Much Ado About Sweet Nothing

by Alison May

  Later he told me that coming on to straight men was a hazard of being gay and not having enough life in the bag to tune up your gaydar. He said I’d taken it pretty well, which was good. Even later, he said I was just equally scared by men and women, which might be less good.

  ‘Thank you for the talk.’ Henrietta interrupts my train of thought. Henrietta confuses me. It’s not just that she’s so damn perky and ‘glass half full’ about everything. She’s beyond that; she’s ‘glass half full and my, what a pretty glass; you must be so pleased!’ Claudio is what Danny would term a ‘smitten kitten’.

  ‘S’OK.’

  She’s shuffling her feet, and she’s turned her toes inward. It makes her look like a socially awkward baby bird. It must be me. I must exude a sense of discomfort. ‘Danny said we might go to the pub after?’

  I nod. ‘Yup.’

  ‘Do you know if …’ She shuffles a bit more. ‘Do you think Claudio might want to come?’

  Here I was thinking it was me that was making her awkward. I should be kind. And if I don’t ask him, and he finds out I was out with Henrietta all evening I’ll spend the rest of the week fielding questions about what she said and what she did. ‘I’ll text him and see.’

  ‘Don’t tell him I asked!’

  I nod. She waits. I get the idea that I’m expected to take action right away. I pull out my phone and text a one line invite to Claudio while she watches. We stand in silence for a minute, before she breaks under the pressure and starts chattering.

  ‘I do think the talk went really well. They all seemed really interested. And I’ve got loads of ideas for the project – you know pictures with repeat counted patterns, and huge black holes and tomatoes. Lots of tomatoes! And I think we might make it a competition, and …’

  She’s still talking. I wonder if I’m glazing over. Maybe it’s not just what people do when I talk. Maybe everyone’s boring if they go on long enough. She’s stopped talking. From her expression, I’m guessing I ought to say something. I bet she just asked me a question. I smile.

  ‘Yeah … sure.’ I hazard. You can’t go wrong with ‘yeah sure’.

  ‘Brilliant. I’ll tell Danny.’

  That sounds potentially bad. ‘OK?’

  ‘It won’t be till the end of the school term probably, end of summer term. More chance of getting the secondary schools involved then, once exams are over. So maybe we should do different age groups? And then some sort of overall category?’

  And now it’s too late to admit I have no idea what she’s talking about. ‘Great.’

  ‘Excellent.’ She’s waving at Danny and Trix now, beckoning them over. ‘We were thinking …’

  We were thinking? We were thinking? I have no idea what she’s talking about and I’m getting half the blame. Why do I do this? Why do I not just say, ‘I’m sorry Hen, I have no clue what you’re talking about.’ But I don’t, do I?

  Danny’s nodding along now. She must have just explained to him, and I missed it again. If I believed in God I would offer up a prayer right now. Something along the lines of ‘Please get me out of whatever the hell I just agreed to, and in return I resolve to listen intently to all conversations and not drift off into my own head at crucial moments.’ God, sometimes I really wish I believed in You.

  Danny’s still nodding. ‘I think that’s great. The local press will love it, which means the Council will be beside themselves. Thanks Ben. Really appreciate you putting the time in.’

  Local press? What the hell?

  Trix looks unimpressed. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t mind Danny. Sitting in judgement will suit his personality.’

  She turns to me. ‘Just try not to make the children cry. It’s just an art competition and you’re not Simon Cowell.’

  Judgement? Simon Cowell? Art competition? Arse.

  Chapter Five

  Claudio

  They’re twenty minutes later than Ben promised. They text me to meet them, and then they’re late, and I’m stuck here on my own, the odd one out, waiting for everyone else. I can picture exactly what they’re doing. Everyone is definitely ready to go and then Henri needs to go to the bog, and then Danny has to go back to his office for something, and then Trix decides she needs to pee too, and then … and I’m left sitting in the pub eking out my pint, trying not to look like a proper Billy.

