Page 35 of Stella is Starting Over

‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m not risking another Friday morning snuggle with Gavin.’

‘Fair,’ she says, getting up. ‘I’m going to take all my make-up off and then draft loads of “sorry for being a sex pest” messages to Richard.’

‘Do not message him,’ I tell her seriously. ‘I will be furious if you do.’

She laughs. ‘Okay. I won’t.’

‘Also,’ I say, as I go to the front door. ‘Whoever put up the shelves in your utility room did it with, like, a spoon and some Vaseline. I need to fix them otherwise I’ll never get a good night’s sleep again.’

‘Okay,’ she says. ‘I’m not turning down free handyman work.’

‘Who said it was free?’

‘I’m a struggling single mother.’ She pouts.

‘Fine. Can I come over on Saturday?’

‘Rose will be here,’ she says.

I don’t really know what that’s supposed to imply.

She thinks about it for a moment. ‘But I guess that’s fine.’

‘Cool,’ I say. I kiss her on the cheek. ‘I’ll let you know when I’m heading over.’

I step out into the night and realise that, after all that, I’ve left the sodding toolbox behind. But then I guess I’m coming back on Saturday, so it doesn’t really matter. As I walk home, my phone buzzes. Stella, presumably, thanking me for being her knight in shining armour.

Not Stella. Florrie. How was your evening/friend?

I’ll reply when I get home.

Stella

The morning after the Richard date, I take Rose for a long walk in the park and on the way home I call Lou to catch her up on the whole thing. After I finish the story, leaving out almost no details about how I threw myself at him and he turned me down, she sighs.

‘Okay, well, these things happen,’ she says. ‘At least you got a nice dinner out of it, and the gallery was a nice touch.’

‘Wait,’ I say, my hands gripping the buggy. ‘You think it went that badly?’

Lou clearly realises that she’s mishandled this. She thinks for a minute. ‘Okay, well, maybe it wasn’t that bad? Maybe you just told it in a way that made it sound worse?’

‘If anything, I made it sound better.’

‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Well. Yeah. You offered him sex on the first date, which makes you seem easy; he turned you down, which suggests he didn’t fancy you, and you haven’t heard from him for twenty-four hours.’

‘It hasn’t been twenty-four hours!’ I yelp. ‘It’s been, like, eighteen.’

‘Oh,’ Lou replies. ‘Well, that’s much better.’

‘Really?’ I whine.

‘Obviously no.’

But, to my complete and utter shock, and honestly, also my complete and utter smug triumph, when I get home there is a box on the doorstep. A box of flowers. They’re all white, mostly roses, with tasteful greenery, and the bunch is absolutely massive. I open the card, which reads: Thank you for a wonderful evening – Richard.

I send Lou a picture and then a voice note of me half screaming, ‘HE DOESN’T HATE ME!’

She replies, This literally makes no sense, is he insane?