No-One Ever Has Sex in the Suburbs: A Brand New Very Funny Romantic Novel

by Tracy Bloom

  It seemed like a whole other lifetime ago. Ben had hated every minute of seeing grown women run around in school uniform, given that he was a teacher and predisposed to find nothing at all attractive about it. Katy had been there with some new, younger mates, as all her real mates had long since married and had kids. Ben had accidentally thrown a pint of lager down her front when she’d bumped into him whilst storming off the dance floor because one of her party claimed never to have heard of Paul Weller. He’d offered her the compensation of an escape route and a kebab, and the rest, as they say, is history.

  Was that really only two years ago? Unbelievable. And here he was, back again outside the Pink Coconut. He could see the same kebab shop at the end of the street, a steady stream of revellers already partaking of post-alcohol comfort food.

  ‘Let’s just go for a kebab, eh, mate?’ he said.

  ‘Noooooo,’ said Braindead. ‘Heeeeeelp me find a woooooooman?’

  Ben considered his options. He could go inside the club with Braindead, have a few more drinks then end up sitting on his own feeling miserable whilst Braindead tried to chat someone up, or he could go home and just be miserable whilst having a difficult conversation with his fiancée.

  Fifteen minutes later they were in the club. They’d handed over an exorbitant amount of money then queued another ten minutes to hand over yet more money and their coats through a dark cubbyhole where the likelihood of ever getting anything back seemed negligible. Finally, when they emerged into the main area of the club, Ben wished with all his heart he was home, even if he did have to face Katy.

  It was all wrong. He didn’t belong here any more. He felt like he was visiting a zoo. When he’d last been here at least he’d felt like part of the zoo, albeit an animal that wasn’t quite sure why it was there and hoped to be released as soon as possible. Memories of awful music, sticky floors, stinking toilets, understaffed bars and terrible drinks came flooding back, and for the second time that night he was relieved that being in such a grim establishment was no longer a necessity. He was a father and fiancé, which had secured him a Get out of a Nightclubs free card.

  ‘Need a slash,’ said Braindead, tapping him on the arm and diving off into the crowd. Ben wondered how long he would have to wait for Braindead to return before he could decently claim he’d searched high and low then assumed it was Braindead who’d gone home.

  ‘You came. Oh my God, you came!’ came a shriek in his left ear accompanied by a pumping of his left arm.

  Ben looked down to see Charlene grinning like a Cheshire cat whilst sucking on a straw inserted in a bottle full of some hideous bright pink liquid.

  ‘Hi Charlene. I’m not really here,’ he boomed at her. Charlene wasn’t listening; she’d turned away and was waving her arm wildly.

  ‘Abby. Abby!’ she was screaming. ‘Look who’s here! Ben’s come. Look, he’s here. Bring everyone over.’

  ‘I’m not really here,’ he shouted again at her. ‘I’m just here for Braindead. I’m going in a minute.’

  ‘What?’ said Charlene. ‘You can’t go now. You have to stay and meet everyone, and Zack McFrank hasn’t even been on yet.’

  ‘Zack McFrank?’

  ‘Yeah. The DJ has just said he’ll be on stage any minute.’

  ‘Who’s Zack McFrank?’

  Charlene’s mouth dropped open and she pulled the straw away from her mouth for the first time since he’d bumped into her.

  ‘Six-Pack Zack McFrank from Britain’s Got Talent. He’s doing a special appearance.’

  Ben had no idea who she was talking about.

  ‘What’s special about it?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s getting his six-pack out.’

  He was starting to understand why the crowd appeared to be ninety-five percent women.

  ‘We had no idea,’ Ben shouted back. ‘Braindead just saw all these women and demanded we come in.’

  ‘Beeeeeeeeeen!’ came a squeal and Ben found himself face to face with Abby.

