, a living room that doubled as Sumi’s bedroom and a bathroom that didn’t have a bath. Since we only had a fridge-freezer in the hallway and nowhere to sit that wasn’t someone’s bed, we met at The Lexington Arms almost every evening after work to eat and drink and catch each other up on every last little thing that had happened during our day. It was a wonderful, crappy old pub round the corner, beloved by us for its fish finger sandwiches, cheap white wine and the landlord’s willingness to let us upstairs when he had a band on without paying for a ticket. Sumi was in law school, Lucy was training at beauty college and I was making tea for whichever local radio station or desperate DJ would have me. It sounded hideous but they were happy times, really, they were the happiest.

As I waited for the green man, I gazed across the cobbled street at Borough Market. It was all together too cool for us back then but Sumi insisted I meet her here tonight. It was closer to her office, she said. This new bar she’d started going to was far nicer than The Lex, she said. A complete and utter betrayal, I said. And there had been no word on whether or not they served fish finger sandwiches.

Dodging the tourists with their giant backpacks and the locals with their bulging shopping bags, I walked around in circles, searching for the bar but only succeeding in getting lost in a sea of artisan food stalls.

‘You can’t afford fancy cheese,’ I reminded myself as I stared longingly at a wheel of brie in the window of the cheesemonger’s. Besides, who needed a baked camembert and a fresh-from-the-oven baguette when they could buy a Dairylea Dunker from Tesco Metro on the way home? Christ, I groaned inwardly, it had been a long time since I’d had been this broke. I had to find a job sooner rather than later.

Eventually, I spotted it, nestled between a boulangerie and a cheese shop, a tiny sign stencilled on a huge plate-glass window in antique gold lettering. Good Luck Bar was about as far away from The Lex as it was possible to be, figuratively speaking. Instead of a dark, dank, old man’s boozer, this place was one of those café-pub hybrids with too many mirrors and not enough dry-roast peanuts. One side of the room was taken up by oversized sofas in the perfect shade of pink for faux lounging while you took a thousand Instagram photos. The other side was filled with communal tables and a dulled metal bar that ran halfway down the room, lined with tall barstools and Edison lights hanging down overhead. It looked like a steampunk hairdressers, if a giant strawberry yoghurt had exploded inside. Not that it mattered what I thought, the place was absolutely packed, the sofas were swarmed and the communal tables full of people nursing an almost empty coffee cup while they abused the free WiFi.

With no other options, I hopped up onto an empty stool, resting my bag on the bar. A woman appeared on the other side and gave me a big smile. Her hair was woven into a long, elaborate braid you couldn’t help but respect and a heavy leather work apron covered her white shirt and blue jeans.

‘What can I get you?’ she asked.

‘A white wine please?’ I replied with a quick glance at the happy hour menu. ‘A large white wine?’

I might not be able to afford expensive cheese but there was always room on my credit card for a drink.

‘One of those days?’ The bartender pushed an enormous glass of Sauvignon Blanc towards me.

‘Something like that,’ I agreed, tucking my own long hair behind my ears and taking a grateful sip. I liked her already.

The day had been a challenge. Between my jetlag and a pair of randy rutting foxes that had seemingly chosen the back of my shed as their love nest I’d barely slept a wink. Which meant I didn’t cope very well when my dad apologetically explained he’d moved all my clothes from the washer to the dryer without asking me and accidentally shrunk more than half of them. And that was before I’d got to the freezing-cold water in the shed shower or the utter horror of the compostable toilet. My parents might be happy to have me home but home did not seem happy to have me.

‘Oh my god, it’s you, it’s you, you’re really back!’

Without warning, a black leather tote bag, filled to overflowing, thumped down beside me at the bar with a short South Asian woman attached.

‘I am so happy to see you,’ I told her, squeezing my friend so tightly she squealed in protest.

‘I’m happy to see you too,’ Sumi replied, delight all over her face. She’d always hated being short and lived in four-inch heels but she loved that she was, in her own words, ‘a thicc bitch’, all confident curves and zero-fucks attitude. Her hair was long and dark and her face was a masterpiece, glowing skin, huge eyes and a mouth that always seemed to be smiling.

‘I’m gagging for a drink,’ she said, waving to the bartender and pointing at my glass before giving her a thumbs up. The woman threw her a wink and went to work. ‘So, tell me everything. How does it feel to be back?’

‘Weird,’ I admitted as we fell right back into our rhythm. I hadn’t physically laid eyes on Sumi since she came out to visit a year ago but one way or another, we’d spoken every single day without fail. We didn’t miss a beat. ‘I’m happy though, I’ve missed everything about home so much.’

‘You picked the right three years to be gone,’ she replied. ‘I’d have gone with you if I could have. How’s the flat-hunt going?’

‘Can’t get a flat without a job,’ I pointed out. ‘I’m totally broke. If I’d known I’d be leaving so suddenly, I’d have tried to save more.’

I shuddered at the thought of winter in the shed.

