The Plus One Pact

by MacIntosh, Portia

  I give them a sort of half-wave as I greet them. Well, we’re not on hugging terms.

  ‘Hi,’ Flora replies. No word on my new look.

  My auntie gives me one of her famous tongue clicks.

  ‘What have you done?’ she asks me, but she doesn’t wait for me to reply. ‘I suppose this is all for Flora’s benefit?’

  ‘Of course it isn’t, Mary,’ my mum says, jumping to my defence.

  ‘You just want to upstage her at her wedding,’ Mary persists. ‘Why else would you change the way you look to something so… so… Kardashian?’

  There’s a really snobbish, judgemental tone to her voice. My auntie is clearly not one for Keeping Up with the Kardashians.

  ‘The Kardashians are symptomatic of a toxic culture,’ Oliver chimes in. ‘But they’ve managed to cheat the system, to profit from it. That’s really quite smart. Plus, you know, women have the right to do whatever they want.’

  My auntie rolls her eyes.

  I smile at Oliver. I know I joke about how ‘woke’ he is, but it’s honestly such a breath of fresh air being around a male with a healthy take on feminist issues.

  ‘It’s just hair dye and a not-black dress,’ I point out. ‘It’s not a big deal.’

  ‘Cara might not even be coming, Mum,’ Flora tells her. It sounds as if she’s ticking her off, but this is just another dig. She knows I’m coming, she’s just making out as if I think the day isn’t important, for dramatic effect. Well, she isn’t getting a floor show from me.

  ‘Of course I’m coming,’ I say, sitting down on the sofa with my mum. ‘In fact, I have a plus one.’

  ‘What?’ Flora says. ‘Really? What about Lloyd?’

  ‘I know you’re still inviting him,’ I say, although I can still never quite believe my ex is invited to her wedding. ‘But you did say I could still invite a plus one.’

  ‘Yeah, but I didn’t think…’ Flora doesn’t finish that sentence. ‘So, who are you bringing? What’s his name?’

  ‘M… Joe,’ I quickly correct myself. Probably best I use Millsy’s actual name, rather than his nickname.

  ‘And what does Mjoe do for a living?’ my auntie asks nosily. ‘Does he lock people up too?’

  ‘No, he’s an actor,’ I reply.

  My auntie scrunches her nose. I don’t think she’s impressed.

  ‘What, like on TV?’ Flora asks excitedly. ‘Am I going to have a famous person at my wedding?’

  ‘Oh, no, he’s a theatre actor,’ I reply.

  ‘Oh, OK,’ she says. ‘Never mind.’

  You’ve got to laugh at Flora’s priorities. Now that she’s realised there’s nothing in this for her, she isn’t at all interested.

  ‘Anyway, we’ll get off,’ my auntie says. ‘Let you get your dinner.’

  My mum sees them to the door. To be honest, I’m glad they’re leaving. At least I can relax now.

  ‘Bye,’ I call after them.

  I get half-hearted replies.

  I pull myself up and wander into the kitchen. It smells just like Sundays. Beef, vegetables, Yorkshire puddings, gravy. I didn’t even tell my mum I was coming, but she does this every week without fail, and there’s always plenty for everyone.

  ‘Everything’s ready,’ my mum says, joining me in the kitchen. ‘You timed it just right.’

  ‘Not just right,’ I remind her. ‘Your sister was still here.’

  ‘She’s a little ray of sunshine, isn’t she? Just ignore her, your hair looks amazing.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  As she removes Yorkshire puddings from the oven, placing them on the same plate she uses every week, I pinch one. It’s almost too hot to hold, but I’m starving.

  ‘You might look more sophisticated, but you haven’t changed.’ My mum chuckles. ‘Although you didn’t tell me you have a boyfriend.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t have a boyfriend, I just have a plus one.’

  ‘Joe the actor,’ my mum says.

  I raise an eyebrow.

  ‘He’s a real person,’ I insist. ‘I’m not so desperate for a man that I’m imagining one.’

  ‘I didn’t think that, don’t be silly,’ my mum reassures me. ‘I thought maybe you were paying an actor.’

