CHAPTER FIVE
After six bags of crisps, three bottles of wine and two hours of heated debate, we were both incredibly drunk and also getting somewhere with The List. And there wasn’t a trip to the post office to be seen.
‘’K, ’K, ’K, let’s go through it one last time.’ Matthew held up the last napkin on the table that wasn’t already covered in discarded drafts of my to-do list. The definitive top ten things I needed to achieve before I could fully declare myself single. I was still unclear as to why Emelie thought learning to juggle would make me a more successful singleton, but still, they were trying. Matthew cleared his throat and – with some ceremony – began. ‘Number one, makeover.’
‘Not a makeover,’ Emelie interrupted. ‘It’s like, a complete transformation. We’re changing your hair, your clothes, your make-up; we’re redecorating your flat. Everything.’
‘I do need a haircut,’ I admitted. And, more importantly, the living room totally needed painting. If I just kept my mouth shut, there was a good chance I was getting two free painter’s mates out of this list. Result. ‘What’s next?’
‘Exercise regime,’ declared Em to a chorus of groans, taking the pen from Matthew and writing it down. I’d been trying to get this one off the table since two bottles of wine ago. ‘No arguing. It’s important; you’re skinny and shit now but you do not get off your ass unless someone makes you and one day you’re going to wake up fat. Trust me, you’ll feel amazing.’
‘Sitting on the sofa after a long day at work or dragging my arse down to a horrible sweaty box filled with horrible sweaty people who judge me for not being able to do the treadmill for more than ten minutes without falling over and then charge me sixty quid a month for the pleasure?’ It was an excuse I’d used on myself for many years. Unfortunately, it looked as though I was much easier to convince than Emelie.
‘Then no gym but, dude, this is staying on the list.’ She threw her hands out in front of her. ‘No arguing. That’s the rule. You can’t argue with the list.’
‘Can’t argue with the list,’ Matthew concurred. ‘Which brings us to point number three. Do something extreme.’
‘I think I’d just be happier …’ Pause to hiccup. ‘… if all the points of the list were more specific. That one’s open to a lot of interpretation. And what I consider too extreme might be totally normal to him.’ I pointed at Matthew with my glass. Why did my arm seem so heavy all of a sudden?
‘Let’s not go there,’ he shook his head. ‘Let’s be honest, I have done some truly terrible things with some truly terrible people.’
‘It means bungee jump or skydive or something.’ Em tried to pull the subject back. ‘Not move to Australia or shave your head.’
Bungee jumping. Really? I was beginning to doubt the legitimacy of the list.
‘I’m supposed to get over a lifelong fear of heights and do a bungee jump within two weeks?’ I dropped my head onto the table. Ew. Sticky. ‘This is hard.’
‘It’s not meant to be easy.’ Matthew pulled my head up by my ponytail. ‘It’s meant to teach you what you’re capable of.’
‘I thought it was meant to be fun?’
‘It will be fun,’ they chorused.
Me plus heights did not equal fun. It equalled the need for adult nappies and therapy. I couldn’t even go on the rides at Alton Towers without being drunk first. Which, incidentally, it turns out they frown upon. Nothing like throwing up on Oblivion to find out you’re not allowed to bring alcohol into an amusement park.
‘And you’ll be a billion times stronger for it afterwards,’ Em said. ‘Besides, you’re the one who said you wanted to get it all done by your dad’s wedding, not us.’
My dad’s fourth wedding was coming up in two weeks and I needed a date. There was no way I was going on my own so that my evil Aunt Beverley could ask me where my boyfriend was then go on to tell me all about my cousin’s three fabulous children. I was certain she was the one who had told my grandmother on her deathbed that I was a lesbian. But I’d applied that timeframe on the second draft of the list when it still included ‘wear high heels every day for a month’ and ‘learn to cook’, not when it involved me risking my life for my friends’ amusement. Maybe it would be easier just to rent a male prostitute for the wedding. Maybe we’d fall in love. Maybe it would be a wonderful story to tell our children. Maybe I’d catch something dreadful from him and I’d never be able to actually have children. Hmm. Might just stick with the list.
‘Whatever, number four?’
‘That’s a perfect one actually,’ Emelie said. ‘Find a date for your dad’s wedding. Let’s get you right back out there.’
I had sort of been planning on asking Photographer Dan to do the deed but I let her add it to the list. It had taken an entire packet of Kettle Chips to bargain her down from anonymous sex with a stranger to a date with no required physical contact, so I was just going to shut up. It would still count if it was Dan, wouldn’t it? It would still technically be a date to the wedding.
‘Number five. Do something he wouldn’t approve of,’ Em declared. ‘And you can’t double up on activities so the bungee jump can’t count as something he wouldn’t approve of. It has to be something totally different.’
‘I’m doubling the bungee jump up with number five, scare myself to death.’ I pouted for a moment. Simon wasn’t a big rules and restrictions kind of a boyfriend. If anything, he was too lazy to try to stop me doing anything, and there wasn’t anything I’d ever wanted to do so badly that I’d have tested that. Except …
‘I want to get a tattoo,’ I took the napkin and added it to the list. ‘Simon hated tattoos. I worked with this model once and she had this gorgeous cherry blossom thing up her back and ever since then I’d always wanted one but I never got one in case he didn’t like it.’
‘See? This is such a good idea.’ Matthew raised his glass with more success than Emelie before writing ‘tattoo’ on the napkin. ‘Congratulations, you’re getting a tattoo.
‘Six,’ he shouted. We were so embarrassingly drunk for the middle of the afternoon. Sod it: I’d had a very bad day. ‘Buy yourself something obscenely expensive and selfish.’
‘Like a Vespa scooter you drive once?’ I asked as innocently as possible. My hair felt heavy. I needed to stop drinking.
‘Exactly like a Vespa scooter you drive once. I don’t feel guilty. Think about all the money you’re saving in birthday and Christmas presents. And trips to see his shitty family. Wedding presents for his shitty friends. You’re completely entitled to buy something that benefits no one but you in the aftermath of a break-up.’
‘Can I buy myself something too?’ Em asked.
‘No,’ Matthew replied. ‘You’re already utterly selfish.’
‘Moving on,’ I said quickly. ‘What else?’
‘I still think you need to write the letter.’ Em was too drunk to care about Matthew’s insults at this point. Thank god. ‘I know we took it off the last draft but I think it’s a good idea. It’s closure.’
‘Fine,’ I waved my hands in defeat. ‘I’ll write the bloody letter.’ I really didn’t want to do this one. Why spend a perfectly good evening stirring up exactly what the rest of the list was trying to suppress? I was supposed to be getting over Simon, not sobbing into a piece of Basildon Bond over how he didn’t love me any more. But if it was on the list, it was happening. ‘But I get to pick the next one. I want to travel.’
‘You can have that.’ Em stood up suddenly and not at all steadily. ‘I need a wee.’