  This’ll be the second time I’ve seen Henri since I got back, and I need to arrange to see her on her own. I have to have secured a definite actual date before close of play tonight. If not, there’s a danger that the moment will pass. It’ll become one of those ‘might have been …’ things that you only think about in wistful moments, when you’re slightly drunk and recently split up from someone.

  I feel like we’re already together in a way. I have to remind myself that I’ve only kissed her once. We’ve e-mailed practically every day for the last year. I never meant to do that, but we just sort of fell into the habit. I’ve probably told her stuff about myself that no one else knows, but still, we’ve only had one actual physical date and that was over a year ago.

  We’ve never even had sex. I don’t have to remind myself of that. I am painfully and acutely aware of that one. Tonight is not a night for making assumptions. Tonight is the night for translating all the flirting and the virtual romance into a clear-cut opportunity to close the deal.

  They eventually turn up, and we all squeeze into a booth in the Mucky Duck, which is our pub of choice in town. It doesn’t work out well for me. I’m stuck in the corner between Ben and John, and then Danny is next to Henrietta, and Trix is on the other side of Ben. It means I’m as far away as possible from Henri and, even worse, trapped with John. I decide to give him a chance.

  ‘So, how are things at work for you?’

  He raises his head from his drink and looks past me. He shrugs. I realise I don’t actually know what job he does, which limits what follow-on questions I can ask, so I just sort of nod and sip my pint like I’m thinking about his response.

  Fortunately, Danny decides to go to the bar then and Henri slides along so John is sandwiched between the two of us. She leans round him and smiles. When she smiles she has the tiniest little dimple just in one cheek. I clench my fist to stop myself from reaching over and touching it. She grins and I grin. In between us John snorts and pushes the table away. Henri squirms as he pushes past her and goes over to the quiz machine. Now we’re next to each other. She puts her hand down on the sofa between us, and I put mine alongside it, so that our fingertips are just touching.

  I love this part of the game. I like her. I know that she likes me, and I know that something’s going to happen, maybe even tonight. This is the best bit, when you know where it’s leading but you don’t know when. We spend the evening talking about nothing, because it’s not the words that matter. It’s the way she catches my eye and then looks away, and the way that she keeps twitching her little finger like she wants to move so she’s touching my whole hand, but she doesn’t. This is magic. This is my favourite bit. I’m good at this bit.

  Just before the barman calls time, she excuses herself to go to the ladies, and I lean over to Ben. ‘I need you to distract Trix.’

  He looks confused. ‘Why?’

  My brother is a clever man, but sometimes not very intelligent. ‘It’s late. It’s cold. Trix is going to suggest that she and Henri share a cab home. That is not going to happen. I’m going to walk Henri home. Ok?’

  ‘Then you can walk them both home, can’t you?’

  Maybe he’s more intelligent than I give him credit for. You would really think he’s trying to put a spanner in my works. I throw him a look for good measure, but Henri comes back and people start putting on coats and there’s no time to discuss it further. We head out into the night. It really is cold out here. Ben’s a plank – this would’ve been ideal walking a girl home weather. Lots of excuses to put my arms around her to keep her warm. Instead, I’ve got another night of re-reading some of the e-mails we sent while I was
in Italy and getting friendly with a box of tissues.

  ‘Kebab?’

  It’s Ben talking and we all turn. ‘What?’

  He pokes Trix in the ribs. ‘I want a kebab.’ He keeps jabbing her. ‘Kebab, kebab, kebab, kebab.’

  She’s on the drunk end of tipsy and she nods. ‘Kebab!’

  Ben looks at me. ‘Anyone else?’

  John has already sloped off, and so Danny shakes his head and sets off after him. Ben keeps looking to me and Henri. ‘Kebab, you guys?’

  I shake my head. ‘It’s late.’

  Henri nods. ‘I should get home really.’

  I turn to her. ‘You can’t walk on your own.’

