Just My Type: The brand-new HILARIOUS novel from the author of THE YEAR OF SAYING YES

by Hannah Doyle

  ‘Yes that’s fine,’ she says briskly, swathes of black floating past me.

  As the front door shuts, I slide across the tiled floor in my socks in celebration. So, sure, my boss is a deranged sack of shit. But mostly there’s a party going on in my head and absolutely everyone brought cocktails. Because HI HELLO THERE, I’ve had my leave request for Denmark granted!

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  After we have plonked ourselves down on the grass I pull bagels, a tub of mini chocolate nests and a bottle of lemonade out of my backpack.

  ‘You made my favourite pastrami bagels!’ cheers Mila. ‘What’s this in aid of?’

  ‘I wanted to treat you and this was as far as my budget could go.’ I hand her a napkin.

  ‘You’re adorable. You really didn’t have to.’

  ‘I really did. Mila, I owe you a huge apology. I’ve been so wrapped up in myself recently that I haven’t stopped to ask you how you are.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ she shakes her head. ‘You’re always asking.’

  ‘Not properly. You either give me a short answer or turn the tables back to me and I’ve just been letting it happen.’

  She squeezes my hand. ‘Jas, you’ve got loads going on at the moment and part of that is because of me. I basically pushed you into following that Seven Dates article so I’ve been conscious that I need to check in with you ever since.’

  ‘You weren’t always this pushy,’ I smile.

  ‘I know. When we first met, you and Holly were so unbelievably tight, so confident and sure of yourselves. I’d listen to you talking about going to America for uni and feel like I had more belief in myself, just from absorbing your energy.’

  I look at my flipflops, nestled in the grass. ‘It feels like you’re talking about a different person.’

  ‘With all the shit that went with Holly leaving, things obviously changed for you and I wanted to support you like you’d supported me at school. I’d never have had the confidence to apply for law school or to go peroxide blonde if it hadn’t been for you. I wanted to do the same for you when you needed it most’

  My throat feels tight. ‘It’s been years since I was that person, Mils. Now I look at you and I’m so incredibly proud. Kick-ass career, gorgeous boyfriend. . .’

  ‘Hair no longer a regrettable shade of yellow,’ she laughs.

  I take a bite of bagel. ‘I got used to leaning on you too much. I guess that every time I look at you, I see all this wonderful stuff that I’d like for myself too. Only, I’ve forgotten to properly check in. Is everything okay?’

  Mila sighs. ‘You’ve been talking to your mum, huh? There’s nothing catastrophic going on, I just. . . Since me and Mike have moved in it’s like my future is already written. Marriage, maybe kids. Sometimes I panic that I’m too young to have life mapped out. I see your amazing adventures and I’d give anything to be in your shoes. I love hearing about your dating escapades and it makes me so blooming happy to know that my best friend is basking in some male attention. There’s nothing like the feeling of first getting to know someone, with the whole world your oyster. That potential is intoxicating and, I know it sounds awful, but sometimes I miss it. . .’

  I watch as Mila fiddles with her napkin, silently kicking myself that I haven’t stopped to see things from her point of view.

  ‘That’s why I love to hear your stories. I’m living vicariously through you. Babe, Mike’s idea of a date night is to grab a ready meal from the shit supermarket near the tube on his way home from work. I love him to the moon and back but dear god, things are different when you’re in a long-term relationship. Why can’t he take a two-minute detour to the nice supermarket? Why can’t he stack the dishwasher right? Why does he leave his towel on the floor when there’s a perfectly good towel rail IN THE BATHROOM?’

  ‘Mils, it’s totally understandable now that I think of it and I’ve been an idiot for not asking you sooner. You shouldn’t feel bad about feeling this way.’

  ‘Really? Because I even find myself getting stressed out about. . . the fridge. Do you know that Mike still hasn’t got to grips with my fridge system? Meats on the bottom shelf. Cheeses and dairy on the next. Fruits on the top. It’s just common sense! The other day I came home to find a pork chop on the top shelf and I lost my shit.’

  ‘Want me to have him killed for you?’ I look menacing. ‘Seriously though, I remember the first time you introduced me to Mike and I gave him such a grilling. He literally got gold stars. I have never seen a man more smitten with you, Mils. You’ve taken a huge step together and it is bound to feel strange for a while, but you will be okay. I’m just so sorry that I let you down. It makes me really sad to think that you had to talk to my mum about your problems because you couldn’t do that with me.’

