The Ex Factor

‘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.’