Love Offline Page 4

  There goes Chloe with her official sociology talk. Myth or not, personally I preferred the twenty-one days theory, but even that seemed like torture.

  ‘So go on, then,’ I sighed. ‘Put me out of my misery. If I do decide to do this—and I do still reserve the right to say no—what would be my first assignment?’

  ‘A singles’ party. Next Saturday night at the Gherkin. It sounds like it’s going to be brilliant. They’ll be over two hundred people there, so lots of opportunities to make friends.’

  ‘Wait, what?’ I gulped, my stomach suddenly tangling up into a million knots. ‘Two hundred people? At the Gherkin? The massive building in the city?’

  ‘Well, the organisers said two hundred and fifty people are expected, but you know not everyone will turn up, so two hundred is a safe bet. And yes, the Gherkin, the famous building in the financial district. Sadly not at the top with the stunning views of London. It’ll be held in a big bar at the base instead, which is called The Sterling and looks really snazzy.’

  ‘Two hundred and fifty people? I’m supposed to walk into a venue with two hundred and fifty strangers and just ‘make friends’? I won’t know a single soul and you think it will be easy to just go and talk to them?’ I felt the blood draining rapidly from my cheeks. In fact, from my whole body. ‘Forget it, Chloe. I know I said last night that I’d do this, but I’ve changed my mind. It’s too much.’

  ‘Don’t worry! They have friendly hosts who will make introductions. And remember, everyone there is in a similar boat. They’re all single in their thirties, forties or fifties, and a lot of people come on their own, so they’ll be nervous just like you. They even have a special ladies’ table if you feel like having a wingwoman.’

  I saw Chloe’s mouth moving, but whatever she was saying wasn’t registering. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been around fifty people, never mind two hundred and fifty. Because I worked from home, apart from popping into Cuppa, I could sometimes go days without seeing or speaking to anyone, which suited me just fine. I usually just communicated via email or text because I hated talking to clients on the phone (and meeting them face-to-face was even worse), so the idea of having real conversations with what might as well be a stadium full of people made me want to bury myself under my duvet. Indefinitely.

  ‘Nope. Sorry. Can’t face it. The only way I’ll consider it is if you come with me.’ Chloe shook her head. ‘At least for this event? Just to get me started? Please?’

  ‘Sorry, love.’ She took a sip of her tea. ‘Firstly I’m not single, so I wouldn’t be allowed, and secondly, you’ve got to throw yourself in at the deep end. This isn’t your first day at school, for Pete’s sake. You’re a grown woman. You’ve got this.’

  ‘Technically, yes, but being an adult doesn’t necessarily mean I’m comfortable in a room full of thousands of strangers. I understand why you’re encouraging me to do this, and I admit, I can see there might be one or two benefits if it works, which is still a big if. But, because I’m an introvert and I’m still on the fence about all this, can’t I try something a bit more intimate—you know, smaller—for my first activity? To help me warm up to the idea? Break me in gently?’

  Chloe shook her head again.

  ‘Nope. This is the perfect first activity. And now you’re just being dramatic. There won’t be thousands of people. Just a few hundred strangers. No big deal. You’ll be fine. Trust me.’

  Trust me. The two words that immediately made me want to do the exact opposite.

  Chloe opened her notebook and started pointing at a table she’d drawn with different timings and colours. Must have taken her ages to do that by hand.

  Bloody hell. Going to a party with a million strangers? On my own?

  ‘I, I…’ I was struggling to take it all in. My throat went dry, my cheeks began to burn and my mind grew fuzzy.

  ‘So that’s all settled, then?’ said Chloe, clapping her hands together excitedly. ‘Glad you’re okay with the plan. Any other questions?’ I opened my mouth to try and speak, but not a single word came out. ‘Great! I’ll photocopy this itinerary for Saturday so you have it to hand. And no need to be nervous. I’m sure everyone will be lovely, and even if they ignore you or aren’t that friendly, it will be a good experience and will make you stronger. It’s going to be wonderful, Em. Just you wait and see!’

