Dinner for Two

by Mike Gayle

  I’m worried. ‘What’s wrong? Isn’t she meant to be at the party with you? Has something happened?’

  There’s a long pause. I can hear music in the background. I feel sick with nerves.

  ‘Not really . . .’

  ‘What do you mean “not really”? Has something happened at the party?’

  ‘That’s where we are now. The thing is . . .’

  ‘The thing is what?’ I’m losing my patience with this girl.

  ‘The thing is . . . Nicola’s really drunk.’ Keisha starts to cry. ‘She’s really, really drunk and she’s throwing up everywhere and she won’t let me take her to her mum’s and I can’t take her to mine because my mum and dad will kill me if they find out we’ve been drinking.’ She’s sobbing her heart out now. ‘She said to ring you.’

  ‘But she’s all right? She’s not in any danger?’

  ‘She’s okay,’ sobs Keisha.

  ‘So why doesn’t she call her mum?’

  There’s a long silence.

  ‘Her mum doesn’t know she’s here. My mum doesn’t know I’m here either. We’re supposed to be staying at each other’s houses and we’ll both get in big trouble if our parents find out.’

  ‘Tell her I’ll be right there as soon as I can.’ I sigh.

  ‘Are we going to get into trouble, Mr Harding? Are you going to tell our parents?’

  The fear in her voice reminds me of my own youth when the worst thing in the world that can possibly happen to you is getting into trouble with your parents. I can’t help but feel for her.

  ‘No,’ I say softly. ‘Just give me the address of the party and I’ll sort everything out.’

  I end the call then look around the living room at all my records and CDs. My party for one is over. I think about what to do next then dial Fran’s number.

  ‘Fran’s phone.’

  It’s a man’s voice. I assume it’s the legendary Linden.

  ‘Hi, is she there?’

  ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Can you tell her it’s Dave from work? It’s a bit of an emergency.’

  Linden semi-grunts and seconds later Fran is on the line. ‘Dave, it’s midnight,’ she says. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m at home. Where are you?’

  ‘I’m at Linden’s in Tufnell Park. I can’t believe you’ve just spoken to him. What did you think of him? Ignorant pig, isn’t he?’

  ‘Listen, I’ve got an emergency and I need your help.’ I tell her everything Keisha had told me. ‘I need you to come with me and put them up at your place. I know it’s asking a lot but—’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Dave,’ she interrupts. ‘Of course I’ll help you out. And don’t worry about her either, she’ll be okay. I’ve been there – a third of a bottle of gin when I was fourteen. Threw up like a fountain. I’ve never touched gin since. But we’d better get over to this party quickly just to make sure. You call a cab, pick me up here in Tufnell Park and we’ll sort everything out.’

  ‘But what about you and Linden?’

  ‘What about me and Linden?’

  ‘Well, I’ve just disturbed you, haven’t I?’

  Fran laughs. ‘Yeah, well, he shouldn’t be such a crap boyfriend, should he? Anyway, you’re a friend, Linden’s a boyfriend and in my book friend beats boyfriend every time.’

  knock

  ‘Is this the one?’ asks the cab driver, as we pull up outside number 55 Rowheath Road.

  I peer out of the window. Several dozen teenagers are standing in the front garden smoking and the music is loud enough to make the cab windows vibrate. A number of couples are kissing and groping by the front door.

  ‘Yeah,’ I tell him, exchanging glances with Fran.

  ‘So, what’s your plan?’ asks Fran, as we get out.

  ‘I’m going to go in there and sort out Nicola. That’s my plan.’

  Fran grabs my arm. ‘But you’re angry.’

  She’s right. I am angry. I’m angry because it hadn’t even occurred to me that she hadn’t asked her mum’s permission to go to the party. I’m angry because she’s been drinking alcohol. I’m angry because, for the first time in our relationship, I’m going to have to act like a real dad. But mostly I’m angry because the thought of anything bad happening to her makes me feel more vulnerable than I’d ever thought possible.

  ‘She’s not even fourteen yet,’ I say to Fran. ‘Anything could happen to her in the state she’s in.’

