‘Never mind that.’ I shake my head again. ‘I’m talking about Justin.’ I wave the phone in my hand. ‘Justin’s got a new girlfriend. He’s hard launched her on Instagram – he even used the hashtag. Her name is Orla. It’s the coolest fucking name I’ve ever heard. And it probably means she’s Irish as well, doesn’t it?’
‘Oh god, no way!’ Sam moves towards me with sympathy. She knows Irish is my favourite nationality. All the best people are Irish. That’s why all Americans pretend to be part Irish.
‘He’s shared a picture of her! Of the two of them together!’ I cry, letting Sam lead me by the hand into the living room. She sits me down and fusses about, covering me with a blanket. ‘He never, ever posts on Instagram! He always says it’s a vacuous hole designed exclusively for thirsty woman and gym bros. He wouldn’t post anything about me or us – not in the whole year and two months that we were together. He said it would go against his principles to post a picture of us. He wouldn’t even “like” my post wishing him a happy birthday in March.’ Sam takes the phone, examining the picture.
‘Bloody hell,’ she murmurs. ‘It doesn’t even look like him!’ Sam brings the phone closer to her face, trying to zoom in on the image without touching it.
‘Don’t heart it,’ I shriek, and she looks at me witheringly.
‘This is not my first ex-stalking rodeo,’ she says, returning her gaze to the picture. ‘He looks so… good? What the fuck?’
‘I’ve never seen him dressed so well,’ I tell her with disgust.‘He had that shirt when we were together, but it was crumpled up in the back of his wardrobe. I offered to clean and iron it for him and he said what was the point in making the effort.’
‘Classic Justin,’ Sam says, and I shake my head again.
‘But apparently it’s not classic Justin,’ I point out. ‘Because forOrlahe’s willing to wear the nice shirt. He’s willing to shave!’ I lean over Sam to look again at the photo. ‘He’s willing to brush his hair! Look at it, Sam! I swear, I think he’s actually washed it! He always said shampoo was for women and dogs.’ She stares at me and I stare back. ‘Was I not worth making all this effort for?’ I ask her after a long silence.
‘Of course you are!’ she says defiantly. ‘You’re a total babe. He’s just an absolute knobhead.’
I swallow hard. ‘He looks really happy, doesn’t he?’ I say, and she doesn’t answer. ‘Do you think he was seeing her when we were together? This is awfully quick to have moved on. It’s only been a few weeks.’
‘He’s just not capable of being alone,’ she says with force. ‘He’s a small child who needs a mother. He has to jump straight into something else because he’ll have run out of clean washing.’
‘Why wasn’t my mothering good enough then?’ I wail, and she looks uncertain.
‘Don’t do that, Liv! You’ve had a lucky escape. He’s the worst. You’re too good for him!’
‘I feel like we’ve been saying that stuff to each other about men our whole lives,’ I tell her in a whisper.
‘Maybe,’ she acknowledges, looking a bit sad.
‘I don’t know why you still date men at all.’ I shake my head. ‘You should just stick exclusively to women.’
She grimaces. ‘That date I had the other week – did I tell you? – he wore one of those minging vests that are actuallydesignedto show off the nipples. You know what I mean? You can always spot the villain on a reality show because he’s wearing one, exposing his horrible man nipples.’ She shudders. ‘There’s just never a situation where we should have to see men’s nipples. They don’t look nice, they don’t breastfeed, they contribute nothing to society—’
‘Men?’
‘Their nipples.’
‘Their nipples contribute nothing to society?’
‘Right!’ She nods, like I am agreeing with her. And I suppose I’m notnotagreeing with her. She stands up. ‘I’ll get us some tea.’
She returns from the kitchen after a few minutes with two steaming mugs, handing me one.
‘Okay, I’ve got a plan,’ she says with renewed determination. ‘We take the eggs from the fridge to his house and we throw them at the windows.’
‘Eggs are expensive,’ I point out, and she shrugs.
‘They’re out of date anyway.’
‘It’s just a best before,’ I protest, knowing this means nothing to Sam. We fall on different sides of the best before vs use-by debate.
‘They’re vile, rotten eggs and we need to throw them athis house.’ She grins. ‘Ideally he’d have an open window and we can lob it straight in. Maybe we can also break in and hide some fish inside the curtain poles. They’ll stink the whole place out in days.’
‘All great ideas.’ I nod, knowing they’re not. ‘But we shouldn’t.’
She pouts. ‘Why not? He deserves it and you’d feel better afterwards.’