  Oh. Dear. God.

  Chapter Six

  “Slight change of plan,” Chloe had said when she’d called me on Tuesday night. “I thought about your comments about me throwing you in at the deep end with hundreds of people and felt a bit guilty. So I found an extra smaller event to add to this week’s itinerary. To help break you in more gently, just like you asked. It’s a relaxed singles’ event. Should be a harmless, easy icebreaker. No more than twenty-five people there, which means you’ll find it easier to manage. I know research shows that socialising can wear introverts out, so as it’s your first go at this, you don’t even have to stay that long. Just an hour. Two, tops. Here’s the details…”

  So I’d written everything down (because of course, Chloe was far too old-fashioned to just send me a bloody text) and I had been dreading it ever since.

  Yes, meeting twenty-five people was less scary than two hundred and fifty, but for me, that was still a big crowd. One or two people would have been much better.

  The event started in less than two hours. I should have started getting ready at least thirty minutes ago, but I had to finish some boring bike illustrations for a cycling magazine. Then I was procrastinating, because I had no idea what I was going to wear or what I was going to say when I met these strangers.

  The idea of making small talk was terrifying. Truth was, all I wanted to do was dive under my duvet and hide there until tomorrow morning, but I owed it to myself to give it a go. I had to at least try. And Chloe had gone to a lot of trouble to help me, so I couldn’t let her down.

  I switched off my computer, went into my bedroom and opened my wardrobe. It’d been so long since I’d even had a proper look in here. Usually, I just wore comfy leggings and a long baggy jumper, which was fine for popping out to the coffee shop or the supermarket, but that wasn’t going to cut the mustard for tonight.

  Maybe it would be easier to think whilst I was doing my hair. I stared at my head of thick curls in the mirror. It would take an eternity to straighten them with my irons. Ugh.

  It had been ages since I’d bothered. That was one of the advantages of spending all my time at home. Knowing that nobody would see me meant I could just throw it up in a bun or even do nothing with it at all. It didn’t matter how I looked. But now I was going out properly in public and would be meeting new people, I had to try and make it look presentable.

  Eric would have a fit if he saw me like this. He didn’t like my hair looking what he called wild and crazy. He preferred it to be straight and glossy. Not long after we’d started going out, he’d asked one of his colleagues how she got her hair so gorgeous and then booked me an appointment at her favourite salon to get a keratin blow-dry, which he said would make my hair look ‘much nicer’. That’s when I started going to the salon every three months to keep it sleek.

  Each time my curls were flattened, I felt like all the personality of the hair I’d been born with was being stripped away. But Eric liked it, and it was much easier to manage. Mum had always struggled to style it when I was younger as the texture was different to hers. When I was growing up, I was the only girl in my class who didn’t have straight, silky hair, so I’d never felt beautiful. After all, name one Disney princess back then with curls? Rapunzel? Cinderella? Belle? Exactly. None of them had to deal with trying to tame their thick, disobedient hair into submission or being called frizz-ball at school. Their glossy locks just flowed effortlessly in the wind.

  I was so happy when straightening irons became available and spent most of my twenties frying my hair to death every morning to try and get it poker straight just like the celebs I’d see on TV and in the magaz
ines.

  I knew it was bad for me, so I did consider going back to wearing my hair curly, but by then I was dating Eric and he made his views about his preferences very clear, so even though I hated the salon and how snooty the stylist always was towards me, I kept up my appointments. Well, that was until I’d walked in on him and Nicole.

  I was due to get it redone that weekend, as I hadn’t had the treatment for four months. But I’d cancelled and never rebooked. After that, I was so down in the dumps, the last thing on my mind was how straight my bloody hair was. Dragging myself out of bed every morning was already enough of a struggle. So now about a year had passed since I’d straightened my hair, which hadn’t really been an issue, because I didn’t have to go anywhere. Until now. Oh well. I supposed if I was going to give this challenge a go, I would have to get back into the whole hair smoothing routine again.

