How to Kill Men and Get Away With It(10)

‘Joel,’ she says, sharply. ‘My boyfriend, Joel. Joel. The guy I met in Callooh? Callooh guy?’

‘You haven’t mentioned him to me,’ Hen says, twirling her hair around her fingers as she shakes her head. ‘In fact, a few weeks ago you went home with that thing you picked up in Callooh.’

I shudder. Nobody notices.

‘That was Joel,’ Maisie says, her mouth turning into a puckered little hole. ‘We’ve been seeing each other for like three weeks. There’s no way I haven’t told you.’ She looks around at all of us again, her face turning from white to puce.

She’s mad.

‘You’re all so obsessed with your own lives that you don’t even remember me WhatsApping you. The ticks were blue! There are messages literally still on our group chat.’

My brain niggles with a vague recollection of Maisie messaging us something about a man she was talking to. But, in my defence, I was sort of dealing with the fallout of accidentally killing someone. A friend of his. Okay. This is concerning. Interesting, but concerning.

‘Maze, we’re sorry,’ I say. ‘Why don’t I pour us all drinks and you can tell us everything from the beginning? And this time you’ve got us right here, so you know we’re paying attention. And we’ll try to make up for being the worst friends ever.’

Maisie takes a shuddery breath but thaws at the prospect of being the centre of attention for the next few hours. I pour the drinks while she settles down, ready to tell her tale like she’s doing the CBeebies fucking bedtime story. PS – I only know this because Tom Hardy reads them sometimes and it is prime masturbation material.

‘Okay,’ she says. ‘But don’t think I won’t remember this next time one of you need my help.’

We listen as she tells us about her failed relationship with this Joel person. They went home together after the horrendous GNO and had drunken sex. Maisie had assumed it was a one-night stand but then they matched on Tinder the next day and ‘omg, synchronicity or what?’

Imagine our collective awe to hear how they had absolutely loads in common. Joel is every bit as obsessed with golden lab puppies as Maisie and had even worked as a guide dog puppy trainer once. He does something in IT now, but Maisie doesn’t find this Olympian career vault even slightly concerning. He likes the same music as she does and even the same films. Would you believe it? It’s almost like she posts every single personal thing on her social media accounts. And he’s read them.

‘We had such a connection,’ she says. ‘I really thought he could be my person.’

‘You know he could find out all that stuff by just looking at your Insta, right?’ Hen says.

‘And you told him a lot on the night out. You only stopped talking to eat his face,’ Tor adds.

Maisie looks crushed. I feel bad for her. It’s not her fault life hasn’t dealt her enough duff hands to be bitter and cynical.

Tor rushes over and gives her a little cuddle as she finishes up her tale of woe. After three weeks – she tries to round it up to a month – of chatting, dating and having ‘the most incredible sex’, Maisie messaged him five days ago.

And hasn’t heard a thing back since.

Shocker.

‘His phone just rings out. There’s not even voicemail.’ She tops her glass up with more vodka and knocks it back in one. Having known Maisie for as long as I have, I’m painfully aware her drinking at this rate will not end well.

‘So, you’ve had nothing from him at all?’ Hen asks. ‘He’s not even watched your stories?’

Maisie shakes her head. ‘No. I don’t understand. It was amazing. Do you think something’s happened to him? Something awful? He was friends with that guy who impaled himself on a bottle near the embankment. Maybe he’s depressed? Maybe I should go and see him?’

‘Did he invite you to the funeral?’ Tor says. Then in a gentler voice, ‘Honey, you’ve been ghosted.’

Maisie looks gutted. ‘I’m such a dick.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘You’re not. You’re kind and open and you trusted someone. Those are not dick moves. His actions are not a reflection on you. He’s the dick here, babes.’

‘I’ve been conned. I’m like one of those sad women on Channel 5 who end up having their life savings tricked off them by a stranger off the net. Only I’ve been robbed of sex,’ she wails.

She folds into herself and looks so fragile, like she’d fall apart if you touched her. My heart aches for her.

I’ve never believed heartbreak is taken seriously enough.

It can destroy you.

‘Show us his Tinder,’ Hen says. ‘Has he been active on there?’

Maisie shakes her head. ‘Yes. And I tried to message him but he unmatched me. And his photo is gone from WhatsApp so I know he blocked me. What did I do wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong and you deserve better than someone who makes you feel like you have.’

‘I just want to know what happened. One conversation. How can someone I was falling in love with suddenly turn so cold?’

‘It’s dick behaviour,’ Tor says, through a mouthful of salmon sashimi. ‘Urgh. I could kill men sometimes.’

Me too.