reason to scowl at her
when she reminds me, "You told him you only keep him around for one
reason. Because you love his huge cock."
"God, Cayley!"
Lily yells through gritted teeth. But it's too late. It's all
coming back to me. That look on his face. Totally dejected. But
surely he knew I was kidding?!
I was kidding
after all. I mean Harry’s the best. Really, truly, the best man
I’ve ever been in a non-relationship with. And this is exactly the
reason I don’t have relationships any more. Relationships are just
full to the brim with this kind of thing. Self-doubt,
self-loathing, bitterness, guilt… which is precisely why I adopted
my hitherto extremely successful casual dating style in the first place.
I shrug like
it’s no big deal, but I guess I’m not very convincing when I say,
“Sod it. Anyway, when did Harry turn into such a girl? If he can’t
take a joke I guess I’d better stop shagging him.”
They both look at me like I’ve been body-snatched, then Lily
kneels down next to me and holds my hand. She actually holds my hand . Like I’m
having some kind of breakdown or something. But it’s not what she
does that rattles me. It’s what she says.
“Em, honey. Harry didn’t turn into a girl. It’s you. You’ve
turned into a ladette .”
*****
Christ. She’s right! Well, whatever. So what if I am a bit
laddy?!
So what if I’m happy with sex and friendship?! What, so just
because I’m a woman I’m supposed to fantasize about netting myself
some adoring young husband to grow old and bored with?! Please!
“Wow. She’s
right you know. When did this happen?” Cayley muses. “I mean,
you’ve had proper boyfriends. I know you have. But now it’s like…
it’s like you’re some beefy frat boy who just wants to screw chicks
and party. But - y’know - the female version of that.”
Seriously. This woman wouldn’t know tact if it clocked her on
the head with a mace. I’m so not the female version of what she just said. For one
thing, I’m always upfront about what I want from my
non-relationships. It’s not like I’m screwing anyone over, or
leading anyone on. Plus, anyone who called me beefy would need
their head read. I’m five foot nothing, blonde, fine boned, albeit
with over-sized boobs, but hardly anyone’s idea of beef-cake.
Though I guess that’s not really the point she’s making.
Cayley, as usual, is oblivious to the fact I’m imagining
slapping her too-perfect face. “Is that really how you want to be,
Em? Really?! I mean
- how far have you gone with this ladette thing? Please tell me you
don’t have some little black book with blokes’ numbers and stuff in
it. You haven’t, have you?!”
I glare, and
it’s a good mean glare, but she’s largely immune to body language
so it doesn’t have the deadly impact it should. “No, I don’t have a
little black book for fuck’s sake. Can we drop this now?” I say
because she needs my mood spelt out for her.
“It’s yellow,”
sighs Lily. My supposedly supportive, best mate, Lily. “The book,”
she says, in answer to Cayley’s confused expression.
“Thanks, dude. Remind me to repay the favour some time,” I
huff. When did this become gang up on
Emma day? So there’s a book. I’m practical.
What of it?!
Cayley’s
thinking. I can almost see the cogs whirring behind those
scrutinizing eyes of hers. I hate when she does this. It means
she’s planning or plotting or considering saying something lethally
offensive in her matter-of-fact nonchalant way.
“What?” I ask. “ What?! Spit it out!”
“Nothing,” she says, but clearly there’s something . “It’s just… Brett was a
nice guy, right? You know - Brett, the nurse? Brett with the
piercings?”
Jesus, does she
really think I need a memory jogger. It’s not like I’ve slept with
so many blokes I can’t remember their names. “Yes, Brett. Nice guy.
And?”
“Well… it’s
just, you clearly liked him, but you always...” she stops