The Ex Factor. Eva Woods
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Simon! Long time no see, huh? I hope you don’t think this is weird but are you single?
* * *
Helen.
Helen put down the phone, and scowled at what she’d written.
‘Oi, Moby. MOOOOOOBY.’
When I first heard the nickname the cool boys had given me, I thought they meant the singer. Which was mystifying, as I wasn’t cool, edgy, or indeed bald. Then I realised they meant a different Moby, one less known for their ambient hits. Moby Dick.
‘Just ignore them,’ said the boy who sat behind me in Computer Camp.
‘I can’t,’ I said miserably. ‘They’re the cool boys.’
‘They’re the cool boys at Computer Camp,’ said the boy, pushing his thick glasses up his spotty nose. ‘Like duh. None of us are cool.’
He’d been right, Helen thought. The year was 1997; the location, Reading University Summer Computer Camp. Helen was fifteen, finding way too much meaning in the words of Alanis Morissette songs and, at that point, still four hours away from her first kiss. Nik was small for his age, and had glasses, and spots, and dressed in what looked like his mum’s idea of trendy clothes. But who was Helen to talk? She’d had to buy her clothes in Etam, not Tammy Girl, so she was at the Camp disco in a massive pair of denim dungarees. Uncool even at Computer Camp.
Nik had pushed his tongue dutifully around her mouth, hands clamped on her waist (a large area). Helen had moved her tongue too, and so what if her mind kept wandering to the piece of code they’d learned that day, it still counted as her first kiss, and even Marnie, who’d already kissed twelve boys and let one feel under her bra, had been a tiny bit impressed when Helen had rung her from the payphone to tell her. She and Nik had lost touch after Computer Camp, since Helen didn’t have a mobile or the internet at home, and, anyway, she’d been a bit preoccupied in the months following it. However, a quick Facebook search threw him up.
Helen scrolled through his profile—articles from The Economist, the odd photo, check-ins at various airports round the world. His latest picture showed a man in board shorts, posing on the deck of a boat. A proper grown-up man, with chest hair, who looked to be reasonably handsome. Helen hoped so. She didn’t think spotty nerds who knew all the dialogue from Return of the Jedi were really Ani’s type. But globetrotting business tycoons who hung out on boats—very much Ani’s type.
She sent him a message. Dear Nik, how are you these days? You seem to be doing really well. I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but do you ever date? Weird request I know!
Helen sent it, then pushed her laptop away and went to her wardrobe. The mirror showed her current self—a woman of thirty-two, size ten-to-twelve, with blonde hair curling round an anxious face—but in her head, sometimes, she was still Moby. Sometimes she wondered if she always would be.
At the back of the wardrobe was a pink box, pasted all over with hearts and stickers. She remembered Marnie making that nail polish smear, back in 1995, the two of them squashed up on Helen’s bed. Inside were photos—her and Marnie in their primary-school uniforms, arms round each other’s shoulders. Helen had never noticed before, but Marnie was wearing odd socks in the picture, and her jumper had a large hole in it. Something squeezed Helen’s heart, looking at that tough little girl, with her fierce expression. It was worth doing this ridiculous project, if it made Marnie happy. And who knew, maybe it would even work out for some of them? Rosa and Ani—yes, and Marnie too—deserved to find lovely boyfriends.
She set it aside and found the picture she was looking for. On the back her mum had scrawled: Helen takes the prize for World Wide Web design! Computer Camp 1997. Helen stroked the red, delighted face of the girl in the picture, clutching her cheap plastic trophy. She’d been so happy at Computer Camp, with no idea that everything was soon to fall so spectacularly apart. If she ended up seeing Nik again—if by some chance he and Ani hit it off—he would find Helen very much changed as well.
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