The Dating Detox (28 page)

Everyone laughs.

‘You did not!’ shouts Sam in disbelief.

‘OK, I didn’t say that. But I did give him my number. And
obviously he didn’t call. Which just confirmed my natural instinct that men have to do all the chasing.’

‘Perhaps he didn’t fancy you,’ says Sam.

I frown at him in mock-confusion. ‘How do you mean? “Not fancy” me?’ Everyone laughs, which buys me a minute to recover. I’d rather fake arrogance than admit that the thought had never occurred to me. Is that genuine cockiness or simple stupidity? Or is it just that I’ve always said yes to dates, even if I didn’t really fancy them?

Sam rolls his eyes. ‘I thought you chicks were all, like, girl power and shit.’

‘Of course,’ says Kate. ‘But feminist or not, it’s programmed in us to let the guy chase.’

‘I am a feminist,’ I agree. ‘But I still want the guy to make the first move. I just do.’

‘Would you have called me after our first date, if I hadn’t called you?’ Eugene asks Bloomie.

She shakes her head. ‘Never. Ever. And I also believe all that feminist shit,’ she says.

‘Wow,’ says Sam thoughtfully. He stares at his plate, probably thinking about all the dates he didn’t call, and we all focus on our food for awhile.

‘OK…would you say “I love you” first?’ says Eugene.

‘You said it first,’ grins Bloomie.

‘I know. That’s what I’m thinking,’ he says. ‘What if I hadn’t?’

Bloomie shrugs. ‘The guy always says it first.’ Then she realises what she’s said, and looks at me apologetically. I smile at her. It doesn’t matter. Telling Rick I loved him was not only a mistake, it was a lie.

Sam looks up from the stew he’s rather noisily enjoying. ‘Now, that is ridiculous. Whoever says it first is brave. That’s all.’

I’m silent for a second. That’s a new way of looking at it.

Mitch stands up. ‘Everyone, can I have your attention please! Men: pick up your plates and drinks and move down two
spaces. Ladies: relax, make yourselves at home, you look great, I love your hair.’

‘Already? But we haven’t even finished eating…’ protests Bloomie.

‘We only have one course, darling, in case you haven’t noticed,’ says Mitch. ‘Come on everyone, mush, mush.’

I’m now between Mitch and Benoit.

‘Right. Tell us everything about Tara,’ I say to Mitch.

‘Nothing to tell, darling,’ he smiles.

‘You’ve gone and secretly fallen in love with Tara, fool!’ exclaims Bloomie.

‘Shhh!’ he hisses. ‘Don’t fuck this up for me. It took six months of phone calls to get her to even see me. We only had dinner for the first time last week.’

‘But you went out, like, years ago,’ I say.

‘It took me this long to realise no one else can ever compare to her,’ he shrugs. I fight the urge to say ‘aw’. ‘And I’m not going to let anything fuck it up this time. She’s perfect.’

‘If you’ve been in love with her all these years…then why’ve you been such a slut?’ asks Bloomie.

‘Well, sex is sex, and I was single,’ he smirks.

‘More power to ya!’ shouts Tory, who overheard his last comment. She leans up the table to high-five Mitch.

‘That’s all over now,’ he says, looking up the table at Tara.

‘What about Eddie’s sister?’ I say. ‘She really likes you. You idiot.’

‘That was a huge mistake, yes, but also, it was just a drunken snog in a bar,’ he says, sighing. ‘I feel bad but…what am I supposed to do about it now?’

‘Just be sensitive,’ I say to him. ‘Don’t snog Tara in front of her or anything.’

‘I shall separate Tara from the party the first opportunity I get,’ he says decisively. ‘We’ll go to bed.’

‘The problem with this cassoulet is there is no duck,’ interrupts Benoit, looking sadly at the stew.

‘I’ll toast to that,’ says Sam, leaning across the table with his glass. It makes no sense, but we all join in.

I look up the table. Jake’s now between Elizabeth and Perry. I do some quick calculations in my head. He’ll be beside me next.

The room is getting noisier and noisier, and the kitchen windows are fogging up. A heated debate about g-strings versus pants starts up our end of the table. Ant, predictably, is very pro g-string, largely based on the airbrushed bottoms he sees in the lower-end lads’ mags. Mitch is pro-pants, ‘especially red ones, you know, the little red ones’. Benoit professes a liking for no pants at all.

‘How’s your lovelife, then, Ant?’ asks Bloomie, as Mitch gets up and goes to sit near Tara again. I look anxiously at Emma but she’s now talking to Perry. He’s flirting with her, I think. He’s a much better catch for her, and he’s only 23.

‘That’s a rather personal question,’ he replies. ‘How would you like it if I asked you how your sex life was?’

