Rowan didn’t ask about the date. But he did send flowers, and suggest a cinema night, and offer to cook dinner – ‘You come to me, let me spoil you’ – in the days after I’d seen Fred. She and I were texting every day and it felt disloyal – but there was an unceasing sting of excitement in it all as well. I decided, then, that when I went to Rowan’s for dinner I would ask the unthinkable questions: What are we doing, and how long is it really going to last? I appreciated his new efforts, but I was less appreciative of the fact that he was only making them because he thought I was out there, dating – in short, doing exactly what he was doing (with a woman who I knew would turn his head, which made it all the worse, or better, or both).
After our cinema date he walked me home just like Fred had, except he’d held my hand and kissed me hard and asked whether he could come up. My phone had vibrated with three new messages in my back pocket, though, and they probably weren’t from the girls. ‘I’ve got an early start,’ I’d said. But we made plans to have dinner the following Monday. And that’s when I’ll talk to him, I thought. That’s when we’ll work this all out …
*
The city was always quiet on a Monday. So, instead of ordering an Uber, I walked the twenty-minute stretch from my front door to Rowan’s. The boys would probably be out, I thought, given this invitation. We’d have the place to ourselves to talk and maybe – just maybe – I’d want to stay over.
The buzzer for Rowan’s building was broken, again, so I walked straight in and pressed the button for the lift. The mirror at the back of the space gave me a final opportunity to look myself over. My hair didn’t quite have the same lift as it had when I’d left. But city air will do that to you. Still, I smiled at my reflection and told myself for the umpteenth time that I was making an effort. I’d turned it into a mantra as though reminding myself of something. But what? I sighed and stepped out into the hallway, rushed along with the clicks of my heels for company, and tried to actively avoid thinking that godforsaken phrase. At least you’re making an …
I pounded the front door with more force than it required. And Ian answered.
‘Edi.’ He seemed surprised. ‘How’s it going?’
I mirrored his shock, though. ‘Ian, you’re … here.’
He laughed. ‘I live here.’
‘Who is it?’ someone shouted. But it wasn’t Rowan’s voice.
‘It’s Edi,’ Ian answered, and seconds later Monty appeared behind him.
‘Edi, you’re—’
‘Here,’ I finished, and tried to laugh. ‘I think we all know I’m here now.’
Monty laughed, too, but it sounded nervous. ‘How come you’re here?’ They both shifted awkwardly. Their figures were too large for the doorway, though, and with each shift they knocked together slightly. ‘Rowan isn’t here,’ Monty finally said. ‘He’s out.’
‘He’s …’ I exhaled hard. There was a sicky feeling in my throat. ‘It’s our date night,’ I said, and I saw their shared look of sincere panic. The realisation hit me like an early period; the shock of the stomach cramps and the horror of not having a liner, of having to walk home with your innards on your outwards and … ‘Oh.’
‘Edi …’ Monty nudged Ian to one side. ‘Fuck it, come in, would you?’ He gestured me in through their doorway. ‘We’re making chilli, okay? Would chilli be okay? Just come in.’ Monty ushered me into the living room with Ian not far behind us. When I’d landed in the centre of the sofa, Monty spoke over my head. ‘She likes wine. Would you see if we’ve got any?’
‘Should I text Rowan?’
‘No,’ Monty snapped. ‘Actually yeah, yeah text Rowan and tell him he’s a prick.’ He landed next to me on the sofa and put his hand out flat, as though it were an offering. I rested my palm on top of his and he closed his fingers around mine. ‘Edi, I’m sorry. He said he was going out for dinner, some girl or another. We just assumed—’ Ian coughed sharply from behind us. ‘Okay, whatever, I just assumed that you knew.’
I shook my head. ‘We made plans. He told me … He was going to cook dinner.’
Ian appeared with a glass of white wine. ‘It might taste like piss. But it’ll do the trick.’ I accepted the offering and laughed. ‘And we’ve got chilli. Like, fucking loads of the stuff.’
My nose prickled with incoming tears, but I tried to swallow them back and laugh instead. ‘As long as it’s better than Rowan’s cooking.’
Monty snorted. ‘Roadkill is better than that. Ian, get back in the kitchen and make this woman a real meal.’ Ian followed orders without another word. I realised, then, that even though I’d accepted the wine glass with one hand, I was still holding Monty’s hand with the other. I went to pull away and he squeezed. ‘Hey, this is okay.’ Another squeeze. ‘Do you want to talk about how much of an arsehole he is?’
