Page 29 of Isn’t It Nice We Both Hate the Same Things

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Wednesday evening and I attend a speed dating meet-up event – fast friending, they call it.

The event is held inside a derelict warehouse south of the city.

Prime real estate for murder. The sun has long set and the wind whistles in my ears.

I fear the CCTV footage from the area will be shown on the news tomorrow.

Final footage of missing radio producer , it’ll say.

There will be interviews with my mum and my sister, maybe my colleagues, and then maybe they’ll track Dave down and he’ll be like, Yeah, it’s sad, but while you’re looking for her, could you also look for my engagement ring?

While the outside of the building looks rundown and rusted, the space inside is anything but.

I’m pleasantly surprised. Comforted, even, to realise that it is unlikely I will be killed here.

I had expected trestle tables with wooden, stiff chairs on either side – parent-teacher night vibes.

A pop-up bar, with a limited selection, perhaps one person manning it.

Maybe a few women milling about, forced small talk while everyone waits for the night to begin.

I was wrong.

Seating is lined up in a semi-circle and each place to sit is different.

Leather armchairs or suede lounges. Some of those garden egg chairs, padded with pillows.

I spot a couple of stools, a few beanbags, and some rattan chairs overstuffed with thick cushions.

My favourite is the navy daybed down the end.

There is quite a large cohort of women here, and I find it ironic how many of them are already connecting, chatting over a wine while they wait until the event starts. Wouldn’t it be a twist if there was no speed-dating, just the bar, and that’s how these friendships were orchestrated?

At the bar, I somehow become trapped in a heated discussion with a group of women about the etiquette of weekend holidays.

‘I just don’t want a bar of it,’ one of them says, when the conversation ventures towards the grocery bill.

‘None of this “Oh well I don’t like soy milk and I only had one square of the chocolate and I didn’t drink as much wine as the rest of you, so I’m not contributing to that.

” We’re all functioning adults with jobs and far too much anxiety.

Let’s just split everything evenly and try not to insult each other, shall we? ’

When the event starts, I’m paired with a woman whose black hair has blonde tips; she introduces herself as being attracted to red flags. ‘That’s my downfall,’ she says, and laughs. ‘Need to start hanging with friends instead of men.’

The woman seems perfectly polite. Cordial. She shakes my hand when we meet, and when she relays that her name is Katie, there’s a rise in tone at the end. Kay-TEE. Her voice goes squeaky.

‘After Katie Holmes,’ she clarifies. And then we find ourselves talking about Dawson’s Creek until we’re halfway through and I realise Katie hasn’t asked me a single question about myself.

If Genevieve were here, she’d want to discuss Katie’s sandals, which are faded brown and far too small for her feet. Her little toes are jabbing out the sides of the shoes.

‘My sister is Demi, after Demi Moore, and I grew up in this hippie, loving home. Real free-spirited kind of community, you know? No rules, all home-schooled. There was a river near home that we learnt to swim in – it’s all dried up now – and sometimes when I go home, I sit in the riverbed and think about my childhood. Do you ever do that?’

She doesn’t wait for me to answer.

‘It’s cathartic, isn’t it? There’s something about this city that isn’t quite the same as home – wouldn’t you agree? Where did you say you were from?’

I didn’t.

‘There are just so many places I haven’t been yet,’ Katie cries, slapping a hand down on her jeans.

‘Can you believe? It’s criminal. So many people I haven’t met, so many cities I haven’t seen.

Beautiful, rural land I’ve never set foot on.

Isn’t that funny? And I firmly believe that we were put on this earth to explore.

Move around, discover new things. Feel sand in our toes and wind in our hair.

’ She exhales, closes her eyes. ‘Life is pretty fantastic.’ She clasps her hands together, intertwining her fingers.

God, I miss Genevieve. I want to call her up so we can laugh about Katie.

How is it possible that four minutes can feel so long? So mentally and physically draining? I feel a twinge in my back. Swivelling my torso, I hear a crack . Instant relief.

Katie’s now speaking about her nephew. ‘He’s adorable , of course. He’s seven, and always making me laugh. Kids are funny, don’t you think?’

I have no time to answer.

‘Last time I flew home, he waved me over and told me he had a serious question to ask. A big question! Something important that absolutely could not wait. And then he hands me this note and it says, and I kid you not, Have you ever seen a bomb? ’

The buzzer sounds, and Katie laughs. ‘My god, I’ve done nothing but talk . Sorry about that. When I’m having fun, I just can’t seem to stop.’ She rises, and then sticks out her hand for me to shake. ‘It’s been so nice to meet you …’ She trails off at the end, having forgotten my name.

‘Well, bye.’ She darts off in search of her next victim, and I pull out my phone. Instantly search for a message from Genevieve. But there’s nothing.

I’ve already messaged her many times this week. Even tonight, before coming here, I’d texted:

Genevieve, what the fuck am I going to do about this engagement ring?

!? Ronald The Lawyer won’t stop hassling me!

Dave texts me every week about it (the man forgets his retainer every night but THIS he remembers).

How deep is the harbour do we think? Should I just swim down there and get it?

Maybe hire someone to do it for me! What the FUCK am I going to do.

Five minutes later, after I’d processed my meltdown, I’d sent a follow-up text.

But how are things with you?

No response yet, but it’s still early. And her life is different now. She’s got her family there, and a house, and she’s just joined a mothers’ group. I bet she’s got a suite of new friends – I bet she’s replaced me already. I’d cry, if I weren’t in public right now.

Wine is required.

At the bar I buy two glasses, and down half of the first one almost immediately. Look back over at the group of women finding their next seats and realise this event has me feeling uneasy. It feels forced, and uncomfortable. Are things really this dire?

When I fish my phone back out of my handbag, there’s a new alert.

Missed call from Genevieve.