  ‘If you go into that party and let her know you’re angry with her you’ll regret it,’ says Fran, ‘Just think before you act, Dave. I know you’re worried and, of course, she’s been really stupid. But out of all the people in the world, who has she called to help her?’ She jabs me in the chest with her index finger. ‘You. This is your chance to score some points with her. There’s going to be no need to shout at her, believe me. She’ll be mortified that you’ve even seen her in this state. And you can guarantee that once tomorrow morning comes round she’ll have sworn off the booze for the foreseeable.’

  ‘Who’s the agony uncle, you or me?’

  ‘You,’ says Fran. ‘I’m just your sidekick for the evening.’

  useless

  As soon as the kids smoking in the garden spot me and Fran they throw away their cigarettes and disappear inside, in no doubt that we are responsible adults come to stop their fun. In the hallway we disturb a host of people snogging. For no other reason than my own amusement I tell them I’m an off-duty policeman and that I’m searching for a Nicola O’Connell. Within two milliseconds I’m pointed in the direction of the bathroom by a boy called Devon, whose twenty Benson and Hedges and Bacardi Breezer I confiscate. Along the landing, propped against the bathroom door and looking thoroughly dejected, is a pretty girl with dark brown hair. She’s wearing a dark blue asymmetrical top and jeans and is holding a mobile phone in her hand. I ask her if she’s Keisha. She nods and asks if I’m Nicola’s uncle. I wonder briefly whether ‘uncle’ was some sort of teenage euphemism (for what I don’t know) but then realise that even drunk, Nicola has probably had the foresight to make up a plausible lie about who I am.

  ‘Yeah,’ I tell her.

  Keisha and I both look at the bathroom door.

  ‘Is she in there?’ I ask.

  Keisha nods again, sorrowfully.

  I knock on the door. ‘Nicola, it’s me, sweetheart, Dave. You can come out now. Everything’s going to be okay.’

  She doesn’t answer.

  I look at Fran, who shrugs and looks at Keisha.

  ‘What exactly is she doing in there?’ asks Fran.

  ‘Crying mostly,’ says Keisha. ‘And being sick.’

  ‘And she’s locked the door?’

  ‘She only did it when you arrived. It was her idea to call you in the first place, but I think she’s sobered up a bit and when she saw you getting out of the cab she got a bit upset and locked herself in here.’

  ‘How much has she had to drink?’ asks Fran.

  ‘I dunno. She had a bit of everything, really. She didn’t like lager, though. I think that’s what made her throw up. She’s never been drunk before. She only did it because Emily got off with this boy she fancied.’

  ‘Would that be Brendan Casey?’ I ask.

  Keisha nods. ‘You know him?’

  ‘Of him.’

  There’s no joy to be had in being right about Brendan Casey. None whatsoever. I’ve half a mind to go and find him so we can have this out, man to man, but what am I going to say? You’re in big trouble, son, because you declined to get off with my daughter? But I only care about Nicola.

  ‘Are you sure me and Nicola aren’t going to get in trouble?’ asks Keisha. ‘My mum will go mental if she finds out.’

  ‘No, you’re not going to get into trouble,’ I tell her. ‘Fran and I just want to make sure that the two of you are safe tonight.’ I look at the bathroom door once more. ‘How about you go downstairs with Fran while I have a quick chat with Nicola?’

  ‘I’
ll see you in a minute, then,’ says Fran, and follows Keisha downstairs. ‘Best of luck, Dave.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I’ll probably need it.’

  hidden

  ‘It’s just you and me now, Nicola,’ I say, to the bathroom door. ‘Are you going to talk to me?’

  Silence.

  ‘I understand how you must feel but I’m a bit worried. I just want to know that you’re all right.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ says Nicola eventually. Her voice is small and shaky.

  ‘Good. I’m glad and . . . I’m glad you felt you could call me up when you needed help.’

  She starts to cry.

  ‘Have I said something to upset you?’

  ‘No,’ she sobs. ‘It’s just me.’

  ‘What’s just you?’

  Silence.

  ‘Are you all right in there?’

  ‘I feel really stupid. I shouldn’t have called you out. Now you’ll never trust me again.’

  ‘I don’t think that at all. I promise. We’ve all done stupid things in the past, haven’t we? I know I have.’

