The Secret to Falling in Love. Victoria Cooke
thought why? Why would they settle down when they were still so young? Now they had children and had been married for seven or eight years, and I was there sitting on the proverbial shelf with little more than Selfridges swag and a frown line to show for it.
It’s not that I was suddenly unhappy being alone; I wasn’t, but I couldn’t help but feel like the clock was starting to tick. Apart from meeting someone through an online dating site, I had no idea how to meet The One – that sounded so cheesy, even in my head – but I’d be damned before I let my mother matchmake.
I opened my eyes and examined my fingertips. They were all wrinkly, indicating I’d spent long enough in the bath – I definitely didn’t need any more wrinkles.
Grabbing a towel, I hopped out of the bath and headed over to my bed, snatching a notebook and pen on my way. If I really wanted a man in my life, I needed to think about the kind of man I was looking for. I sat down and started to write.
He must:
1. Look after himself/take pride in his appearance
2. Have a good job/be financially secure
That was a very short list. What more did I want? It was ridiculous; Gavin would have been one hundred per cent perfect for me based on those criteria. There had to be more, something else that I needed in a man. My thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of the intercom. I am popular today! Gemma and Amanda had arrived early. ‘Hello, ladies, come on up,’ I chirped, quickly stashing away my notebook on my bookshelf.
‘Hi there, gorgeous birthday girl.’ Amanda walked in and kissed me on the cheek.
‘Happy birthday, beautiful,’ Gemma said and pulled me into a hug.
‘Hi, girls, thank you!’
As they walked to the sofa, I noticed they were already dressed for our night out. Amanda looked fabulous in a tartan swing dress and black tights – it set off her pale skin and long wavy red hair nicely. Gemma always sported the trendiest looks and today was no exception; she looked hot in a risqué black body-con dress teamed with a leather biker jacket and chunky platforms.
‘We thought we would make an afternoon of it.’ Amanda grinned as she produced two bottles of pink champagne.
‘Ooh! Happy birthday to me indeed.’ I beamed at her.
‘I’ll get the glasses.’ Gemma clapped with excitement as she hopped up and headed to the kitchen.
‘So, how do you feel about turning thirty-five?’ Amanda asked quietly once Gemma was out of earshot; she too envied Gemma’s youth.
‘To be honest, I thought I felt fine, but last night it hit me. Well, last night, plus my bloody mother stating the obvious about me being old and single earlier today. I do feel like time might be running out for the whole nuclear family thing.’
‘Wow, that’s a bit of a gloomy proclamation on your birthday,’ Amanda said before softening her tone when she caught sight of my expression. ‘Aww, Mel, don’t feel that way. You’re only as old as you feel. It means nothing nowadays.’
‘I know, but deep down I feel like I’ve wasted time a bit, having fun but not actually doing anything, y’know, meaningful, I guess.’
‘Don’t you have any champagne flutes?’ Gemma yelled from the kitchen.
‘Sorry, no. And I only have one wine glass left so we’re going to have to use mugs.’
‘What a heathen!’ she shouted back.
‘A mug of champers is the new flute, don’t you know?’ I retorted, and she giggled. ‘In fact, there’s probably an edgy bar in the Northern Quarter serving it that way. It’s the new cocktails-in-jam-jars.’
Amanda giggled too before switching her attention back to me. ‘Age doesn’t bring class then, hon?’ she joked before her expression became concerned. ‘Seriously though, you’ve achieved loads in your work; we all love you – you’ve got plenty of time to meet someone. People have kids in their mid-forties nowadays.’
‘I know, but there’s the whole other issue of age rules. I read that at thirty-five, you’re perceived to be too old for certain things, like piercings. If I want my belly button or nose pierced, the general population would think I was mutton dressed as lamb. And, apparently, I have only five bikini-wearing years left in me.’ I was slightly mocking the research findings, but the thought genuinely depressed me. ‘I mean, can I still shop at Topshop and go clubbing? Or should I be arranging dinner parties after spending a day at the M&S sale?’ My shoulders flopped, and I realised Amanda was grinning. ‘What?’ I asked, confused.
‘You’re beautiful, you look as though you never left your twenties, you’re wrinkle-free—’ I scrunched up my nose in disagreement ‘—okay, except when you do that. You have no cellulite, and your hair shines like you’re on a bloody Pantene advert. You can wear and do what you like. Look at Elle Macpherson; she’s over fifty and still looks amazing.’ She cheerfully flung an arm around me and pulled me into a hug. ‘Come on. We’re having fun tonight, celebrating you and your Zimmer frame.’
Gemma walked in holding three mugs full of pink champagne above her head, pumping her arms to some imaginary beat. Champagne splashed out and landed on her hair. Amanda nudged me and whispered, ‘See, youth is wasted on the young!’
‘What are you two old bags whispering about?’ Gemma asked.
Amanda winked. ‘Just envying your youth.’
‘I was just saying how great it was to be seventeen and a half for the second time. I didn’t really appreciate it the first time around as I couldn’t handle my cider, nor could I afford this fab pink champers. Thank you, ladies.’ I smiled, grabbing them both in a big bear hug. ‘Time for a pre-night-out selfie, I think!’
I stood to the right of Amanda, and Gemma stood on her left. Amanda put her arms around our necks, and I held my phone at arm’s length and snapped a picture of us, our faces squashed together and smiling. I instantly uploaded it to all my social media accounts with the caption ‘Birthday fun’ despite the fact I was still in my dressing gown.
***
The cocktail bar was heaving, busy with groups of mixed-sex friends happily ignoring the other patrons, groups of single-sex friends who were – judging by their actions – aiming to change that fact, and us. I wasn’t sure about us. My mojito was just coming to its sugary end when Amanda appeared with a bottle of wine. ‘Thought we would try this. I’m assured it’s good stuff; 2010 was a good year, or so I’m told.’ The girls had really spoilt me tonight. I was lucky to have such wonderful friends.
Gemma was busy messaging someone on her phone and didn’t acknowledge the wine, which I thought was a bit rude, and out of character. I wondered if everything was okay.
‘Aww, thank you, Amanda,’ I gushed, overcompensating for Gemma’s indifference. As Amanda sat down, stumbling slightly on her heels, Gemma stood and wandered off without saying a word.
‘Where’s she going?’ Amanda asked.
‘Not sure, toilet probably?’ I guessed. ‘Let’s get cracking on this wine. You brought it just in time.’ I smiled, holding up my empty mojito glass.
By the time Gemma came back I felt too drunk to ask her where she had been. Instead I pointed at the wine bottle, which had about a quarter of the wine left in. ‘Get a drink,’ I slurred. I looked at my empty glass. ‘It must be very hot in here, as my wine appears to have evaporated!’ There was no way I’d drunk that much.
I excused myself and staggered into the cramped and clammy ladies’ toilet. I stumbled as the room began to spin. Clutching the sink for stability, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The unflattering neon lights highlighted the dark bags under my eyes and faint lines on the sides of my nose that had secretly etched their way across the bridge