  ‘Hilarious,’ I say sarcastically. ‘You’re lucky your Yorkshire puddings are good, or I’d be off.’

  ‘There’s baked Alaska for dessert.’

  ‘Well, I guess I’d be off after that, then, wouldn’t I?’ I joke.

  ‘Well, I look forward to meeting this Joe,’ she says. ‘Fancy carrying some food to the table?’

  ‘Sure,’ I reply.

  It’s weird, because obviously I want Millsy to be my plus one for the wedding, but I don’t think I’ve actually processed what that will entail. I’m going to have to introduce him to my family. My actual family. And while I’m certainly not going to be trying to pass him off as my boyfriend or anything, he’s still with me. Millsy, as generous as he has been, and as much fun as I have with him (I know I’ve only hung out with him for a couple of days but I can't stress how boring my days are usually), seems as if he has the potential to be a bit of a wildcard, and then there are his womanising ways I’ve heard all about. I suppose, at least, I don’t have to worry about him trying to pull me. Well, even if he is the ultimate womaniser everyone else claims he is, he still managed to hold down a female best friend, didn’t he? It’s definitely a relief to know that he does form sincere bonds with women, but it does niggle me, just a bit, because if he will supposedly sleep with anyone, I have to wonder what’s wrong with me that made him immediately usher me into the friend zone.

  Is this a terrible idea? Have I really reached that level of desperate, where I’ll take a near stranger to all of my big events over the summer? I really want to say no but, now that I’ve told my family that I’m bringing Millsy with me as my plus one, I’ve somehow made things even worse. Now, if I turn up without him, I’ll look even more tragic than if I’d just turned up alone. At least we’ve got a few events to go to before Flora’s wedding, so I suppose we can get in a lot of practice. I really don’t know why I’m getting cold feet all of a sudden; surely now the worst thing I could do would be to back out of our plus-one agreement. Millsy hasn’t steered me wrong yet… well, I guess he has, but only as far as dating advice goes, but I guess he’s just programmed differently from the way I am. As a friend though, I can’t fault him. Who knows? We might even have fun at these things. It’s too late to turn back now, we’ll just have to wait and see…

  9

  ‘Look at you,’ Millsy says as I meet him outside my apartment building. ‘You’re sticking with the new look, then?’

  I can't exactly change the hair in a hurry but I don’t know if he believed I’d keep up the new clothing style and bolder make-up.

  It’s weird – if I haven’t seen my reflection for a little while I forget that I look different at all. I forget about the daring (for me, at least) outfits, the make-up that completely transforms the shape of my face – I even forget about the long red locks.

  ‘Yeah, I love it,’ I tell him. ‘Even my family loved it… for the most part.’

  ‘You can’t win them all,’ he replies with a shrug of his broad shoulders and a flash of his cheeky smile. ‘I have your bag.’

  ‘You do,’ I say, almost surprised as I take it from him. He notices the look on my face.

  ‘What, did you think I was going to let myself in with your keys?’ he asks.

  ‘No, no,’ I reply quickly. ‘But I can’t say I’m not surprised every time you’re just a nice, normal person.’

  ‘Does my reputation precede me?’

  ‘A little,’ I admit. ‘Plus, you know, how often do people just… do nice things for people they don’t really know, just to be nice?’

  Millsy shrugs and smiles again.

  ‘Do you want to come in?’ I ask. ‘See if you pass the not-murdering-me test?’

  I feel as if a joke might dispel a little of the pot
ential offence I might have just caused, even if he isn’t letting on.

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ he says. ‘We need to plan, don’t we?’

  ‘We do,’ I reply. ‘We definitely do.’

  ‘After you, then,’ he prompts.

  It’s safe to say that no one ever comes back to my flat, and my family don’t visit all that much, so I spend the entire lift journey wondering what I need to quickly kick under the sofa or swipe from the worktop into the sink. I like to think I’m a reasonably tidy person but I’m no stranger to leaving my tea mug by the sink or kicking my tights off on the sofa. I suppose because Millsy’s flat was so amazing, and so tidy, I feel a little self-conscious about mine.

