All the Single Ladies (6 page)

I’ve never been able to work out the issue. She has more admirers than Carrie Bradshaw has shoes. Plus, you couldn’t accuse her of not being enthusiastic: she throws herself into
each new relationship from day one. The fact that none of them appreciates her efforts is a mystery.

‘Lee’s different,’ she insists, as her mobile beeps and she plunges into her clutch bag.

We start with French martinis in Blue at the Albert Dock, then move on to margaritas in Alma de Cuba. We then go to the Living Room, where Ellie keeps daquiris flowing in a selection of flavours
more varied than you’d find in a pack of Wine Gums. Unsurprisingly, it becomes a bit of a blur after that.

We end up in Mojo’s, which I usually adore; it’s a place with an electric atmosphere and dance-like-no-one’s-watching music. But the more I try to enjoy myself, the harder it
is. When I look at my watch at one thirty, I’m suddenly desperate not to be here.

I take a sip of my umpteenth cocktail in an attempt to numb my pain, but it’s sickly and sweet and there’s now so much alcohol running through me that my brain feels pickled.
Weirdly, though, I hardly feel drunk any more. I hardly feel anything.

I gaze into the middle distance as Ellie perches on the bar doing her well-rehearsed
Dirty Dancing
routine with a guy who looks like Ron Weasley. Jen, who’s been fighting men off
all night, has her mobile out again and is looking worried.

‘What’s up?’ I ask.

She frowns. ‘I’m very concerned about Lee.’

‘Why?’

‘He hasn’t texted.’

‘But isn’t he the one you were texting in the taxi?’

‘That was ages ago,’ she protests. ‘I’ve heard nothing for an hour and a half.’ I’m about to laugh but realize she’s being serious.

I scrunch up my nose. ‘He’s probably in bed.’

‘He’s out tonight,’ she tells me anxiously. ‘Do you think there could be someone else?’

At that, her phone beeps and she breathlessly reads a new message, her face breaking into a wide smile. ‘Crisis over,’ she declares. ‘Hey, are you okay?’ I open my mouth
but don’t know how to answer. ‘You’re not, are you?’ she replies for me. ‘Come on, we need to get out of here. Wait while I drag Dita Von Teese away.’

Jen grabs Ellie by the arm and directs her through the crowd while her dancing partner pouts disappointedly. The air is thick with sweat and pheromones as we reach the door.

Ellie’s slurring her words slightly, but – despite the dodgy dancing – generally looks less drunk than me. We march across the city centre until we end up in the subdued bar of
The Racquet Club, a boutique hotel and one of the best-kept secrets in the city. Jen and I order a coffee while Ellie has a glass of wine.

‘Awww,’ she says, sticking out her bottom lip. ‘We didn’t manage to cheer you up. I consider myself a failure.’

‘Oh I’m sorry,’ I frown. ‘You have cheered me up. Well, sort of. I was un-cheer-up-able.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘You know what I hate about your boyfriend’s decision?’

‘Ex-boyfriend,’ I correct her. ‘What?’

‘Well, this,’ she says, gesticulating in my general direction. ‘The fact that it’s made you so . . . not yourself.’

‘You mean I’m miserable and crap company,’ I sigh.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ says Jen, putting her arm around me. ‘You wouldn’t be normal if you didn’t react like this.’

‘Besides, you’re never crap company, gorgeous. You know that,’ insists Ellie, sipping her drink. ‘It’ll take some time before you get back on your feet,
that’s all. But you need to remember something.’

‘What’s that?’

‘That you are a beautiful, clever and wonderful woman,’ she says intently.

‘Plus,’ adds Jen, ‘you functioned perfectly well before Jamie, and you will function perfectly well without him.’

‘That sounds familiar,’ I say, impressed.

‘It’s what Ellie tells me every time one of my men disappears,’ Jen shrugs. ‘She’s on to something, believe me. And remember that at least you’ve got a
six-year relationship under your belt. You’ve come close to being “the one”. I’ve never been anyone’s “the one”. I’ve only ever been “the one
they want to shag”.’

Ellie laughs. ‘Bloody men.’

Jen grins. I suspect she can laugh about this because her relationship with the new Mr Muscles is on an upward curve. In two weeks it could be different.

‘I know I never buy it at the time, but it is right.’ She squeezes my shoulder. ‘And while my flings don’t compare to what you and Jamie had, I know you’ll come out
of this absolutely fine. Stronger than ever, in fact.’

