‘It’s good to see you buddy. Been too long.’
‘Yeah, it has,’ he says.
There’s one of those pangs of regret I was talking about, this time both audible and visible.
‘So how’s Kate?’
I move onto the subject of that regret, knowing that it will make him happy talking about her, and not thinking of the fun he’s missing out on.
‘Yeah, she’s great, thanks. She sends her love.’
Like fuck she does. She can’t stand me, or Raj for that matter. In fact she despises Raj more than me. I think she sees us as a bad influence on Ed. She says it’s bad, we would say it is a healthy influence. And one that it is our duty to exercise. Raj and I both think that Ed can do better, he’s gone for Kate because of timing, nothing else. Kate happened to be there when Ed caved in, and decided he wanted another monogamous relationship.
‘So what you been up to?’ Ed enquires.
His voice is empty, the question is hollow. There’s something else on his mind. Not that he doesn’t care what I’ve been up to, you understand, just that Ed can’t think of two things at once. Multitasking is not a skill that Ed is endowed with.
‘Well, work aside, I started kayaking a week ago. It’s something I always wanted to do, and it’s a good way of getting some exercise. And I have been getting some paintings together for an exhibition in an East End gallery that’s just opened up.’
I don’t think Ed is really listening.
‘Cappuccino please, cinnamon not chocolate, thank you,’ I place my order with the waitress who has been hovering at my elbow since the moment I started to give Ed the update on my life.
‘Love life?’ he asks.
I had purposefully omitted that from my summary. It’s not so easy to discuss this subject, one on one, where one is a happy singleton, and the other a smug almost-married.
‘Nothing, not a sausage. But it’s better like that at the moment, I just don’t have the time for a girl.’
‘Perhaps you would make the time, if you found the right girl.’
‘Yes, that’s true, I’m just not prepared to do that yet.’
There’s a pause. The great combustion engine that is Ed’s mind is ticking over at full pelt. You can hear the fires being stoked between his ears.
‘Max, we were thinking, Kate has this friend…’
‘Ah, Christ Ed. “We”?,’ I snap back at him.
I instantly feel guilty, I know I’ve just kicked him in the emotional equivalent of the nut sack.
‘I’m sorry. It’s just that, I can take my other friends playing cupid, but not you. It’s one thing turning up to a work colleague’s house for dinner, where it’s all couples, bar one girl in her late twenties, who keeps cats.’
I pause for a second, he’s staring at his empty espresso cup.
‘But I can’t take being set up by my best mate and his new girlfriend. I don’t need your sympathy, you know how I feel about this. Before this year, I spent my entire adult life in a serious relationship.’
‘I know she hurt you,’ he says sympathetically.
‘Mate, it’s not about Jessica, it’s about me. It’s a life choice.’
A fresh espresso arrives at the table, together with my cappuccino. It’s got chocolate on top.
‘Max, you can’t just give up.’
‘Huh,’ I laugh ironically. Ed knows I’m having a dig, again, at him doing exactly that.
‘Hear me out. You will really click with this girl,’ he pleads.
‘But suppose I don’t want to click with her. I’m tired of making the effort. I can’t do any more of the initial chat, repeating the same boring stuff about me, who I am etc just to find out we’re not compatible.’
‘But you can’t let that possibility stop you from ever seeing a girl again.’
‘Not ever, just now.’
And that’s how the banter continued for a while, to and fro. Neither willing to see the other’s side of the debate, probably out of fear of acknowledging that part of each argument is true. We are convincing ourselves, as well the other person, that our own position, is truly the position that we want to occupy. And that each of us slightly envies the situation of the other, a case of wanting our black forest gateau and eating it.
‘So what’s so special about this girl, anyway?’
I’m starting to sound like a bolshie bastard. Good old Ed, a true friend, I know he would never hold these moments of self-absorbed crap against me in future exchanges.
Instantly his mood swings, that grin breaks across his face. He knows he’s won already, and so do I, if I’m being honest, it’s the bloody barrister in him.
‘Well, she’s half Swedish to start with,’ he sounds more optimistic.
Git, he knows how much I like foreign girls, he’s thought about this.
