Congratulations, Ellie, you’ve managed to turn a first date into a no-holds-barred wrestling match with a fat parrot. What will you do for an encore? Challenge a moose to some boxing? Karate with a panda?
I let out a scream as Keiran yanks Squawks away as hard as he can, taking a fair clump of my hair with him.
Squawks . . . well . . . squawks triumphantly as his handler does so. He may have lost his taco to me, but he’s taken his measure of revenge by removing a chunk of my hair. It’s a trade he probably thinks is well worth it.
I bloody don’t, and my hand flies to my head as I start to feel the burning sting.
‘Owww! You mean bloody bird!’ I shout at the cockatoo, who is still throwing the hissiest of hissy fits in Keiran’s arms.
By now of course, the whole restaurant is watching what’s going on with a combination of horror and surprise. The little girl who was so happily playing with her own parrot close to our table is now staring over with a look of sheer terror on her face.
I have managed to turn her ornithophobic in mere seconds. Hell . . . I’m pretty sure I’m going to develop a severe fear of birds after this. My chances of visiting any tropical islands on holiday any time soon are down the toilet. I’ll be permanently terrified that a lorikeet is about to rip the back of my head off to get at my Mai Tai.
‘Ellie! Are you okay?’ Nolan exclaims, coming towards me with a highly concerned expression on his face.
Bless him. Look at how worried he is, would you?
Given what’s just transpired, I’m amazed he’s not howling with laughter – but then Nolan isn’t built that way, is he?
‘I . . . I think I’m alright,’ I tell him, seeing a tiny amount of blood on my hand as I take it away from my head. I give Nolan a dismayed, hurt look. ‘I just . . . I just wanted to say . . . to say to you . . . I just wanted to be honest and . . . and . . .’
Do not cry, woman. Do not cry here and now, when—
Oh, fuck it. We’ve just been assaulted by a bloody parrot. You can for a bit, but don’t indulge yourself.
Tears sprout at the corners of my eyes, and I see Nolan’s face crumple in sympathy.
He then does something that is unexpected, but ever so right in the circumstances – he wraps his arms around me in a tight hug.
Oh God.
Oh wow.
Look, I’m not going to say getting attacked by Squawks was worth it for this – I haven’t lost my mind completely – but if you are going to get mauled by a fat feathered maniac, then a hug like this is a magnificent way to make you feel like it wasn’t such a bad ordeal after all.
Nolan breaks the hug, and looks me in the eyes. ‘Are you okay?’
Kiss him.
What?
Kiss him. Right now.
In front of all these people?
Yes, in front of all of them. Kiss him.
With a parrot screaming the place down next to us?
Yes. It’ll be memorable.
My scalp is bleeding. You’re suggesting I kiss a man when I have a bleeding scalp, and hair that probably looks like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards?
Yes, I am. Now stop sodding about. Kiss him.
But I haven’t been honest with him yet! I haven’t told him all about Robert!
Fuck all of that. Just kiss him.
But you said I had to tell him!
That wasn’t me. Kiss him. Do it now.
I’ve never really believed in that whole metaphor about the angel and the demon sat on your shoulders before, but both of the buggers have come on this date with me tonight, haven’t they?
The question is, which one do I listen to?
. . . the wrong one, unfortunately.
I lean forward and slap my lips on to Nolan’s with a ferocity that is quite unlike me.
For a split second I think Nolan is going to pull away, but then he starts to kiss me back . . . and the world starts spinning.
It would be some kind of glorious romantic Hollywood moment, were it not for the fact that Squawks has now decided to climb on Keiran’s head and shit down the poor lad’s back.
‘Jesus Christ!’ he screams in pain and revulsion, as Nolan and I remain lip-locked.
The crowd of restaurant guests now don’t know where to look. Two people engaged in a passionate kiss is quite the thing, but then, does it really compete with a cockatoo defecating all over his handlers while screeching the place down?
Probably not.
I think Nolan and I would have to strip our clothes off and get down to it right here and now to even begin to compete with the show Squawks and Keiran are putting on.
. . . great. Now I’m horny.
There’s a cockatoo systematically flaying somebody alive and spraying poo everywhere right next to me, and I’m getting turned on.
It might be best to pause this romantic interlude, until the chaos has been brought to an end.
I pull away from Nolan extremely reluctantly, and look into his eyes. ‘Well,’ I gasp, ‘I wasn’t . . . I wasn’t planning on doing that.’
‘I’m . . . glad you did.’
‘Me too.’
‘But, nice as it was . . . do you think we can pause for a while? I’m pretty sure I just felt some bird shit land on my neck.’
‘Okay!’
We break our embrace and step back, as three of Halliwell’s staff try to bring Squawks under some sort of control. They are failing miserably. He’s having none of it.
Then, an idea presents itself that should make their attempts a lot more successful.
I go over to my plate, grab the remaining tacos, and lob them into the bundle of arms, legs, feathers and beak. Squawks instantly goes for them, allowing Keiran to finally get away from his attacker.
He gives me a look of pitiful gratitude.
‘Might be a good idea to take tacos off the menu,’ I suggest in a light tone – to which he nods feverishly, his eyes wild.