‘Maybe,’ I reply flatly. ‘It just doesn’t feel like it. Plus, I can’t help thinking that there’s still hope.’

Ellie looks sceptical. ‘Hmm.’

‘I want him back,’ I confess.

‘Hmm,’ she repeats.

‘And . . . I think part of him wants to come back.’

‘Hmm.’

‘I just . . . don’t know how to reach out to the bit of him that wants to come back – and tell the other part to sod right off.’

Ellie looks strange.

‘Why do you suddenly look less than convinced? A few days ago you were saying he’d be back like a shot.’ I get a horrible feeling that what Ellie said on the night he left
wasn’t a sentiment that’s lasted. As if that was her spur-of-the-moment reaction, driven partly by an instinct to make me feel better, and after several days of sober thought
she’s far less sure.

She shakes her head. ‘No, you’re right. And I’m not unconvinced,’ she replies, completely unconvincingly.

‘Well, I’m certainly not,’ adds Jen. ‘Ellie, you and I have always said that we’d never seen a couple with so much magic. I think there’s hope, no doubt about
it.’

Just hearing those words sends elation running through my veins. Ellie leans forward and puts both elbows on the table. ‘Tell me again his exact words the last time you spoke.’

I recount the story in fine detail and Ellie says nothing until I’ve finished.

‘You know, in some ways it goes against all my instincts to say this,’ she begins. ‘I’ve always said that if a man wants to leave, you should let him go quietly. But
maybe Jamie’s different.’

‘Go on,’ I urge.

‘Maybe some relationships are worth fighting for. Maybe yours and Jamie’s is. He’s an idiot for letting you go. I also happen to think he’ll regret it when he gets to the
other side of the world and has nobody but a load of insects biting his ankles to keep him company. You know, I’m convincing myself, the more I think about it . . .’

‘Convincing yourself of what?’ I reply breathlessly.

She pauses. ‘Do you really want Jamie back, Sam?’

I look into her eyes and have no hesitation. ‘You know I do.’

She takes a deep breath. ‘Then come over tomorrow morning. Not too early, obviously. It’s time we started getting practical about this.’

I arrive at Ellie’s place the following day feeling as though the principal ingredient in last night’s cocktails was Jeyes Fluid. Ellie, on the other hand,
doesn’t look remotely hungover.

‘Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?’ she grins, looking me up and down.

‘You are a freak of nature,’ I grunt. Her skin is only slightly duller than usual and there isn’t the hint of a dark circle under her eyes.

Unlike mine. Mine have puffed up in the manner of a bullfrog undergoing a vigorous colonic irrigation.

‘Years of practice,’ she laughs. ‘Besides, my amazing other half got up with Sophie so I could have a lie-in.’

‘He’s not all bad, is he?’ I tease, grinning at Alistair as I head to the kitchen.

‘I think you’ll find I’m a model partner and father,’ he replies, scooping up Sophie and carrying her over so she can plant an enthusiastic, if distinctly sloppy, kiss on
my lips.

Ellie prepares two strong coffees before we head to the living room, while Alistair buttons Sophie into her coat to take her to the park.

‘About what we discussed last night . . .’ says Ellie, plunging onto the sofa opposite me.

I immediately suspect what’s coming. ‘Look,’ I sigh, ‘I know you’re going to tell me to forget about it . . . to forget about him. But I can’t. I want him
back and I’ll always want him back.’

She frowns. ‘What makes you think I’d say that?’

I pause, slightly surprised. ‘You say it to Jen every time she’s been ditched.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘Jen and her alpha males hardly compare with you and Jamie. Plus, there’s a crucial difference. Like you, like Jen, I also think, on balance, that there’s
hope.’

Her words set my heart racing. ‘Really? Then what do you think I should do?’ I ask urgently. ‘I should phone him again, shouldn’t I? And it’s been a whole day since
I emailed him. If only I could sit down and reason with him, get across how much I want him and need him and—’

‘Sam, stop!’ she snaps, and I nearly drop my coffee.

She takes a deep breath then says softly, ‘You’re going to do none of those things.’

I look at her blankly.

‘You’re going to win him back,’ she continues. ‘At least, you’re going to give it your best shot. But if you’re going to do that, you’ll also have to
get a lot smarter about it.’

