Much Ado About Sweet Nothing

by Alison May

  ‘No one can. And that’s what you can’t stand.’

  ‘I don’t see what’s wrong with basing your judgements on things that you can understand.’

  ‘But you can’t understand everything. What about beauty and love and art and literature and …’

  ‘Literature? How does literature help you understand the world?’

  He’s exasperating. ‘That’s not what we’re talking about.’ I point out.

  ‘It is now. Come on. How do hobbits and the fires of Mordor help you interpret the world around you?’

  We’re toe-to-toe now and I’m very aware that the rest of the conversation in the room is dying away. We are in danger of becoming the main event.

  ‘Hobbits? Is that the only book you can think of?’

  I can see that he’s fighting back a smile as he shrugs slightly and nods.

  ‘Well, The Lord of the Rings teaches that co-operation is preferable to fighting …’

  ‘And?’

  I take a breath to give thinking time. It doesn’t help. ‘And that it’s important to look after your jewellery.’

  ‘Important life lessons.’

  I nod. I think I might be a little bit tipsy.

  Ben tilts his head to one side. ‘I thought you said we weren’t talking about literature anyway.’

  He’s right. We weren’t. What were we talking about though? I remember.

  ‘We were talking about your inability to deal with love, because you can’t explain it.’ Yeah. That was it.

  ‘I just think deciding who to spend your life with based on cake is far more sensible than basing it on chemicals misfiring in your brain.’ I don’t respond, which is a mistake, because he takes my silence as an invitation to continue. ‘Anyway, when did you become a great fan of love and romance?’

  This is more familiar ground. Dangerous, unstable ground, but more familiar. ‘I can’t be doing with men. They think they know it all.’ I gesture around my living room. ‘And they take up so much space.’

  ‘Ok. Not a full grown man then. What about a boy?’ He makes a great show of looking around for a boy under the table and behind the bookcase. ‘Trix’s secret toyboy, out you come!’

  He looks silly. I’m not going to laugh. ‘Boys are worse than men. They take too long to train.’

  He calls off the search and moves to stand in front of me. ‘Boys take too long to train? What about girls?’

  The iPod has shuffled to a quieter track; the conversation around us has definitely lulled and I’m trapped in a conversation with this ridiculous, impossible man. He’s had three months away for me to forget precisely how annoying he can be, and how unaware he is of personal space. He’s close enough for me to hear his breathing. I force a smile from somewhere. ‘Women are perfect already.’

  He’s looking straight at me, and that smile is still there lingering in the back of his dark brown eyes. I swallow and try not to think about eye colour. He cocks one eyebrow, which he knows infuriates me, because I can’t do it however long I spend practising in front of the mirror. ‘Perfect, really?’

  I open my mouth to respond. Fortunately, for Ben, who was definitely, unquestionably going to lose this argument, Danny steps in. ‘Thank you for the entertainment, but I think this party was supposed to be for Claudio.’

  He turns towards the room and raises his voice. ‘Chaps, Gentlewomen, Undecideds, if you could make sure you have a glass in your hand. This evening is to welcome home Claudio from his jaunt in La Bella Italia, so if you could all hold up your glasses and join me, on my mark … one, two, wait for it, three … To Claudio!’

  ‘To Claudio!’

  I turn away from Ben and join in enthusiastically. ‘To Claudio!’

  Someone has the good sense to turn the music up and the party slowly cranks back into life. Danny steers Ben away, and Claudio gravitates back into Henrietta’s orbit, which leaves me standing apart from the group next to John. Danny’s John. I didn’t even see him arrive. He’s like that. He has a face that you wouldn’t really look twice at if you saw him in the street. He’s neither grotesque nor beautiful, tall nor short, fat nor thin. His hair is bleached white blond, and it sits against his pale skin as if he’s tried to whitewash his whole body. And he’s quiet, as if he’s deciding whether you’re worth the effort of talking. You find him standing next to you, and you realise you have no idea whether he’s been there three seconds, three minutes or three hours.

  ‘You’re right.’