  ‘Not couldn’t, just didn’t want to. You haven’t let me down Jas, I’ve just been trying to give you the space to do your thing for a bit.’

  ‘You’re being unbelievably sweet about this,’ I say. ‘But please know that from now on, I want to be involved. I’m not going to let you fob me off anymore and you’re ruddy well going to tell me what’s going on. Because that’s what friendship is about, right? I’m so grateful to you for encouraging me into this dating mission but I will not let that be to the detriment of our friendship, okay?’

  She nods and pops a chocolate nest in her gob.

  My IT guy is the best. I’d been in such a panic about everything that needs to get done before this trip that I’ve written a list, starting with something I’d already done, just so I could make myself feel better. It goes like this. . .

  1. Start a to do list ✓☐

  2. Pack clothes

  3. Get portfolio on tablet

  4. Website up to date?

  5. PLAN JUMP SHOOT!!!!!!!

  6. Get Violet ahead of schedule

  Rather than listen to me bang on about my workload down the phone (his words) Arnie came over to help out. It’s been a long, tense couple of weeks what with Violet being a shit boss and me being a shit friend to Mila, so I’m looking forward to a week away. And now Arnie the great big hipster is here, I really feel like my working holiday has begun. Because not only is he working on numbers three and four from my list, he also bought food with him like some kind of beardy angel. He was muttering about Pot Noodles and indigestion when he knocked on my front door and handed me a bag filled with boxes of sushi and two pots of dumpling soup. I can’t tell you how good it feels to be eating something so fresh and delicious after weeks on the freezer toast and beans diet.

  ‘I’d like a variety of my photography work on my iPad in a kind of slide-show form. Just on the off-chance that I get to do some networking while I’m in Copenhagen,’ I say, relishing those last few words. It’s ridiculous when I think about it. I’m going to Copenhagen! Under my own steam!! For my own work!!!

  ‘You could always. . . show people your website?’ Arnie raises an amused eyebrow at me.

  ‘Yes, I’m not that dim. But none of my Violet photos are on there and I was just hoping to have a mix of everything.’

  ‘Okay, got it,’ Arnie says, grabbing my tablet.

  I watch him as he works, quick as lightning. Every now and then he stops to slurp some broth, which obviously ends up in his beard, or to adjust his outfit, which today involves a neckerchief and some braces. Scoff.

  ‘Arnie?’

  ‘Mmm hmm?’

  ‘Would you mind awfully if I painted my nails?’

  ‘Why would I mind?’ He looks up at me from my laptop where he’s now busy updating the privacy policy on my website.

  ‘Because you’ve come over here to do more stuff for me, for free, and you bought food? You’re being so kind and I don’t want you to think I’m taking the piss.’ Also doing your toenails in front of a bloke is definitely not sexy, I don’t add. Though we’re so far from being sexy together these days that Arnie wouldn’t even notice if I started buffing my dry heels. Which reminds me!

  ‘I don’t t
hink you’re taking the piss. We’re mates, we help each other out.’

  ‘It seems like a bit of a one-way street though?’

  Arnie shrugs. ‘When I need some kick-ass pictures taking, you’ll be the first person I call.’

  ‘You think my photos are kick-ass?’

  ‘Look at this stuff,’ he says, scrolling through the latest pictures I’ve put on my site. ‘It’s awesome, Jas. You should be proud of yourself.’

  Belly full of dumplings, portfolio and website looking slicker than ever, hell, even my toes are in a great place right now. I give them a little wiggle, watching as the mint green varnish glistens back at me. In my hand is a glass of squash and next to me on the sofa, arms folded behind his head, is Arnie.

  Turns out that Arnie has a thing for crap TV. When I admitted that I was planning to watch the new series of Totally Toffs tonight, I fully expected him to buckle up his ironic Jesus sandals and race off into the night. Instead he told me that he secretly loves watching shit telly, causing me to drop my nail polish brush in shock. It landed on the horrid, threadbare carpet in my living room, which is another thing my landlady will bust my balls for when I finally earn enough money to move out. (So, probably never.)

  ‘Are you sure you haven’t got other plans for tonight? Beekeeping? Curing your own hams? Maybe starting a cross-stitch revival?’

