by Emlyn Rees
We potter about the shops for a while, until it’s lunch-time.
‘Let’s go for sushi,’ suggests H. I’m all for a sandwich, but H is adamant. She insists it’s good for a hangover and she knows this posh Japanese place nearby.
‘You want eggs in the morning, if you’ve drunk too much,’ I tell her, but she’s not having it.
‘Still off the sex, Sooze?’ asks Amy, when we’re all seated.
‘Yes.’
‘What? All sex?’ asks H.
‘I wasn’t aware there were different types.’
‘You can have sex just for fun,’ says H. ‘Sometimes it’s cool to have a one-night stand. No questions asked, just a good service, if you know what I mean,’ she says, tipping soy sauce into a saucer.
‘H!’ says Amy.
‘What?’ she says. ‘You’ve had loads of one-night stands. Remember that bloke in Portugal?’
‘That was ages ago!’
‘So? There’s nothing wrong with it,’ shrugs H.
‘I used to think that, but now I think one-night stands are the pits,’ I confess. ‘The thing is that casual sex is like smoking. Once you’ve done it, it’s impossible to stop.’ I look at Amy and smile. If anyone knows these things, it’s me.
‘But you’ve always had casual sex, Sooze,’ she says.
‘Exactly. And I’m fed up with it. If you do it with someone you don’t know, you just end up feeling tacky and cheap, but if you do it with someone you know,’ I look earnestly at Amy and H, ‘it’s rubbish. It just gets messy and ruins everything.’ I stretch my hands out on the table. ‘So I’ve decided. I want to be friends with the opposite sex from now on. I want to go formal.’
Amy looks at me as if I’ve just told her that I’m having radical plastic surgery.
‘It’s possible, I suppose,’ she ponders. ‘So you’re going to have a proper relationship at long last?’
‘There’s no such thing as a “relationship”, Amy,’ I say, remembering Claire and the CYL manual. ‘Where people go wrong is that they think a relationship is a thing. But it’s not. You can’t contain or define a relationship, which is why people have problems with them. It would all be different if people said, “I’m having a problem relating to so-and-so about such-and-such”, instead of “My relationship is crap”.
I’m on a roll, convinced by my argument, but H interrupts.
‘Bollocks,’ she says. ‘What about a friendship? That’s a relationship.’
‘And it’s a thing,’ chips in Amy. ‘It’s a thing that would upset me if it went wrong with either of you.’
‘Yes, but our friendship isn’t going to go wrong,’ I say, meaning her and me. I can’t speak for H, because I wouldn’t be friends with her myself.
‘Well, it probably won’t go wrong, but it could do,’ says Amy. ‘I’d go nuts if I found out that either of you had been lying to me, for example.’
‘We’re relating to one another in a friendly way. Being honest is a choice, it’s not a condition of friendship,’ I say, confusing myself with too much therapy speak.
‘Excuse me,’ says H, standing up to go to the loo.
‘Did I say something wrong?’ I ask, watching her go.
‘She’s just hungover.’ Amy screws her nose up at H’s bag before giving me a cheeky grin. ‘What about you and Stringer, then? Did you like him?’
‘We got on, but . . .’
‘Just to warn you – he might not do the friends thing, if that’s what you’re after. Jack calls him Horse. As in dark horse.’
‘A stallion, eh?’
Amy sniggers. ‘That too, probably. All I’m saying is he might not be what you’re looking for.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s only interested in sex. As far as I know, he’s never had a girlfriend. A long-term one, that is.’
When H comes back from the 100, she pays the bill, much to my relief, because it costs an arm and a leg for two mouthfuls in here. It’s nice of her to pay, but she’s doing it to stop herself from feeling bad about being stroppy. Still, if she wants to flash her money about, that’s fine by me.
I mooch around the shops with Amy after H has gone to do her shopping for Paris, but I’m feeling a bit stirred up by what she said about Stringer being a dark horse. He didn’t come across to me like that at all. I thought he was sweet. Posh, mind, but a gentleman. He’s not the sort for flippant encounters. And why hasn’t he had a girlfriend? I think he’s just the sort of person you could cooch up to, have a good heart-to-heart with. But then, maybe he’s just like me. Maybe he’s fed up of casual sex. Maybe he’s ready to change too.