  I switched on the straighteners, pumped some serum on my palms and rubbed them into my curls. I tied the top of my hair into a bun and then started running the irons through the rest, section by section.

  God. I’d forgotten how annoying this is. After about twenty minutes, I’d managed to get the back of my hair smooth. I tied that into a loose ponytail, got to work on the sides, then finally unravelled the bun at the top, ready to complete the task. Definitely would have been much easier if I’d had a keratin blow-dry. Doing this manually was hard work.

  Just as I went to tackle the crown area, there was a loud bang and then the power and temperature lights on the irons went out. What the hell? I frantically pushed the buttons, trying to switch it on again. Nothing. I unplugged the irons from the mains and into another socket. That didn’t work either.

  No, no, no, no! This cannot be happening! Please don’t break on me now.

  I glared at myself in the mirror. My hair was smooth at the sides and the back and like a big bird’s nest on the top. I looked like someone in the eighties wearing a crazy mullet. How could I go to the event with this mop?

  Oh God.

  If I’d started at the front, it wouldn’t look so bad. Then I could have pulled the smooth hair over the frizzy bits. But like this, it just looked ridiculous.

  Disaster.

  I checked my watch. I’d already spent almost an hour doing my hair, and I now had just over sixty minutes to get dressed, try and do my make-up and get into central London. Surely this was a sign. Maybe the universe was telling me not to go.

  I plonked myself down on the bed. It would be so easy just to lay here all night and watch Netflix or log on to Instagram. But was that really how I wanted to live my life?

  No.

  I couldn’t let a bad hair day stop me from trying.

  I jumped up and went back to the wardrobe. Still had no idea what to wear. Everything looked so dreary and too small. I probably wouldn’t fit into any of this stuff now anyway. I was always so conscious of Eric teasing me about the size of my bum that I was constantly dieting. So after months of eating what I wanted and doing very little exercise, I was even curvier than I had been when I was with him.

  Sod it. This was driving me insane. I didn’t have time for overthinking. If in doubt, wear jeans. At least I knew they’d fit me.

  I pulled a dark blue pair off the hanger, grabbed a smartish black jumper and put them on quickly. Next I swiped on some mascara, which was probably well past its use-by date, applied some clear lip balm, threw my nightmare hair up into a bun, stepped into some flat black shoes and then rushed out the door before I had time to change my mind and stay at home.

  I found the bar quite quickly. It was in the city, quite close to Liverpool Street station. My heart was beating so fast I thought it was going to fly out of my chest. I really, really didn’t want to do this. Every part of me wanted to turn and run for the hills.

  I took a deep breath and stared nervously through the glass windows. From what I could see, it looked fancy. Just like the kind of bar that Eric liked to go to. Probably all loud and imposing inside. But this time, I didn’t have Eric’s confidence and outgoing personality to hide behind. I was here. Alone. I had to walk into this scary-looking place all on my own. Without any of Eric’s friends to talk to. No familiar faces. Just cold strangers who probably wouldn’t be interested in anything I had to say.

  I can’t.

  Just as I turned to walk away, the door opened and two women who were leaving smiled at me as they left.

  Come on, Em, said a voice inside of me. You can do this. Maybe it won’t be so bad. Give it a go.

  I took another deep breath and stepped inside.

  I could see there were two levels. I looked around for signs to point me in the right direction, but there was nothing. I had no clue where to go.

  I spotted a woman in her early thirties who looked relatively friendly and approached her.

  ‘Excuse me, I’m here for the event. Do you know if it’s on this floor or down in the basement?’

  ‘It’s over there at the back,’ she said, pointing to the far end of the room. ‘More people should be coming soon.’

  ‘Okay, thanks,’ I replied.

  I glanced over. To the left were a few tables with people sitting down having one-to-one conversations. In the middle was a makeshift cloakroom with rails of coats and jackets, and to the right were larger clusters of people chatting away.

