How to Find Your (First) Husband

by Rosie Blake

  ‘Swwweeeet,’ said Barney, grinning at me.

  The top deck was bursting with gorgeous people with tinkly laughs drinking cocktails and bottled beers. The men had open-necked shirts, the women coloured dresses and everyone had a tan. I felt relieved to be wearing my orange shift dress, flung into my suitcase in a last-moment panic all the way back in LA, and tried to stand up straight and ooze confidence. I pictured my mum urging me on with some kind of crazy mantra: ‘Feel the earth wanting to help you. Feel the celebrity in you wash through you and out of you and around you and…’

  ‘I’ll get us past security, Isobel, into the VIP bit okay? Back soon,’ Barney interrupted, waving back at me as he marched through the crowds with a purposeful stride.

  Barney did just that and I found myself ushered through to a large, low table outside. A white leather sofa was emptied of people and we sunk into it sharing a bottle of champagne. Deciding Barney might be my new best friend, I over-shared why I was there and he sat, mouth half-open, as I explained what I was doing in Malaysia.

  ‘That dude is going to be one amazed bloke,’ he said, toasting me with a flute. ‘You are my hero, Isobel, you’re like the personification of carpe diem.’

  ‘Yes I am,’ I agreed happily, glad my plan had so impressed him.

  ‘You’re a warrior in the Love War,’ he went on, ‘a soldier of the heart.’ He stood up and pumped his chest before turning back to me, his trilby cocked. ‘I’ll be back soon, warrior.’

  ‘Er, okay,’ I said, getting up to follow him and then loitering as I lost his hat in amongst the crowds of beautiful folk.

  Smiling nervously at strangers, I felt someone watching me and spun round to scan the enormous length of balcony above. I couldn’t make anyone out, well, there were a group of gorgeous women all wearing feathered white dresses like a gaggle of skinny swans and a photographer snapping at them as they posed but no one looking at me. Paranoid, I chimed in my head. Then realised, as a man nearby flinched, I might have said it out loud too.

  ‘Stalking me, eh?’ came a low chuckle. I whipped around to see Zeb from the aeroplane standing in front of me. In this tight space he seemed even taller than I remembered. He was wearing a black shirt tucked into black trousers, almost blending into the night apart from his startling blue eyes.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked, only just noticing the enormous camera round his neck as I finished.

  ‘Well that is a greeting, oh mysterious aeroplane buddy.’ He smirked and raised his camera towards me. ‘I’m working.’ So he had been the man taking pictures of the swan women.

  ‘Working.’

  ‘Yes I am, taking photos of guests at some VIP’s party.’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘I think he calls himself T Dog for real, for actual real,’ he said, making a face.

  ‘So you’re a photographer,’ I said.

  ‘And you’re clearly exceptionally bright,’ he laughed, holding his camera out. ‘What gave it away?’

  ‘Fine, fine, you’re hilarious,’ I said, rolling my eyes.

  ‘Look I’m sorry, I’ll be nice. I’m actually glad you’re here. I needed someone to talk to me about Disney classics and…I’m also completely mental about timing. I mean what time is it now and when should we have slept? Are we meant to be jetlagged because I feel fine?’

  ‘You are the one with the Disney fetish and I feel fine

  too but I think it’s morning in England so that is not surprising.’

  ‘We need breakfast then. I could kill someone for a croissant.’

  My eyes widened in surprise.

  ‘Sorry, bad turn of phrase when meeting a stranger – I am not some psycho who stabs people for porridge and

  things.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief.’

  ‘Unless I was starving and they were the last person alive and it was either them or me eating breakfast things.’

  ‘That’s understandable,’ I agreed, believing myself to be entirely capable of wrestling another human being to the floor if it meant I could eat more of that frozen yoghurt.

  ‘How long are you staying in Singapore for?’ Zeb asked.

  ‘Only a night, I’m going to Tioman Island tomorrow to um…see about some things.’ Carefully avoiding sharing my journey with more than one stranger, I internally high-fived myself for skirting the question. Next stop: Newsnight.

  ‘You definitely do like to see about things.’

