Everyone has a favourite story they love to tell people. *Fleabag look to camera* This is mine.
It’s the story of how I met my boyfriend Ben. It’s not romantic, it’s not cute, it’s not fairytale but it is pretty funny. We aren’t even the stars of the show.
Ben and I matched on the dating app Bumble in February 2018. On Bumble, if the woman doesn’t start a conversation in 24 hours the match expires. I ended up letting the match expire because I’m a 👏🏻 busy 👏🏻 woman. BUT after seeing his profile picture I decided to (unbelievably generously) rematch with him. 3 days of chatting and BAM. Sealed the deal. Date on Friday at a gin club in Bermondsey, where he lived.
We meet on the street and hug, awkward first 40 seconds of meeting a stranger that you may (probably) end up sleeping with out the way. The gin bar is full so he suggests The Bermondsey Arts Club which is one of those bars that used to be a public toilet (London life✌🏻) but it was actually lovely. Candlelit, not crowded, the cocktails had cool names. We speak for about 45 minutes to get to know each other, when a lady sits next to Ben.
‘Do you mind if I sit here? Sorry!’
Then we did the whole ‘oh no, no, come on in’ that you would do even if someone said ‘Do you mind if I poured milk all over the table? Sorry.’ ‘Yeah! Course babe, knock yourself out.’
We look up and see a well dressed women in her late forties with her husband. A good time gal, the kind of couple that would hold poker nights for their friends that they holiday with in the Algarve. Non threatening albeit abit odd addition to our first date, they sit next to us in the corner booth. I have decided at this point they are almost definitely swingers.
I then notice a college ring on Ben’s finger. My blood runs cold at the thought he could be an old Etonian. I tentatively ask what it is and just as I was about to press my ‘fuck this, he’s a Tory’ panic button, he laughs and assures me that’s it was from his grandad and it has his initials on it. This leads the conversation to the realisation that Toby and Ben went to the same school, Hurst in Sussex. Toby orders a bottle of champagne to celebrate the Hurst brotherhood and that settles it, they are here for the night.
From then on, Ben and I barely speak to each other. Toby and I find ourselves on one side, and Amy soon asks Ben to escort her to the smoking area. At this point, despite watching my date walking up the stairs with a sexy older woman, I’m like fuck it. They’ve bought us booze so let’s just sit back and enjoy this weird ride. Toby and I chat inside whilst meanwhile (I find out later) Amy corners Ben.
So do you like her?
She seems lovely, yeah.
Yeah she’s pretty. A little boring though, no?
Well she hasn’t really had a chance to speak!
Look, this is how I see it. She’s… a 9 out of 10. BUT with the personality of a 7. You on the other hand are probably a 7… but your personality is a 9! You are a perfect fit.
Back downstairs, Toby and I are still chatting. It’s not as awkward as I thought it might be. He’s not coming onto me at all, he seems genuinely interested in what I have to say.
So do you like him?
I think so.
I reckon he’s a nice lad. Do you like the beard though? Do you not think it’s a bit much?
As I explain my ‘thing’ for beards, Ben and Amy return from the toilet (Amy clutching onto Ben’s arm) and it yet again occurred to me this woman has had more physical interaction with my date than I had. More champagne arrives. My boy Toby pipes up, his face a bit redder than before.
So Ben! Liv says she likes you.
Ben and I grin at each other, mortified.
And she said she would give you a [redacted].
The table erupts into laughter and I feel myself falling slowly backwards into an abyss.
HOW IS THIS HAPPENING? Toby then makes Ben promise never to shave his beard or I will never shag him. A statement which is probably more accurate.
The night continues and things get hazier. We get to the level of drunk where it’s takes us a while to realise for the first time we are left alone. Game back on. Ben starts to pour me another drink when the bartender comes over and says the words that stop us in our tracks.
‘Have they gone?’
It suddenly becomes screamingly apparent that our new best friends Amy and Toby have in fact done a runner. Not only that, we’ve been left with the evidence which is, as it turns out, a bill of the fucking hefty variety. The bartender, seeing our ashen faces, quickly puts us out of our misery.
Don’t worry I’ve got their card behind the bar. Saw them coming a mile off.
As we leave (stumble out of) the bar and into the bitingly cold February air we both are convinced we have made them up. Luckily in the first 45 minutes we had both pretty quickly figured out that we liked each other but I will spare you the mush. I essentially coerce him into kissing me and that was that. It’s nearly two years later and we are living together – in Bermondsey. Every time I go past that bar I smile and in a Pavlovian dog kind of way crave a glass of champagne.
OH. YOU THOUGHT THAT WAS THE END OF THE STORY? You fools. It’s only just getting started.
You see, Toby and Amy aren’t the kind of people who truly ever leave you. They are omnipotent, other worldly almost. Let’s fast forward to July 2019 – almost a year and a half later.
I had just finished a huge project and mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted. Ben and I had made the decision to move in together and therefore Ben had, unbeknownst to him, agreed to many nights of me bursting into tears for no reason and having random panic attacks in bowling alleys. Long and short, we could have used some fun in our lives.
My lovely mum could see we needed some time to chill and offered to exchange some of her Tesco club card vouchers for a Spa break. We took her up on her incredibly generous offer and booked an overnight stay in the Rowhill Grange hotel and spa in the middle of nowhere near Dartford.
