on the inside. I grew up doing whatever Millsy wanted to do for fun because, as he always reminds me, he is the eldest, and so video games, football and then eventually ‘lads’ nights out have become my hobbies. It’s funny because, to look at me, you’d think I was your typical Sex and the City-loving, spa-visiting, wine-drinking lady, rather than this messy, unscrupulous, coffee-addicted, sailor-mouthed hot mess you see before you.
‘What’s wrong with me?’ I ask him.
‘There’s nothing wrong with you.’ Millsy pauses, thinking for a second. ‘Well, no, there are lots of things wrong with you, but none that twat would’ve thought of when he ditched you. It’s because you didn’t shag him, simple enough. I’ve ditched girls for that.’
I can always count on my bestie for brutal honesty.
Sadly, all of the men playing the dating game at the moment seem to be similar in their attitude. One thing I’ve noticed is that I’m always willing to give men the benefit of the doubt about things. So what if they’ve got a bit of grey hair and they’re only 26? So what if they’re not particularly stylish? So what if they could do with using a stronger deodorant? I give people a shot. Men, I am noticing, are not often like this. You can be too fat for them. You can be too frigid for them. You can text them too much. They don’t need much of a reason to ditch you and move on to the next bird.
‘What are your relationship goals?’ he asks me jokily, posing like the sassy girl emoji.
‘My relationship goals are: to have one. I’m sick of being single,’ I tell him.
‘So are all single birds, so you’re not alone,’ Millsy tells me, as though it’s going to be of comfort to me.
‘I am literally alone, that’s the point,’ I joke.
‘Man up. Plenty more fish in the sea.’
‘Which is why I’ve done something stupid,’ I start slowly.
‘Oh God, go on.’
‘I’ve agreed to go on a date tonight.’
Millsy laughs.
That’s the thing with dating apps, you meet all these seemingly lovely dudes and then you kick yourself when you date the wrong ones. You’ll be talking to a few people, and then you’ll have to pick just one to date and you can just guarantee I’ll pick the wrong one. I wind up with guys like Jonathan, who will leave me feeling annoyed I wasted so much time shaving my legs for dates that never worked out. It’s not like the men I meet in real life are much better; my last real-world boyfriend cheated on me, so it’s obviously just my taste that is the problem. Even in my dreams, I’m sleeping with the wrong people. I still can’t get over that I was dreaming about Nick. I know I’m going on about it, but it’s so weird. To dream about Millsy would be weird, because he’s like a brother to me, but Nick is like my sworn enemy and that’s much worse. Like, Batman and Robin getting it on would be weird, but Batman and The Joker shagging is just plain ridiculous because they hate each other so much, there isn’t enough Viagra in the world to facilitate that union. I consider telling Millsy about the dream, but he’ll probably freak out more than I did about it.
Maybe it was stupid of me to make a date for this evening as I was walking to work, but I can’t think of a better way to get Jonathan and Nick out of my head. And no matter how bad things go with one guy, I’m always full of hope that the next one will be the one for me.
Millsy glances towards the door. ‘Ruby would/Ruby wouldn’t?’ he asks.
‘Ruby wouldn’t,’ I tell him with certainty. He’s talking about the rocker-looking dude who just left the coffee shop. What it is, we play this game called Ruby would/Ruby wouldn’t – an obvious pun on my name: Ruby Wood. Whenever a man walks past us, Millsy poses the question and I reply with one or the other. It’s daft, but it keeps us amused during long shifts. Obviously Ruby has no intention of sleeping with any of these people – it’s rare I meet a bloke I don’t want to punch within minutes of meeting him (which is why I’m so annoyed things have fallen flat with Jonathan, but I’m trying not to go on about it). I think one of the best and worst things about growing up with a bloke for a best mate is that it has made me wise. I know all the moves men make to try and get birds into bed (‘oh, but I love you/blue balls are a thing/my dad just died’ etc.), and as such I don’t credit men with an ounce of sincerity when they try to chat me up. There’s no equivalent game where I ask Millsy who he fancies, because Millsy can’t let a pretty girl walk past him without announcing ‘I would’ anyway – usually loud enough for them to hear. It makes me laugh because he says it, but he rarely pursues the girls he announces it to, so even though he ‘would’, he often isn’t going to.
‘Well, I was out last night, and I don’t look half as bad as you, Rubes,’ Millsy brags. ‘And I was on time for work.’
‘For once,’ I reply.
Sally, our manager here at Has Beans coffee shop, is pretty laid back, especially now that she’s pregnant. She’s going on maternity leave any day, so we’re maybe pushing our luck a little more than usual in the hope she won’t care.
I like working here. Well, no one likes working anywhere, do they? But there are worse gigs to have. I mean, it’s pretty easy work, I get to spend my days messing around with my best friend and I’m allowed as much free coffee as my nervous system can handle, but it’s more than that. I just like the vibe in coffee shops. You’ve got places like Starbucks with their contemporary artwork and their jazz music playing in the background, or Costa with their comfortable seating and family-friendly environment. Has Beans is by no means as huge as either company, but of all the branches in Yorkshire, the one I work at in central Leeds is the busiest. During the week, lunchtime is dominated by office workers and shop employees looking for a caffeine fix and something to eat to break up their day and spur them on until the evening, but by the afternoon the place is more peaceful, with writers and students all face-down in their laptops. The thing I love is how the vibe can change depending on the customers. When it’s quiet, it’s quite relaxing, I can sip my latte and listen to the latest James Bay album playing on the stereo – my hangover likes this. Similarly, when we’ve got a gaggle of mums with screaming babies in, I often consider trying to tie my own tubes with the tongs we use with the panini press.
‘So when is your audition?’
‘Monday morning,’ he replies, his usual confidence waning slightly.
‘So I guess you’ll be taking it easy the next few nights then?’
‘Mate, I won’t be out at all – anyway, don’t you have a date?’
‘But it’s Friday night,’ I protest. Going out is what Friday nights were made for.
Millsy, like me, is a bit of a pleasure seeker and as such, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him take anything seriously other than trying to get away with being drunk every waking moment of his life – until recently.
At school, our grades weren’t up to much, but we were outgoing, cheeky, confident and – most importantly – excellent at lying. Naturally we gravitated towards the arts, and soon found that acting might just be one thing that we were good at. The thing is, it’s not a realistic career goal, is it? Which is why I gave up trying to ‘make it’, but recently Millsy seems to think he’s got a real shot.
If I’m being honest, I think he’s wasting his time – I mean, if he were on track to be Leonardo DiCaprio-famous I would happily