  ‘For a woman who’s cashed in a lot of favours you sure do like to take the piss.’

  I pat him on the hand. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t help it.’

  ‘I know,’ he replies, ruffling my hair. ‘I did actually have something on tonight but I’m not needed anymore.’

  ‘Ooh what was it?’ I ask, willing myself to stop right there. But apparently I was born with a must-tease-Arnie gene. ‘Beer-brewing masterclass? Making a pine-needle collage? Urban fishing?’

  ‘Actually no. I volunteer at a soup kitchen but they’ve already got a full team tonight.’

  Oh. He’s so worthy and kind.

  ‘Well that shut you up, didn’t it?’ Arnie roars.

  ‘I got a bit upset.’ Such was Violet’s description of her reaction when Allegra told her that Chip had been cheating. Only, the scenes unfolding on the TV screen right now tell a very different story. Arnie can’t watch. He’s holding a cushion up to his face and every time I turn to look at him, all I can see is cushion with a big red beard sticking out from underneath and a big red topknot poking out from above.

  Violet’s on a rampage around the wedding marquee. After Allegra told her in a loud voice that Chip was cheating Violet grabbed the nearest thing to her and pulled, and pulled. That thing was one end of a table runner, so suddenly all of the stylish table decorations were on a conveyor belt, destination: Doom. Vases of stunning flowers. Tiny tea lights. Favours. Cutlery. A cheeseboard. Wine glasses. Everything came crashing to the floor in between Violet and Allegra. The wedding party stopped dancing to stare. The bride, another Totally Toffs castmate, started screaming: ‘NOT THE WEDGWOOD!!!’ Only the groom, too pissed to care, carried on dancing.

  ‘Shit, here comes Chip,’ says Arnie from behind his cushion. ‘I can’t watch!’

  Chip comes over doing an admirable impression of a man who does not know what is going on. He asks if everything’s okay. Violet. . . oh hell. . . Violet. . .

  ‘Put down the candelabra!’ shrieks Arnie. I giggle, because even though this is awful for my boss, it feels pretty cosy to be on my sofa with him right now.

  On screen, Violet has clutched her hand around the last remaining item left on her table. A gold candelabra with (thankfully unlit) candles in it. Thanks to a very strict reformer pilates schedule, Violet has the guns of a Victoria’s Secret model and even she is struggling to pick it up. She’s also got that blind determination look on her face.

  ‘Run Chip RUNNN!’ shouts Arnie.

  Chip does not run. Allegra inches her seat back. I do not like Allegra. Chip asks if everything’s okay, as if the mountain of wedding crap at his feet weren’t there. Violet stands up, lets the candelabra fall to the floor with a thud and reaches for her almost full glass of champagne. Then she sloshes it in Chip’s face. I thought this kind of thing only happened on reality TV shows and, it turns out, I was right. Chip and his wet tux look flabbergasted. Violet shouts something about everyone being ‘betches’ and yells, ‘I didn’t even like your fucking tighty whities anyway.’ And with that, the credits roll.

  ‘That was sooooo good,’ Arnie roars.

  ‘So awful! Violet told me that she and Chip decided to consciously uncouple after a heart to heart. . .’

  ‘Conscious uncoupling? More like she wanted to knock Chip unconscious! And that tighty whitey revelation was too much. I did not know that they were still a thing. I’m almost excited to get into work tomorrow so I can talk to everybody about that.’

  ‘Really Arnie, you are full of surprises.’

  Fact: Copenhagen is populated exclusively by models. The bus driver who drove us from the airport into town looks like he should be trotting down a catwalk with a man bag and some statement trousers on. I’ve had my nose pressed against the window for the entire journey, marvelling at the parade of flawless people walking or bike-riding their way through the city. One woman has a gingham midi skirt on with a simple pink tee tucked in, a pair of dusky pink trainers falling just below her razor-sharp ankles as she peddles her battered old bike. She looks like heaven.

  I flick through my new travel book in a sudden panic at Copenhagen’s perfect population. Do you have to be beautiful and stylish to visit? I’m in. . . jeans and a t-shirt. And I’m not beautiful. I’m maybe passable on the days I remember to moisturise my face before bed. Will they even let me into the hotel without the perfect pout and flawless skin? My long legs are literally my only amo right now, if you squint a bit to look past my ample ass.