  I see Ben shake his head as Henri turns to set off. I mouth a ‘Thank you’ at him and follow her.

  She’s all bundled up in her huge duffle coat. It makes her look even littler than usual. Watching her walk I want to pick her up and carry her. She stops under a streetlight and turns towards me. As she turns the light catches in her eyes, and she looks like some sort of baby animal peering out of her hood.

  ‘It’s not on your way. Are you sure you don’t mind walking with me?’

  ‘Course not.’ Like I said, I’m good at this bit.

  Chapter Six

  Trix

  ‘I don’t want a kebab.’ Ben has stopped outside the kebab shop.

  ‘Then why did you say you did?’ I march past him into the takeaway. I really do want a kebab. I haven’t eaten since lunchtime, and I need pitta bread, and unspecified meat, and salad, well not so much with the salad, but it’s important to show willing.

  ‘Claudio wanted us out of the way.’

  ‘Aw, aren’t they sweet?’ I grin at him. I’m more a beer and takeaway than a hearts and flowers sort of girl myself, but anyone would have to admit that Henri and Claudio are cute as anything when they’re together.

  ‘It’s not sweet. It’s nauseating.’ Well maybe not anyone.

  ‘They’re falling in love. Let them be.’ I’m nicely warmed through with wine and looking forward to my kebab. I order and pay and take my lovely drippy supper over to one of the fixed plastic tables. Ben sits down opposite me. I can feel him watching me eat, but I don’t care. At least spending time with an unfeeling toad like Ben means you don’t have to make an effort to be ladylike. I wrap my jaws around the kebab, and feel the sauce run on to my chin. Ben pulls an exaggerated look of disgust, but I ignore him.

  After a few mouthfuls I feel sufficiently satiated to restart the conversation. I much prefer to argue on a full stomach after all.

  ‘I do think it’s sweet.’

  ‘You would.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Well, women – it’s all love and romance, isn’t it?’

  There’s so much to object to in that sentence that I barely know where to start. I decide to kick off with the basics. ‘Not all women are the same!’

  ‘You say that, but then as soon as there’s a bit of slushiness around you go as gooey as the rest of them.’

  ‘Romance isn’t just for women. In case you hadn’t noticed, your little brother seems quite keen.’

  ‘Temporary insanity.’

  ‘You didn’t used to think that.’

  He pauses. This is dangerous territory. The topic around which we only ever skirt the conversational edges.

  ‘People change,’ he offers. He looks down at the table. ‘We grow up.’

  ‘And grow out of love?’

  ‘And grow out of all sorts of childish things.’

  ‘Again, anything you can’t understand is dismissed? It’s childish? It’s just for weak-minded women? Just because you can’t explain it!’

  ‘Not at all. There are plenty of things that fascinate me that I can’t fully explain.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Slime mould.’

  Slime mould? I shouldn’t ask. It’ll be some obscure bit of pub knowledge, and I’ll just be giving him another excuse to hold the floor. I eat some more of my kebab while he watches me chew. Eventually I give in.

  ‘What’s slime mould?’

  ‘Cellular Slime Mould, also known as Social Amoeba. They live quite happily as tiny individual amoeba so long as there’s plenty of food around, but then if the food runs out they all mass together into a sort of slug thing and crawl away.’

  ‘You made that up.’

  ‘I didn’t. It’s a real thing. Go home and look it up.’

  ‘Nope. You made it up.’ I stab the table with my finger to emphasise the point. I’m starting to think I might be a little bit drunk.

  He shakes his head and grins at me. I start to relax again. At least if we’re talking about mould, we’re not talking about the other thing. If we could get through life only talking about mould, we’d probably get on fine. It’s only when we move on to other topics that it gets difficult. Unfortunately, Benedict does not share my exquisite sense of social restraint.

  ‘I don’t understand them but it’s still fascinating, whereas falling in love is not fascinating. It’s boring.’

  ‘Claudio doesn’t look bored.’

  ‘It’ll pass.’

