‘Hamish.’
‘You said it.’
‘It’s true!’
Penny lets out an actual growl of frustration.
‘Nina, you dated Hamish for one summer. Barely a season! And it happened ten whole years ago, love. You have got to get over him.’
‘Ouch. Iamover him!’
‘You are not. You compare every single new relationship to a guy you went out with for less than half a year and not one of them comes up favourably. No wonder Nice Neil broke up with you.’
‘Nice Neil,’ I chortle, spotting a cute sunhat and popping that on too.
‘What? He was nice! A bit of a drip, sure, but nice enough. I must say I’m surprised he found the courage to break up with you, he always gave me dump-ee vibes.’
‘Brutal.’
‘Just goes to show how little effort you put into that relationship. Poor Neil.’
‘We just didn’t have that spark,’ I say. ‘It was so different with Hamish.’
‘Don’t you dare give me that dreamy-eyed look,’ Penny says sternly. ‘Yes, yes, Hamish was great for like, three months? And then he left forAustralia. He literally moved to the other side of the world and you never heard from him again. However great you thought he was, that’s not okay, Nina.’
‘It was kind of mutual, really,’ I insist, but by now Penny is looking mutinous. I don’t blame her. She’s heard all this a million times before. She thinks I’ve got rose-tinted glasses when it comes to my first true love and I think they’re just normal glasses which showed that he was, in fact, the perfect boyfriend. The One That Got Away. It’s not my fault more recent relationships haven’t come close, is it? Anyway, I can sense that now is not the time to do a deep dive on all that.
‘Just, do me a favour and have some fun on this trip. Okay? Ignore Callum Bang. Find a hot new guy to flirt with. Let loose a little! You deserve this. How many times do you get to fly to Australia for a week? Not many! So make every minute count, okay? Oh, and Nina?’
‘Yes?’ I say tentatively, still reeling from this impromptu TED Talk.
‘You should definitely get those sunglasses. They’re cute. Lose the hat though. It’s giving grandad-goes-to-Panama. Okay, love you, byeeee,’ Penny sings.
And with that, she’s gone.
In the world’s smallest act of defiance I buy the hat anyway, ripping the label off and wearing it immediately. Penny’s right about one thing though, I do need to rise above Callum’s bullshit. I can do that! I am a self-assured, confident woman. I don’t need to let him needle me. In fact, I will not allow it.
That’s the spirit!
Feeling both boosted and still on edge, I make the wise and sensible choice to exacerbate things further with a flat white. Coffee in hand, I give in to the siren call of the beauty hall. It’s heavy with the scent of a million perfumes and I immediately spot a body cream that’s meant to give you a butt lift at a really good discount. Given that I simply do not have the time (inclination) for the recommended one hundred squats a day, maybe this will do the trick? I turn it over in my hands. Since my thirtieth birthday this summer, I’ve been getting twitchy about body parts heading south, even though I’m probably just talking myself into it. But I swear everything used to be smoother and bouncier. And while I slightly resent the beauty industry for pushing the idea that eternal youth is the goal, I also can’t deny my deep love for beauty products. If it’s got the words ‘lift’, ‘bounce’ or ‘glow’ on the packet, I’m probably buying it. Get on my skin, eternal youth!
My eyes snag on something shiny and new.
‘A salmon sperm face moisturizer!’ I gasp, elated.
Oh my goodness. I literally just read an article on how the DNA from salmon sperm is great for collagen production and now here it is. It has to be Fate, calling my name.
I mean, sure, salmon sperm sounds disgusting. But if my bottom is sailing south then it’s only a matter of time before my chops follow suit, right? I pick up a pot. It has the word ‘sperm’ written across it in an alarmingly large font, the ‘e’ replaced by a pencil drawing of a fish. Underneath, words likeelastin,hydrationandradiancedance before my eyes and I am quite certain that this product will be the answer to all of my fine line woes.
I take a sip of coffee, turning the pot around to read the impressive stats on the back. The more I read, the more convinced I am that it will be necessary, going forward, to regularly rub fish semen into my face.
I’m making appreciative noises when I get the distinct impression that I’m being watched. With trepidation, I spin on my heels.
Callum Bang is darkening my doorstep. His looming presence causes an immediate adrenaline spike. It feels like my organs are trying to break free from my body, as if my brain is screeching ‘Run!’.
His tall frame takes up all of the space as he stands there, talking into his phone, laconic gaze directed right at me.
‘No problem, happy to help,’ he’s saying. ‘Honestly, it’s on me. I just bought some gaffer tape, extra-thick bin bags and string.’