  ‘I feel really bad, Dave.’

  ‘You will, sweetheart, you’ve had a lot to drink.’

  ‘No, not that way. I feel really bad about you coming here. I’ve messed everything up, haven’t I? You’ve had to tell Izzy about me because I’ve messed up. I saw her through the window. I didn’t want her to see me like this. I’ve got sick all over my top. I bet she hates me already.’

  There’s genuine worry in her voice. It hadn’t even occurred to me that she might come to these conclusions. All thoughts of being angry leave me.

  ‘That’s not Izzy who’s with me,’ I say gently. ‘That’s a friend of mine – Fran. She works on Teen Scene. You’ve probably seen her in the mag a few times.’

  ‘So where’s Izzy?’

  ‘She’s staying at a friend’s house. I’ve told you about my friends Stella and Lee, haven’t I? Well, they’ve split up. Stella’s a bit upset so Izzy’s gone to look after her. Just like I’m here to look after you.’

  There’s a long pause and then she opens the bathroom door. She looks a bit rough but I can see she’s okay. Regardless of the sick on her top I put my arms round her and squeeze her tightly while she sobs her heart out. It is, without a doubt, one of the proudest moments of my life.

  Fran offers to let the girls sleep on the floor at her place, as long as they go straight home first thing in the morning, and soon all four of us are in the back of the black cab on our way to Fran’s flat in Brixton.

  Overwhelmed by the evening’s events Nicola falls asleep on one of my shoulders and Keisha on the other.

  morning

  It’s a quarter to ten the following morning and I’m at Teen Scene. I called Fran this morning before I left the flat to make sure the girls were okay and she told me everything was fine. I’ve got two phone interviews to write up with two near-identical boy bands (neither band said anything at all of interest), the pop-gossip page to pull together, yet more Love Doctor mail to work my way through and my next column for Femme to tidy up and e-mail to Izzy. I’m about to begin work on one of the interviews when Jenny comes into the office.

  ‘Morning, Dave,’ she says.

  ‘Morning, Jen.’

  She comes over and leans on the edge of my desk. ‘I take it you’ve heard about Stella and Lee?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What do you think of that, then?’

  ‘It’s a bit sad but it was kind of on the cards, really, wasn’t it? Izzy spent the night round there because she was so upset.’

  ‘I might try and call her later, find out how she’s getting on. Have you spoken to Lee to find out how he is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not? Do real men not call their mates when they split up from a long-term relationship?’

  ‘Lee’s all right, but you know as well as I do that this’ll be the last we see of him. Stella’s our main friend and Lee was her boyfriend. The law states that when a couple splits up it’s a case of last in first out when it comes to friendships. Stella was our friend before Lee, ergo we no longer see Lee.’

  Jenny sighs. ‘It’s harsh but I suppose you’re right. So what would we do if you and Izzy ever split up? Who would get custody of the friends then?’

  ‘We’re not going to split up. So thankfully that conundrum will never have to be solved.’

  later

  At ten thirty Fran walks into the office. She’s half an hour late.

  ‘I know,’ she says, following my gaze to the office clock. ‘It’s that stupid Victoria Line.’

  ‘Victoria Line?’ I say. ‘Oh, please!’

  Fran laughs. ‘I don’t think Jen believed me either when I called her this morning to say I’d be late but she was cool about it. She knows I work late all the time . . . I’m so terrible at lying. I mean, who’s ever been trapped on a tube train for over an hour? I really do have to think up some better excuses.’

  ‘What time did you get to bed? Nicola and her mate weren’t a pain, were they?’

  ‘Not at all. They were great. I’d forgotten how fun the world is when you’re thirteen. Everything’s amazing – living on your own without your parents is amazing, even having washing-up in the sink that backdates to the Bronze Age is amazing. They’re sweethearts. Barely made any noise at all even this morning.’

  ‘And they got off okay?’

  ‘They were watching TV when I left. Kay, my flatmate, said she’d look after them because she’s not at work today. I left them the money you gave me for them to get a cab back to Wood Green so I’m sure they’ll be fine. Do you want me to call the flat and check?’

  ‘No, don’t worry. I’ll call Nicola later this afternoon and make sure she’s okay. Thanks again for looking after them, Fran. You really helped me out, you know.’