‘I’ll tell the kitchen,’ he replies.
Squawks, for his part, has calmed down magnificently, and is tucking into the smashed remains of those tacos with great gusto.
Good for you, Squawks, I think to myself. You got yours.
I turn to look at Nolan, and the instant I do I feel a combination of excitement and dread. Excitement that I might be embarking on a new romantic relationship for the first time in what feels like a century, and dread when I think about the possible ramifications of that relationship on my career and reputation at work.
And then there’s the whole matter of my true attitude towards the environment . . .
Don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine. You’re good at your job, and that’s all that matters.
Thank you, shoulder angel!
Ha! You think I’m the angel?
‘I think I might need to go to the toilet and check myself over,’ I say to Nolan, tentatively sending an exploratory finger up to where Squawks ripped the hair out of my head. There’s not much blood there, but it’s probably still best I go give it a proper look.
‘Okay,’ Nolan replies, and nods. ‘I think I might have a chat with the maître d’, and get us out of here before any other birds attack us.’
‘Good idea.’ I look around at the stunned and shocked looks on the faces of the other restaurant-goers. ‘I think it might be a good idea to recommend to Mr Halliwell that he changes this whole set-up a bit. Dining with birds of paradise sounds like a great idea, but maybe dining with birds of paradise that are securely sectioned off from diners by some nice stout metal fencing might be a whole lot safer.’
A little later, after I’ve wrestled my hair back into some kind of shape and have dabbed away the blood enough to cover up the injury, Nolan and I end up in a bar close to town, where we order a couple of exciting cocktails. It’s been that kind of evening.
Even later than that, there is more kissing. This time completely free of poo.
It’s all rather marvellous.
I take my leave from
Nolan eventually and reluctantly, and make my way home with my brain fizzing.
Tonight has been quite monumental. Things have irrevocably changed, and it’s hard to see any way that they can go back.
And okay, yes – I didn’t manage to talk to Nolan about Robert, or about how I’m not quite the green crusader he might think I am, but does it really matter?
After all, I am helping to spread the message of environmentalism by working at Viridian PR. I’m doing the absolute best job I possibly can. Nobody could be working harder right now. I am doing good in the world!
It doesn’t really matter that I might not be motivated by the environmental cause to the same extent that Nolan is. The important thing is that Viridian PR does its best to promote those businesses that are motivated by it.
And there’s no real reason why I have to get into the whole issue of Robert Ainslie Blake. It was a fling. A six-month mistake. Nothing more than that. He blinded me with his cash, his bold manner and his teeth. I was very silly to date him, but it ended a long time ago.
There’s no reason to . . . ruin what I’ve started with Nolan.
I’m not doing anything wrong, I’m not hurting anyone.
Everything is perfectly fine.
. . . what’s not perfectly fine is that, from now on, I will be unable to look at a cockatoo without feeling the overwhelming urge to scream and throw Mexican food at it.
On balance though, I’d say that this date can be put in the positive column. I really do like Nolan a lot. That much has been made evident – even if it took me nearly getting scalped by a parrot to finally realise it.
SQUAWK . . . Who’s a pretty boy, then?
Chapter Seven
THE STICKY THINGS ARE OUR FUTURE
And so, we reach the ‘two people running around behind everyone’s backs, trying to keep things a secret’ portion of this tale.
It was inevitable, I suppose. You simply can’t enter into a relationship with your boss and not have to engage in clandestine trysts behind closed doors, away from prying eyes.
Both Nolan and I have agreed that the last thing we want is for our colleagues to find out about our fledgling romance. It would damage my reputation, of that there is no doubt, and it probably wouldn’t do his much good either.
So, we are being very careful.
Careful to keep our hands to ourselves as much as possible while at work – and arrange dates at times and places that aren’t likely to see us bumping into Nadia, Joseph and Amisha – or anyone else from Viridian PR.
Thus far, it’s working very well.
Okay, there was that one time last week when Young Adrian came into Nolan’s office a mere ten seconds or so after we’d been kissing by Nolan’s new ficus, but I don’t think he even registered how hectic and flushed our faces were, or that my lipstick had gone on holiday across my left cheek.
Other than that, we’ve managed to keep things very secret.
Speaking of secrets – no, I still haven’t told him about Robert. I’m sorry. It’s just not felt like the right time.
Everything is going so well, you see. Not only am I still very much enjoying the work I’m doing, I now have the added benefit of passionate kissing by a ficus with an unconventionally handsome man.
I’ve never had the excitement of a fresh new job and a fresh new relationship before. It’s an extremely heady combination.
And I don’t want to spoil any of it!
So I will keep my sordid past to myself at the moment, if that’s all the same.
. . .
This doesn’t mean that I don’t worry about it constantly, though.
I’d like to just put Robert and my slightly disingenuous approach to Viridian’s environmental cause to the back of my brain – but both keep on surfacing like half-melted icebergs.
I know I should be more honest with Nolan, but I equally know that it will just ruin things if I am.
