The Ex Factor

‘Nope. I’m going to need more than that for the database.’ Helen and Rosa kept a mental Rolodex of all Ani’s dates over the years. It was well into the hundreds by now, and sometimes Ani couldn’t even remember them herself.

‘Simon, 2010, receding hair, bought himself a drink at the theatre and didn’t ask if I wanted one, stuck to soda water all night while I accidentally got drunk, theatre critic?’

‘Oh yes, got it now. Awkward Theatre Critic Guy. And you’ve picked him for Rosa?’

‘Well, they have the same job, and he was quite good-looking, and he wasn’t so bad. Just—you know.’

‘Not quite right for you?’

‘Yes. And don’t say I’m commitment-phobic.’ Ani could hear Helen’s diplomatic silence.

‘Maybe he was just nervous back then. Why didn’t it go anywhere?’

‘Aside from taking me to the world’s worst play and not asking if I wanted a drink? I don’t know. I don’t think he fancied me. No kiss. So I didn’t call him.’ Sometimes Ani found it overwhelming, how hard it was to connect with people. Dating was like groping for a foothold on a cliff, and falling again and again. It was hard to imagine how anything could ever work.

‘It’ll be OK though, won’t it?’ She could hear the worry in Helen’s voice. This would be her first date in years, after all.

‘Of course. It’ll be…fun.’ Even to herself, Ani didn’t sound convinced.

‘An experiment, anyway.’

‘That’s right. An experiment.’

‘Speaking of which, I better go and set your date up! Marnie’s already sent me the email address for mine. Dan someone. Lord knows who she’d pick, he could be anyone.’

‘So she didn’t pick…you know? Ed?’

Silence down the phone. Then Helen laughed in a strained fashion. ‘Ed? Ha ha, no. I don’t think he’s—I think he’s not about at the moment. They’re not in touch.’

‘And you’re really OK with her, after everything?’

‘Of course! Ed and I were just friends. Anyway, it was ages ago. Of course I’m OK!’

Ani really wanted to ask who Helen had chosen for her, but they’d all agreed not to give out pre-date information in case it jinxed things. Just because one friend hadn’t got on with them, didn’t mean the other wouldn’t like the guy. ‘If you’re sure.’

She hung up and went back to worrying about Simon and Rosa, her dear and recently heartbroken friend. It would be OK, surely? It had been years—maybe he’d changed, maybe he was a bit more suave. She called up an email.

Hi Simon! Long time no see, huh? I hope you don’t think this is weird but are you single?

* * *

Helen.

Helen put down the phone, and scowled at what she’d written.

‘Oi, Moby. MOOOOOOBY.’

When I first heard the nickname the cool boys had given me, I thought they meant the singer. Which was mystifying, as I wasn’t cool, edgy, or indeed bald. Then I realised they meant a different Moby, one less known for their ambient hits. Moby Dick.

‘Just ignore them,’ said the boy who sat behind me in Computer Camp.

‘I can’t,’ I said miserably. ‘They’re the cool boys.’

‘They’re the cool boys at Computer Camp,’ said the boy, pushing his thick glasses up his spotty nose. ‘Like duh. None of us are cool.’

He’d been right, Helen thought. The year was 1997; the location, Reading University Summer Computer Camp. Helen was fifteen, finding way too much meaning in the words of Alanis Morissette songs and, at that point, still four hours away from her first kiss. Nik was small for his age, and had glasses, and spots, and dressed in what looked like his mum’s idea of trendy clothes. But who was Helen to talk? She’d had to buy her clothes in Etam, not Tammy Girl, so she was at the Camp disco in a massive pair of denim dungarees. Uncool even at Computer Camp.

Nik had pushed his tongue dutifully around her mouth, hands clamped on her waist (a large area). Helen had moved her tongue too, and so what if her mind kept wandering to the piece of code they’d learned that day, it still counted as her first kiss, and even Marnie, who’d already kissed twelve boys and let one feel under her bra, had been a tiny bit impressed when Helen had rung her from the payphone to tell her. She and Nik had lost touch after Computer Camp, since Helen didn’t have a mobile or the internet at home, and, anyway, she’d been a bit preoccupied in the months following it. However, a quick Facebook search threw him up.

Helen scrolled through his profile—articles from The Economist, the odd photo, check-ins at various airports round the world. His latest picture showed a man in board shorts, posing on the deck of a boat. A proper grown-up man, with chest hair, who looked to be reasonably handsome. Helen hoped so. She didn’t think spotty nerds who knew all the dialogue from Return of the Jedi were really Ani’s type. But globetrotting business tycoons who hung out on boats—very much Ani’s type.

She sent him a message. Dear Nik, how are you these days? You seem to be doing really well. I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but do you ever date? Weird request I know!

Helen sent it, then pushed her laptop away and went to her wardrobe. The mirror showed her current self—a woman of thirty-two, size ten-to-twelve, with blonde hair curling round an anxious face—but in her head, sometimes, she was still Moby. Sometimes she wondered if she always would be.

At the back of the wardrobe was a pink box, pasted all over with hearts and stickers. She remembered Marnie making that nail polish smear, back in 1995, the two of them squashed up on Helen’s bed. Inside were photos—her and Marnie in their primary-school uniforms, arms round each other’s shoulders. Helen had never noticed before, but Marnie was wearing odd socks in the picture, and her jumper had a large hole in it. Something squeezed Helen’s heart, looking at that tough little girl, with her fierce expression. It was worth doing this ridiculous project, if it made Marnie happy. And who knew, maybe it would even work out for some of them? Rosa and Ani—yes, and Marnie too—deserved to find lovely boyfriends.

She set it aside and found the picture she was looking for. On the back her mum had scrawled: Helen takes theprize for World Wide Web design! Computer Camp 1997. Helen stroked the red, delighted face of the girl in the picture, clutching her cheap plastic trophy. She’d been so happy at Computer Camp, with no idea that everything was soon to fall so spectacularly apart. If she ended up seeing Nik again—if by some chance he and Ani hit it off—he would find Helen very much changed as well.

Chapter 8 Four Dates and a Social Funeral (#ulink_cd3a3dcb-e238-5919-85be-630bc1585cb8)

Rosa

Rosa had spent the day not-writing the rest of her dating article. Not-writing was an activity that could take up vast tracts of time. It mainly involved Googling things, drinking coffee from the horrible machine in the corridor, hiding from Suzanne and, since the split, also hiding from David. Alternated with bouts of weeping in the ladies’, and reapplying mascara.