The Ick

by Holly McCulloch

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

Is it love? Is it hate? Or is it a chronic case of the ick?

Gem's date is looking promising. Atlas is 6'2, with blue eyes, dimples and strong hands that look like they would be at home wielding an axe. But when he says he eats soup for lunch, Gem is immediately hit with the ick.

Suddenly she's painfully aware of his giant backpack that makes him look like a turtle, his colourful socks, and his hair that's just a bit too floppy.

Gem, who collects icks like others collect loyalty points, is adamant that the phenomenon is her instinct kicking in, but her housemate and best friend, Shanti, disagrees, and challenges Gem to take part in a study for her psychology course: Is intuition real?

Gem eventually decides to take part, but doing so means she has to break all her own rules. She sees Atlas for a second date, a third, and even a fourth, until she starts losing count. It's all for research purposes, of course - but what if the impossible happens and Gem falls for Atlas? And if he finds out she's being paid to date him, will he ever forgive her?

Forced-proximity meets enemies-to-lovers in this spicy, swoon-worthy and totally hilarious romantic comedy. Fans of Emily Henry, Ali Hazlewood and Mhairi McFarlane won't be able to put this sizzling romance down.

'Holly has perfected the art of comedy writing' Sophie Cousens

'Holly is the queen of the clever feel-good read - hilarious, heart-warming and real, with characters you'll fall in love with and be thinking about long after you finish the final page' Lucy Foley

'Your funny friend in book form. Warm, entertaining and cheeky' Abigail Mann

'Absolutely loved this book! I loved the characters storyline and could relate to being a bit picky when it comes to finding a partner. I loved how our MC took part in her friend's study and I was so curious to read how it all worked out' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'This book was full of deadpan humour and I loved that about it. I adored Atlas - I have a thing for cinnamon roll heroes, and he was very sweet... Made me laugh a lot' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'Icks are something I find hilarious for the pure ridiculousness of some of them so a whole book about it intrigued me... This is a fun read where you keep saying "just one more chapter"' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Release date: March 6, 2025

Publisher: Dialogue

Print pages: 80000

Sample

On her way here, walking to the pub along the bustling London streets, Gem had felt that something good was coming her way. She has always noted that spring and the joy it brings can have a halo effect on the rest of your life. People laugh more in spring. Your skin brightens. Your feet stop feeling so tired. Sandwich shops have your favourite lunch option available. Coffee tastes sweeter.

And, as Gem is in the midst of discovering, your love life thrives.

Finally, after all of the toads – calling them frogs is too generous – Gem has met her prince, and he comes in a six-foot-two-inch package, just like she has always hoped he would.

She has the perfect view of Atlas as he sits opposite her. Unlike Gem, who never quite knows what to wear, especially in the transitional months, Atlas has nailed office casual. He’s wearing a lightweight, teal jumper and fashionably casual trousers in a tonally complimentary, yet darker colour. He has a dimple just underneath his right eye and strong-looking hands that wouldn’t look out of place chopping wood for a campfire.

The door to the Dog and Duck opens and once again, he is bathed in glorious sunshine. If she were the sun, she would shine on him too. Gem has always believed that symmetry is a sign of beauty, but Atlas’s face must be the exception to the rule. It is ever so slightly lopsided, but instead of detracting from his good looks, it adds to them. It makes him seem like a smile is only ever millimetres away. His hair is thick and luscious and deliciously dark brown, and Gem has to stop herself from pushing back the soft curl that keeps escaping at the front of his face. But by far her favourite feature is his eyes. The blue gets darker the closer you get to the iris, drawing you in.

‘So, Gem, tell me . . . ’ His voice is the ideal mix of silky baritone and East End. He’s masculine, but cheeky.

‘Tell you what?’ Gem’s voice, meanwhile, is coming out a little too wispy for her liking. As though she might faint.

As he smiles, Gem notes that the left side of his mouth always ticks up first.

He is so perfect that he makes Gem wish she had made more of an effort – with both the choice of date location and her outfit. She is wearing one of precisely five work outfits that she owns – all of which are made suitable for the season via the appropriate dernier of tight and a simple change of shoe. Today’s dress is fitted on the top and concertinaed in the skirt. She’s let her hair down, out of its usual workday bun, but her red locks do little to jazz up the faded black dress.