‘She is studying for her PhD in International Law. She’s a friend of Kate’s. Her name is Jennifer, she wants to become a lecturer, at UCL most likely.’
‘Ok, so get me onto the important stuff. Is she a BB, what’s her chat like and is she attractive?’
He’s getting positively excited now, like he’s describing a particularly well performing stock that no one else in the market has spotted.
‘She’s definitely not a BB, she’s out of a serious relationship, so she’s pretty laidback. She has great chat, very funny but not in your face, and intelligent, goes without saying. And she is a fitty!’
Smiling mischievously he starts making circular movements in front of his chest, he’s trying to convey that she has large breasts, I think. The mature woman in the fox fur stole, on the table next to us, gives Ed a disapproving scowl.
‘Kate and I are throwing a dinner party for a few lawyer friends this Friday. Jennifer will be there. It will be great to see you. And if you guys hit it off, well that’s a bonus.’
It’s incredible how the love of a woman can change a man. A man you know so well, and how quickly that change comes about. One minute you’re downing beers together in a boat race chanting ‘drink it down you Zulu warrior,’ and next time you see him, he’s near teetotal and has bought a monthly subscription to Country Living. What’s worse, is that he then tries to convert you to his way of life. These couples begin to lead their lives vicariously through their singleton friends. It’s like the frigging Moonies. Because they no longer have the freedom to date, they feed off the excitement of dating by setting their friends up with each other. And now, because they’re together, everyone else has to be together, to share in this matrimonial bliss.
I’m standing in front of Ed’s front door. The week passed in a flash. I had asked myself a hundred times, ‘Why am I doing this?’ It’s not the right time, for me. I have been happy for the last few months. Everything is going my way. Life’s not complicated. I don’t have to compromise. I have my independence. Even if I like this girl, it’s just going to get in my way. I don’t have the time. I shouldn’t be here. I’m going to go. Ed will understand.
As I turn to leave, the front door opens, it’s Kate. I smile, trying to make it look convincing. God she’s annoying me already. I can’t understand how Ed likes the prospect of being tied to this girl for life, the type who would come down at breakfast and put her hands over his eyes and say ‘Guess who?’.
‘Hi Max, we’re glad you can make it,’ she says.
There’s that ‘we’ again. I’m here to see the friend I’ve known since when we played conkers at school, I think to myself. She leans in to kiss me on each cheek. I kiss her back.
‘Thanks for inviting me,’ I say, trying to sound genuine.
I take off my coat and head into the hall. Ed suddenly appears from the kitchen with two glasses in his hand.
‘Max, excellent!’ he declares. ‘Give me a sec, just hand these glasses out and I’ll be back.’
He disappears into, what I presume is, the living-room-cum-dining-room, for tonight. The apartment is in a nice, fairly bog-standard townhouse in Clapham. It’s unusual
to have a second reception room, it’s usually been converted into another bedroom. Kate’s extra room is a study, full of law books, and briefs tied together with legal purple ribbon are piled up like termite mounds on the wood floor. The walls are covered with numerous photos of her at various academic functions, she’s wearing her lawyer’s gown at this degree graduation or that admission’s ceremony. There’s even an enamelled shield above her desk with a Pegasus on it, I think it’s the Barrister’s Inn that she’s a member of, I’ve seen Ed wear a pair of cufflinks that have the same emblem. There’s a framed photo on the desk of Ed and Kate, in embrace. Ed is wearing that annoying face. Whenever he looks at Kate, he has this meekness, like a King Charles spaniel rebuked for bringing a half-chewed bone into the kitchen. I lie my coat on top of the others, which are draped over the back of the antique chair at her desk, and return to where all the chatter is emanating from.
This is the moment I’m fearing. Where you walk into the dining room (slash lounge) and there are two clear couples, and two clear single people; you and the girl. And whatever pretence is maintained, the two couples, you and the girl, all know that the two of you are being set up; and everyone knows the others know. But, of course, you have to act like it’s a regular group of friends meeting up, to chat American foreign policy, or worse, the latest series of house renovating, over carbonara that the hostess has probably ordered in from Deliverance. Cautiously, like some small woodland creature, I creep into the room, as quietly as I can. I’m trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible, and at the same time figure out which one of the girls is a fellow victim of her matchmaking friends.
