Just Haven't Met You Yet(6)

“I can’t believe Suki signed off on a three-day trip, you are so jammy,” says Vanya from the backseat, thrusting an open bag of Haribo Giant Strawbs between Dee and me. It’s less than an hour’s drive to Gatwick Airport, but Vanya’s come with enough car sweets to take us to Mexico.

“Only because she got a sponsor to pay for it,” I say, taking a handful of sweets. “I wish you were both coming with me, it would be much more fun.”

“You know, I have this weird intuition you’re going to meet someone while you’re away,” says Vanya.

“Is this the same intuition that told you I wouldn’t get a parking ticket if I pulled up on a double yellow line to drop you off outside Selfridges?” asks Dee, waving her left hand for someone to pass her a sweet.

“Yeah, well.” Vanya clears her throat. “I’d say my intuition is more finely attuned to love than parking wardens.”

“I wish you wouldn’t perpetuate these ridiculous notions,” Dee scoffs.

“What notions?” I ask.

“About love and relationships having anything to do with destiny.”

I’ve known Dee since we were children; we met at age eleven, in the girls’ bathroom on the first day of school. She had a long black fringe covering half her eyes and wore this serious expression. She grabbed me by the elbow as I was leaving the loo. I thought she was about to steal my lunch money, but she pulled me close and told me I had the back of my skirt tucked into my knickers. She saved me from humiliating myself in front of my new classmates, and she’s had my back ever since.

Dee exhales loudly through her nose and shifts into fifth gear with a clunk as we merge onto the motorway.

“Look, I’m going to say something controversial now, OK?” she says.

“Brexit was a good idea? Brad Pitt hasn’t aged well? You think we should all take up smoking again?” I give her a goofy smile as I try to think of what else might qualify as a controversial statement.

“No. I don’t think you should have broken up with David.”

I shake my head, and Vanya makes a prrrrft sound from the backseat.

“David wasn’t the one, Dee. He was lovely, but you know—”

“No, I don’t know. I don’t know what it is you’re holding out for. David was decent and kind.” Dee glances across at me, her eyebrows knitted in concern. “I just want you to be happy, to have someone to share your life with.”

“I have you guys!”

“Yeah, but Neil and I are leaving London in a few months.” Dee sighs. “And Vanya. Well, Vanya is a bad influence.”

“I’m not a bad influence—I’m the fun one!” Vanya says, raising her arms above her head to do a seat dance, as though this will illustrate just how fun she is. To be fair, Vanya is the fun one. On a night out, she will be the person to suggest getting shots at two a.m., but it will be Dee who holds your hair back when you’re throwing up in the loo later.

“I worry with all the stuff you’re doing for the website, seeking out these crazily romantic tales. Plus, with your parents’ story”—Dee nods to my hand, which is toying with my pendant again—“it’s made your expectations a little . . . unrealistic.”

“Look, I wouldn’t say I’m being especially picky. I know what I want and I don’t feel like I should have to settle for less.”

“And what exactly is it that you want?”

“I’ll know it when I see it,” I say. Dee raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Well, if you forced me to write a list, I’d want a man who is kind, charming, well dressed, well read, ideally musical, someone who likes the same things as me, no one too complicated. Is that really too much to ask?”

“On dating apps, it is,” says Vanya.

Dee reaches a hand across the car to squeeze mine. “I think you have to start factoring in the statistics.”

As teenagers, while I had posters of Busted and the Pussycat Dolls above my bed, Dee decorated her walls with the periodic table and a photo of Albert Einstein. She’s the Monica to my Rachel, but it works and I’ve often been the beneficiary of her practical nature. When Mum died, Dee was the one who kept me upright when all I wanted to do was lie down and sink into grief. She ordered the funeral flowers because I couldn’t get the words out over the phone; she moved in with me for a month because I didn’t want to be alone. She was my Ariadne’s thread, leading me out of a dark labyrinth. But now, two years later, I still catch her looking as me as though I might break at any moment. I yearn for our old dynamic, where we were equals and I wasn’t the frailer half who needed parenting by a friend.

“Dee, I know I’m talking to a math teacher here, but not everything in life boils down to math,” I say, with a smile.

“You have to believe in a little magic when it comes to matters of the heart,” says Vanya.

Dee rolls her eyes.

“A: Everything does boil down to math, that’s the beauty of math. And B: Not everyone gets some Hollywood-style meet-cute. I don’t want to be the harbinger of doom, but the number of eligible guys over thirty is only going to get smaller. If you play the field for too long, only the divorcés and weirdos will be left.”

“What about me? I’m single,” says Vanya indignantly.