She feels a little bit like the pub looks.

The Dog and Duck is a typical post-work City haunt, full of people who all look and dress the same. There are repro paintings of bucolic hunting scenes on the walls, not that anyone in here has smelt fresh air for years. Their lungs are so used to the fumes of Commercial Road that they would probably get the bends if they travelled outside the M25. Having lived in London her whole life, Gem wouldn’t have it any other way.

Atlas’s shrug is as cool as his whole exterior in general. ‘Anything you like.’

Usually, Gem would find this kind of ridiculous request too vapid to answer. But Atlas is perfect, so instead she smiles her most flirtatious smile. Every woman has one. In Gem’s case, her eyes go slightly to the side, and she half hides behind a shoulder.

‘Anything?’

‘Anything.’ The intensity in his eyes is almost too much.

Her smile widens. ‘I’d love another glass of wine.’

At Gem’s cheeky misdirection, he laughs. It is deep and rumbling, and his whole body joins in. God, even his laugh has Gem praying.

‘Well,’ he winks at her before starting to stand up.

He moves his body with the ease of someone who is in complete control of all of his limbs. Gem imagines that he’s one of those gifted humans who can draw a perfectly straight line without any help. ‘That is wonderful timing.’ He picks up his beer, which is still half full, and takes a sip. ‘Because I need another drink too.’ Now fully standing, he points at Gem’s glass. ‘You had the Tempranillo, I believe?’

Gem swoons. He remembers her wine preference. ‘I did.’

‘Same again? Large?’ The second question is accompanied by a raise of the eyebrow. It’s an unspoken rule that you only ever get a second drink, let alone a large second drink, if you are interested in the other person.

‘Yes, please. To both.’ Internally, Gem adds, it’s a yes to everything.

‘A large Tempranillo coming right up.’ And with one more wink, Atlas and his perfectly in control limbs, walk to the bar.

As soon as he turns away, Gem relaxes. She is having a great time, but her body is on high alert and her neck is starting to tire from the effort. She needs to take a breath and get control of herself. She is about three hours and two glasses of wine away from asking Atlas what he thinks of a quickie marriage in Las Vegas. They could fly this evening.

But then, even before her neck has had a chance to get completely comfortable, Atlas turns back towards her. Luckily, Gem had been watching his butt as he walked away, meaning she had early warning of his change in direction.

‘Do you want anything to eat? I’m gonna get a packet of crisps too. Only had soup for lunch and I’m starving.’

The smile that had formed on Gem’s mouth, ready to come up with another witty response, goes stale. Her neck finally cricks, and not because she is too alert, but because her whole body has just spasmed.

It’s impossible to say what might cause the ick. They are non-transferable and nonsensical. But once Gem gets hit with it, there is no going back. And this is one of those occasions.

At his mention of soup, Gem’s insides go cold. She feels as though she is fourteen again, being forced to jump into her school’s outdoor swimming pool. It only ever got filled when the weather was half decent because their school was far from being well-funded enough to both have a pool and to heat it. And because Gem herself wasn’t well-funded enough to buy a new swimming costume every year, it meant that half the time she had to swim in her underwear.

To some, soup might seem like an acceptable lunch option. But the thought of it makes Gem’s toes curl. She can’t shake the image of him wearing a bib and gently blowing on a spoonful of tomato and basil soup, or even worse, butternut squash. A little bit of liquid dripping off the bottom of the spoon and landing on the table.

Despite the emotional and physical pain she’s feeling, Gem still needs to answer Atlas. He is waiting patiently, and Gem knows from experience – a lot of experience – that the best way to deal with the ick, is to do so as efficiently and as quietly as possible. She shakes her head. ‘No. No, thank you. No crisps for me.’

At her answer, Atlas saunters away, but this time, Gem doesn’t watch his butt as he retreats. Instead, she gets out her phone and sends a quick message.

S.O.S.xx

‘Oh no, that sounds bad. You all right?’