  Thankfully I am allowed past the front door and I feel a huge buzz of pride as I check in.

  Don’t mind me, just off to a breakfast meeting. In Copenhagen. You know, for work. God, sorry, I had no idea I’d be this annoying in Denmark. Forgive me? I’m just so completely excited to have this opportunity and it feels incredibly overwhelming, in a hell yeah kind of way, to finally be achieving some personal work goals. Even if nothing comes from this and I spend my rest of days taking pictures of Violet’s butt getting a spray tan, I will always be able to look back on this trip with proper pride.

  This morning I’m meeting up with the guys behind Jump to talk through their hopes for the shoot. I’ve got a whole can of whoopass ideas to bring to the table, and I think we can all tell how excited I am because of that busy metaphor right there. I need to calm down. I managed to limit myself to one coffee at the hotel this morning but even that seems to have tipped me right over the edge.

  Just, be cool, Jasmine.

  I check my call sheet for the hundredth time to make sure I’m at the right place, and stride into the café. It’s all spartan tables with jam jar vases in here, huge copper lanterns dangling from the ceiling. The smell of coffee hits me as I walk in, spotting a small group of people gathered around a table in the corner. EEP. Here goes.

  ‘Hi, Mads?’ I say to a fair-haired dish of a man.

  ‘Yes, that’s me. You must be Jasmine. Please, grab a seat.’

  I introduce myself to the rest of the team, Tula and Heidi, and marvel at their beautiful jumpers from the brand’s latest collection. I’m wearing. . . nah, I don’t even need to tell you. Tula orders breakfast for us all after insisting that I absolutely have to try everything on the menu. I already love Tula. The menu seems to consist of lots of brød, which I’m hoping is bread, and lots of kaffe, which I’ve also taken a stab at translating. Lo and behold, our table is soon filled to the brim with things on bread and sweet, sweet coffee. I take a nervous sip and realise that so far, all I’ve managed is to grin manically at everyone here. But it’s not long before we are having a discussion about plans for the shoot, style concepts, and how their Danish fashion philosop
hy can be translated to the British market. I was getting a bit flummoxed over the last bit, because I’m here for the photos and not for the fashion advice, when Becky With The Clipboard bustles in.

  ‘Becky? It’s so nice to see you!’ I leap up.

  ‘You too babes!’ She beams, throwing a couple of air kisses my way. I’m never quite sure how to deal with air kisses. Just offer some air cheek? Make a little ‘mwah’ sound back? I shirk both of these choices and pull her in for a snuggle.

  ‘I didn’t realise you’d be coming,’ I finally say.

  ‘What, and miss your chance to shine? I knew you were good enough to do this and I’m secretly so relieved that Mads decided against the other photographer we found. So unprofesh. Anyway, now we get to work together on this fabulous brand!’ She says fabulous in a way that Patsy and Eddie would totally approve of.

  When Becky suggested having a champagne, I thought she meant a glass. Turns out she meant a bottle. Each. Thankfully, my professional brain kicked in before I let her lead me right up the garden path and I sashayed home after a not-too-terrible three glasses of fizz. I was so giddy to see a friendly face yesterday but I also had to get a good sleep last night. So after three drinks in a bar and a late evening dash around some Danish shops Becky insisted I had to see, I tottered back to my hotel room with many drunk purchases in my hands. And boy, did I sleep well. Sometimes if there’s something on my mind, I wake up lots and can’t seem to get my brain to switch off. And even though today is the biggest deal of my career so far (gulp), I’m actually feeling calm about it. I’m prepared. I slept like a slightly boozy baby.

  Fact number two about the Danish: they give good architecture. Charlie would be losing his nut right now and I make a mental note to send him some snaps when I can. The shoot location for day one is a block of flats on the outskirts of Copenhagen. I’ll admit that when I first read the call-sheet, I was like, ‘huh?’ But a bit of research revealed that these flats are bonkers. Pulling up, it actually took me a while to realise that I was staring at houses, not a hilltop. There are grass rooves everywhere and a deep, earthy wood frames the building, which is shaped like a pyramid. My fingers are itching to grab my camera before we’ve even got out of the minivan that bought us all out here. And this time I’m not desperate to get away from the shoot and take some photos for myself, like I have been on jobs with Violet. I’m desperate to get to the shoot and do an absolutely killer job.