  ‘No problem,’ says Fran. ‘It was my pleasure.’

  Seconds later my mobile rings inside my coat pocket.

  ‘Hello?’

  There’s a slight pause. ‘Is this Dave Harding?’

  It’s a female voice with a soft Irish accent.

  ‘Yeah,’ I reply, ‘who’s this?’

  As the words leave my mouth I realise how redundant the question is.

  ‘This is Caitlin O’Connell,’ says the woman at the end of the line, ‘Nicola’s mum. I think you and I both know we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.’

  you

  It’s early evening and I’m just coming out of Wood Green tube station to meet Caitlin for the first time in nearly fifteen years. I open her front gate, ring the bell and wait. After a short while I can just make out a figure approaching through the glass in the front door. I hold my breath, the door opens and there before me is Caitlin. There’s no bolt of lightning, no choir of angels singing or even a round of applause for this momentous occasion. Instead we stand there, wondering how it’s possible to have created in Nicola a permanent connection between us and yet know so little about each other’s lives. We’re two strangers brought together after all these years because on one night out of all the thousands of our lives we slept together.

  I’m not even sure how to greet her. A handshake seems too formal, a kiss too intimate, even a simple ‘hello’ is ridiculous. There’s nothing in the guidelines of human interaction to prepare either of us for this encounter, so instead we continue to say nothing, taking in each other in a curious although restrained manner. Seeing her in the flesh brings memories of her back with perfect clarity. Seeing her there right in front of me unlocks all the memories of her all those years ago that I’d thought I’d lost forever. Her jet black curly hair is tied back from her face and she’s wearing small oval glasses and a touch of makeup. Her face has aged but in an invisible manner that’s hard to pinpoint. She’s wearing dark blue jeans, a zip-up hooded top, stripy woollen socks and no shoes. I ask myself if she looks like the mum of a thirteen-year-old girl. She doesn’t. She looks more like Izzy, Jenny and Stella – youn
g enough still to be irresponsible and old enough to know better. Instinctively I ask myself if I still think she’s attractive and the answer comes back, yes, she is. Very. But leave it there.

  ‘Come in,’ she says.

  I nod and smile, and she retreats inside the house. I follow after her. As I stand in the hallway she asks me if I want a drink of any kind and I tell her no thanks and so she leads me through a door on my left into the living room at the rear of the house. The TV is switched off and the house is silent. I wonder where Nicola is but Caitlin reads my mind and her eyes flit up to the ceiling. ‘She’s in her room,’ she explains. ‘I thought it would be best if we talked first between ourselves before we bring her into it.’ She offers me a seat on the small sofa while she sits down in an armchair opposite.

  ‘Right,’ she says. ‘Where exactly do we begin?’

  out

  Caitlin had called Keisha’s parents at nine this morning to surprise Nicola with a shopping trip to the Bluewater Centre. When she discovered from Keisha’s mum that neither Nicola nor Keisha was there they quickly realised they’d been lied to. A call to Keisha’s friend Emily’s parents revealed that Emily had come home early from a supposed sleep-over at Keisha’s because of an argument with Nicola. An interrogation of Emily revealed that the girls had been to a party. Caitlin got the number for the house where the party had taken place and had spoken to a Mrs Felicio, who informed her that her house had been ruined by the party thrown by her son Mario. Most alarmingly, she told Caitlin that no one had stayed overnight. At this point Caitlin became so frantic that she called the police. Ten minutes later Nicola walked through the front door.

  Initially Nicola stuck to her sleep-over story, but when Caitlin told her she’d spoken to Keisha’s mum, she admitted going to the party but refused to say where she’d spent the night for fear of getting me into trouble. Eventually, however, the whole story came out but not without fight. Nicola told her she’d spent the night at a flat in Brixton. Whose flat was it? A friend’s. Which friend’s? My friend Fran’s. Where were this girl’s parents? She lives on her own. How do you know her? Through another friend. How old is Fran? She’s twenty-five. That was when Caitlin exploded. She asked Nicola again how she knew Fran and Nicola, in tears, had told her, ‘She’s a friend of my dad.’