Page 30 of Fake It 'til You Make It

‘Pass me the prosecco; I’m going to need it.’

As I top off my glass, Shernette pulls her legs up onto the sofa and crosses them beneath her, opening the laptop. She’s getting comfy. This could be a long night.

‘Okay.’ She creaks her neck, then interlaces and stretches out her fingers in front of her, like she’s warming up for an exercise class. ‘We have a number of options. There’s eHarmony. For a small fee?—’

‘Nope. I’m not paying for this. I’m expecting my online dating life to be an absolute disaster and I won’t pay for the non-privilege.’

The others share a look of playful irritation. I know there’s a sense of real exasperation in their expressions but truly, I’m not expecting to be good at dating.

‘I don’t evenwantto date,’ I say defensively. ‘I’m a walking anti-relationship advertisement right now. If it wasn’t for the fact Andrew will be at the vows and now we know he’ll be bold enough to bring a date…’

I take a large mouthful of prosecco and gulp the bubbles.

‘We are where we are,’ Shernette tells me, as if I’m a client in a financials meeting she’s hosting. ‘If you’re not paying, that rules out The League, Elite Singles and Zoosk. Though I will say, the fee makes you less likely to find a total waster who’s looking for just sex.’

‘I don’t want a total waster and I’m definitely not looking for a hook-up, but I really do need anokaydate. Someone normal. Someone I can introduce to family and friends, turn up to this party with, then be done with it.’

‘Well, we have Bumble, Hinge and of course Tinder. Hinge iskind of like the anti-Tinder, though. More of a serious relationship option.’

I inhale deeply. ‘Bumble and Tinder it is, then.’

‘They are the most likely hook-up sites,’ Dee says, dipping her hand in the bowl again – atta girl. ‘But, on the contrary to your views, I think a good shag might lighten you up.’

Despite myself, I laugh and bury my face in my hands. ‘What am I doing?’

‘Moving on, big sis, moving on,’ Dee says, giving me the weather, rather than the news, as chewed chips fly from her mouth when she speaks.

‘You’re gross, Dee.’

‘We’re blood, so you’re stuck with me.’

In less than an hour, Dee and Shernette have extended my fake persona so that my online profile reads: Abbey Mitchell, actress between roles (on account of Dee telling me it’s legitimate to be unemployed when you’re in the arts), with a swish Brooklyn apartment.

My likes are hiking (true), shopping (I didn’thategetting my new wardrobe), movies and theatre (on account of the new profession but also genuinely true) and prosecco (which I hope doesn’t make me sound like a goodtime girl).

My dislikes are cats (on account of cat-loving-men freaking me out), poor cleanliness (just leave the bathroom how you would like to find it, that’s all I’m asking) and sports fanatics (they don’t have to havezerointerest but some conversation during the football has to be acceptable).

During the hour, I’ve learned the terms bread crumbing, catch and release, haunting, orbiting and zombie-ing.

My. Head. Is. About. To. Explode. It’s going to take me three weeks and one day to learn the language of online dating, let alone find a suitable date for my parents’ bash.

In fact, my head is pounding, banging, rhythmically, like the continual beating of a drum and exactly like the noise pollution that has just started from upstairs, again.

I spring up from the sofa, courtesy of three glasses of prosecco.

‘This!’ I declare, pointing to the ceiling. ‘This is the constant banging I’m talking about. What the hell is he doing up there?’

‘Oh yeah,’ Dee says, as if it’s hard to hear the absolute BOOM of each sound. ‘I’m not convinced thatis8B having sex.’

‘Wow, that really is loud,’ Shernette adds.

We’re all staring at the ceiling. Listening. Considering what the heck the noise could be, when my alcohol-induced low inhibitions-cum-confidence comes over me.

‘Right, that’s it, I’m going up there. I didn’t move into this apartment block to have an ex and his new bit blindsiding me. And I certainly didn’t move in expecting to have a nuisance neighbor practically coming through the roof on a Friday night.’ I locate my furry slipper boots and start pulling them on, so angry my foot misses the hole one time, two times, then on the third attempt, I slam my foot into the slipper. ‘Enough is enough.’ I storm toward the front door. ‘This is supposed to be my dream fecking apartment!’

‘Wait for us!’ Dee shouts.

Shernette hurries behind her. ‘We aren’t missing a showdown with hot stuff. Not for the world!’

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