Where Have All the Boys Gone?

Katie shook her head. Poor old Louise had never been the same since Max left.

‘Well, we were watching EastEnders. A world where people fancy Shane Ritchie is obviously a place where things have gone very very wrong for women.’

They looked around the carriage. The scent of perfume was strong in the air. An elegant woman – one of those types that can pull off casually draped scarves – was skilfully applying lipstick despite the motion of the rickety old train. Three others stood buried in women’s magazines and copies of Metro; a couple were hidden behind novels. On the seats were three men buried in newspapers, ferociously showing how post-feminist they were by not giving up their seats. A mixed group of backpackers stood at the end, but they existed in the parallel universe of travellers; Kiwis and Australians and South Africans and Poles and cheap nights in special bars and internet cafés and their own magazines. But the vast majority of the carriage was female. Dozens of them. Katie squinted. Had it always been like this? Was she only just noticing?

Olivia was rudely reading someone’s paper over their shoulder. She nudged Katie suddenly.

‘Look at that.’

‘No! It’s rude!’

The woman whose paper it was turned around and Katie got a dirty look. She felt hard done by and narrowed her eyes back. Had she been this aggressive before she moved to London?

‘Look,’ whispered Olivia this time, scarcely quieter.

Katie didn’t get it, the paper was full of its usual rubbish. Olivia was trying to indicate a corner with her eyes, like someone in a coma. Eventually, with lots of grumpy snuffling from the woman to indicate that, though not the type to instigate physical violence, she certainly did not approve of the practice of newspaper stealing, even a free newspaper, and if she could move in the packed sardine tin she would, thank you, Katie saw it.

‘Final census results for London’ said the headline. ‘According to the 2001 census, women outnumber men in the capital by 180,000.’

Olivia was wiggling her eyebrows madly. ‘See?’

‘See what?’

‘What the papers are saying is true.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, what do we say every time we walk into a bar?’

‘It smells bad in here?’

‘No.’

‘We’re getting too old for this?’

Olivia rolled her eyes. ‘OK, besides that.’

‘Where have all the men gone?’

‘Bingo.’

‘Well, that –’ the woman holding the paper was no longer sniffing, but listening to them intently ‘– that’s our proof. We’re the L.O.S.T. generation of women.’

‘The what?’

‘London-On our Own-Single-Twentysomethings.’

‘That doesn’t sound so bad,’ said Olivia.

‘It’s bad! It’s bad! It says so in the paper.’

‘Stop worrying about it! What kind of a feminist are you?’

‘One that wants the right to decide if I want a bloke or not.’

‘OK,’ said Olivia. ‘And…do you?’

‘YES!’ said Katie. ‘And men can sense it. That’s why I never meet any. I give off strange vibes.’

‘Ssh now,’ said Olivia.

‘OK,’ said Katie. They travelled on in silence for a while.

‘You know Louise’s fat beardy twat face didn’t even call,’ she said finally.

Olivia rolled her eyes. ‘Probably staying in and washing his hairs.’

‘There are NO MEN,’ sighed Katie for what felt like the nine millionth time.

‘Yeah,’ said a voice near their ankles. They both looked down. An extremely short, sandy-haired man with a nose like a sun-dried tomato was addressing them both.

‘What?’ said Olivia, loftily.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘You mean, there’s no tall rich men.’

‘No, we don’t,’ said Katie. ‘Do we?’

‘You’re wearing a wedding ring,’ said Olivia suspiciously.

‘She’s gorgeous,’ said the little chap. ‘And twenty-four.’ He looked at them pointedly.

The woman who’d been holding the paper looked down too.

‘You are right you know,’ she said to the girls, her initial frostiness thawing. ‘The paper says so. But I knew it anyway. Statistically, there are no men.’

An obviously gay man standing next to her raised an eyebrow and flared just one of his nostrils.

‘You think that,’ he said.

All three women rolled their eyes.

Another woman leaned over. This was unheard of in the Tube in rush hour; an actual conversation. This woman was tall, skinny and wearing lime green fishnets and what looked like a bin bag.

‘I work in fashion,’ she said.

‘No kidding,’ said Olivia.

‘No men,’ said the fashion woman.