  ‘Yes well…’

  ‘Tioman’s meant to be pretty stunning,’ mused Zeb. ‘Maybe it’ll…’

  My phone started ringing, cutting off whatever he was about to say. ‘Mel’ lit up the screen and I frowned at her name. ‘Sorry, I just need to take this,’ I explained, turning my back on Zeb to answer the call. Mel hadn’t phoned since Cornwall, maybe something was wrong.

  ‘All okay, lovely?’ I asked.

  There was nothing on the other end, no cheery hello or screech of greeting. We spoke to each other every day at home so it had been strange not swapping more news in the last week or so. ‘Mel?’ I said. The silence continued. ‘Mel, are you ignoring me?’ I asked, wondering when she would speak.

  Then something in the background confused me. ‘Ahhhhooooh.’

  ‘Mel? All okay? Are you there? I can’t…’

  ‘YES, YES, NO…’

  I held the phone out in front of me. That voice had sounded a lot lower than Mel.

  ‘Ahhhoooooh.’

  Oh god. As the noise was joined with another ‘NO, NO, YES, YESSSSS’, my mouth fell open and I blinked quickly. Was I hearing what I thought I was hearing?

  ‘Mel!’ I squealed and a few of the VIP guests glanced my way. ‘Mel!’ I hissed.

  ‘Ahhhhhoooh that’s it, right, yes, that’s…’

  I couldn’t find the red Cancel button quicker, pressing it three, four times to be sure it was off, that it was over. That this NIGHTMARE would end.

  Zeb was still standing in front of me, camera in both hands which were slowly lowered. Had he taken a photo of me?

  ‘What was that all about?’ he asked, his face serious, mouth in a thin line, forehead creased in worry.

  I felt a warmth spread through me that he cared, that he seemed to be concerned. Then I realised I had to answer him. ‘It was my best friend, she, um, wrong number,

  wasn’t, um…’

  Singapore really is a hot city. I flapped my hand in front of my face. ‘A drink, I think perhaps I could do with a drink and well…’

  Zeb had tilted his head to one side and was looking at me, a question on his lips.

  Before he could ask it, however, Barney had bustled over with two beer bottles coated with droplets. ‘I bring drinks, Goddess Nicola, DRINKS!’ he announced. I looked at him, assuming the beers in his hand were not his first.

  Gratefully accepting one of the bottles, I turned to introduce Zeb but he had disappeared into the crowds; all I could make out were the distant flashes of his camera. I felt a brief stab of disappointment and was then distracted by Barney wanting to clink bottles.

  Seizing me by my free arm, he practically dragged me across the dance floor. ‘Isobel, you have to check out the pool! It’s AMAZING, it spills over the edge.’

  About to ask more, we emerged on the other side of the bumping bodies and I felt my breath leave me. Ahead was a long infinity pool stretching across the length of the rooftop, lights in the walls casting blue shimmering trails in the water. Black-tied people were sitting around tables and stools, drinking. Beyond the pool, the Singapore buildings winked in the darkness, some office lights still left on; squares of yellow light dotted about the city.

  ‘It’s amazing!’ I gasped.

  ‘Totally,’ said Barney. ‘We basically HAVE to skinny-dip drunk tonight; it is like THE LAW in a place like this.’

  I giggled nervously and sipped at
my beer. ‘Er…’

  Barney was waving at someone on the terrace above him. It was one of the girls dressed like a swan. Now he was beckoning her. He turned to me, seized my arm again and shook it. ‘I think this might turn into the best night ever.’ You couldn’t help but be swept up in his excitement and I found myself agreeing that ‘strawpedoing’ my beer was an amazing idea. Then we ordered more.

  A few hours later and I was standing on a table swaying to the music, champagne in one hand, a straw in the other, a feather headdress lopsided over one eye, lipstick EVERYWHERE. I had lost my shoes, and Barney, hours ago but on the plus side I had made lots of new friends. Mostly because Barney had told them all about why I had come to Singapore and I’d been grilled about Andrew and I might have embellished somewhat and added some details. Two twins, with the shiniest brown hair I had ever seen in real life, over from Hong Kong for the weekend were desperate to confirm more.

  ‘So when you last saw him as a child he really promised that you would be together for eternity?’

  ‘Er, yes!’ I said, bouncing on the smooth leather of the curved booth we were drinking in. ‘He said he couldn’t imagine life without me.’