Atlas is just on his way back from the bar with their drinks and his packet of crisps. Gem gives him a tight smile as he sits down. She mouths a silent, but very pronounced, I’m so sorry, and then turns ever so slightly away, phone clutched to one ear, her finger over the other ear as if she is struggling to hear. Her body language tells everyone around her, This is a private conversation, and I am trying my hardest to end it. My friend just won’t let me go. Yet, crucially, she doesn’t turn quite far enough away to keep their supposedly private conversation, private.

‘I can’t. I’m on a date. I can’t just leave.’ Gem adds in a deliberate pause and tenses her shoulders. ‘There has to be someone else you can ask.’ She chews her bottom lip, and glances up, briefly, at Atlas. He gives her a very big, very easy smile, then opens his crisps.

The door to the pub opens, and a loud, jovial group of friends make their way inside. The sun momentarily blinds her. The sight of spring now sickens her. No good things are coming, Spring merely tricks you into thinking they are. She turns her focus onto Atlas.

She should have known that he was too attractive.

While being attractive is good, being too attractive is a big no-no. Beautiful people get away with (or simply just get) too many things. Preferential treatment in queues. Fewer fines. More promotions. Plus, there’s an innate and uniquely aggravating arrogance that comes with being too good-looking.

Right on cue, he gives her a little chin nod, and winks.

Gem feels just as much revulsion towards the man in front of her as she does towards herself. To think that five minutes ago she would have found that wink attractive.

It gives her hives.

Although ostensibly perfect, Atlas is undeniably completely wrong for Gem. She collects icks the way other people collect loyalty card points, and five minutes ago, Atlas added another to her collection.

She barely manages to supress a shudder.

She has to get out of here.

On the other end of the phone, she can hear Shanti, her housemate, her friend and currently also her saviour, eating popcorn.

‘Can I hang up now?’ Shanti’s voice is distracted, possibly even bored. Gem can hear the TV in the background. The first few times they’d acted out this scene, Shanti had come up with some pretty good emergencies and had been quite believable. Once she even broke a bowl, hoping the sound effects would travel through the phone, right into the ears of Gem’s date. But now, having run through variations of this scene over a hundred times, her performance is a little stale.

Gem’s, however, remains as animated as ever. It has to. She has a live audience. She lets her shoulders droop as if she’s finally given up and releases a sigh.

‘OK, OK. I’m coming.’

Her act is so convincing, she almost believes it herself. If she didn’t need financial stability, Gem would consider being an actress. As it is, she’s stuck in accounting. ‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’ And with that, she hangs up and turns back fully to face Atlas.

‘I’m so sorry. That’s my housemate, Shanti. She’s . . . ’ Gem pauses. Shit. The need to escape has come on so suddenly she’s forgotten to come up with an actual excuse. ‘Had an emergency.’ There’s no time to think of anything better. She needs to leave quickly, otherwise she might scream.

‘I could help. I’m really good in an emergency.’ Atlas takes a sip of his second beer before putting it back down – as though being inebriated is a good idea when you need quick reactions, fake scenario or not. ‘Let me come with you.’

‘Oh, God, no.’ Even with the din of the surroundings, Gem can tell that her answer came out a little too quickly, and far too forcefully. But what kind of person says they’re good in an emergency? It’s exactly the kind of weird brag that men think is attractive. Like boasting about being able to beatbox. Plus, what is a man who eats soup for lunch really going to contribute to an emergency? A spoon?

‘That’s not a good idea.’

‘Why not?’

Gem is already halfway out of her seat. The audacity of this man! ‘It’s . . . an embarrassing emergency.’

‘Well, now you have to tell me what’s happened.’ The hint of humour in his voice is echoed by a hint of a smile on his lips, almost as though he wants to make this as uncomfortable as possible for her.

She narrows her eyes at him.

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Yes, you do.’ Apparently, he won’t take no for an answer – another ick. ‘If you’re going to abandon me here, in this awful pub with no company and two-and-a-half drinks to get through, the least you can do is tell me what embarrassing thing has happened.’ He pauses, a smile looking even closer to appearing now than it did before. He is definitely goading her.

But Gem can play his game, too.