‘Do you think I should call him?’ I ask Amy, as I trail after her in Habitat.
‘Susie, you’re terrible,’ she laughs, picking up a picture frame. ‘Don’t get obsessed by Stringer.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Listen. If you’re so determined, just call him.’
‘I asked him out already, but he was busy. Do you think I should ask him again? Just for a drink or something?’
Amy thinks for a moment. ‘I don’t see why not.’
I wait until we get back to Jack and Amy’s for a cup of tea before I have the courage to ring.
‘Go on, I know you’re gagging to. You might be able to see him later,’ suggests Amy. She takes the phone and punches in the number for me and then hands it over. I flap my hands, changing my mind.
‘It’s ringing,’ Amy smiles and I snatch the phone from her.
‘Hello?’ I hear Stringer’s voice and glance up at Amy.
‘Hi, Stringer? It’s me. Susie.’ I’ve been thinking about him so much, that I half-expect him to know that it’s me already.
‘Oh right,’ he says, formally. ‘Hello there.’ I grip the phone tightly. My hands are all sweaty. Why doesn’t he sound more pleased? Amy’s staring at me.
‘I wondered if you were doing anything tonight,’ I blurt. ‘We could, er, go for a drink or something.’
There’s a pause. ‘I don’t think so,’ he says. ‘Not tonight. I’m busy. Terribly busy, actually. I’m chock-a-block right up until the wedding . . .’
‘No problem,’ I interrupt chirpily. ‘No problem at all, that’s fine. Really,’ I smile. ‘It was just on the off chance . . .’
‘I’m sorry, Susie, but I’m right in the middle of something . . .’
I gasp, feeling embarrassed. ‘No, no. Sorry. Right then. Well, I’ll see you at the wedding . . .’
‘Yes. See you there. Cheerio.’
I put down the phone and give it back to Amy. ‘What did he say?’ she asks, frowning.
‘Cheerio.’
‘He must have said more than that?’
‘He’s busy. It’s short notice,’ I shrug.
This is not a good sign. It’s not a good sign, because if I just want to be friends with Stringer I shouldn’t be feeling so desperately disappointed that he doesn’t want to see me.
‘Oh, Sooze,’ laughs Amy. ‘Why do you always fall for the bastards?’
‘Stringer’s not a bastard.’
Amy gives me an ‘Oh, really?’ sort of look.
This is rubbish. Why do I feel like this when I don’t even fancy him? And how am I supposed to progress to week two of being a non-sexual person if Stringer’s denying me access?
Matt
Monday, 14.40
My mind’s one big question mark.
I finally look up from the mobile phone that I’ve been clutching in my hand for the last half-hour or so. It’s one of those crisp, clear September days. The sky above is blue and cloudless and a cool wind sporadically blows, whipping the freshly fallen leaves into spiralling eddies. I wish I’d worn something warmer, but I spilled coffee on the cuff of my suit this morning and my others are at the dry cleaner’s, so I’ve had to make do with this linen summer number instead.
I’m sitting on one of the benches in St James’s Square, just off the Haymarket. Aside from myself and this scatty-looking woman who�
�s sitting beside me, the square’s emptied out since lunch-time. And with the thick hedges running the square’s perimeter blocking out the noise of passing traffic, it’s as quiet as London ever gets. Great, in other words, if you’ve got someone to snuggle up against. But a total dog if you don’t.
And I don’t.
And I haven’t had for quite some time, not since I used to sit here with Penny Brown, my one and only long-term girlfriend.
Penny and I met doing articles at Robards & Lake in 1994. Like me, she was fresh from law school, a student suddenly wearing a suit and acting like an adult. We clicked right from the start: same sense of humour, similar ambitions. Penny used to joke about other couples we knew who lived their lives hand in hand. She could never see the point, giving up your independence like that, putting your relationship before your career. She once told me that she’d worked out that if you took all the hours that most people invested in their relationships, and diverted them in to their careers instead, they’d get where they wanted to be twice as fast. That was the time and place, Penny reckoned, to open up your life for real to someone else. And not before.
