Not That Easy. Radhika Sanghani
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wondering what you’re spending my money on.’
‘Mum, why don’t we just order first before we get into all that? Shall we get dough balls to share? I bet I know what you’re going to get—the avocado and goat’s cheese salad, right?’
‘The cannelloni. Maybe you should get the salad?’ she asked.
‘Are you kidding me? Salad isn’t real food. I’m famished,’ I announced, ignoring the fact that she was staring pointedly at my stomach. ‘Dough balls to start, then a pepperoni pizza and probably a dessert too.’
‘Right, OK,’ she said and looked back down at her menu.
‘What does that mean, Mum?’ I asked. I could feel irritation rising up my oesophagus and tried to take deep breaths.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I just said OK, but … maybe you shouldn’t be eating so much.’
‘ARE YOU KIDDING ME?’ I shrieked. All hopes of staying calm and rational had fully evaporated. ‘Do you want me to be ANOREXIC? I can’t believe you would even bring up my weight—I’m a size ten slash twelve slash fourteen. That is healthy, Mum. God, I can’t believe you’re trying to give me an eating disorder.’
‘Elena,’ she hissed. ‘Will you keep your voice down? You know I just want you to be healthy and look good. Obviously you’re not fat, but if you carry on as you are …’
‘Oh. My. God. Are you saying you think I’m going to get fat? That is so typical of you. I work ten-hour days, and I don’t have an income. All I can afford is pasta and cheap food that just happens to be unhealthy. I don’t have time to go to the gym, and I couldn’t even afford a membership if I did. Do you even know how much vegetables cost these days? This is just not my fault.’
She sighed. ‘I wish you wouldn’t buy cheap rubbish like pasta the whole time. When are they going to start paying you at your work?’
‘Don’t know,’ I mumbled moodily.
‘Why can’t you just get a job that pays?’ she asked.
I felt a twinge of guilt. She was asking the question that ran through my head on a daily basis, but it was too depressing to deal with. If I wanted my dream writing job, I had to work unpaid for months and then I may or may not get a permanent position with a salary at the end of it. That was just how it worked. The only way to get a typical paid job was to go back in time and do a law degree.
‘Mum, I’ve explained this to you, like, a hundred times.’ I sighed. ‘Everyone who wants to work in media has to work unpaid for a few months. Just be glad I’m only doing a two-month internship—Emma’s friend worked unpaid for nine months before she got a job at Tatler.’
‘Doesn’t that girl we met at your graduation have a job at Tatler? She told me she was starting immediately.’
Fucking Hannah Fielding. ‘She is a complete bitch, Mum,’ I cried. ‘Besides, she only got the job because her parents know people. It’s pure nepotism.’
My mum sighed. ‘OK, Elena, do your unpaid work, but I’m only helping you out for now. Next month I’m not going to pay your rent any more.’
‘Sure, that’s fine,’ I said confidently. ‘I’ll definitely have a paid job by then.’ I crossed my fingers under the table. It could happen. Probably. ‘But in the meantime …’ I gave her my most daughterly smile.
‘Yes, OK,’ she said wearily. ‘You can have one hundred pounds on top of your rent and bills.’
My mouth dropped open. ‘Mum, I can’t survive on a hundred quid a month! I’ll starve to death. Or—even worse—I’ll end up just buying reduced ready meals, then I’ll get a really high salt intake and cholesterol will build up in my arteries and I’ll probably get diabetes. And acne. Then no one will ever fancy me.’
She looked alarmed. ‘Elena, you have to eat well. Can’t you buy couscous and quinoa? They’re not expensive if you buy in bulk and you can just cook them with fresh vegetables.’
‘Quinoa is very expensive these days,’ I said authoritatively. ‘So is hummus. And tzatziki.’
‘I’ve taught you so many times to make your own dips, Lena,’ she said. She had used the name she called me as a baby. I grinned to myself—I knew I’d win her over by name-dropping Greek food. ‘Will two hundred pounds help?’
We had exchanged fourteen messages in three days and JT still hadn’t asked me out. I was officially confused. Surely he was messaging me because he wanted to go on a date and shag me? In which case, why hadn’t he suggested a date already?
The thought crossed my mind that maybe he was just enjoying getting to know me, but then I remembered Emma’s words: They all want to fuck you—it’s just a game. He was probably just trying to play it cool so he didn’t come across as too keen. But I didn’t care about that—I just wanted to be, well, wanted.
The girls thought this whole thing was about me trying to reach double digits by the time I was twenty-five, but there was more to it. Sex with Jack hadn’t really felt like sex—it was just a few minutes of breaking my hymen. Now I wanted to do it properly and enjoy it. Em had amazing sex with Sergio, and even though Jez was a bit hit-and-miss, Lara always had fun in bed with him. Wasn’t it my turn to get that?
I knew I hadn’t ever met JT and he could be a total disaster, but he seemed like the ideal candidate to help me out there. And it was a two-way deal. We’d both get some fun out of it. It would be mutually beneficial if all went to plan, and if worst came to worst, I’d leave in the morning and never see him again. I’d get my chance to live it up and figure out womanhood, while he’d get a shag and an orgasm. Come to think of it, hopefully I’d get one of those too. I just needed some help.
I barged into Emma’s room in my purple dressing gown patterned with white stars. ‘Ems, I need help.’ She was lying in bed resting her head on Sergio’s tanned, hairless torso. ‘Oh crap, I should have knocked, sorry. I didn’t know you were here, Serge.’
‘It’s fine, come in,’ he said and patted the duvet. I walked over and sat down with them.
‘I don’t know what to do about JT,’ I moaned.
‘How many messages has it been now?’ asked Emma without moving her head off Serge’s hot bod. This was not helping my self-esteem. ‘Twelve?’
‘Fourteen. Surely that’s a bit excessive now?’
‘Why can’t you ask him out?’ asked Sergio.
‘But … won’t he think I’m desperate? What about the game?’
Emma scrunched up her face. ‘I don’t know. I think the whole point of online dating is that it evens out the playing field. Like, obviously it’s so sexist that society says men have to ask out women, but it is kind of ingrained. When a woman asks out a man in real life he’s like, she’s either desperate or a slut. But online … well, it’s kind of the norm, isn’t it?’
‘Huh, maybe,’ I said, as Sergio started covering Emma’s face in tiny kisses.
‘I didn’t think you were desperate or a slut when you wrote your number on that receipt,’ he said.
I rolled my eyes at them. ‘Can you get a room already?’ He raised his eyebrows and gestured at Emma’s purple fairy lights, leopard print and fur. ‘You know what I mean,’ I said. ‘Anyway, Emma, do you really think it’s more acceptable for a girl to ask out a guy online?’
‘Yeah,’ she cried. ‘It’s way more equal on there. In fact, I think women actually have more power than men on online dating sites. Because girls will get more messages than the guys and then