Ellie and I met when we studied English Literature at Manchester University and it was there that I became familiar with her counselling skills. Maybe it was the influence of her mum,
who’d volunteered with the Samaritans for years. Whatever it was, she became the unofficial agony aunt of our halls of residence, and this was something that gave her and Alistair a lot to
talk about when they met years later, because he basically did for a living what she considered a hobby. What gave Ellie’s brand of sympathy the edge, however, was the fact that it had
something nobody else’s had: practicality. She wasn’t a mere shoulder on which to cry; she dissected issues methodically and gave advice that was totally constructive.

‘The most important thing you need to do, Sam, is also going to be very hard,’ she tells me. ‘You’ve got to stop being miserable.’

I screw up my nose. ‘I’ve been dumped. Aren’t I meant to be miserable?’

‘Let me rephrase that,’ she concedes. ‘You need to pretend to stop being miserable. Bawl your eyes out as much as you want in front of Jen and me, gorgeous – but nobody
else. And especially not Jamie.’

‘But it wasn’t just me crying this week; Jamie was in a complete state,’ I argue. ‘Besides, is it really going to make him feel better if I sit there like an ice maiden,
pretending I’m not fazed by anything?’

She leans forward on her sofa. ‘Sam, Jamie fell in love with you because you were the happy, go-getting, easy-going girl you are. You need to remind him who that girl is. That being with
you is fun, not a ride on an emotional roller coaster, even if that roller coaster is one he put you on.’

‘But if you’d seen what he was like—’

‘Sam,’ she interrupts, ‘I don’t care if he’s an emotional wreck; you can’t be anything other than composed. As hard as it may be . . . don’t cry.
I’m not saying this to try to make you repressed. I’m saying this to empower you.’

My bottom lip starts wobbling. ‘I don’t feel empowered. And I don’t see how going round grinning like a lunatic will change anything.’

She smiles. ‘Trust me. Besides, it could be a self-fulfilling prophecy.’

‘That I become a lunatic?’

‘I’m talking about acting happy. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. First, let’s concentrate on making him think you’re doing just great without him. On showing
him the amazing, happy girl he’s missing out on. He mustn’t see that he’s made you crumble because, believe me, Sam, there’s nothing less attractive than a needy
woman.’

‘You think I’ve looked needy?’ But I don’t need her to answer. ‘God, I have, haven’t I? Those emails . . . the begging . . . urgh!’

‘Forget what’s gone before,’ she says diplomatically. ‘Concentrate on the future. And for that, you need to put a lid on the emotional stuff.’

By the end of the afternoon, and copious cups of coffee later, Ellie and I have composed a plan. A brilliant, multi-layered and totally practical one; one that’s utterly
focused on winning Jamie back.

The first step involves pulling myself together, not just emotionally, but physically. I’ve already lost weight in the few days he’s been gone and it’s time to make the most of
it.

The second step involves manufacturing an excuse to see him again as soon as possible, an occasion I hope will be the first of many. Except that now I’m not going to cry, and I’m not
going to beg him to come back. I’m going to make him want me for entirely different reasons. My modus operandi is going to change drastically – and if what I’ve got planned works,
he’s not going to know what’s hit him.

The third step involves a tactic that’s worked in matters of the heart ever since the time of Henry VIII and his court. I’m going to influence those around him in the hope that they
influence him. If Ellie has her way, everyone from his best friend to his sister is going to be telling him to get back with me.

And the fourth step . . . well, the fourth step I’m putting on hold. Not because I don’t think it could work – and Ellie is determined that it would – but because the
thought of it sends a shiver down my spine. Going out with another man to make Jamie jealous is the last resort to end all last resorts. A step too far, and one I seriously hope I’ll never
have to take.

Simply knowing that I’m actively taking measures to solve this problem makes me feel less upset. Not least because I genuinely think this could work.

‘Exactly how much coffee have you two drunk this afternoon?’ asks Alistair, picking up our cups from the table.

‘We’ve been hard at work,’ says Ellie.

‘What are you up to?’

Ellie flashes me a glance. Then, to my acute embarrassment, she starts to fill him in. She insists that he is qualified to contribute to this exercise on two levels. One: he’s a
psychotherapist and understands the workings of the human mind better than most. And two: he’s a man.

He says nothing while she talks, simply looks at me with something between concern and pity.

‘So . . . what do you think about the plan, Alistair? Would Ellie’s advice get her a job in your clinic?’ I smile nervously.