‘Max, there you are.’ Ed is onto me before I’m two steps over the threshold. ‘Let me introduce you to James and Rebecca.’
A slightly studious looking couple, who look like they started dating at college. One of those small Oxford colleges that discourages sport and expects all its students to hibernate in their rooms, cuddling up with their books on Virgil.
‘Oh and this is Kate’s friend. Jennifer.’
Ed pops it in there, casual like. As if none of us know the reason Jennifer and I are here, least of all, us ourselves. Ed moves out of the way, he has been standing to my right-hand side, between myself and the other single person in the room. I can feel Mr and Mrs Studious, staring at us with expectation. The all-important moment of meeting. That first look. Chemistry or no chemistry. Boss eyed and buck teeth, or stunning beauty. I don’t think I could have been more surprised.
I’m not sure if I believe in love at first sight. That is to say, not true, full, deep and proper love. However, I do think that the Greek classicists had it right, when they identified two types of love. There is the initial falling, which is when you feel that spark. An inexplicable flutter in your stomach that can be experienced, like now, within moments of meeting. This can, sometimes, lead to a second falling. And this is true love, in all its incantations. That deep, long lasting love that you see between couples celebrating their Ruby wedding anniversaries in village halls.
Now when I first clapped eyes on Jennifer, seconds ago, kissed her and gazed into those azure eyes, my stomach did a small summersault. Jennifer has dark blonde hair tied back in a pony tail. Her eyes sparkle and she has teeth like pearls. They may be two a penny in California but nice teeth are a rarity in Britain. My own are far from perfect. While she is blonde, and part Swedish, she is not pale, as one might expect. She has a deep, rich tanned skin. You could say she has a sort of glow. Not the pregnant kind. She’s wearing white trousers that sit low on her hips. They fit snugly round the bottom and flare out a little as they pass her thigh. At the bottom pointy Italian shoes show their little snouts. Her powder pink top is tight and classical, with a revealing plunging neck line. She is delectable. The more we talk, the more I can tell we are going to get along, really well. And I can see that the same thing is running through her mind. There are glances, lingering too long, and smiles revealing more than is intended.
We chat in a circle for a while, Ed refills our glasses with a rather good Chablis. Kate pops her head round the door, she tells us to get up to the table as dinner is almost ready. By that I presume she means she has managed to get the plastic packaging off the deli boxes that were couriered round earlier. We start to drift towards the table in the corner of the room. It’s one of those glass and steel type affairs. Everyone even has little card place names, standing proudly in one of a variety of silver place name holders. Each one is a different geometric shape, cube, sphere etc. Mine is conical. I wonder if there’s a reason for it, Kate does everything for a reason. Dunce? Phallus? Who knows. Surprise, surprise, I am one end of the oval table and next to me and sort of opposite as well, to my right, is Jennifer. But all feelings of malice towards my old mate and his missus are long gone. I’m actually enjoying Jennifer’s company and am chuffed she’s sitting next to me. Ed knows this as well, I catch the odd smug grin from his end of the table. Happy with himself that, at the moment, everything seems to be going to plan. Kate is sitting on my other side, presumably so she can make surreptitious ‘faces’ at Jennifer, without me seeing. Then continuing round the table, James, Rebecca and lastly Ed.
Ed lights the candles on the table and changes the music over to some Rat Pack compilation. There’s a good, relaxed atmosphere in the room, everyone’s chatting. I think I misjudged the studious couple. They might look like Harry Potter’s parents, but they’re pretty cool. At the moment the conversation is in full swing, we’re talking about the idea of buying a small property abroad. A pied-à-terre in Tuscany or, I suggest, somewhere on the Dalmatia coast. I hear it’s the place to buy at the moment. Frank Sinatra is singing about how he did it his way.
