Don’t You Forget About Me(50)

‘Yeah, when you think back when you got married to someone in the next village and had a mangle and rickets and everything, you didn’t do any of the “compare and despair” thing. Or if you did, it was with your four toothless neighbours,’ Clem says. ‘Now Instagram makes me stressed that everyone in the world is doing life better than me. I’m sure everyone never made their own door wreaths or did these painted Easter eggs until they could put the Valencia filter on it and shove it in my face.’

‘It’s Clem Ted Talk time!’ Rav says. ‘You just need the Madonna headset and the tumbler of water to sip from.’

‘I would watch that,’ I say, and Jo agrees.

‘I know we took a lot of piss, but I did understand why you liked Phil,’ Clem says to Jo. ‘The time he told the story about doing a hangover puke in his aunt’s house and lighting the pain au raisin flavour Yankee Candle? He was a “God tier” storyteller.’

‘Funny is the killer,’ I say, supportively. I’m aware we have to walk a line here in sisterly condolence that doesn’t tip over into making Jo thinking she should take him back. ‘I am powerless in the face of funny.’

‘Why did you go out with Robin McNee then!’ says Rav, nose to finger and the other hand pointing, and everyone cackles.

‘Something I’ve never said,’ Clem says, unwinding canary yellow hosiery-clad legs and rearranging them, ‘I don’t go around keeping everything to hook-ups because I am, you know “incapable of falling in love”,’ she does inverted comma finger and grimaces. ‘I do it because I am all too capable and I know it’d end me. It’s like my mum and cleaning the house …’

We look quizzical. Clem’s mum is known to be fastidious to the point of us suspecting a disorder.

‘Here’s a truth that will blow your mind: my mum says she’s actually really lazy about cleaning.’

We now look sceptical.

‘It’s true! You should see her in a hotel room! Total midden in minutes. I don’t know how she does it. She cleans loads at home, everything has to be in its place, because if she relaxed and did as much as she felt like doing, she’d destroy worlds. Her kids would’ve been taken in by social services. She is in mortal unending combat with her own true nature. Well, that’s me and men. I’m actually a weak sap who would do anything for the right man. So I am careful not to meet the fucker. Or if I do, I get my defence in first: I’ve dumped him before he’s even thought about it.’

Rav rubs his chin thoughtfully, rearranges his scarf. Rav is the only person I know who wears a scarf indoors, as a decorative item.

‘Couldn’t that mean you miss out on someone you’d be happy with?’ Jo asks.

‘Yeah but equally I don’t think Mr Right For Me exists. I’ll worry about that when it looks like he might have turned up.’

‘Hmm not a foolproof plan, but then I can’t say I’m doing any better on Bumble,’ Rav says. ‘Internet dating is a slingshot at the moon.’ He sighs. ‘All I want is a well-travelled, artistic woman who can confidently wear a red trilby, with a mind like a steel trap and fluency in several languages. That shouldn’t be impossible, given the length of my—’

Clem bellows ‘Please God, no!’

‘… Length of my search! My search.’

‘Your perfect woman, Rav, is Prince,’ Clem says. ‘If only he weren’t dead and male.’

‘This is true. They are obstacles. But every romance needs them.’

Even Jo is laughing now.

‘And what about you, Gee?’ Rav looks at me beadily. ‘What’s the follow-up to Mr McNee going to be? What have you learnt?’

‘Is that burning?’ I say.

‘Aaaargh the moussaka!’ Jo wails and dashes off to the kitchen. Minutes later we’re all forking up slabs of – I don’t want to be ungrateful – really peculiar tasting Greek food.

‘It’s a low cal version,’ Jo says, ‘With yoghurt. And turkey mince.’

This makes Clem dig in with greater enthusiasm, while Rav and I lock widened eyes.

‘It’s great,’ Rav says, and I dishonestly back him up.

‘Let’s summarise our findings,’ Clem says. ‘Jo’s kicking an obsession with a commitment-phobe. I am a commitment-phobe, but lacking anyone worth being phobic about. Rav’s too picky for his own good. What about you, George? What is your fatal flaw that stands between you and happiness with another person?’

No burning food to save me now. I hem and haw.

‘I don’t know.’

‘More positive way of looking at it,’ Rav says, ‘What are you looking for?’

‘Hmm. I think I’d like someone who cares as much about me as I do about them. That might sound a low bar. But it’s pretty much everything, and I’ve never had that.’

‘Amen to that,’ Jo says, as Beagle nudges my plate out of the way with his head and clambers onto my lap, and I pretend this is an intrusion, but I’ll allow it.

‘Oh, by the way, I’m taking part in a writing competition at the pub! Will you come?’ I say. ‘I’m terrified of being crap and you all bearing witness but on balance I’m even more terrified of there only being a portly dog called Keith for an audience, so you need to come fill some seats.’