Page 32 of Stella is Starting Over

‘I’m not home,’ I say, phone wedged between ear and shoulder while I try to get the toolbox to shut properly.

‘Why not?’ Georgie demands.

‘Because it’s nine-thirty on a Thursday evening and I’m a single man in my early thirties so I don’t actually have a curfew?’

‘Where are you?’ she asks. I hear a microwave beep, which means that she’s putting a pint of ice cream in to slightly defrost, despite forbidding George or her son to eat anything that’s been exposed to harmful rays.

‘I’m at a friend’s house,’ I say. This was a mistake.

‘What friend? Why?’

‘You are really very rude,’ I reply. ‘I’m allowed to have a private life.’

‘Who is she?’

‘She is a friend.’

‘I know all your friends.’

‘She’s a new friend.’

‘A date!’

‘No,’ I say, trying not to sound like I want to smack the phone against the wall. ‘She’s someone I know who lives locally. She’s getting divorced, she has a small child and she needed some help with a plumbing problem.’

‘Is that what you guys are calling it these days?’

‘That’s disgusting and I’m going to hang up on you,’ I say.

‘Is it your baby?’

‘Goodbye, Georgie!’ I shout.

‘Wait, wait!’ she says. ‘I’m sorry. That’s really nice, I didn’t know any of your friends had kids. You’re cute to help.’

‘Thanks.’

‘It’s kind of like the beginning of a Hallmark movie.’

‘I’ve never seen a Hallmark movie because my IQ has three digits, but I assure you it’s not like that – she’s literally on a date with another man right now.’

‘Oh.’

‘Exactly. I’ve fixed a pipe she drilled into, and now I’m going to walk home and lie on the sofa in my pants playing FIFA.’

‘It’s called EA FC now,’ Georgie says dolefully. ‘George told me.’

‘So glad to hear that your marriage is thriving. See you at the weekend. Bye.’

I hang up before she can draw me further into a conversation by asking whether I think the moon landings were faked or pretending that she’s having second thoughts about River’s childhood vaccinations. Then I pick up the toolbox and head to the front door. On the windowsill next to the front door is a set of keys on a heart-shaped keyring. Presumably Stella’s keys. I stop for a minute, working out what to do. It’s not really my responsibility to make sure that she can get back in, and she’s a perfectly sensible grown-up, she’s presumably capable of looking after herself. But if I leave and she doesn’t have her keys, and then she’s locked out, then that’ll be shit for her. I sigh. And then I go and sit on her sofa.

Obviously, the sensible thing to do is message her, so I write a message. Hey, did you forget your keys? I’ve finished fixing the pipe but I don’t know if you’re going to be able to get back in? I press send, and wait. She doesn’t read it. Presumably she’s not looking at her phone because she’s on a date. I go into the TV room, the one where we fell asleep, and then hunt for the remote. She’s got some massively complicated system where I have to press the right button dozens of time to get to the home screen. Someone should really sort that out for her. Eventually Disney+ starts playing a cartoon of two dogs who live in a house in Australia with their parents (also dogs). I try to turn it off, but it’s surprisingly funny. So I finish the episode. And then another episode. They’re only five minutes long, so it’s not like I’m watching that much of it. I try to make that feel true when I realise that I’ve watched almost half a series. My phone buzzes and I expect it to be Stella, but it’s Florrie.

What’re you doing?

That is a truly extraordinary use of words. I’m at a friend’s house, I write.

Friend? Or ‘friend’. . .? She writes back. I feel defensive, which is genuinely insane because this is about the most platonic thing I’ve ever done and actually, even if it weren’t, Florrie has been intensely clear that she’s in earnest about this ethical non-monogamy thing. She tells me every time she goes on a date with someone else, and then tells me whether she’s slept with them or not. Honestly, I’d probably prefer not to hear about it, because if the date is great then I’m slightly perturbed and if it’s terrible or they’re not decent to her, I want to kill them. But she says radical honesty is the only way this works, and she’s been inscrutable on that front. In fact, I think she might be starting to find me something of a disappointment on that front. She keeps asking whether I’ve met anyone, hooked up with anyone or if I’m even making an effort to meet anyone.