‘That depends.’ I took a generous swig. ‘Are you going to tell me how many women there are?’ He looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t flat-out refuse. ‘I get it, there’s a bro code and all—’
‘Oh, Edi, fuck the bro code. I know what I’m about to say is going to land him in shit.’
‘So there are lots of women?’ I shook my head. ‘Maybe not lots, but more than he’s told me.’
‘Given that he didn’t tell you about the one tonight,’ Ian answered as he reappeared with a bowl in each hand, ‘I’d wager that yes, definitely more than he’s told you.’ He handed a bowl to each of us, then rushed back to the kitchen to get his own. ‘I’ll make a deal that Monty won’t make, because Monty doesn’t want to be the bad guy. I, on the other, don’t mind being an accidental arsehole.’ He paused to spoon chilli into his mouth. ‘I’m going to tell you what Rowan has told us, about the women he’s seeing, and about your … situation, let’s say? I’m only going to tell you stuff that he’s told us.’
I didn’t catch his meaning. But Monty did. ‘Ian and I have no reason to believe Rowan might have lied to you. It’s not dishonourable to relay things we’ve been told.’
Ian tapped my knee, then, to get my attention back on him. ‘Take a deep breath, okay?’
Monty made panting noises around his first mouthful of hot chilli. But he made a college effort at trying to talk, still, even if it did make him look like a nervous chimp. ‘I genuinely have no idea how many women Rowan has slept with, nor how many he plans to sleep with before this is over. But I have seen an eye-watering number of women join us on nights out. Your turn.’ He clicked his fingers at Ian.
‘Wait.’ I stopped the big reveal when something bigger caught my eye. There was something tucked out of sight behind the armchair in the corner of the room. ‘What is that?’ I didn’t wait for them to answer. Instead, I crossed the space and ferreted about to retrieve what looked like a whiteboard that had been drawn up as a scoreboard – with Rowan’s handwriting on it. There was a shaky green line that ran down the middle, creating two columns. At the top of the left-hand column it read ‘Player One’ and on the right—
‘It isn’t what it looks like,’ Ian said.
‘Good.’ I turned back around to face them, still with the scoreboard in hand. ‘Because it looks like a tally chart for something and I’d hate to think it had anything to do with what we’re talking about right now.’
‘Edi, I—’
‘Monty, don’t,’ I stopped him. ‘I don’t think I’m ready for this part of the truth yet.’ I looked at the board again. Player Two, whoever they were, had clusters of five tallies collected together; four lines crossed out with a fifth across the middle. I scanned the column but I didn’t have the stomach to count them up. Meanwhile, Player One, whoever they were, looked to be lagging with hardly a cluster. I didn’t look at either of the boys for a second longer, but I did ask, ‘Can you just tell me, is one of these Rowan?’ They stayed silent so I looked up in the end, just in time to see them swapping panicked expressions. ‘I’m not going to ask which one of them is him.’ I tried to laugh. ‘I think that’s the thing I’m not ready for. But, now I’ve seen it, I think it’s important that I—’
‘One of them is Rowan,’ Monty announced and Ian slapped his arm. ‘What?’
‘The code.’
‘Fuck the code. She’s right in front of us!’
‘I thought you didn’t mind being an arsehole,’ I said, aimed at Ian.
He laughed, then, and rubbed at the back of his neck. I recognised the gesture from Rowan. ‘I mean, it’s one thing being an accidental arsehole.’
I huffed. ‘You people and your omissions.’ I landed heavy, then, on the very armchair that had been shielding the board, which I let fall to the floor. My forehead felt as though I’d been on a bender with Betty and I thought how preferable that would be to this. ‘Okay, you’ve lost track of the women coming on nights out with you. Rowan is either excelling at the sport of shagging around or—’ I gestured to the board ‘—well, seriously falling behind. What else is there? I’m not asking anything. You’re just telling me what you’ve assumed I know.’
‘Fair is fair.’ Ian tried to sound light. ‘But what Monty knows is what I know. I haven’t been keeping track of the women he’s dating, getting to know, whatever he’s calling it. He keeps saying he’s in no hurry, that he’s got plenty of time. But he’s like a dog with two dicks, Edi, it’s got to be said.’
He’s in no hurry, I parroted back to myself. ‘Wait, he’s got plenty of time?’ They swapped looks, then, as though my question had reignited their panic. ‘How long has he said we’re doing this for?’
‘I think we need to draw a—’
‘No, Monty, tell me how long.’