met her through the personal ads and overlooked her annoying qualities if she was photogenic enough?’
Ivor’s got a point there. He glances over for my support, but no way am I getting in the middle of something that’s rapidly turning so unpleasant.
‘That’s what normal people do,’ Mindy shouts, bearing down like the fiery bitch of doom in her red pyjamas. ‘They date! They don’t take advantage of drunk people who have to pay them rent. What’re you going to do, let her have the last month free in return?’
‘Mindy—’ I say, nervously.
‘I took advantage of her?! Are you seriously implying that this was in some way rapey?’ Ivor shouts.
‘I’m saying it’s the sordidness thing I’ve heard in a long time.’
Ivor stands up, clad only in his boxers, modesty forgotten.
‘There’s no such word as sordidness. You AIRHEAD.’
‘Go to hell!’ Mindy screeches, bursting into tears and running back to the bedroom.
Ivor drops back onto the sofa, mouth open.
‘Jesus,’ he says, eventually, hand on head. ‘What the fuck was that?’
‘Low blood sugar?’
‘I’m not proud of what I did, but was it that bad? She’s behaving as if it’s exploitation. If she thinks I’d …’ Ivor makes an incredulity noise. ‘I don’t want to spend my time around anyone who thinks I’m capable of that. She can go to hell too.’
‘We need a fry-up, and to calm down. Mindy’s emotional, that’s all.’
I’m glad Ivor doesn’t ask me why she’s emotional. I don’t quite know.
‘And what would she say if I was seeing twenty-three year olds? What is it about her shining example of a life that gives her the right to call me the turd?’
‘Let’s have another cup of tea—’
‘No, I’m going, Rachel,’ he says, fumbling for his t-shirt on the floor. ‘Sorry, it’s not your fault.’
‘OK.’
I go to find Mindy – face down on the bed, head buried in a pillow.
‘Hey,’ I say, patting her hip. ‘Ivor’s going. I think we’re all grouchy after last night’s excess.’
Mindy sits up, hair askew. ‘Tell Sex Pest Specs Pecs I said bye.’
I push the door shut, fast. ‘Uh. Yeah. Might not. What’s the matter?’
She sniffs, says nothing.
‘Are things not going well with Jake?’
Mindy gives a small shrug.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
She shakes her head.
‘Do you want a massive full English?’
She shakes her head again.
‘I’ll go see Ivor out then.’
When I get to the door, Mindy says: ‘Rachel. I might have a part English. When he’s gone.’
The front door bangs.
‘Oops,’ I say.
‘Was I too hard on him?’
I put my head on one side and open my mouth to assemble a diplomatic answer that isn’t Well, you scared the shit out of me, and I was only a blameless bystander.
‘Do you know what, I don’t actually care!’ Mindy yelps. ‘What he’s done is—’
‘What people do,’ I interrupt. ‘Not that I’m saying it was a great decision.’
‘Yeah, people, as in letchy men with no standards. Whatever else, I never thought Ivor was the kind who’d jump on anything that passed. And Katya. She wears Crocs. With socks. Crocs with socks! I think I’ve seen her in Reebok pool slides like they’re proper shoes, too. How would you even get rigid enough to do the deed?’
‘Perhaps he’s lonely.’
‘Why would he be lonely? He’s got us.’
‘As great as I definitely think we are, I don’t think we fulfil all of his needs. He hasn’t gone out with anyone for a while. Since whatsername, who moved to Copenhagen.’
‘Hannah,’ Mindy sniffs, wipes her eyes. ‘Split ends, bad table manners. Uhm, hello, tapas “sharer” plates doesn’t mean you scarf all my boquerones. No loss.’
I sit down on the bed next to her. ‘What’s this really about?’
‘It’s about what it’s about.’
‘OK.’
A pause.
‘Oh, I don’t know. Jake’s nice, but. You go through ticking all the boxes and find your ideal match and it’s not ideal. You wouldn’t choose your friends that way. Look at me, you and Caro. Totally different. She went to see Simon and Garfunkels at Hyde Park.’
‘Garfunkel. Yes. See what you mean.’ Perhaps not the time to suggest Mindy could also widen the search to include men who are not what she terms ‘hard tens’.
‘Everyone’s always saying your thirties are when it all makes sense, you know, you read interviews with actresses and they’re like Oh I’d never want to go back to my twenties they were so turbulent, and now I’ve got this … tremendous sense of calm and I know what clothes suit me, classic pieces, blah blah and it’s bullshit. Your twenties are a starter of You Don’t Have To Have Worked It Out Yet. And your thirties are more the big stodgy main course of Maybe This Is How It’s Going To Be. I haven’t met anyone worth having a proper relationship with yet. And I’m thirty-one. What’s to say anything’s going to change by forty-one?’
‘Oh come on, you’re in your prime and you’ve got plenty of time to meet someone.’ Hypocrisy: I don’t recall this line working on me.
‘I’m serious, Rachel. What if it doesn’t happen for me? It’s as if everyone grew up and moved on and got more serious and I didn’t. That’s probably why I’m seeing twenty-three year olds. It’s where I’m stuck.’
‘Yeah. I know that feeling of knowing you aren’t happy and not knowing what to do about it.’
‘But at least you committed. You were with Rhys for thirteen years. You were engaged.’
‘Being with the wrong person is lonelier than being on your own. Or it’s as lonely, in a different way, trust me. I wasn’t dating, or looking, like you. I have to wonder if I wasted all the time I had to find the right person, waiting for me and Rhys