Sumi took in the news with her trademark sympathy. ‘You’ll work it out,’ she said, patting me aggressively on the back. Sumi was a corporate lawyer who would never be out of work as long as companies continued to do dastardly things to each other – which basically meant she’d be loaded forever. ‘Everyone will be champing at the bit to give you a job. Your CV must look amazing, who else in London has three years’ experience at American Public Radio? You’re a rockstar, babe.’

‘Yeah,’ I agreed weakly. ‘That’s me.’

She lifted her head slightly to examine me, an expression I knew only too well.

‘You still haven’t really explained what happened. Did you quit? Was it layoffs?’

‘I was ready to come home,’ I said, also ready to draw a line under the conversation. ‘It’s a long, boring story, not worth the waste of breath.’

She gave me a sideways glance as her wine arrived. Sumi, ever the lawyer, knew when a case was closed.

‘Your mum and dad must be thrilled to have you home?’

‘They’re making me live in a shed.’

Sumi’s eyes lit up. ‘I have many follow-up questions.’

‘You may not ask them,’ I replied. ‘But you can help me set up my new phone if you like.’

I pulled a sexy black slab out of my bag and modelled it with my best game show hostess hand movements while my friend contributed the appropriate ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’. Even though I couldn’t really afford it, I had to have a phone. I’d had a work one in DC and the moment I’d handed it back in, it was like having my arm cut off. The ancient handset I’d been using in the interim was so slow, it would have been easier to send my friends telegrams than it was to text.

‘My phone is so old you practically have to put twenty pence in the back to make a call,’ Sumi muttered, admiring my new technology. ‘But I can’t face learning how to use a new one. I’ve gone full Luddite.’

‘Oh, I’ve got no idea how to use it but look how pretty it is.’ I gazed lovingly into the glossy screen and blinked with delight as it unlocked itself, opening up the home screen. ‘Look at that! I didn’t even have to press anything.’

‘Facial recognition,’ she said darkly. ‘Another reason not to upgrade, I don’t need the Russians saving my face to some mad database.’

‘Why the Russians?’ I asked, peering at the virgin, unscratched screen. So beautiful.

‘It’s always the Russians,’ Sumi said, a knowing look on her face. ‘The Russians or Mark Zuckerberg. Or both. In fact, do we even know he’s not Russian?’

‘Yes, Sumi,’ I replied, holding my phone at a safe distance and studying it carefully. ‘We do.’

My sister, Jo, could pick up any item of technology and, within three seconds, she’d have a gluten-free, vegan pizza on its way, her favourite music playing through an unseen speaker and five potential dates lined up for the weekend, all while checking her blood pressure and livestreaming footage from the Mars Rover. I had to work a little bit harder. The woman in the shop had set up the basics but I was going to have to figure out the rest for myself. For the last three years, I’d had to listen to all my albums on shuffle because I was too embarrassed to ask anyone how to turn it off.

Sumi took a deep swig of her wine and sighed with pleasure. ‘Have you downloaded the apps yet?’

‘Give me a break. I’ve had the phone for half an hour, this is the first time I’ve looked at it since I left the shop,’ I replied, sighing at her impatience before casting my eyes towards the floor in shame. ‘I downloaded Tinder.’

She pulled a bowl of snack mix down the bar and began popping peanuts into her mouth as her eyebrows wiggled up and down suggestively. Free snacks on the bar were definitely a plus point for this place.

‘Don’t get excited,’ I warned. ‘I downloaded it, that’s all, I didn’t activate my profile. I think I should probably find a job before I start looking for a shag.’

‘Absolutely, one hundred percent agreed, you’ll hear no arguments from me,’ Sumi said right before she grabbed my phone, held it up in front of my surprised face, swiped, tapped and, five seconds later, my Tinder profile was reactivated.

‘You’re a monster,’ I told her as she sat beside me, swiping through my options. Dozens of different faces gazed up at us, a smorgasbord of available men just waiting to be tapped. ‘You know I’ve never had any luck on the apps, no one does, it’s totally pointless. Besides, I’m not ready.’

‘I met Jemima on an app, Lucy met Creepy Dave on an app,’ Sumi reminded me, as though invoking Creepy Dave might help her argument. ‘Look at your pictures, they’re amazing! You look fit and nice and not like a complete arsehole. That’s Tinder gold.’

‘Thanks.’ I cringed at a clearly staged photo of me with my mouth open laughing at absolutely nothing. ‘Fat lot of good they’ve done me so far.’

‘No bites?’

‘The last date I went on arrived thirty minutes late, dripping in sweat, wearing his running gear and, because that wasn’t bad enough, his knob kept falling out of his shorts.’

‘If his knob was big enough to fall out of his shorts, you might have been a bit more understanding,’ Sumi, a lesbian who had literally never even touched a penis, suggested.

I reached across her to nix a photo of a white man proudly displaying his dreadlocks. Immediate red flag.

‘And if his mum hadn’t been waiting for him outside the bar, I might have been.’