  Thankfully, once we’re inside, it turns out I actually left the place quite tidy – with the exception of a few papers on my coffee table.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ I ask.

  ‘Please,’ he replies. ‘Anything cold.’

  I’m with him on that one. It’s such a muggy evening.

  Millsy looks around the room before cocking his head curiously.

  ‘Do you have a leaky pipe or something?’ he asks me. ‘Not that I know what a leaky pipe sounds like, but…’

  ‘Oh, just give it a few minutes,’ I tell him as I gather up my papers.

  As the rhythmic tapping turns into more of a banging, followed by the clash of cymbals, Millsy realises what the noise is.

  ‘Oh, God, do you live next to a drummer?’

  ‘A drummer, a saxophone player, singers, dancers, actors with lines they need to practise until the early hours. It’s driving me mad, man.’

  ‘Is that why you’re flat-hunting?’ he asks, gesturing towards the papers in my arms.

  I look down at them. The flat listings the estate agent gave me, none of which feel right. They’re too far outside town, too small or too expensive. They are almost all too expensive.

  ‘Yeah. I work from home and it’s impossible to get anything done with the noise. I’d found somewhere new but it fell through so I’m looking a little more urgently now.’

  I stuff the papers inside a folder on my desk before heading to the fridge.

  ‘You rent?’ he asks.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Furnished?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Millsy says thoughtfully. ‘Did I mention I was renting out my spare room?’

  I laugh.

  ‘I’m serious,’ he insists. ‘You’re looking for somewhere to live, I’m looking for a roommate. It sounds like you’re going to be homeless soon. We’re basically working together. Move in with me.’

  ‘This relationship is moving a bit fast,’ I point out with a chuckle. ‘Thanks for the offer though.’

  I grab a couple of cans of Coke from the fridge and hand one to Millsy. I swipe the other one across my brow in an attempt to cool myself down.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Millsy asks.

  ‘I’m…’

  Right on cue, potentially the loudest bass drum of my life is beaten. I feel it rattle right through my body. I really don’t know how much longer I can take the noise here. I don’t know if it seems worse than ever, or if I’m just so annoyed by it that it seems even more intrusive. And I really am going to be homeless if I don’t like any of the flats I view next week. I have to admit, none of them are as central as I am now, and they certainly aren’t as nice as Millsy’s apartment – not without flat-sharing with someone who would be an actual stranger I know nothing about. At least I’ve known Millsy for a few days, I know things about him, I’ve seen his place and know that I could make myself at home there. My only other option, of course, would be to move back in with my mum and dad…

  ‘Well, maybe if I could temporarily, while I look for somewhere more permanent?’

  ‘Yeah, whatever you want,’ he says casually.

  ‘You’re so nice to me,’ I point out.

  ‘I really need a plus one.’ He laughs. ‘But, honestly, it’s no big deal. And we can just have the one lair where we do all our plotting.’

  ‘Are we going to have a serial-killer wall, with maps and photos?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he replies. ‘What’s our first gig?’

  ‘My bosses are getting married next weekend,’ I say. ‘It would be good to have a plus one. It’s only the evening do, so nothing too formal. They keep telling me I can bring someone if I want to.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ he says. ‘But can we talk about this at home, please? Between the sweltering heat and the banging of the drum, I’m getting a right headache.’

  At home. I laugh.

  ‘I’ll grab a few things,’ I say. ‘I can come back for the rest later… if you’re sure?’

  ‘I’m sure,’ he insists. ‘I’d rather rent to a friend.’

  ‘OK, well, let’s go plan this wedding,’ I tell him.

  ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ he replies with a cheeky smile.

  10

  My two bosses, who run the escape rooms I design, and tying the knot today, always make me think of that age-old question: what came first, the chicken or the egg? And it isn’t because she has fluffy yellowy blonde hair, and because he has a smooth bald head – they are just happy coincidences.

  The actual reason they make me wonder about the question is because they have a background in magic. He used to be a magician and she used to be his glamorous assistant (although anyone in the industry knows the assistant is basically a magician too). The thing is, their names are Paul and Deborah. This instantly makes me think of the famous magician Paul Daniels and his assistant/wife Debbie McGee. I mean, what are the chances they would have the same first names, the same jobs, and now they’re getting married?

