‘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