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Helen put her phone away as she arrived at Paddington station; she’d broken her suitcase wheel last Christmas and needed two hands to stop it wobbling off down the platform. She decided she couldn’t afford an Uber (especially after that buffet car raid), so took the central line to Liverpool Street, huddled underneath a stranger’s armpit the whole way in the crowded carriage. She’d then stuffed herself onto a 149 bus full of teenage boys in their PE kits, leaving her gasping for fresh air and hand sanitiser by the time she got home.
Helen loved shutting her front door: apart from the sirens in the distance, you could pretend the outside world didn’t exist. There was something magical about living alone. There was no one there to dress up for, to cook for, or to present a brave face to the world for. Tonight, Helen fully intended to exploit all these facts and eat Itsu (for a food blogger she spent a lot of money on take out sushi), drink wine, wrap herself in her comfiest loungewear, and possibly fall asleep watching Netflix, if she was really treating herself.
But first she needed to unpack. Helen couldn’t just joyously slob on the couch, not when something needed to be done. On the bright side, this made her a good starter finisher; on the downside she rarely gave herself a break. She carefully started to unfold her clothes and hang them up in her wardrobe. Of course, before long she was holding the jumper she wore on her date with Brody to her face, as if some essence of him would fall out of it, if she could just clutch it tight enough. Would wearing it to bed be weird? Maybe it was okay just for one night.
Then there were the flip flops. It was funny how two pieces of rubber had suddenly taken on such meaning for her. For a long time, she just looked at them, and let the few memories she had come tumbling back in. The time with Brody still felt so close, she almost felt like if she could somehow peel back her apartment walls, that she could walk right back onto the beach that night.
Maybe there was still some hope. Gosh, what if she saw him on Friday? It would be like a miracle, wouldn’t it? Maybe miracle was too strong a word, no, it would be a really nice coincidence. It would be what was supposed to happen; like Brody said, he’d just be there. Helen allowed herself to imagine what it would be like seeing Brody again: she’d be sauntering through the WeWork party, and then she’d walk up to him … No, that was too obvious. She’d be dancing in a way that looked effortless and cool, he’d see her through the crowd, walk right up to her and there she was back in his arms. It could happen. This wasn’t like Nanny G and Vernon. It was time for her love story. They would meet again.
Helen neatly placed the Havaianas by the front door, as if Brody himself had left them there. Then pulling on her jumper,thejumper, went up to her sofa bed to sleep.
Chapter 11
‘Babe are these the shoes? You gotta chuck them out!’ Elle was holding Brody’s flip flops high in her hands. Her oxblood red nail extensions twinkled in the light, as she held the shoes precariously over Helen’s pedal bin.
‘I’m not throwing them out!’ Helen gasped as she rushed over to reclaim them like a mother grabbing her tot that was about to topple into a puddle.
‘Geez, okay but look, even if you see him again, and he ends up here, you don’t want him to think you kept his shoes! Better you forgot all about them in Cornwall.’ Elle’s (or Gabriella Estevez to go by her full name) hands were on her hips.
‘Elle …’ Sophie’s voice had a trace of warning in it. An undertone ofplease can we not go there and make this whole night awkward.
‘I don’t want to decide what to do about the shoes just yet, this night already feels stressful enough,’ Helen said meekly, looking slightly unsteady in the vegan leather leggings that Elle had harried her into earlier. In Helen’s opinion only people who religiously avoided carbohydrates should even attempt to wear trousers like these, but Elle had nodded approvingly when she’d put them on, and told her she looked hot. If there was a committee for hotness Elle would have been on it, but only when it worked with her schedule.
‘Fine, but I’m only telling you this because I care. Love, the only reason we’re all here tonight is because of you,’ Elle sounded moderately annoyed but only in that ‘I’m Latin and this is how we show we care’ way.
‘I know, I know …’ Helen fiddled with her bracelets (must wear more jewellery!) And kept running a hair straightener through her hair. It was so thick! She’d be here a while.