  So he’s talking tonight. I wonder if I ought to feel honoured. I turn towards him, but he doesn’t raise his eyes from the floor. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You’re right about men. They’re not worth the trouble. You expend so much energy, invest so much time and in the end you don’t get anything for it, do you?’

  I swallow. ‘Well you’re lucky to have Danny then?’

  He doesn’t answer. We’re silent for a few seconds and then he walks away – no ‘excuse me’, no ‘goodbye’ – he just walks away.

  Charming.

  Chapter Three

  Henrietta

  I can’t help being a little bit cross with Trix for arguing with Ben. I don’t say anything though. There’s no need to upset anyone, and everyone else just treats them like it’s a big joke when they fight. It doesn’t matter though. They’ve stopped now, so everything can still be perfect.

  Myfanwy from work is talking to Claudio about Italy. He’s laughing at the way she says Amalfi with her Welsh accent and she’s patting his arm as she laughs along. I’ve never been to Italy, and I’m not as tall as Myfanwy, and I don’t have such a pretty accent. I put my smile back on. It’s nice that Claudio’s having a good time.

  ‘The room looks good.’

  I turn around. Ben is standing next to me. I think he’s been standing next to me for a while. I look around. ‘Well, it’s Trix’s room.’

  He smiles. ‘But it doesn’t normally look like this. Normally there is more … stuff, y’know like, where are all the takeaway boxes that live down here?’ He gestures towards a space next to the sofa.

  I have tidied quite a lot, and moved some of the furniture, and had the curtains dry-cleaned. Really it’s all Trix’s taste in décor and telling Ben about all the cleaning might sound like I’m being rude about how Trix keeps it, so I don’t. Cleaning is one of my hobbies anyway. I do my own flat every Saturday, oven and bathroom and everything. It’s nice to keep things nice.

  Claudio is still engrossed by Myfanwy, and I don’t want to interrupt or make a fuss, so I smile as brightly as I can at Ben. I’m not sure what to talk to him about. Ben is really Dr Messina, and he did his PhD in Maths at Cambridge, so his braininess is a bit scary. What do I know that I can talk to him about? He writes books. ‘So, what’s your new book about?’

  And he tells me, and it all sounds very clever, but I only really understand about half of it. What I get is that the book is about Zero, which means it’s a book about nothing, only not about nothing if you know what I mean. And that gives me an idea.

  ‘You could come and talk at the library.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, writers talk at libraries, don’t they? It promotes the book.’

  He nods, but he doesn’t look sure. ‘What would I talk about?’

  ‘About the book. About Nothing.’

  The idea is really taking shape in my head now. I’m the city’s Arts Development Officer, and I have to organise a big art project for all the schools, and we can do it about Nothing. It’ll be brilliant. Ben’s talk could launch the whole thing. I try to explain my idea to him, but he doesn’t look very keen, so I go back to the start and try to explain it again. The babbling that I do when I’m nervous is still coming out of my mouth when Claudio comes over.

  ‘Go on, mate. It’ll be fun.’ At least Claudio seems to have understood what I’m talking about.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t really know anything about art.’

  ‘You don’t need to. You talk about noth
ing and then I’ll sort out the art bit.’ I’m getting more and more confident that this is a good idea. Trix is always telling me I should use my initiative. This definitely feels like using my initiative.

  Ben is still shaking his head. Next to me Claudio shrugs. ‘Maybe you’re right. Trix probably wouldn’t want you turning up at her work anyway.’

  His face changes immediately. The frown is replaced by a grin. ‘Well, hold on. I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it. Actually, it sounds really interesting.’

  My mouth has gone all dry and wrong-feeling. A talk at the library. The library is where Trix works. I know this. I share her office. It says Beatrix Allen - Children’s Librarian on the door. Claudio’s right. She won’t like Ben being there too. And Trix has always been so nice to me, since we started working together. She completely took me under her wing. She introduced me to all her friends, so I wouldn’t be lonely and she encouraged me to move into York. I was still living with my Dad out in the sticks when I first got the job. Trix rented me the flat downstairs. I probably pay loads less than she’d get if she went to an agent. I don’t want Trix to be cross with me.

