‘Is he, though?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s not done anything wrong.’
‘He’s a man, of course he’s done something wrong.’
‘No, it’s me. There’s something wrong with me.’ My voice breaks and Megan leans over and gently strokes my leg and whispers the sorts of lies one has to whisper to someone in my state.
‘There, there. He isn’t worth it. You can do so much better.’
I lurch up. ‘I don’t want to do better, that’s the point! I’m prepared to settle! I’m thirty fucking three. I’m not expecting fucking … fucking … Gaston to turn up at my door.’
Her whole face quivers with laughter.
‘Stop it!’
‘Who ever wanted to date Gaston?’
‘You know what I mean. I’m so confused,’ I say, huddling my legs up, my voice flat. ‘I thought it was going so well. I’m mental. I’m actually mental. There must be something seriously wrong with me.’
‘No,’ Megan replies firmly, continuing a steady pat of my leg. ‘There’s something seriously wrong with men. Men don’t deserve women. How many times do I have to tell you?’
I pick up one of Megan’s scatter cushions and bury my face in it. ‘If only I’d just been more chilled out.’
‘You mean, if only you’d had sex you didn’t feel comfortable having, you’d have “won” a relationship?’
‘Yes,’ I mutter into the Laura Ashley.
‘And you really want to be with someone who doesn’t respect your sexual boundaries?’
‘But isn’t it fair enough to want sex in the doggy position? No wonder he freaked out. That’s pretty vanilla! I’m too weird and difficult and no man will ever want me because I’m a mental, high-maintenance FREAK!’ More tears arrive.
Megan reaches over. ‘Not into the Laura Ashley,’ she says gently, which makes me laugh-cry. ‘Look, the right guy, well, not even the right guy, but a guy with any decency could’ve handled you not wanting to get hardcore doggy-styled the first time you slept with them. That’s quite extreme for a first time. You’re not a freak! I mean, if anything, it was just bad manners.’
‘And I can have sex from behind,’ I say. ‘I can even enjoy it. I just need to feel safe first. Not have it happen right away.’
‘Exactly. That’s totally healthy considering what happened. Simon is just an insensitive, selfish, dick. If he really wanted a true relationship, which means liking someone for who they are, he wouldn’t have just freaked out and used it as an excuse. I mean I can’t believe you told him about … you know, and he just blanked it.’
‘I don’t blame him. I wish I could just blank it.’ I wipe under my eyes, and use the back of my hand to clear up the snot. ‘I keep torturing myself with this imaginary woman called Gretel,’ I say, more tears falling. ‘She’s based on this girl I worked with years ago, just after I graduated. I only knew her a few months, but every man in the office was obsessed with her. She was really confident and sexy and sure of herself. She had this cool fringe and managed to get Glastonbury tickets every year because she “knew someone”.’ I shake my head. ‘All the men in our office fell in love with her, and she kind of got off on the power she had … Now, whenever I’m feeling insecure, I always compare myself to this weird made-up version of her and feel crap. Gretel has sex from behind and loves it. She’s brilliant at sex. Nothing fazes Gretel. She’s easy-going and laughs all the time, and spends her life going on adventures. No man who dates her ever gets over her. She’s never needy or insecure or jealous and therefore she’s rewarded by the pick of all the men in the universe.’
Megan crosses her arms. ‘She sounds like a right dick.’
‘Oh my God, she was a total dick. All the women in the office hated her.’
‘She’s also NOT REAL,’ Megan bellows, leaning into my hair. ‘There is literally no woman out there who doesn’t have insecurities about something. Gretel sounds like a sociopath, if you ask me. Both the real one and your imaginary one. All these men falling for her would’ve realised she was just as fucked up as the rest of us eventually.’ She reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you, April,’ she says quietly. ‘Nothing. I mean, you’re not perfect, no one is, but you can’t torture yourself with this idea that other women are more chilled out, because they’re not. Also, who wants the pick of all the men in the universe? Men are terrible!’
I hug my knees to my chest. ‘But so many women seem to be in happy relationships,’ I protest.
‘Seem to be.’ Megan gestures out like a magician’s assistant. ‘There you have it. God knows what they’re putting up with and shutting up with in order to make it “work” with the stupid fucking man they’re stuck with.’
Megan is in the enviable position of having completely given up on romantic love, and, as a result, is probably one of the happiest, most content people I know. I mean, it helps that her parents are loaded, so she’s inherited a two-bed flat in freaking Kensington but, as she says herself, ‘what I inherited in money and property, I also inherited in a fucked-up family dynamic and major issues’. She reaches out and pulls my head out of my knees. ‘Think of all the married women we know, then look at their husbands. Is there a single one of them, a single one that you don’t think is a bit of a dick and wonder how she puts up with him?’
I pause as I run through all my ‘happily married’ friends’ husbands. There’s Joel, Steph’s husband, a Chelsea season-ticket holder and has therefore never once spent a whole weekend with her, apart from their two-week honeymoon. Even then, she says he watched football on the hotel TV the whole time. Then there’s Stu, Kim’s husband, who corrects her on her grammar in front of people. Even Katy’s husband, Jimmy, is someone she constantly complains about. ‘He just doesn’t do anything,’ she’ll moan. ‘It takes so much effort sometimes to get him to just mend a bloody shelf without me asking a million times.’
‘So, these are my choices?’ I ask, spelling them out on my fingers: ‘a) accept that all men are problematic cretins who don’t deserve us, but try to find one to love anyway. Which is what I’ve been trying to do, but men don’t seem to want to be with me because I’m not like Gretel, despite the huge personal compromises I’m making in trying to love their pathetic arses. Or b) give up, live my life without a man, continue using a vibrator and find a sperm donor if I get really desperate to have children?’
Megan points to herself proudly. ‘And you will notice I’ve gone for option B. Look how happy I am. How young I look.’ She jabs the uncreased skin around her eyes.
‘I want there to be more options than these. I get more options for how to take my fucking coffee. I’m so depressed.’
Megan tilts her head. ‘I know, hon. It hurts. And I’m sorry.’
‘Is there … am I …’ I can hardly make myself say it, the inkling in my stomach that makes me feel sick and useless and desperate. ‘Am I just … unlovable?’