Queenie(94)

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” Darcy said, opening a bag of crisps.

“No, please don’t do this! I’m not fishing, my self-esteem is legitimately so low that I actually feel like he’s going to walk in, take one look at me, and then walk out.”

“Queenie,” she said sternly, offering me a crisp.

“No. I don’t know how you can eat at a time like this.” I pushed the bag away. “Anyway, just as importantly, in the unlikely event that he does fancy me, I’m not going to have sex with him.”

“I think that’s wise,” Darcy said, chewing carefully. “You’ve been through a lot, and I think that if you are going to have sex again, it should possibly be with someone who is not an arsehole—”

“I’m not, I mean it,” I promised. “I’m trying to turn over a new leaf with this sort of thing.”

“Okay, good.”

“One question, though. If by some fluke he is blind and so is attracted to my personality, can I go home with hi—”

“No.” Darcy shook her head quickly, her dark hair flashing across her face.

“But just to kiss him?” I asked.

“Do you want to go back to how you were before?”

“What do you mean?”

“Put bluntly, when you were just going along with what men did or didn’t want from you.”

“All right, all ri—” I started.

“Queenie,” Darcy interrupted, impatient. “If you’re serious about prolonging anything, and I absolutely hate to say this, but you should at least wait until date two. Women should be free to have sex on date one, two, fifteen, without being judged or cast aside, but sadly, men aren’t as evolved as women.”

“Okay. Fine. Anyway, all pointless, and yes, I’m being repetitive, but it won’t even come to that,” I predicted.

“Let me look at the messages?” Darcy asked, reaching for my phone. “There’s one in particular that proves that he isn’t going to see you and recoil, and also suggests that you are the one who won’t like him. It made me cringe so much, Queenie.”

I watched my hands tremble slightly as I slid the phone over. Darcy opened WhatsApp and scrolled up through the dozens of messages we’d exchanged in the last few days.

She paused, furrowing her brow as she skimmed volumes of getting-to-know-you chat. “This.” She pushed the phone back toward me and spun it around.

I have always felt grateful that I never wanted to pigeonhole myself into having “a type,” I never felt that way. I think any kind of woman can be attractive, but I do not find all women attractive.

For example, and I hope this comes across well, but I’ve got white mates who are honest and say they don’t find nonwhite women attractive. They aren’t racist, I wouldn’t be friends with them if they were, it’s just a preference for them I guess. I have a black mate who says the same about white women. I got a mate who only likes big women. Some of them only seem to go out with petite women. Or some tall and thin women (we’ll come to the size zero thing, I have a bit of a problem with that) and some only like blondes. You hear this all the time from men and women; having a type.

I just think it’s a shame to be made that way. Not their fault or even anything they can do about it. I’m just grateful that I can see beauty in any variety.

“What’s wrong with that? I thought that it’s literally the most normal thing a man has said to me in the last year?”

“Firstly, Queenie, he obviously likes the sound of his own voice a lot, so you’ll have to get on board with that tonight. You don’t need to know all of that stuff!” Darcy said. “Nobody does. You didn’t even ask what his type was, but he’s written a small thesis on it.”

“I think it’s quite nice, it’s just him explaining that he doesn’t always like traditionally good-looking girls, and that he can see beyond that and fancy girls like me,” I said, trying to bat off years of negative reinforcement and failing.

“But you are traditionally good-looking!” Darcy spluttered. “I don’t know why you have it in your head that you aren’t! It makes me so sad that you can’t see what I do.”

I looked down at the table and moved so that I sat on my shaking hands.

“Anyway, look, you’ve got two minutes until he gets here. You’ll be fine. And you can leave anytime you want to.”



* * *



I left the pub and crossed the road, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as I waited outside.

I could see Darcy watching me through the pub window, and laughed when I saw her giving me a thumbs-up that emerged from behind the curtain.

“What’s so funny? Come here, give us a kiss, then.” A man that I hoped was Balding Alpha in real life descended upon me from nowhere, kissed me on both cheeks, and slipped a hand down so that it rested on my bum. I hadn’t expected him to be this forward; big disconnect between his messages and his actions.

I stepped back and took him in. He looked like his pictures. Slightly older, but it was definitely him, even though he was wearing a flat cap to cover his bald head.

“Hello!” I hugged him and did a thumbs-up behind his back for Darcy’s benefit.