‘Maybe his mum was an Uber driver who needed some practice?’

‘Maybe he was the next Norman Bates?’

Sumi frowned at London’s love offerings. Man with a baby tiger, man skydiving, man on top of a mountain. Man on top of a mountain holding a baby tiger immediately after skydiving.

‘I know you’re going to tell me you’re too busy to be in a relationship right now but I do think a good shag would sort you right out,’ she said, causing the man sitting to my right to choke on his gin and tonic. ‘It’s good to clear out the cobwebs, you know?’

‘I’m not against the idea of being a relationship,’ I told her, politely pretending not to notice as my seat neighbour sopped up his drink with several napkins. ‘I’m against the idea of dating. I don’t have the time or energy to waste drinking overpriced cocktails with people I never want to see again.’

‘Oh, of course,’ Sumi agreed innocently. ‘Because you’re so busy living in your parents’ shed not working?’

‘Put that down as my headline,’ I told her, catching my own eye in the mirror behind the bar. I looked tired. ‘I do want to find someone, eventually. No one wants to be the weird single friend that shows up to family parties in last night’s eyeliner and scares the children, but it’s too much right now.’

‘But a good first date is the best.’ Her eyes sparkled as she gazed into a memory. ‘All the laughing and talking and finding reasons to touch each other, wondering who’s going to make the first move, wondering if they’ll ask you out again, wondering when they’re going to text …’

Sumi’s first dates sounded as though they’d been a lot more fun than any of mine. ‘That sounds great,’ I said, giving her a look. ‘But Frasier isn’t going to rewatch itself, is it?’

Her smile softened into something more understanding. ‘I think you need to get back on the horse. I think you might have forgotten how much fun horses can be, if you give them a chance.’

‘All the horses I ever rode were destined for the glue factory,’ I reminded her.

‘To new horses,’ she said, tapping her glass against mine. ‘Sexy, clever horses with their own teeth, financial stability and a home that isn’t a shed.’

‘What about a stable?’ I suggested.

‘Only if it’s Jesus,’ she replied.

Laughing, I tucked my hair behind my ears and shook my head. I had missed her so much.

‘Before I forget,’ Sumi said, tapping a long, black acrylic fingernail on the screen of my phone. ‘You need to send me your new number before I accidentally call some random American in the middle of the night.’

‘I need to send everyone my number,’ I told her, rubbing peanut dust on the leg of my only pair of jeans. ‘They updated my contacts from the cloud so I’ve got everyone’s details but no one has mine. Is there an app for that or have I got to text everyone I ever met?’

‘You sweet precious baby,’ Sumi said with a fake swoon. ‘There’s an app for everything, even I know that.’ Her nail rattled across my screen and, in just a few taps, a little green icon appeared on my phone. ‘This is what we use for group texts at work. End-to-end encryption, no one can hack it.’

It was fair to say Sumi was more than averagely engaged with conspiracy theories.

‘Hit that, connect it to your contacts and open up a group message. Then you can text your number to whomever your heart desires.’

‘How did I manage three whole years without you?’ I asked, marvelling at the wonders of modern technology.

‘It is a question I ask myself every day.’

Editing radio shows was easy, iPhones were a whole different story. This was why I didn’t dare download TikTok. Fear of the unknown.

I stared at the screen, trying to come up with just the right message. How was I supposed to say ‘Hi, I’m back in London, please don’t ask me any questions about my surprise return that was one hundred percent my choice and also I live in a shed now’ without sounding completely pathetic?

‘You’re sending people your new number, you don’t have to write an essay,’ Sumi climbed down from her stool, peering over my shoulder to see my fingertip poised over a blank screen. ‘I’m going for a wee, see if you can finish it before I get back.’

‘Good to know, enjoy it,’ I told her as she click-clacked off through the bar in her stilettos.

Hi, it’s Ros Reynolds, I typed out before I could overthink it. Overthinking was one of my greatest talents. Given the chance, I could talk myself out of literally anything in under five minutes. Instead, I took another glug of the wine while I tried to imagine what I would say if I were writing it for someone else.

Hi, it’s Ros Reynolds. This is my new number, I just moved back to London! Let’s catch up soon.

One exclamation mark, no emojis. Short, sweet, to the point and, most importantly, not pathetic. It was a winner. I tapped the little arrow in the corner and saw a small white box pop up.

Group Text wants to access contacts? I hit ‘Allow’.

Choose recipients or select all?

‘Can I get you another drink?’

I looked up to see the woman behind the bar smiling at my empty glass.

‘Could I get a water?’ I asked, my head suddenly swimming with the realization that I’d absolutely chugged an entire glass of wine on an empty stomach. Not the perfect start to a Monday night. Or was it?

Rubbing my tired eyes, I looked back at the screen. Choose recipients? I started scrolling and clicking, scrolling and clicking, scrolling and clicking. It got very boring, very fast.

Yawning, I flicked my thumb upwards, sending the screen whirring all the way back to the top of the page. I clicked on Select All.

And then I pressed send.