  Both twins tipped their heads to the side and ‘ahhed’.

  Were they twins, I suddenly panicked? Was I so drunk I was seeing double? Where was Barney?

  ‘Barney,’ I called. A flash went off on my right. ‘Zeb!’ I announced, grinning at him and tottering towards him. Zeb was holding something up in his hand.

  ‘My shooooes!’ I launched myself at him. I felt ear and beard.

  ‘I would have brought them over earlier if I knew you were that keen on them.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I mumbled, having found myself on the ground putting one of them on. I looked up at him, seeing a leg in front of me.

  ‘Your leg,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Literally nothing gets past you.’

  I frowned as I realised now that I had my shoes on, I might not be able to gracefully get myself back up into my booth in an elegant, lady-like sort of way. So I stayed on the floor.

  ‘Er, you okay down there, mad woman?’

  ‘Hmm.’ I looked up. Zeb’s head was MILES away. He was very tall.

  ‘Do you need help?’ he asked, holding out one hand.

  Then, before I could take it, I found myself being wrenched up under both arms and swept back into my seat.

  ‘Barney!’ I shouted in glee. ‘You’re back and I have shoes.’

  ‘Hooray,’ Barney cheered. ‘More champagne for good news!’

  ‘Hooray.’

  Dear diary,

  It was my first-ever trip to the skate park today and there were sooooo many people there all going in big circles on rollerskates. Some went really fast but I had to hold onto the side a lot and Mum helped me by holding onto my jumper on the back and only letting go when she was sure and would only grab me again when I wobbled. She only forgot once when she was calling to Lyndon’s mum about a book club they were having and then she said sorry because she felt bad that I had fallen down. It didn’t hurt very much but later she put one of the Disney plasters on and I chose Tigger because he is my favourite character. Andrew said it was brilliant as now that I rollerskate, we can meet together sometimes as he goes skateboarding there and we can play.

  I x

  Chapter 15

  I woke to heat. Having failed to close the curtains of my hotel room, I felt the smog of Singapore seeping between the cracks of the windows. I lay there, momentarily shell-shocked as, hungover and jet-lagged, I tried to remember what I was doing today. Something important. Lurching bolt upright, the room spinning in all its lilac horrific­ness, I remembered Tioman, and the flight that was booked – the daily flight, the only flight. Leaving in less than two hours.

  Pressing ‘0’ on the phone in the room repeatedly and staring at the receiver as I realised it wasn’t connected, I padded out onto the landing in my skimpy pyjama shorts and vest top, one arm wrapped protectively across my chest.

  ‘Taxi,’ I croaked as I finally made it to reception, the full horror of my appearance clear in the large mirror hanging above the hooks for keys. Eyeliner tracks dribbling down my cheeks, deep-pink lipstick smudged on the side of my mouth, hair like a wild, angry bird, ‘Taxi, airport, ten minutes,’ I said, shuffling away as if I were fifty years

  older.

  Clawing up my belongings and splashing under my armpits, I would have to shower when I got there. I limped out of the hotel, wincing as the heat started cooking me, bringing me out in a sweat so that the taxi driver must have assumed I had run from somewhere far, far away.

  Sunhat on my head, massive sunglasses shielding the worst of it, I sunk down into the leather trying to keep my eyes closed so that my stomach would stop churning. I would feel better after food. Gah, food. Don’t think about food. I just needed to get on the plane and get there and sleep and drink water.

  Rolling my suitcase into the departure lounge, I jostled with hundreds of other travellers. The whole concourse smelled of chip fat and hot dogs and I was overwhelmed with cravings for salt, meat, bread. Barging my way to the front of McDonald’s, with no shame at all, I ordered a meal, happy to discover that you could ‘Go Large’ anywhere in the world and took a bite of my hamburger, pickle, mustard and ketchup meeting in a magical explosion on my tongue. I moved, unseeing, to Check-in, making ‘nommy’ noises as I stuffed my face.

  ‘You are a delight,’ came a familiar voice.

  How could this be? Was I in a dream?

  ‘Zeb,’ I said, wiping fruitlessly at my mouth.

  ‘You missed a bit,’ he said, pointing to my cheek.

  Gah.