  ‘Not necessarily.’

  ‘You say that, and yet you’re hardly racing to skip off down the aisle with a well-turned-out young guy, are you?’

  He’s right, but that’s different. I do believe in love. I absolutely do. I believe that sometimes you can meet someone and in that moment you can just know that they are going to utterly change the way that you see everything, as surely as if you’d been sitting in the dark for your whole life, and they’d strode right in and turned on the light. I do believe that. But, for some of us the light doesn’t magically brighten our world; it just gives us a headache. So he’s right about one thing. Love isn’t for me. Not any more.

  I look him in the eye. I can see the challenge of the fight there, and the beginnings of a laugh. I should turn away, but of course I don’t. With hindsight, I can always identify the moment in our fights when a mature person would walk away. ‘This isn’t about me. You’re the one with the problem.’

  ‘What problem?’

  ‘The running away thing. The hiding in your books and your silly little facts.’ I try to emphasise my point by thrusting my hand towards him, but I’m still holding the kebab so all I achieve is a trail of sauce across my lap and on to the table.

  ‘What do you mean “hiding”?’

  ‘Oh come on. All that stuff, it’s protection from feeling anything.’

  He looks really angry now, which is weird for Ben. Normally, when we argue I feel like I’ve taken all the punishment.

  ‘What about living in the house you bought when you were twenty-one and working for your best mate?’

  ‘That’s different.’ This time I actually manage to bang the table with my kebab-free hand. The bang makes me look around. People are staring.

  Maybe I have raised my voice a tiny bit, but now he’s raising his back at me.

  ‘It’s not different. You’re just …’

  I never get to hear what I’m just, because right then two community support officers walk in and tell us to calm down and step outside. It’s humiliating. They’re not even proper police.

  I do as I’m told and head out into the street feeling sick and desperately hoping that no one I know will be around. There’s a younger female not-a-police officer and she pulls me down the street a little way. She moves close to me and I can see her breath condensing in the air right in front of my face. Ben is outside the kebab shop still with the other not-police officer. I can see him shaking his head. The woman is talking to me.

  ‘Was he having a go at you?’ She’s arranged her features into an understanding face. I guess she’s been on a course. ‘Is there anything you’d like to tell me?’

  I look at her through the confusion. For a moment I’m tempted to make something up, and tell them that he’s my brutally violent ex and he’s just tracked me down. Maybe they’d take him away and I�
��d never have to see him again. I resist the urge and take a deep breath, trying to force my voice to come out calm and not shrill and angry.

  ‘It was just an argument. I’m fine. I didn’t think we were causing any trouble.’

  I play it back in my head. It might a bit defensive, but hopefully I’ll have come off rational enough for them to leave us to it.

  The woman looks at me. ‘Stay there.’

  The two officers walk over to each other and I watch their conversation. Ben is still leaning on the wall outside the takeaway. He glances up and me and pulls an exaggerated ‘Oh my God!’ face. The older officer who had been talking to Ben is shrugging and shaking his head. I’m hoping that he’s telling the girl not to take this too seriously and pointing out that there’s a cup of tea waiting back at the station. She looks like the sort that’ll want all her paperwork in order though. Eventually, she walks back towards me.

  ‘Have you been drinking madam?’

  Seriously, this cannot be happening. ‘Just some wine.’

  ‘You understand that you and the gentlemen were causing a disturbance in the shop.’

  ‘It was just an argument.’ I glance at her face. She’s not budging. I shrug. ‘Sorry.’

  I’m staring at my feet. I haven’t felt like this since I got caught fighting in the school playground. That was when I was fourteen by the way. I hardly go around beating up adolescents at all any more.

  The woman has brought out a pad of tickets. ‘I’m going to issue you with a Penalty Notice for Disorder. The details are on the ticket, and there is a fine of £80. This will not lead to the creation of a formal criminal record. If you do not accept the Penalty Notice or do not pay the fine, further action may be taken. Do you understand?’