Not That Easy. Radhika Sanghani
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in East London and can’t invite me over?’
‘I’ve been here for four days, Lara. We only got a sofa yesterday. The fridge arrived this morning.’
‘I can’t believe you think I’m so high-maintenance I need a fridge and sofa to come over.’
I laughed. ‘Shut up, you know you’re welcome whenever. In fact … do you want to come over this weekend? I miss you.’
‘I miss you too. Oxford is so boring right now. My feminism society is obsessed with bringing down the Bulling-don Club and I’m so over it.’
‘You do realise I have no idea what you’re talking about? But if you’re bored, please get the train down this weekend. We can go out with the hipsters in Hackney.’
‘By hipsters do you mean your flatmates?’
I snorted. ‘They wish. Actually, I guess Ollie is naturally pretty cool. He’s been wearing skinnies since before they were in. But Will is definitely a wannabe.’
‘Mmm, it does feel like he tries quite hard to fit in,’ she agreed. ‘Last time we all went out together, he got really drunk and admitted he consciously tried to get rid of his Leeds accent. He accidentally used the word “brew” and almost had a breakdown.’
‘Shit. I had no idea he cared that much. It explains why he loves you though—he probably thinks you’re really posh because of the Oxford thing.’
She groaned. ‘People really need to get over those stereotypes. Half the students here are as posh as I am, as in total plebs. Anyway, how are you?’
‘Meh. Spent the whole morning tech-harming.’
‘Ellie. I’ve told you to delete Instagram off your phone. Did you do it with Facebook as well?’
‘May-be.’
She sighed. ‘We’ve been through this before. None of them actually have perfect lives. If we Instagrammed the coolest things we did, we’d have perfect lives too.’
‘I know, I know. But some of them are just like golden people. I feel like the pale people watching them on stage.’
‘Stop making Tender is the Night references. You know what happens to Dick Diver at the end. And look at The Great Gatsby. Do you want someone to shoot you in your swimming pool?’
‘At least Gatsby had a swimming pool. I’ll never even get a mortgage at this rate.’
‘Join the club,’ she said. ‘We’re the real lost generation. Screw the 1920s modernist kids—it’s totally us.’
I nodded wisely until I remembered she couldn’t see me. ‘Totally. The generation of unpaid interns.’
‘How is that going?’ she asked sympathetically.
‘Maxine is still a bitch. I’ve spent the past month just getting her NFLs and she still won’t let me write anything even though that’s why she hired me—because she allegedly liked my vlog and uni columns. Today she made me work till 7 p.m. I’m so tired.’
‘NFLs?’
‘No-fat lattes.’
‘That is so stereotypical. Who does she think she is—Anna Wintour?’
‘You say that, but apparently the London Mag makes more money than Vogue. So Maxine has decided she is the Devil Who Wears Whistles and is hell-bent on ruining my unpaid existence.’
‘Well, when I’m a high-flying lawyer who doesn’t have time to do anything, I’ll let you live in my penthouse and fetch me NFLs. I’ll even pay you.’
‘Fuck off, Lara.’
‘Love you too. Anyway, so this weekend …’
‘Yep, you’re coming over?’
‘I can do on Saturday. But if you’re free on Friday night, some of the girls from school are getting together for a dinner.’
‘Oh my God, no. Lara, you’re the one that’s still friends with them, not me. I haven’t spoken to them for years and I’m absolutely fine with that. We don’t need to change that.’
‘Ellie, stop being so dramatic. These are the girls we grew up with, not mass murderers. I think it will be fun for you to come. You know, mix it up a bit.’
‘But their lives are so perfect. I’ll have to hear about how it’s so difficult maintaining a size-six figure and juggling life as a hot blonde lawyer with going out to fancy restaurants with perfect boyfriends.’
‘You know I’m blonde and going into law?’
‘Do you want me to hate you too? Stop reminding me.’
‘Ha ha. But, honestly, El, what are you so worried about? We’re not the same people we were at school.’
‘It’s just whenever I’m around them I feel like teenage me, and all the insecurities come flying back. Like, I can’t join in their sex stories, their rich stories, their success stories … It’s too much.’
‘Even though you’re no longer a virgin, you’re confident and hot, and you have the coolest internship ever?’
‘Well, when you put it like that …’
‘Exactly, so what’s the problem?’
‘I don’t know. I guess I just feel weird lately. I think it’s just moving into Haggerston, and the fact that my job is kind of a nightmare. I felt really good all summer, but now it’s sinking in that all the others are in relationships, and not only has no one asked me out since Jack, but I’m unpaid and relying on my mum—who hates every life choice I make and wishes I was married to a Greek estate agent.’
Lara snorted. ‘I can’t imagine you being with anyone like that, much less married.’
‘Exactly! I’d be the worst wife ever.’
‘But, honestly, El, I think coming to meet the schoolgirls will be good for you. They’ll all be super impressed with what you’re doing, you’ll realise they’re not the “Mean Girls” you thought they were in Year Ten, and it will distract you from everything else that’s going on.’
‘Oh fine. So long as you promise to still come round to mine on Saturday for commiseration drinks? I’ll get Emma on board.’
‘Deal.’
I walked into Chotto Matte in Soho feeling as if I should be waiting tables rather than eating. My skinny jeans and oversized jumper may have looked casually chic in the office, but now I felt underdressed and frumpy. Especially when I followed the waiter down to our table and saw fifteen models sitting there.
‘Oh my God, Ellie,’ squealed Maisie. ‘You look amazing. It’s so good to see you. I can’t believe how long it is!’
She pulled me into a hug. ‘You look great too,’ I said lamely. ‘Really nice to see you.’
The rest of the girls turned around and enveloped me in turn, so I had to repeat the exact same small talk fifteen times. By the time I got to Lara, I gave her a death stare. I was an idiot for ever thinking this would be a good idea.
We sat down and I gulped at the prices on the menu. There was a sharing option that started at £40 per person. Without drinks—of which I would be needing many to get through this dinner. Fuck. Maybe I could just get a side and feign being full from a large lunch?
‘So, how have things been?’ cried Polly. ‘It’s been forever. I hear you’re working for London Mag these days—that’s pretty cool. Is it amazing?’
‘Um, yeah, I guess so. Minus the psycho boss, the long hours and the fact that I don’t get paid for it.’
‘Shit,’ she said with a momentary frown crossing her Botoxed face.