  ‘Thanks,’ I smiled weakly, my streaked napkin making little progress. ‘Why are you here?’

  Why is he here? How is this possible? Did he follow me?

  ‘I’m going to Tioman,’ he said. holding up his camera.

  ‘But…how…’

  ‘Well I was looking to photograph some animals for National Geographic and it seems sort of ideal, and then last night when you were showing me pictures of it on your phone from the Internet I reckoned I had to see it for myself.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, not sure I was allowed to point and say LIAR, you are FOLLOWING ME, YOU ESPRESSO-HAIRED STALKER. I narrowed my eyes instead. What pictures on my phone? I hadn’t shown him any…I checked my phone. There were loads of pictures of an island, a long pier, white sand, a selfie with, I peered closer, a man in a trilby. ‘Barney,’ I croaked. I scrolled through them faster, gah, champagne, beer, selfies with a girl dressed like an anorexic swan, Barney, more beer, argh, loads of swan girls, Zeb and me; it looked dark, outside, our faces were joined together, grinning unashamedly into the lens. Gah. I dropped the phone on the airport floor and the back came off, spinning to a standstill as I dived down to collect it.

  When I got up, Zeb had gone, but I knew this was the only flight; there was no real escape. I slid my passport over to a shiny-faced woman with blue eye shadow and finished the last of my chips.

  Waddling into Gate 38 loaded down with snacks after an impulsive airport buying spree, I stared in slack-jawed horror through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  ‘We’re flying in that?’ I said to nobody, stuttering over the sentence as I took in the tin-box plane, the tiny wheels, the little wings. Where was the jet? Where was the steel with reinforced steel holding everything in place? This plane was basically made of Lego.

  Before I could protest, I was following the rest of the passengers out into a bus and over the tarmac towards the plane. It seemed smaller the closer we got, if that was possible. Zeb was nose-deep in a book, one hand holding a leather strap from the ceiling, and I was pleased that at least he hadn’t seen my little freak-out.

  Getting out of the bus and gulping, I followed a pair of legs all the way to the stairs and then up
them, to the door at the back, well the only door of the plane. A polished, tanned hostess greeted me with a toothy smile, her teal uniform impeccable. I wanted to grab her by the collar and scream, ‘HAVE YOU SEEN THIS PLANE, IT’S SO SMALL! SURELY THIS IS A JOKE?’ But I just returned her smile – it was hard not to it was so massive and toothy – and moved on through, finding my seat towards the back and shifting myself in, staying next to the aisle, glad not to be near the wing to see it was as long as me.

  Zeb leaned over to me and grinned on his way past. ‘Have a good flight.’

  ‘Seriously, why are you coming?’ I blurted in a rush, not sure what possessed me.

  ‘You asked me to, Iz,’ he said, laughing.

  ‘I did?’

  ‘Yes, remember? In the taxi on the—’

  ‘What taxi?’ I asked, brow crinkled, cutting him off.

  ‘The taxi back to your hotel, oh…’ he said, seeing my face. ‘You have no memory of it,’ he said, a hand clapped over his mouth. ‘Wow, what a wasted chivalrous gesture.’

  ‘You dropped me back there,’ I said, memory dawning. ‘You dropped me there and then went on to your hotel,’ I said, recalling him leaving the night before. A large woman was standing rolling her eyes behind him, gesturing to the overhead locker.

  ‘I thought someone should.’ He shrugged and moved through to the front of the plane, leaving me gaping after him, wondering why I hadn’t said thank you.

  Zeb had dropped me back to my hotel. I felt hot and fidgety in my seat. I was in his debt; pieces of the evening were returning. I had clearly been worse for wear. I should get up and say thank you but I was worried that a) it would be horribly embarrassing and b) me crossing the aisle might tip the weight balance out of whack on this tin and we would all plummet into the ocean. So I remained seated, thighs stuck to my chair, looking at the back of his head. One tanned hand on the arm rest, full of a drink that no one else on the flight appeared to have been offered. Now the air hostess was whispering so close to him I thought she might fall into his lap. I snapped the pencil I was holding. Oh, damn, I was never going to finish this Sudoku anyway. I had just filled in my third ‘7’ in a square. HOW DO THESE WORK?