  Now that my brain has identified what a horrible idea this was, it appears to be too late. Ben is marching across the party and explaining the whole plan to Danny, who is my, and Trix’s, Big Boss, and he’s nodding enthusiastically. Now he’s turning towards me and giving a thumbs-up. It’s going to happen and someone’s going to have to tell Trix that it’s happening, and that someone is going to be me.

  Maybe it’ll be all right. Maybe if I wait a few days she and Ben will be friends again. The way those two behave together makes no sense to me. Either you like someone and you’re nice to them, or you don’t like them and you’re not.

  A hand in the small of my back interrupts my thinking.

  ‘Can I get you another drink?’

  Claudio is leaning towards me. He has to bend down to get to my ear level. I’ve never had anyone so attractive pay attention to me before. He’s tall, and dark and properly model handsome. He looks like one of the men on the front of the romance novels I hide under my bed so that Trix won’t see them and laugh at me. I like them though. I like knowing there’s going to be a happy ending.

  I nod at the offer of a drink, and he heads into the kitchen.

  As soon as he’s gone I step out of the living room and run up the stairs to Trix’s bathroom. A minute to think is all I need. Once I’m in the bathroom, I try to force myself to take deep breaths. Trix won’t be cross with me. We’re friends. I tell myself not to be silly.

  There’s a bit of dried toothpaste on the side of the washbasin. I pull some toilet paper off the roll and wipe it, but it doesn’t come off. I run the tap and moisten the paper a little bit before I wipe again. This time the toothpaste comes off. I grab some more toilet paper and wipe all the way around the basin. There’s a soap dish on the side of the basin. I lift it up and wipe underneath until I can’t see any bits of soap stuck to the bowl at all.

  I go back downstairs to the party, and see Claudio waiting clutching two drinks. Probably I should have brought him one, because he’s supposed to be the guest of honour and I’m supposed to be the hostess. I try to hold on

  to the calm, clean feeling. It’s working. Claudio spends the rest of the evening standing close to me and asking me questions and smiling right into my eyes. Myfanwy glares at me for a bit, but I don’t care. Even if it only lasts for one night, right now I’m the popular girl that the perfect man wants to hang out with, and I laugh when he makes a joke and answer his questions without sounding stupid, and try to be perfect enough to carry on being that girl.

  Chapter Four

  Trix

  ‘What colour are no tomatoes?’

  There’s a ripple of chat around the room, but nobody is risking an answer. At the front Ben grins. I remember that grin, all toothy and uneven and infuriating. He tries again.

  ‘What colour are five tomatoes?’

  No one answers. He spreads his hands. ‘Oh, come on! Five tomatoes?’

  Finally one of the younger kids at the front pipes up. ‘Red?’

  Ben keeps grinning. He always did like showing off.

  ‘Thank you! Red, obviously. Let’s stick with this. What colour are four tomatoes?’

  The audience have got the idea now and five or six voices respond. Even if the kids are shy, the adults at the back are enjoying the opportunity to participate like children under the pretext of encouraging the little ones. Ben’s practically bouncing with glee at the attention now. I’ll kill Henrietta for this. I don’t even know why she thought this was a good idea. Getting a mathematician to come and help with an art project? It’s just stupid.

  Although, the audience here this evening don’t seem to agree. The library theatre is full, which is unusual. Normally the only time it’s even close to full is for the amateur dramatics panto, and that’s only because they give free tickets to all the schoolkids. I digress. Henri should never have invited him. That’s the point, not that I gained anything trying to convince her of it. She just kept tidying her desk and saying that Danny thought it was a good idea.

  ‘Ok. So what colour are three tomatoes?’

  Ben has got people chorusing the answers. ‘Red!’

  ‘Two tomatoes?’

  ‘Red!’

  ‘One tomato?’

  The audience are eating out of his hand. But he’s talking maths to a room full of geeks; it’s not exactly a hard sell.

  ‘Red!’

  ‘No tomatoes?’

  Two or three kids, and worryingly rather more grown-ups, have got a little too caught up in the game and try ‘Red’ again. People laugh.