And I still think that neither thing really matters all that much. Not in the grand scheme of things. Viridian PR continues to go from strength to strength – that’s what matters, and why should a past relationship have any impact on a current one? We all have skeletons in our closet, after all. It’s perfectly okay if I want to keep mine locked away for now.
That sounds convincing, doesn’t it?
Reasonable?
Yes.
I think so.
Definitely.
‘Ellie?’
I jump in my seat as Nolan’s voice interrupts my extensive wool-gathering.
How long have I been sat here, thinking about all of this? Probably far too long.
‘Yes!’ I reply, trying to sound like I’m fully switched on to the world around me, rather than inside my own head, rummaging around in my neuroses.
‘How’s it going on that market research project? Both Hempawear and The Green Tangent are interested in getting their hands on it, and I’d like to be able to give them an estimate on when we might have something for them.’
‘I’ll be visiting the school on Monday,’ I tell him, fully returning to the here and now. It’s rare for Nolan to sound hurried about anything, so when it does happen it rather shocks you out of any complacency you may have fallen into.
‘Great. Do you think you can have everything collated by the end of next week?’
‘Yes, hopefully. Nadia is coming with me, and she’ll help transcribe everything once we’re back in the office. Next Friday should be doable, no problem.’
‘Fantastic! Good to know you’re on it.’ Nolan smiles, and gets up from his desk. He comes over and gives me a gentle, encouraging squeeze of the shoulder.
This of course then leads to some more passionate kissing by the ficus.
If I ever write a fictionalised account of my office romance with Nolan, that will probably be the title of the book.
We manage to get ourselves under control after about five minutes, and both sit back down, with faces once again flushed. Anyone coming into Nolan’s office when I’m in it these days would probably think we’ve got the heating up way too high.
I take a moment to calm myself and drop back into work mode. Nolan does much the same thing.
In the short time we’ve been dating, we’ve already developed this uncanny ability to switch from work to romance and back again in the blink of an eye, without much effort at all. It bodes well for our ongoing relationship that neither of us has a problem with this.
‘Seriously, don’t worry about the market research, I’ve got everything planned out for the session. I’m sure we’ll get some good data from them,’ I say to Nolan, full of positivity.
‘That’s great. The data you get should be really helpful to us.’
‘It absolutely will,’ I reply, with what I hope sounds like a large degree of certainty in my voice.
It’s a certainty I’m not actually sure I really feel . . . but you know how the old saying goes. Fake it until you make it.
The ‘them’ I’ve referred to are a class of schoolchildren in year six.
Or, as I like to call them, The Sticky Things.
Not as sticky as their younger counterparts in the years below, I grant you, but they are sticky enough, I can guarantee you that.
Now, ordinarily I would have no truck with going near Sticky Things of any age. I only enjoy the company of human beings once they can legally drive a car, and can safely join me in having a good old moan about their tax bill. But in this instance, I am willing to do it, because it might help me glean some useful information for Viridian PR.
You see, some of the companies we represent are very interested in The Sticky Things. They are interested because The Sticky Things are the consumers of the future – once they’ve reached the age and position where they get wages and a tax bill, that is. And for companies concerned with the environment, it’s very important for their future that they understand what the young think about climate change and other environmental concerns. You don’t want to be sending out the wron
g message to your customers of the future.
Hence this hastily arranged market research session – organised with the help of my brother Sean. Once more I am leaning on him. Though this time it’s a little more in-depth than just a phone call about ways I can keep my job.
He sounded more than happy to help me out with this market research project though, I’ll give him that.
It’s the environmental angle. That’s definitely what persuaded him to help – and the reason for his eagerness. Sean is the kind of teacher that believes the children truly are our future, and he’ll do anything he can to educate them into being better people. He’s a massive idealist. Always has been. The idea of a session where his pupils get to talk to someone about their concerns for the environment is something he really couldn’t pass up.
Okay, the fact that Nolan also promised to donate a good chunk of change to the struggling school greased the wheels with the rest of the faculty, but for Sean it’s all about his pupils engaging with such an important subject.
You’ve got to laugh, haven’t you? The idea that The Sticky Things will actually want to talk about climate change is ludicrous. If I was conducting research into the Kardashians, Fortnite, or Nando’s, I could understand him thinking that way, but if I come out of the hour-long session with more than a few mumbled comments about the weather and greenhouses, I’ll be flabbergasted.
Kids don’t care about the world’s environment. They care about their own environment – which is largely full of smartphones, peri-peri chicken and plastic toys. They are The Sticky Things, and they are wholly unconcerned with your adult fixations about sea levels and the destruction of biospheres. Hempawear and The Green Tangent will come to realise this, once I report back with our findings.
Regardless, Monday will see me enter the domain of The Sticky Things, because I promised Nolan I would do it, and I don’t want to let him down.
It will be Ellie Cooke and thirty or so children, locked together in a small room for sixty minutes.
I may have to spend the weekend blind drunk to prepare myself.
I had a couple of gin and tonics with the girls from the gym on Sunday night, but that was about it. I find the idea of drinking to feel better more appealing than the reality of it – largely because I can’t ever remember a time when drinking lots of alcohol made me feel better about anything, other than the prospect of going teetotal.
Going Green Page 15