  At least I was in the right place, which was something. And if more people were coming, it was good that I’d turned up before it got too busy and I couldn’t hear what anyone was saying. Might not have been such bad timing after all.

  I stood in a corner near the bar. I supposed I should take a photo for Insta first. I’d been low on content for ages. People would think it looked good, and it would kill time, as I definitely wasn’t ready to try speaking to anyone yet…

  I took several snaps of the crowd, then scrolled through them, zooming in to select the one that I thought looked the best. Obviously there was no way I could take a selfie looking like this, and posting a photo of myself was always so nerve-wracking and time-consuming. I’d have to take dozens of photos, with different poses before I found any I remotely liked. Even then, I’d spend ages picking my appearance to pieces before running it through a face-tuning app. If it was a full-body shot, I’d make my bum and waist a bit smaller, my boobs a little bigger, my hair a bit shinier, my teeth whiter… I’d edit the image meticulously, adjusting the brightness and sharpness and using every filter I could to try and look half decent.

  It wasn’t because I was vain. Far from it. It was just to feel a bit better about myself. Every time I put my photo through one of the apps, I cringed. I never used to bother with all the retouching. When Eric first got me on to Instagram, I was naïve. I would just post the photos as they were. But then when he and the occasional stranger commented negatively on how I looked, I started to become anxious. Especially as I began to follow more people. Somehow everyone else always seemed prettier, slimmer, more glamorous and happier than me.

  No definitely not the night for a selfie…

  I selected a filter for the crowd shot and applied some different effects. Now for the caption. Even though I’d been using social media for years, I always found this bit difficult, but unlike in real-life conversations, at least I had time to think about it first and edit what to say as many times as I wanted without putting my foot in it. I needed to make it sound exciting. Maybe: Out on the town again. Or what about: Another night out on the town? Yeah, that made it sound like I’d been out a lot and wasn’t boring. Or I could say: Another night out on the town with friends so I didn’t sound like a loner. But then they’d expect to see photos of me with them. No. Keep it simple. I can just imply it with a hashtag instead.

  I checked the image and read over the caption again.

  Another night out on the town! #havingfun #drinkswithfriends #Londonnights #cocktails.

  Massive exaggeration, but as Eric used to say, it was all about putting forward the best version of myself. No one wanted to know I was he
re alone or that this was the first time I’d been out in months and that rather than having fun, I was actually contemplating going home two minutes after I’d arrived. No. This was the kind of thing people wanted to see.

  I looked at it once more before tapping the blue post button.

  There. Done. Now that I’d killed five minutes, it was time to face my fears and tackle the hard stuff…

  I exhaled and started walking towards the back, my heart pounding.

  I scanned everyone’s faces to try and gauge which of the groups seemed the least scary. The people at the tables are talking one to one, which might be easier, but they didn’t look very friendly or happy. They were scowling and frowning a lot, whereas the groups to the right seem more relaxed and upbeat.

  As I got closer to the groups, I saw that I was clearly underdressed. The guys were in suits and the women in tailored dresses. And here I was in jeans, flats and a jumper like I was going for a Saturday stroll. Gosh. I really needed some new clothes. I was so out of practise with this going out stuff, it wasn’t even funny.

  Well, I was here now. I had to try.

  I was going to do it. I was going to approach one of the standing groups.

  I tried to step forward. Then I froze.

  I tried again, but then turned back and started walking towards the exit.

  Come on. Come on. Come on.

  I can do this. I can. I counted down from five, took a deep breath and then went over to join them.

  They were mid-conversation, which was to be expected. Even though I had no idea what they were talking about, I started nodding and smiling, hoping to blend in and desperately prayed they’d mention something that I could comment on.

  After a minute or two had passed (which felt like it could have been two hours), various people from the group started to notice that I’d joined them and they began to smile awkwardly, as if they were trying to figure out who I was and why I’d gate-crashed their circle. Unlike me, they’d probably arrived at the event when it had started and had time to find out more about each other.