‘I wasn’t going to!’ I protest, although I actually was.
‘It’s some fancy physical-theatre academy in Paris,’ says Roo. ‘Steve takes clowning very seriously.’
‘Did he use the verb “clowning”?’ I say.
‘He did,’ says Roo.
‘Oh dear.’ I try to be positive. ‘But I mean, is that really a dealbreaker? After all, we knew he worked in the theatre …’
‘Well, he kept talking about the beautiful physicality of clowning, and I suppose I could have dealt with that,’ says Roo. ‘But then … then he told me he’d developed unique clown make-up for his clown persona …’
‘Oh no,’ I say.
‘And,’ says Roo, ‘he said that when you create your own unique clown face you send a photo of it to a clown foundation in London. And theypaint it onto an egg.’
I stare at her. ‘They what?’
‘They paint your clown face onto an egg and put it in a horrible egg archive.’ She swallows. ‘They give you an egg of your own too. Steve showed me a photo of his. It was … it was dreadful. There are hearts on the cheeks.’
‘Ohno!’
‘And I realised I simply can’t be with someone who has their clown face painted onto an egg,’ says Roo. ‘I know that sounds really superficial—’
‘It absolutely does not,’ I say. ‘No matter how nice he is, you’d keep thinking about the egg.’
‘Exactly!’ says Roo. ‘And he was so proud of it too.’ She shudders. ‘It turns out I do have a dealbreaker. And that dealbreaker is clown eggs.’
‘Oh God,’ I say, ‘that sounds like the clownslaythem …’
Roo stares at me in genuine horror and then we both start laughing.
‘Imagine being in bed with him,’ I say, wheezing with mirth,‘and then you look over and his egg is sitting on the bedside table,staringat you with its little clown eyes—’
‘Stop, stop,’ wails Roo. ‘I’ll have nightmares.’
‘I bet the clown eggs in the archive come to life at night,’ I say. ‘Just picture them all, chortling away in the dark. Urgh, I’m freaking myself out now.’
But when our laughter subsides, Roo gives a big sigh and says, ‘Anyway. I won’t be doing that again any time soon.’
‘Doing what?’ I say. ‘Dating clowns? Well, fair enough.’
‘No,’ says Roo. ‘Dating in general. I was all excited about tonight. My first first-date in four years! And look how it turned out.’ She flops back against the couch cushions. ‘I think this is the universe telling me I’m not ready to move on.’
‘Come on, Roo,’ I say. ‘One creepy clown egg isn’t a message from the universe.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Roo turns to face me. ‘Think about it. I was in love with Justin but now he’s living happily ever after with his board-game woman. The woman he chose over me. And the first time I go out with another man, he turns out to be aliteral clown.’ She hugs a cushion to her chest, looking forlorn. ‘Maybe I was stupid to think I could find someone else. Maybe I need to accept I’ll never find love again.’
‘Roo, you’re not a hundred years old!’ I say. ‘If you’re doomed to be loveless forever because you’re single right now, then so am I.’
‘You’re hooking up with Art Sullivan,’ says Roo.
‘I kissed himonce,’ I say, ‘in a moment of madness.’ I put my arm around her. ‘Look, you don’t need to date, of course you don’t. We both know you don’tneeda partner. But if you want one, please don’t give up looking just because of one clown. Youdeserve to be happy. Youwillbe happy, whatever happens. And I know it’s easy for me to say—’
‘Especially now you’ve got off with your hot officemate,’ says Roo.
‘How do you know whether he’s hot or not?’
‘I googled him, obviously,’ says Roo.