‘I’d slap you.’

‘Well, exactly,’ he says, buttering another piece of baguette and taking a big bite. Why can men get away with eating so many carbs? Why?

‘Is that a single thing?’ says Kate. ‘You wouldn’t believe how much I get asked if I’ve met any men yet…I thought it was just me.’

‘Nope,’ says Ant. ‘It’s singlism.’

‘But I’ve only been single a month!’ says Kate. ‘It’s so…odd. Like they’re obsessed with my lovelife now whereas before they couldn’t have given a damn.’

‘Exactly!’ says Ant, reaching his arm behind Kate to try to give her a hug. She squirms out of his sleazy grasp by hopping up to fetch a white wine glass.

‘Oh…I didn’t mean it like that,’ says Bloomie. ‘Sorry, Ant darling. I don’t really give a damn about your lovelife, or your sex life.’

‘Thank you, Bloomie darling,’ he smiles sweetly. ‘Likewise.’

‘I love this wine,’ I say, in a thinly veiled attempt to change the subject. ‘Could you please pass another bottle, Benoit?’

Benoit rocks his chair sideways to reach the wine bottles on the kitchen bench and falls over. Elizabeth hurries over to see if he’s OK, and Benoit, who had been looking quite fine and slightly embarrassed, immediately feigns pain in his shoulder.

‘I did biology for A-level,’ says Elizabeth earnestly. ‘I think you should probably go to A&E.’

‘I think it just needs a little rub,’ says Benoit hopefully, and Elizabeth immediately starts massaging his shoulder.

‘Cheers,’ I say to Sam, and we clink glasses and drink.

‘Mmm, this is nice…I did a wine-tasting course once,’ Sam says. ‘To meet girls.’

‘Did it work?’ I say.

‘Not in the least,’ he said. ‘I just discovered that almost everyone who does that sort of course is a wanker. Or doing it to meet girls.’

We all start laughing, and then it’s time for the guys to move again. The iPod is now playing French cover versions of 60s pop songs. We take all the plates into the kitchen as the guys move places, put all the cheese on a few wooden boards, and empty the huge bags of mixed sweets (Jake insisted on buying them at the market today) into large bowls. I look up the table at the crowd. No one is sitting where they’re supposed to, the noise levels are higher than ever and I’m starting to feel a bit drunk. Emma is now in reluctant conversation with a very hopeful Ant and a confident Conor, though she’s still casting sad cow-eyes at Mitch, who has his back to her and is sitting on Tara’s lap. Tory is running the rim of her wine glass around her lips and throwing hot looks at Fraser, who seems to be trying to ignore her by eating all the cheese within forking distance and talking to Harriet and Neil about cricket. Laura is singing a filthy ditty up the end, causing Eugene and Spud
to laugh hysterically, and Eddie can’t stop looking at her and grinning from ear to ear.

‘Hello,’ says Jake, sitting down next to me, glass of wine in hand.

‘Hello,’ I reply. I can feel my stomach buckling. Goddamnit, I thought I had that shit under control.

‘Delightful to see you again,’ he says.

‘You too. How’s your evening been so far?’

‘Marvellous,’ he replies. ‘I met the lovely Laura, who told me at length how totally like, lovely, really really amazing you are to work with, and how you stood up to some guy at work, and everyone thinks you’re a superhero.’

‘Ha,’ I say, taking a handful of mixed sweets from the bowl.

‘Ha? Well, I can see your conversational skills don’t improve with wine, unlike my own…’

‘OK…I was just thinking how lovely Laura is, and I’ve never really gotten to know her. And that I must look after her more at work, as I’m worried she’s left out a bit. And that I’m so glad I stood up to that cockmonkey—the guy she’s talking about—and that it’s something that, until recently, I could never have done. And that I love liquorice allsorts, and I’m going to eat them first.’

‘That’s all you needed to say,’ he replies, laughing. ‘Is your brain always going in different directions like that?’

I nod. ‘Sometimes it calms down…’

‘That’s good,’ he says, and smiles at me.

And boom, my insides are tranquil again. It’s about time. ‘Tell me more about that end of the table, then.’

‘Well,’ Jake continues confidingly. ‘Then I sat next to Perry, who makes me feel very, very old, and Tara, who seemed more interested in trying to hear what Mitch was saying. And the only other people near me were Neil and Harriet…who are just…I…words fail me.’

I stifle a laugh. ‘No words needed. How fortunate for you that you’re up here now.’

He nods in agreement.‘Extremely fortunate. I talked to Eugene a bit before dinner, too. Nice guy.’

‘He’s lovely,’ I nod, chewing a liquorice allsort. ‘Would you like an ersatz Malteser? How old are you, anyway?’ I say. The wine and I have decided it’s time to find out the answers to the questions I’ve had for weeks.

