Oh, Henry
Essentially – wait, no, I’m not an essentialist. Basically—well, it’s not that basic. Oh, fuck it. Here goes: Every Londoner loves a piss up. Everyone and their gran loves a tipple. (Everyone? Like who? Me. And who else? My gran. Haha. I love Hot Fuzz). Anyway, come summer, or any day over 12 degrees with a little bit of sun, everyone’s in the beer garden. Pints for everyone. Or a glass of wine. Maybe a shandy, if you’re driving. Pimms is acceptable. Off track again: everyone’s there, pint or whatever in hand, chatting a bit of shit, having a joke and a laugh, you know? Yeah, it was one of those days, sitting in the beer garden, when my mate Bill turns to me and says, “Oi, you know that bird you’ve been shagging?” Bill doesn’t actually talk like that. That was me trying to make it a bit more acceptable for polite company. But Bill asks me if I know the girl I’m shagging, so I say, “Yeah, what about her?”
And then Bill laughs and says, “I’ve just matched her on Tinder.”
Bill’s one of those mates who’s not really your mate. I went to school with him, I’ve known him since I was about twelve, but I’ve never been too sure about Bill. He says these things sometimes, like, “Your mum’s a bit of alright;” and “That girl your shagging looks a right fitty;” and “Would you lend her to me for a night?’ I usually just laugh it off, you know, because we aren’t mates. No point trying to explain stuff to Bill, he’s a brick. “Bill, could you not say that about my mother;” “Bill, she’s good looking but she’s also really funny and I’d prefer it if you said she was funny because then I wouldn’t be worried about you being creepy towards her;” “Bill, no, I can’t lend her to you, that’s her choice. Though I really hope she choses not to.” That kind of stuff doesn’t go down well with Bill. Gets his back up. “I’m just joking mate, just banter, just a fucking j.o.k.e.”
So, Bill says he’s matched the girl I’ve been shagging. And my heart drops out my arsehole. Sorry. Bum-hole? Yeah, that’s better. Anyway, it drops out. Because, really, I wasn’t just shagging her. I was seeing her. Liked her, and all that. I had to laugh at the time. “Haha mate, yeah, that’s funny.” “Mate she’s a fitty, I might ask her to come over tonight.” “Haha, you should do that.” What’s a fella supposed to say? She swiped right for him. It was fairs. But I didn’t want to be in the beer garden anymore, so I finished my pint and left. “Where are you going? You’ve only had one!” “I’m feeling a bit too hot, gunna go home.”
I got home and I felt like pure shit. A bit sick, you know? Probably the heat. But I texted Jen, “Hey, you free later?”“Out with the girls now, might be out all night.” And then, “Thinking of going Kings Head in a bit for the heaters, wanna come?” “Maybe.”“What’s up?”“Just a bit hot, feeling sick.” “Haha, aren’t we all.” How to approach the Bill problem? Typed quickly, “Are we exclusive?”
Put the phone down. Walked into another room. I felt like I’d drank two red bulls, absolutely buzzed. That feeling, that one when you could go for a run and take a shit and you can’t choose which. Walked back: no response. Walked around the house: no response. Got a glass of water: no response. Finally, a buzz. “I thought we were, why?'“ “You done something?” “What? No?”“Then why ask?” “You know why?” “What? Do you wanna talk or something?” “Come Inn on the Green, I wanna chat.” “Fine.”
Inn on the Green is a pub next to a bowling green with a big beer garden. You can imagine what it was like — heaving. I had to call Jen and have her stand on a table to find her, which is not the kind of thing you want to make someone you’re about to have a go at do. I had to thank her when I got to her. Then go get a drink. By the time I sat down I’d forgotten my script. Jen had found us two chairs. “The girls are here but I didn’t think you’d want to talk around them.” “Yeah, you were right.” “What’s up? What’s happened?” “Nothing. Well, I was with Bill earlier.” “And?” “And?” “Am I supposed to know something about Bill? Do you think I’m sleeping with Bill?” “No. But, he told me.” “That we slept together?” “No, that you matched on Tinder.” “What? I don’t – oh. Fucking hell.” “What?” “I thought I knew who he was.” “What?” “Come with me.”
Jen didn’t tell me what she was going to show me, she just grabbed my hand and dragged me over to her mates. And one of them, I shit you not, looked exactly like her. Lips, eyes, hair— was even wearing the t-shirt Jen had worn on our first date. Could have been – “This is my twin sister. Kelly. It’s her Tinder. We were all on it earlier swiping.” “But Bill said—“ “Does Bill even know my name?” I realized then that he didn’t say it. “I’m not sure.” “Oh, Henry, it wasn’t me he matched, it was Kelly.”
I felt like a right tit. And a left tit. I bought her a drink to apologize and added another item to my list against Bill: he can never bloody remember names.