When we arrived at the hotel, we were shown to our room. None of the rooms had numbers, but were named after flowers instead. Ours was called crocus – which I’m going to be honest was not my favourite of the options. Would have much preferred a hydrangea or rhododendron. Nevertheless, we started to unwind in the hot tub and I started to feel my anxiety and stress literally melt away.
Ben popped outside in his fluffy white dressing gown for a cigarette and to continue to (in his words) live his best life. When he returned he mentioned in passing that he spoke to a couple outside in the smoking area who explained that they had booked the hotel on a one off last night and therefore couldn’t get a massage as they were all booked. ‘Ah, gutted.’ I said, lowering myself further into the hot bubbles, to be honest not feeling that gutted.
Can you see where I’m going with this?
That night we booked a table in the hotel for a fancy 3 course meal so we got dressed up and agreed we would get whatever we wanted and would suffer the consequences later. There were only about 12 rooms in the hotel so we saw couples we recognised from throughout the day as the restaurant slowly filled up, all of us coming together to form a smug yet hella relaxed commune. One couple walked in that immediately caught my eye – they had a presence that took over the room and I noticed other couples give a glance too.
See where I’m getting at? Surely?
When we were suitably stuffed, we decided to head upstairs. Ben wanted one last fag before bed so I said I would meet him up there.
20 minutes go by and he doesn’t appear. I wait for a knock, nothing happens. I am about to send a passive aggressive ‘you okay?’ Text when I get a call. I pick up – ‘Where are you?’
‘You need to come downstairs. Now.’
I walk down the stairs, kind of half put out at the thought of [redacted] getting further and further away, and half completely bemused at what could have gone on downstairs. I am definitely very drunk, so I take delight in running through the hotel corridors in fluffy white spa flip flops, following the sound of laughter until I see them.
‘WHAT THE FUCK?!’
We all burst into laughter and Amy grabs me into a huge hug, then Toby does in turn. We all say our own version of ‘I can’t believe it!’ and ‘what are the chances?!’. Amy beams with genuine delight. She is a lot sharper this time, I put that down to less alcohol. ‘I’m so happy you are still together.’
Turns out, when Ben went outside, his smoking buddies were already there. Small talk prevailed once again until they spoke about where they lived. Toby and Amy had since moved to Blackheath but at Ben’s mention of Bermondsey, they found their first thing in common. (He still didn’t get it) Toby even mentioned they had visited The Bermondsey Arts Club at one time (He still didn’t get it.) They discussed origins, and schools. Toby mentions Hurst. At this point, Ben said his stomach flipped over.
…did you happen to go to The Bermondsey Arts Club about a year and a half ago by any chance?
Amy and Toby look at each other.
Could have been, yes. We got so drunk we left our card behind the bar, had to try and find the place the next day but it took us forever because the bloody place was underground.
All Ben could muster was a shrill gasp ‘’Is your name… Toby?!’
Toby is taken aback. Yes
Did you by any chance crash a first date that night?
…Fuck off.
That couple was me and my girlfriend! She’s upstairs!
It was honestly like we had known them in another lifetime. It was a beautiful full circle moment where it felt like we were all meant to come back together. They immediately order 2 bottles of champagne from the now completely deserted bar.
We talk about you often and wonder where you are now.
They tell us they have accidentally been putting all their drinks onto the room Hydrangea despite them definitely staying in Rhodenendron. ‘It’s my mother’s favourite flower! How am I supposed to remember?’ And said they continued to do so until Mr and Mrs Hydrangea caught them at the bar.
With a fresh pair of eyes, they seem much softer than before. Kinder, very much in love with each other. A far cry from Amy’s protests last time around that their sex life was dead in the water. It feels like we have known each other for years. They vow to pay for our wedding, we promise to name our first child (whatever gender) Toby. That night was honestly one of the most magical I’ve ever experienced. Just pure unadulterated joy. Nothing to do with the booze. Maybe.
As we stagger up to bed, promising to sit together at breakfast and laughing at Toby and Amy trying to get into Mr and Mrs Hydrangea’s room, I remind Ben that this could possibly be a one off and they may not turn up for breakfast. Ben is adamant that our new found soulmates will be there.
They weren’t. I saw them quickly speed past the breakfast room with their suitcases and we both laughed it off but felt a bit gutted – had we embarrassed ourselves? Tried too hard? ‘Never mind’ I assured Ben, who’s face had genuinely fallen. ‘Maybe they are just meant to be… nighttime friends.’
We pack our bags to head back to London and begrudgingly go the check out desk.
Have you had a lovely stay?
Oh yes gorgeous, thank you so much. We actually ran into the couple that crashed our first date – small world, isn’t it?!
The lady at reception’s facial expression changed immediately.
Were they staying in Rhodedendron by any chance?
…Yes
The two receptionists smiled at each other, having figured it all out.
On the way out they told us to give a message to room ‘Tulip’ that they were very sorry they missed breakfast, they had to catch a last minute flight but they are sure they will see them very soon. ‘We told the couple in Tulip and they were very confused, so this makes a lot more sense.’
I could see the delight on Ben’s face light up as we both realised our new found friends hadn’t forgotten us and it wasn’t all a dream. We travelled back to the big smoke tired, hungover, relaxed and happy.
I have every faith that we will see Amy and Toby again. On the tube? On the street? At the hospital at the birth of our first child? Although I would prefer not the latter. I don’t fancy breaking the news to them that I don’t see us calling the baby Toby if it ends up being a girl. That would take a lot more champagne.
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