‘Yes, thank you, and I’m 32,’ he says, chewing.

‘That’s pretty old, dude,’ I say, eating a sugary banana. ‘What do you do for a living? And how the sweet hell do they make these things?’

‘I thought we’d never ask each other this stuff,’ he says. I smile. I really do feel completely relaxed. ‘I work for a bank. But I’m not an arsehole. And I believe it’s made from sugar, toxic e-numbers and fairydust.’

‘Why would I think that you’re an arsehole?’ I say, trying not to laugh. ‘Fairydust is my favourite.’

‘I just have a feeling it’s the kind of thing you’d think about bankers. And you, how old are you, what do you do, can I interest you in another glass of wine, and do you have any birthmarks?’

‘I’m 28. I work for an ad agency. I’d love one. And yes, I have a birthmark the shape of Madagascar on my inner thigh.’

‘How intriguing—’

‘Hey! You two,’ interrupts Bloomie. ‘We’re taking a vox pop here. Worst first date ever. Kate?’

‘Um, well, one guy was like 20 minutes late to meet me, and when he got there he said…’ Kate stops, and I grin, knowing what’s coming next and how hard it is for her to say it. ‘“I’m sorry I’m late, I had to have a dump.”’ She shakes her head. ‘Seriously.’

Everyone howls with laughter.

‘I had a date with a girl who kept muttering and acting like something was landing on her,’ says Eddie. ‘Like this—’ He starts nodding his head in a nervous tic, and slapping himself on the shoulder. ‘Looking back, I realise she was completely mad.’

‘Well, this isn’t
that
bad, but I had a date once with a guy, and I didn’t know his first name,’ I say. ‘I mean, I met him in a bar, and I didn’t catch his name, and then we talked for awhile and he asked me for my number and then it was too late to ask…’

‘Did you get caught?’ says Jake, laughing.

‘Yes. He asked me out for dinner, and after a few hours, he must have twigged, so he asked me outright if I knew his name and I said “…Ben?” He got up and walked out.’

‘God, it’s no wonder you’re off dating, if that’s an average night for you,’ says Ant. I shoot a sharp look at him. I don’t want to talk about the Dating Sabbatical right now. Not in front of Jake. Not at all, actually. And it’s not just because of Rule 4.

‘Alright, alright,’ says Jake. ‘A girl I was on a date with fell asleep in the toilet of the restaurant. I would like to say she was narcoleptic…’ he pauses, and waits for everyone to stop laughing. ‘But I think she was just drunk and bored. I had to ask the waitress to go and look for her.’

‘Ooh, I’ve got one,’ says Tory. ‘I took this guy to a party on our first date, yeh? I had a great night, but then the guy I woke up next to the morning after wasn’t my date. And get this: they’d been wearing the exact same shirt! Isn’t that weird?!’

I laugh so hard at this that I get tears in my eyes, and even Tory starts to giggle at herself. The kitchen has reached new noise levels, and it’s boiling. I take off one of my long-sleeved T-shirts and, out of the corner of my eye, see Jake looking at me as I do it.

‘OK, my turn,’ says Benoit. ‘When I first moved to London, I dated a girl who told me on the first date she was into “the rough stuff”,’ he says. We all start to laugh. ‘But I didn’t know what she meant—I thought she was talking about a band. And then a few weeks later we…’ he pauses delicately—‘…went home together…and she asked me to pull her hair and smack her bottom as hard as I could.’ He relates all this with almost no expression on his face at all, till we all fall about laughing and he starts to chuckle.

‘Bloomie! You’re up!’ I say.

‘Um…I was on a date with a guy and got a funny feeling he wasn’t single…I don’t know why, just a feeling. So I asked him, and he said “To be honest, I’ve been casually dating this girl for a few months”. I found out, a month later, that he was married with a kid.’

Everyone gasps.

‘Oh, shit. Should I take my wife and kids on my dates?’ asks Jake.

‘Ooh, and one more bastardo story, though it’s not a date one,’ adds Bloomie. ‘But I was seeing a guy and he dumped me by simply deleting my Facebook profile and changing his profile to “single”. Not that I could see his profile. Because I was deleted.’

‘What kind of dysfunctional fuckwit would do that?’ says Jake. ‘And what kind of person feels the need to update their status every day? Jake is…eating porridge. Jake is…paying council tax. Jake is…chewing.’ He drops his head to his chest and starts to snore.

As we’re laughing, Bloomie leans over and whispers ‘Jake is…a fish I’d like to bone’ to me. I give her a shut-the-fuck-up face.

‘You only hate Facebook because you’re so old!’ shouts Emma from down the table.