‘She’s . . . ’ But as hard as she tries, Gem’s brain is still coming up blank. She looks around the pub for inspiration. Unfortunately, the first thing she sees is a painting of a dog that is just about to jump over a hedge. ‘She’s gotten stuck in a bush.’ And then, sensing this isn’t quite enough, she looks back to the dog which isn’t wearing a collar and adds, ‘Naked.’

Even Gem wouldn’t blame Atlas if he pulled her up on this.

Yet for some unknown reason, he just nods. Gem can’t tell if she is relieved or a little disappointed.

Either way, she’s finally released. She picks up her bag, reaches in for her wallet and takes out a tenner. She must be the only person who still carries around cash, but in severe cases of the ick, waiting for a card machine takes too much time.

‘Here. This is for my drink.’

She slaps the money on the table and walks out of the pub as quickly as possible, without looking back.

Standing in the middle of an overstuffed corner shop is one of Gem’s favourite pastimes. It’s the only time she doesn’t feel overwhelmed by the amount of choice on offer, and instead relishes it. She could stand here for hours. Indeed, if you add up all the time she’s spent in here, she has stood here for hours. Every time she sees the bright lights of its signage, she knows she is nearly home. They call out to her like a lighthouse, guiding her way. This shop is the only place where time stays still, and not only because the stock has a lackadaisical attitude towards expiry dates. The shop has looked the same for the last fifteen years, and unlike all of the other local supermarkets, there isn’t a self-checkout in sight.

Unlike Atlas who she imagines loves a self-checkout, Gem isn’t a vain person. She rarely looks at her reflection, especially late in the day. As soon as she leaves work, she starts shedding layers. This close to home, she knows that along with her hair, now starting to frizz, her cheeks will be wearing more mascara than her eyelashes, and she wouldn’t be surprised if she found at least one ladder in her tights. It’s like her body is trying to break free from the pretend skin she wears during the day.

A ping sounds from somewhere in her bag. She refuses to be the type of person who answers every phone call simply because a piece of technology is screaming at her, but she will happily check a text.

Hey. Hope your flatmate is OK.x

She’s mildly surprised that Atlas has messaged her, especially after she ran away and used an extremely weak and obviously fake excuse, but not enough to reply. She puts her phone back in her bag. He’ll get the message soon enough. He probably just wants to make her feel bad. But it’s not her fault that she had a visceral reaction to his taste for soup.

Now, far from rushing home to Shanti after her fictional emergency of being stuck in a bush, she’s been standing in the middle of what she assumes is the appetiser section for a solid fifteen minutes. The overhead too-bright lights are flickering, and she doesn’t know what most of the food is, but that’s part of the fun. The only thing she steers away from is the meat aisle.

The cardboard boxes that are stacked on the shop floor make it difficult to see everything on offer. It wouldn’t be so bad if the boxes were just boxes, but they’ve slowly morphed into shelf units, and now not only keep food in them, but also display food on top of them. She finally decides on a jar of sauerkraut that she can just about reach. It’s the least exciting option, and she knows that its novelty will wear off after a couple of servings, but she vaguely remembers reading an article about it being good for your gut. Something to do with fermentation. She can already imagine the jar lingering in the back of the cupboard along with her unused tins of jackfruit. But still, she picks it up.

‘Just this, please.’ She places the measly offering onto the counter.

Gem and Shanti have lived in the same flat for the last four years, and no matter what time they visit this shop, the same guy is always behind the counter. They are pretty sure they once heard someone call him Jay, but they have never been able to confirm this; he is yet to speak a single word to either of them. They have a competition going to see who can get him to talk first. Whoever wins gets control of the TV for a month. If you get him to smile, you get control of the TV and all of your laundry done (including putting it away, which is arguably the worst part). If you get him to laugh, the whole flat is yours for the rest of time, including their much-coveted novelty pig salt and pepper shakers.

With this in mind, Gem smiles at him and points towards the jar. ‘I’ve heard it’s really good for your digestion.’

No response.

She’s not overly surprised. It isn’t the strongest line.

He rings the price up on the machine.