  Deborah, like Debbie, is younger than Paul (the age gap isn’t nearly as wide though). They’ve been together a while but now they’re finally tying the knot. Most of the people who work at the escape rooms are students or young actors, but I guess they work more closely with me, designing rooms together, and I suppose I am a decade older than students, which, now that I’ve realised it, is a truly terrifying thought because I hadn’t realised how quickly time had passed. Obviously I know that I’m twenty-nine but things still seem as if they weren’t that long ago. It’s only when you stop and think about time that you realise how much has gone by. Look at it this way, it’s been sixteen years since the last episode of Friends aired – that’s over half my entire lifetime ago. What the hell? How can that be right?

  I’m close enough for Paul and Deborah to invite me to their wedding, but only close enough to be invited to the evening do. That’s the best part though, right? No boring ceremony, no need to worry about whether or not the food is going to be any good. Just turning up for the party. It’s a big hotel just outside Leeds so thankfully we can get a taxi there and back.

  I was worried the red dress might be a little bit much (or not enough, technically, I suppose) for my bosses’ wedding, so I went out and bought yet another new dress. This one – a mauve maxi dress with embroidered detail and long mesh sleeves – is more family-friendly. Millsy has scrubbed up well too, in a blue suit jacket teamed with smart black trousers and brown shoes. We haven’t been here long and we’ve just bumped into Keith, the only other person from work I can spot. He’s here with his wife, Sarah, who I haven’t met before, and, despite our rehearsing in the car, I still feel terrified of introducing Millsy to people.

  ‘How long have you two been together?’ Keith asks. ‘I didn’t realise you had a boyfriend, Cara.’

  I’m about to awkwardly tell him Millsy isn’t my boyfriend-boyfriend – just my plus one – when Millsy gets there first.

  ‘Six months,’ he says, wrapping an arm around my waist, squeezing me tightly.

  I always stiffen awkwardly when he touches me, not because I don’t like him touching me, but because I’m not used to casual physical contact from attractive men.

  This boyfriend angle isn’t something we discussed at all. In fact, I was very quick to say
the opposite.

  ‘You sure kept that quiet,’ Keith says with a smile. ‘Well, good on you, I’m really happy for you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say with my best fake smile. ‘Joe, shall we go and get another drink?’

  It feels so weird, calling Millsy by his first name.

  ‘Sure thing, babe,’ he replies.

  We excuse ourselves and head in the direction of the bar, weaving our way through the large round tables. Only a few people remain seated, mostly older relatives and friends. The tables are laid with cream and gold tablecloths and are littered with used plates, bearing the remains of the bacon sandwiches they’re serving and half-eaten bits of cake.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I ask him through the fake smile that is still cemented in place on my face. My teeth are clenched so tightly, it’s hard to release them, and as I talk through them, while pushing Millsy from behind, I look a little bit like I’m working a ventriloquist dummy.

  ‘What am I doing?’ he asks, surprised. ‘They totally bought that.’

  ‘I don’t want them to buy it,’ I reply. ‘I told you, I wanted a plus one, not a fake boyfriend.’

  ‘What's the difference?’ he asks, taking a bite out of another bacon sandwich.

  ‘Where did that come from?’ I ask, baffled because I didn’t notice it in his hand before. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter. The difference is, a plus one is a plus one, but if they think you’re my boyfriend, then I'm going to have to explain where you go.’

  ‘Where I go?’

  ‘Yeah, when all this is over, and I all of a sudden don’t have a boyfriend any more.’

  ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Oh-h-h. Yeah, OK, that makes sense, I guess… So, I’m single at these things?’

  And there he is, the Millsy that I was warned about.

  ‘Yes, Millsy, you’re single at these things,’ I say with a sigh.

  ‘You sound like you’re bothered,’ he says with a bit of a grin.

  ‘I’m not,’ I quickly insist. ‘Just because we’re plus ones for the summer, doesn't mean your love life can’t carry on as normal so, go ahead, crack on with whoever you want, don’t let me stop you.’