‘Also, whetheror not wesee Brody, I’m just happy to be spending time with you girls again. It’s been too long,’ smiled Sophie. Her eyes were a beautiful hazel colour – halfway between her English mum’s and her Chinese dad’s.
It’s true. Girls nights out weren’t what they used to be. Shortly after university, during the early years of living in London, Sophie and Helen had met Elle on a night out. They were trying to get into Hyphen, which back in the day was a cool Mayfair club – or at the very least it had seemed cool at the time. All the women wore tiny dresses, and they played the Superman theme tune every time someone bought an exceptionally large bottle of vodka. It came with a sparkler on the top, which in retrospect did seem a bit unnecessary.
They’d been promised that if they turned up early, that they’d be lavished with free sushi and endless vodka cranberries. Admittedly the person doing the promising was a slightly skittish-looking ‘club scout’ called Ricky who was now loudly arguing with the bouncer about them not being on the list. The bouncer kept flicking through the pages and shaking his head. Helen could feel herself sinking into the pavement beneath her: they obviously weren’t pretty enough to get in.
‘Oi! Papi!’ A voice called out from behind them, and there was Elle. Her hair was its natural dark brown colour at the time, and she wore a shimmering green dress with a biker jacket thrown over the top. She queue-jumped right up to the bouncer, and linked her arm in his, as if she’d known him forever. ‘I know you are having a hard night amigo, but it’s cold out here, and we all want to have a good time, could you please treat me and let us all in a little early?’
The bouncer shuffled on his feet and replied something quickly in Spanish, not making eye contact. Elle beamed her megawatt smile, looked back to the line and said, ‘Friends, let’s go!’ She linked arms with both Helen and Sophie and walked right into the club. Neither of them could work out if she’d turned up by herself that night, and never thought to ask.
They’d had some fun years. Elle had been there when they cried over a boy (to Helen’s knowledge Elle didn’t cry, she got angry instead), when they needed wine and a pep talk, but recently the shared part of their life seemed to be strained. Like they were all pulling the web that connected them in different directions, until it got thinner and thinner under the strain.
Sophie had slowly turned into the friend you met for brunch, who didn’t really do nights out, and Helen was eager to join her. She didn’t want to wear her high heels anymore. She didn’t want to get dressed up, and toddle around a club. Also, wasn’t it slightly embarrassing to be in a club sidled up next to 20-year-olds, expecting Katie Perry or Beyoncé to be played, realising she was a decade too late?
She especially didn’t want to have to meet someone, get excited, and then swiftly let down again. She wanted a boyfriend, a shared Deliveroo account and someone who someday she could, you know, start a family with. That really did sound very grown-up.
‘I’ve ordered us an Uber,’ Sophie said chirpily.
Helen resigned herself to wearing the leggings and picked up her bag. ‘Be calm,’ she told herself, though she felt her heart racing as she shut the door.
WeWork Moorgate sat like a huge block of glass behind the back of Liverpool Street station. They could hear cheesy hip hop playing from inside, the kind that you knew all the words to, because the track was big ten years ago when you actually listened to the charts. ‘This is going to be fun!’ said Sophie, but even she didn’t sound entirely convinced.
‘Okay so just to recap on the game plan …’ Helen paused, Elle was furtively tapping away at her mobile phone and not really listening.
‘We’re going to go in, have a good time whatever happens, and if you see Brody, I’m sure he’ll come and say hi to you, easy peasy!’ reassured Sophie, whose chirpiness was straining to conceal her concern that this would turn into another disappointment for Helen.
‘Sorry. Sorry. I’m just getting my contact to get us in,’ said Elle in slightly stressed tones.
‘Who’s your contact this time? Another man who has fallen madly in unrequited love with you?’ teased Sophie, linking arms with Elle.
‘No,’ said Elle steadily, ‘it’s my sister-in-law.’