And I ran with it. I didn’t give myself time to stop and. think about whether I really agreed. I was in love with her and assumed that, deep down, she felt the same – even though she never told me, and even though I was always too afraid of scaring her off to ask. I decided that not saying it didn’t matter. All that mattered was how we felt. And I knew how I felt. I was happy. Happy with her, happy with the sporadic nights and weekends we spent together. If she wanted to take things slowly, then I’d wait. The way I saw it, we were on the same career paths, so we’d both reach the place she wanted to be at the same time. It made sense to wait. She – and all the glimpses I’d seen of what she had to offer confirmed this – would be worth the wait.
But she wasn’t.
There was no love. Not in her. Not for me. That’s what she told me in June 1995 when I asked her. Right here. On this exact bench. Looking at this exact view, minus the falling leaves. It was the day she told me that it was over between us and that she’d met someone else, someone she’d fallen in love with, and someone she wanted to spend her time with. It was the day she left me here and walked back to the office, not because she needed time on her own, but because our time together was over.
I felt like my world had vanished before my eyes.
Jack finishing with Zoë Thompson the month before was probably my salvation. He’d been seeing Zoë for two years – a whole six months longer than I had Penny – and was determined to treat our new circumstances as a positive step forward. Don’t look back. Don’t dwell. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. He filled me in on all the good stuff that was coming my way. Every night was going to be a big night out. He’d move in to my house with me and we’d create the kind of bachelor pad that would make other bachelor pads looks like chapels. And, of course, there were the women. We were going to have fun and act our age. No serious relationships. No compromises. Nothing till the real thing came along.
And up until recently, this attitude has been my own. I’ve stayed not wanting a serious girlfriend. The same as Jack was before he met Amy, I’ve been happy being single and safe. I’ve gone on moving from one close encounter of the bird kind to the next, a consummate drifter. It’s only now that I’ve reached the conclusion that this is no longer enough, that my life has become a hollow place. I’ve seen Jack and Amy together and I’ve wanted that unity for myself. I’ve woken up and smelt the coffee, only to find that I don’t have a cup of my own.
And in response, I’ve finally gone and done it. I’ve finally gone and asked someone to stay in my life for longer than one night.
I’ve been sitting here for two hours, sifting through the evidence of the events which occurred in the Blue Rose public house and my own house on Friday night, between the hours of eleven p.m. and two a.m., in the company of one Helen Marchmont, a.k.a. H. And all I’ve managed to come up with so far is one big question mark.
I blame Jack and Amy. The separate seeds they planted in my head last Tuesday have grown. And now H is in my head, as surely as if she were rooted here. But the question in my mind isn’t simply a why? I know why she’s here in my head. It’s because I invited her. It’s because I decided that she was going to be the one for me. It’s more of a where/why combination. Where is she now? And why isn’t she here with me? Because I don’t want this any more. I don’t want to be sitting here on my own with no one to cuddle up against. I stare down at the mobile phone in my hand. Not when I could be sitting here with her.
I called Jack as soon as I got back from dropping H off last Wednesday, following the test meal round at Stringer’s work. I mean, who else would I have turned to to brainstorm over how to get embroiled in a relationship other than the one person I know who’s recently, without even going out there looking for it, achieved just that?
‘So?’ he asked.
All I could picture was her eyes. Those eyes. How I hadn’t been thinking of them every waking second since I met her last year was beyond me. ‘I think she’s fantastic,’ I gibbered. ‘Awesome.’
Jack was delighted. ‘There. What did I tell you? Mr Matchmaker strikes again. Twice in one day, no less. I should start taking commission.’
‘Twice?’
‘Yeah. You and H, and Stringer and Susie.’
‘Eh?’
‘Come on, mate,’ he chided. ‘You must’ve picked up the vibes . . . They’re sweet on each other, two sugar cubes in a bowl. Great news about you and H, though,’ he went on. ‘What’s happening next? You going on a date?’
