Page 62 of The One That I Want

We lock eyes, and she smirks, then starts sniggering, and I can’t help but join in. Tiggy’s right: this whole thingisbonkers. How onearthdid I end up in this situation?

We laugh for a good solid minute, and I don’t even care that we’re both laughingatme. It’s a wonderful release.

When the laughter fades away, I take huge, gulping breaths, then expel noisy sighs until my breathing steadies.

‘Right,’ I say, sitting up straight. ‘Two dates this week, finish my bloody articles, and meet Harrison next week. I can do this.’

‘Too bloody right,’ says Tiggy. ‘Raise your glass.’

I do.

‘To Greta Fucking Davies,’ she toasts.

‘Ha!’ I laugh, then we clink glasses and drink.

I’m bolstered by the reminder that I am in fact, Greta Fucking Davies, and with Poppy’s advice and my bestie on my side, I can most definitely do this.

As I hypothesised to Tiggy, my next date, Travis, is not a bad person. But he’s also not for me. I felt like I was on a speed date/job interview, with relentless questions being fired at me in rapid succession. I’m shocked he didn’t have a clipboard.

As I near the Tube stop, casting my mind back over our one-hour date, sentences start forming in my head. This happens sometimes – the lightning strike of inspiration – and by the time I take a seat in a middle carriage, I have the opening paragraph of my next article mentally written. I take a small notebook from my handbag – a writer’s must-have – and start scrawling before it disappears.

There was a sad desperation in his eyes as he peppered me with dozens of questions, one after the other. Would I be his person? As I answered each question in turn, the vibrating light of his anticipation dimmed ever so slightly until we weresimply two strangers without anything else to say to each other. I made my excuse and disappointment permeated the air around him as if it were a pheromone discharged by his body.

It was impossible not to feel sympathy for him, but I could tell he didn’t want my sympathy. He wanted me to be THE ONE.

I re-read what I’ve written and make some additional notes, mostly about one of the biggest traps of modern dating: ping-ponging biographical questions at each other without ever achieving real depth in the conversation. Which, I just now realise, brings me back to the original concept for the series: swimming in the deep end of the dating pool.

But how does this fit in with ‘Dating Horrors of London’? I think back to my date with Marcus the Arse – Marcarse?Hecertainly won’t get any sympathy from me. I will lampoon him so severely, Taylor Swift could mine my article for lyrics.

It occurs to me that there aretwoangles here: dating horrors, featuring Marcarse and Aman, then one or more articles addressing the original concept and featuring an anonymised Travis.

It’s unclear where Ollie will fit, but I may need more material, which would mean more dates with different men. Oh my god, am Ireallyconsidering more dud dates?

I ponder this question all the way home.

Poppy

‘All set for tonight?’ Tristan asks. Evie, Olivia, and Jacinda are coming over for our girls’ night in.

‘Let’s see… wine – check. Umm… I think that’s everything.’

He laughs. ‘Anddinner?’

‘Well, I’ve given the chef the night off, so we’ll just order in.’ He smiles, the corners of his whisky-coloured eyes crinkling with amusement. ‘What about you? What are you and Ravi up to?’

‘We’ll also order in, I suppose, considering Jacinda will be here and Ravi has the culinary skills of… well,you…’

‘Ha-ha.’

‘And can I ask… a girls’ night in? What does it entail exactly?’

‘You know, we braid each other’s hair, give ourselves facials, have a pillow fight…’ He watches me in silence, his mouth twitching as he waits for the real answer. ‘All right, we don’t do any of that.’

‘Imagine my surprise.’

‘We’ll just have dinner and drink wine, then spend the rest of the evening discussing Evie’s love life?—’

‘Exposing Tyler for the cheating bastard he is,’ Tristan interjects.

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