We’re getting stuck into the delicious meal, and our third bottle of red wine. Occasionally Jennifer and I go off on a tangent and become embroiled in our own little conversation, while we leave the others to chat about the original topic. Her voice is deliciously silky, it’s like syrup being poured out of a jug. Our conversation seems to have its own agenda, taking a personal tangent here and there, which lets us find out something new and interesting about each other. Our likes, dislikes, interests, family etc. I hear about her parents, what it was like growing up in Sweden and how she is doing a PhD, which may involve a period of study in her homeland. The more I hear about this girl, the more I like her. I’m hooked.
Our conversation returns to a group discussion. Ed is telling everyone, probably for the umpteenth time, it certainly isn’t the first time for me, how he and Kate met. Ed then thinks it is a good idea to bring up some of the hilarity we shared in the year before he met Kate. Ed is a very bright chap, but there are moments when all common sense fails the man. He embarks upon a lengthy description of our failings and shortcomings in the dating arena, drawing heavily upon my own miserable experiences. Muppet. And of course he wasn’t sitting next to Kate, to receive the elbow in the ribs trick. But to everyone’s surprise, after I try to extricate myself from the tortuous embarrassment, Jennifer pipes up with an astounding statement.
‘Maybe you will meet your perfect woman before she dashes off to Sweden to study,’ she smiles, cheekily.
There’s silence. I sit there open-mouthed. Someone, I don’t see who, chokes on their pasta. Ed nearly spits out his gulp of wine. Kate instinctively kicks me under the table. Jennifer, who is still smiling, looks coyly into her wine glass, as she takes an elegant sip. I turn, slowly, and face the rest of the dinner party. It seems as if they have all gathered around at the other end of the table, bunched together, looking upon their creation. The new couple. This is better than they could have ever hoped. Without speaking, I turn back to stare at Jennifer.
‘Mmm, lovely dinner by the way, Kate,’ she says.
‘Oh er, thank you,’ Kate automatically retorts, but she is, clearly, taken aback by what Jennifer just said. And then everyone gets a hold of themselves, and the moment passes.
I give Ed a smile, he throws me a look of shee
r surprise. Already the conversation has moved on. I am left behind, loitering on her comment. When you feel that spark, that special ingredient, all previous emotions and best laid plans fly out the window. Rationality disappears. My strong belief that I don’t want another serious relationship is like a dim and distant memory. No, in fact, it is someone else’s memory. Who wouldn’t want to be serious with this amazing girl. I start imagining what she would look like pregnant, what my kids would look like as a product of me and her. My eyes, her nose, definitely her lips and those cute little dimples. The fact they could grow up bilingual, we could spend winters in Sweden and summers in England. We could have our honeymoon in a log cabin by a Fjord. I’ve always wanted to learn a Scandinavian language. I shop at Ikea, hell I even like Dime bars.
All this runs through my mind in seconds. Fuck, this is crazy. I have to get a grip of myself. That’s on a bunny boiling par with the things I have encountered myself, and criticised. Although I suppose I haven’t vocalised those thoughts, or put them into action. Yet. I shake the feelings away.
We finish the post-dinner cocktails, sup the final drop of bitter coffee and devour the last of the Godiva chocolates. James keeps nodding off, I’m not sure if it’s the drink, that it’s late or a combination of both. Rebecca looks indignantly at her betrothed. She returns to the dregs of the conversation, she has come out of her shell a great deal as the evening has gone on, and as more has been imbibed. She rouses James from his slumber for the last time, and informs him it’s time to leave. Ed moves towards the study, dragging his feet as he goes. He returns moments later with two light coats draped over his right arm. He throws one at James and holds the other one up for Rebecca to slip her arms into. We all kiss them good night.
‘I really should be going as well,’ says Jennifer.
I really don’t want her to. I want her to stay. I want her to stay all night, with me. Ed, helpfully, produces a third jacket from the study. She slips into the elegant leather number. She says good night to her hosts. And then there is a little awkwardness as they move aside, to let me say my ‘Night, night now pucker up.’ As I go to kiss her on the cheeks, she doesn’t let our eyes lose contact until the last second. God, she smells so good. Then, quickly, she pulls away, says a final thank you, and disappears outside into the awaiting cab.
Single White Failure Page 22