I hated to puncture his enthusiasm, but there was no point in lying to him. ‘Not exactly.’
‘Not exactly how?’
‘Not exactly in that when I said I thought she was fantastic, I didn’t say the same sentiment applied in reverse.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Jack scoffed. ‘Of course she thinks you’re fantastic. You’re Matt, for God’s sake. Matt Davies. Matt Davies, who is best friend of Jack Rossiter, who is fiancé of Amy Crosbie, who is best friend of H. All the compatibility connections are there. You’re made for each other. It has to work. It’s a mathematical certainty.’
Jack’s logic was flawless, but still I had doubts. ‘Not necessarily.’
There was a silence, which Jack read like a signpost. ‘You blew it, didn’t you?’
I bit down on my lip. ‘Sort of,’ I admitted.
He hissed down the phone in disbelief. ‘Jesus, I leave you alone for five minutes . . . What happened?’
‘I think I got a bit carried away . . . jumped the gun . . .’
‘Go on.’
‘I asked her out on a date when she’d just made it massively clear that she didn’t want to go out with anyone at the moment.’
‘And she said no . . .’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, what’s wrong with that?’
‘Everything.’
‘Why?’ he came back.
I wished we were talking face to face. I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic. He certainly didn’t sound it. ‘What are you telling me?’ I asked. ‘That “no” ’is suddenly good?’
‘Yeah. Under the circumstances, “no” ’is a pretty good answer. Not as good as yes, of course. “Yes” would have been perfect. But “no” ’is OK. “No” you can work with. “No” just means that she’s got the hots for you and hasn’t realized it yet. Either that, or it means that she’s playing hard to get.’
‘Or,’ I pointed out, because one of us certainly had to, and I certainly dreaded as much, ‘it means that she hasn’t got the hots for me and is perfectly aware of the fact.’
‘It’s a possibility,’ Jack conceded, before hurrying on, ‘but not one you should dwell on. Too negative,’ he chastized. ‘You mustn’t even consider giving up till you know for sure.’
‘OK,’ I said, ‘so where do you suggest I go from here?’
‘The first thing is to
decide upon your strategy.’
‘Strategy?’
‘You’ve got to have a strategy.’
‘I have?’
‘Of course. How else is the campaign going to be a success?’
‘What campaign?’
‘Operation Marchmont.’
‘Marchmont?’
‘H’s surname. Her first name’s Helen, by the way.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘What strategy do you recommend?’
‘I don’t know. You’re the lawyer. You work it out.’
A-ha. So there was a sure-fire strategy and campaign to win the wondrous Helen, but I had to come up with it myself. Great. I knew this had sounded too good to be true. I stayed silent, listening to the sound of the static and Jack’s breathing on the line.
‘Come on, mate,’ he encouraged after a few seconds. ‘I can hear those brain gears grinding from here. Think of all those exams you’ve passed. You can do it.’
And then it dawned on me: maybe Jack was right. Maybe I could work out a strategy. After all, why should love be left to chance? That worked for people like Jack and Amy, sure, but they were the lucky ones. What about the rest of us? Where was the harm in a-little analysis of the situation, a little problem-solving? That’s how I approached every other area of my life, so why not this, the most important of the lot?
‘OK,’ I said, determined to give it a go. ‘The way I see it is this. H either fancies me or she doesn’t. If she doesn’t, then all is lost. If she does, however, and either hasn’t realized it yet, or is playing hard to get, then my best course of action is to ignore her completely.’
‘But surely if you do that—’ Jack objected.
But I was on a roll. I was Einstein and I didn’t want anyone messing with my equation. ‘Romantically, I mean. Ignore her romantically. Even better, in fact, I should work from the assumption that to be desirable, you have to appear unavailable. I’ll tell her that I don’t fancy her. Straight to her face. That way, if she does fancy me, she’ll be furious that I’ve rejected her.’
Jack grunted in approval. ‘And once she’s furious with you for rejecting her, she’ll want to win back her pride by pulling you?’ he deduced.