The corner shop is the other reason Gem still carries physical money. You can pay on card, but rumour has it, Jay prefers cash. So, for the second time this evening, but under significantly more pleasant circumstances, she reaches into her bag for her wallet. The jar costs an illogical £3.87, so she gets out £4 and puts it on the counter.

‘You can keep the change.’ She says it in her happiest voice, but still gets absolutely no reaction.

But Gem doesn’t let this rile her. Or at least she doesn’t let the fact she is riled show. Instead, like every other semi-functioning adult she knows, she lets her feelings fester and picks up the jar without another word. Smiling as wide as she can.

The last part of Gem’s journey home always takes a little bit longer than it should. She blames it on the fact that it’s slightly uphill. Her legs are protesting by the time she reaches the harsh concrete steps that lead up to the front door of their building. Today, the final leg of her journey is made better by the almost blooming blossoms, but by far Gem’s favourite thing about this time of year is that feeling of walking into a room and not having to put a light on to see where she’s going.

As usual, the key sticks slightly in the lock. She tries not to add it to her growing list of grievances, but sometimes it feels as if the universe is trying – in really small, really passive-aggressive, but really incessant ways – to keep her from getting home and being able to relax. But finally, with a shoulder to the door, she’s inside.

No matter how much Sensual Sandalwood air freshener they use, the shared entranceway always smells of food, and not in a good, mouth-watering way. It’s in the way that will cling on to your clothes and block your pores, leading to a post-pubescent breakout. The yellow tinge of the overhead light, the magnolia walls that were last painted in the nineties, and the bright red carpet, which she hopes was only chosen because it was heavily discounted, do nothing but add to the clogged feeling of the hall.

Even so, it’s a welcome sight. Just one more door and she’s home.

As soon as she’s inside, her jaw relaxes – not all the way because there is still a lot to be anxious about and being permanently slightly tense is now a habit – but enough that her teeth no longer hurt. The combination of knowing she is about to see someone she loves, the smell from Shanti’s oil diffuser and the knowledge that she can now take off her shoes makes Gem happy. She plonks the jar down on the table in the kitchen and looks through to the lounge.

Their kitchen is tiny. Their whole flat is pretty small, but it has a couple of fun features that make up for the lack of space. And a few that don’t. It was cheaply converted from a lovely single-dwelling townhouse, so it comes with bubbling linoleum and walls so thin (despite the layers of embossed wallpaper that nobody is brave enough to take down in case half the plaster comes with it) that Gem knows exactly how much sex their next-door neighbour is having, and also when they’re about to have it. They’ve made a playlist that starts with ‘All of Me’ by John Legend and ends with ‘Cbat’ by Hudson Mohawke.

She’s never actually seen them, but at this point, it’s probably a good thing. She knows far too much about their sex life to look them in the eye without blushing. In an act of friendly neighbourly hypocrisy, they sometimes even bang on the walls to let Gem and Shanti know when they’re making too much noise. Not that either one of them has had sex in months, if not years. Gem is too picky, and Shanti far too busy.

By far the best feature of their flat is the hatch that Gem is now hanging through. It sits between the kitchen and the lounge, and everything passes through it. Food. Drinks. Phone chargers. Conversation. Even furniture. The hallway is so narrow that the hatch is the only way to get the dining table from the kitchen into the lounge. It’s not something they do often, only when they have people over for a fancy dinner. Otherwise, it’s usually just the two of them, sitting on the sofa and eating with teaspoons from bowls that are nestled on top of decorative cushions.

As she looks through, Gem can see her flatmate wrapped up like a caterpillar in her blanket, only her head visible.

When she first saw Shanti at the other end of a classroom more than twenty years ago, Gem knew they were going to be friends. First, because they had the same type of bag – two sports backpacks in a sea of shoulder bags – and second, because Gem needed to know what Shanti did to make her hair so glossy. Gem’s hair, which has always been a little difficult to tame, is the polar opposite of Shanti’s beautifully tamed locks. Her friend’s hair only ever looks perfectly conditioned. Her wide eyes, heart-shaped lips and long limbs only add to her overall beauty. She’s the kind of person who makes life look easy. Gem would hate her if she didn’t love her so much.

‘Did you get a smile?’