  ‘Not so easy is it? And that’s what I’m trying to explain. Zero isn’t like other numbers. But without it none of the other numbers make sense.’

  The talk is going well. Ben seems disappointingly determined not to fall over his own feet or conduct the whole evening with his flies undone. The point remains though, he has no business being here, and if it wasn’t for Henrietta he wouldn’t be. This is all her fault.

  I feel bad for wishing it was going badly. I should be pleased that Henri is getting more confident. She is, slightly surprisingly, my best friend. I’ve never really done that well with close girlfriends before Henri. I’m not that good at girl things. I can’t talk about diets and I only own one handbag. Henri doesn’t seem to mind though; she sees me through the same rose-tinted glasses she views the rest of the world with, and it makes me want to be as nice as she thinks I am. I don’t actually hate Ben either. I’m just calmer on the days that he’s not where I am.

  There are drinks upstairs after the talk. Henri will have all that in hand, but I pretend to myself that she might not and slip out to help organise things.

  Ben

  All in all everyone seemed happy enough with the talk – all that ‘tomatoes’ stuff went down brilliantly. Now I’ve been dragged up to the staff room for nibbles and warm wine with the staff. I’m trapped in small talk hell. I do try; but I can’t do all this stuff about how it’s turned colder lately, and maybe it will snow. People ask me about what I’m working on and so I tell them, and then it’s fifteen minutes later and they’re glazing over and I’m talking about equations. Apparently, they’re not actually interested, and somehow I’m in the wrong for taking the fact that they asked the question as evidence that they are. Conversations end either with them developing a sudden need to take a leak or with someone who knows me better dragging me away.

  I’m avoiding the embarrassment today and keeping myself to myself in a corner watching the rest of the room. Trix is holding the floor. Now, that woman can talk.

  She has a curl that keeps dropping in front of her face. Every couple of minutes she flicks her head back to shift it and then it sort of half rolls, half bounces back across her eye, and then she starts the whole process again by flicking her head. She’s done it four times now. What’s the process, I wonder? Well, it must take
account of the weight of the hair, the angle of the initial curl, the friction against the rest of her hair … she flicks again. Five times.

  ‘The look of love?’ Danny is standing next to me.

  ‘What?’

  He nods towards Trix. ‘You’ve been staring at her for about ten minutes straight.’

  I shake my head. ‘I’m not staring at her.’

  ‘No. You really are.’

  ‘Not at her. At that curl.’

  Danny looks at me. ‘What?’

  He clearly thinks that I’m transfixed by every hair on her head. ‘Not like that. It’s purely scientific. I’m just considering the movement … friction …’

  I peter out. Danny is just shaking his head at me. I shouldn’t have tried to explain. Changing the subject is probably the safest approach now.

  ‘When can I legitimately get out of here?’

  Danny rolls his eyes. ‘Anti-social git.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Give it another fifteen. We’ll go to the pub. I’ll just go and be managerly for a bit.’

  I nod. That sounds like a plan. I watch Danny move around the room, patting backs and playing the big team leader. He’s always had that social ease. We met on the first day of freshers’ week at uni. I’d been in halls for two hours on that first afternoon trying to work up the courage to leave the room, and then he turned up – this huge black man with full afro, and, if memory serves, blue eye make-up. He had an entourage around him when he knocked on my door. I think he’d been wandering around the halls picking up first years. I assumed he must be a post-grad, a third year at least, but he turned out to be eighteen, just like the rest of us.

  He dragged about eight of us off to find food. In the end we only found the bar, but some of the drinks towards the end had cherries in them, and Danny said that was food. I ended up sitting by him for most of the night. I think it was the first time I’d ever been at the centre of something, or at least right next to the centre.

  We staggered back to our halls, and then. And then he tried to kiss me. I must have jumped about three feet backwards, but I managed to splutter something about how I didn’t, or wouldn’t. He just shrugged and said he’d see me in the morning. To be fair, a shrug is the standard response to being turned down by me. Well, I imagine it’s the standard. I don’t really do that much turning down. Danny was probably the most exotic person I’d ever met, and as of then he was basically my best mate.