‘Not even a grunt.’

At Gem’s answer, Shanti doesn’t look away from the TV, but Gem can see her face scrunch up in disappointment. The Jay Challenge has been going on for so long now that they just want one of them to break him. Of course, it would be difficult for either of them to prove they had actually managed to get any words out of him, but they don’t lie. They may have secrets from other people, but never each other.

Gem leans further into the lounge, resting her elbows on the frame, the top half of her body in a completely different room to the rest of her. The lounge is the best room in the house, partly because it contains two sofas – one for each of them – but mainly because a lot of bonding has been done there.

‘You want a toastie?’

Eyes still on the TV, Shanti shakes her head. ‘No, thanks. I’ve already eaten.’

Shanti stopped joining in on the toastie action after a particularly questionable combination. Although Gem will admit that the banana and bacon pairing backfired, she is still a firm believer that every food item is made better by being sandwiched between two layers of carbs and turned slightly crunchy. It’s an opinion that Shanti frequently disagrees with.

Feet still crying despite now being free, Gem gets to work, turning the toastie maker on before she’s even decided what to put into it. It’s a risky move, but it helps ensure she will eat within the next three hours, instead of just thinking about it. On tonight’s menu, she will definitely be having sauerkraut, but she’s unsure what it goes with. She grabs the jar on the way to the cupboard, whacking the lid hard against the counter, before twisting it open.

‘Ugh.’

One whiff is all she needs to know that sauerkraut won’t go with anything. The only way to describe it is tangy. Like an earthy vinegar. It smells like it has already gone bad. Gem gives it another strong, brave sniff, just in case it gets better. It doesn’t. She immediately puts it down.

Is it really worth living to one hundred, if your days have to be full of fermented cabbage?

Perturbed, but stubborn, she opens up the cupboard, hoping for inspiration.

Obviously, she will be adding some cheese, as cheese fixes everything – even Gem’s perpetual fear that she’s going to be alone forever unless she eventually finds somewhere to rent that allows pets. While she could leave it there – maybe adding a bit of mustard for a kick – all of a sudden, she feels brave. She reaches into the cupboard and pulls out a tin of beans.

Too busy working out how to layer the ingredients so there’s the least chance of them falling out straight away, Gem doesn’t notice Shanti until she’s right behind her.

‘You’ve put beans into your toastie?’

Gem jumps.

‘Fucking hell, Tee! Don’t sneak up on me like that.’

‘That must be one of your bravest combinations yet.’

Grimacing, Shanti retreats and sits down at the table, slightly shuffling as she goes, the blanket still wrapped around her body. She chooses the chair that is furthest away from the toastie maker.

‘So . . . how did the date go?’ she asks, like Gem didn’t just use one of her lifelines to phone a friend.

‘You know it went badly. They’re all the same.’ Gem checks on the Cheddar. Although she experiments with the other ingredients in her toasties, she only ever uses Cheddar. It has the perfect melting style, although from the looks of things, it’s not quite melty enough yet.

‘Everyone seems fine on paper.’ Although of course she mainly looks at them through a screen. ‘But there is always something.’

‘What was it this time?’

It’s Gem’s turn to grimace. ‘His lunch of choice is soup.’ From her tone, you’d think she’d just said he microwaves fish.

Shanti’s perfectly shaped eyebrows draw closer together, like a loose thread being pulled in a knitted jumper. ‘But you eat soup.’

Gem can’t stop the full body shiver that comes over her. The issue with the ick, she has found, is that you either get it or you don’t. Like marmite. Or the obsession with Harry Styles. And between the two of them, Shanti has always been the more logical one. But the ick isn’t logical.

After one more quick cheese check, Gem sits down opposite her friend, giving her sandwich a bit more time. ‘I know, and don’t ask me to explain it, but the idea just really turns me off.’

‘You are ridiculous.’ There is a lack of amusement in Shanti’s voice.

‘You have to admit, it’s weird.’

Shanti’s silence says more than any words could. But it’s her eyes that are doing even more of the talking; they narrow just a little bit.

Gem might’ve only just sat down, but she gets back up to check on her toastie so she can escape Shanti’s. . .