  ‘Is it really him?’ asked another girl who had appeared next to Abby. Then another three girls materialized, all in their late teens and early twenties, and stared right at him

  ‘It so is,’ said Abby, looping her arm through his. ‘This is our friend Ben, otherwise known as Stay-at-Home-Super-Hero-Dad.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ said one of the other girls. ‘Wow. Here, can I have a selfie?’ she asked as she pushed Abby out of the way to get close to Ben and thrust a phone out in front of them.

  ‘What’s she doing?’ Ben asked Abby, disturbed by all the bodily contact and phone being thrust in his face.

  ‘She wants a picture of you,’ she replied.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of your video, of course.’

  ‘What video?’

  ‘You remember. The one of you at the music class, that Charlene put on Facebook.’

  ‘Fucking brilliant,’ one of the other girls shouted in his ear. ‘I’m going home to listen to the Arctic Monkeys very loud. Just genius. We all get together now on a Thursday morning and turn Kanye West on full blast. The kids love it. The neighbours aren’t too happy, though.’

  ‘See,’ cried Charlene. ‘You are an inspiration.’

  Ben was just standing with his mouth open.

  ‘I thought I’d told you to take it down?’

  ‘Oh my God, girls, look,’ shouted Charlene, distracted by something over Ben’s shoulder. ‘Zack McFrank is coming on. We have to get down to the stage right now.’

  And they were all gone. Pushing him out the way to get to someone trying to make the most of his fifteen minutes of fame. All apart from Abby, who snaked her arm through his again.

  ‘I knew you’d come,’ she breathed before lifting a straw to her mouth and sucking on it suggestively through glistening lips.

  He was just about to tell her he was leaving because this was all too weird when he spotted Braindead over her shoulder, searching for him.

  ‘Heeeelp,’ shrieked Ben over Abby’s shoulder. ‘Over here, Braindead.’

  Braindead turned around and caught sight of Ben just as Abby raised her hand and laid it on his cheek. Assessing the situation, he gave Ben a quick thumbs up and a grin, then turned his back to leave Ben to it.

  ‘Fucking Braindead,’ muttered Ben under his breath, as Abby loomed closer and closer.

  He grabbed her hand from his cheek and ducked under her arm.

  ‘You remember Braindead?’ he shouted at Abby as he dragged her over to where his friend was standing. ‘In the coffee shop?’

  Braindead winked at Ben as they approached.

  ‘Nice one, son,’ he said in appreciation of Ben’s achievement at attracting a crazy lady within five minutes of entering a club.

  ‘Getting married. Have a daughter,’ said Ben, pointing to himself.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Braindead, as though it had just occurred to him. ‘What the fuck are you doing, man?’

  ‘Nothing,’ replied Ben. ‘She’s . . . aggressive.’

  ‘Really?’ said Braindead. ‘Would you mind if I . . . I quite like the look of her.’

  ‘Be my absolute guest,’ replied Ben. ‘Abby, you do remember Braindead, don’t you?’ he shouted in Abby’s ear.

  ‘Shots?’ Braindead shouted at Abby.

  Ben gasped. No hello. No good to see you again. Was it any wonder that Braindead couldn’t get a girlfriend? To his amazement, Abby grinned back at Braindead and then at Ben.

  ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ she replied, and headed off to the bar, leaving the two of them to follow.

  Half an hour later after four shots each at the bar, Ben was starting to feel his legs wanting to go in an entirely different direction to his body. The sniff of potential woman had turned Braindead from a dedicated worshipper of craft beers to the happy round buyer of various luminous liquids at Abby’s request. Zack McFrank had attracted all but the totally hammered or male to swarm around the stage, leaving the bar clear to allow the three of them to line up in fro
nt of Kevin, their own personal barman. Behind them Zack teased his audience in the build-up to him revealing a jaw-dropping six-pack, but Abby no longer seemed interested. She’d dropped Zack like a ton of bricks, apparently more attracted by Braindead with his nervous, pathetic chat-up lines and open wallet.

  ‘You suit orange lips,’ he told her, commenting on the bold tone of lipstick she was modelling. ‘Not many women can carry off orange, but you do it amazingly. It’s like, wow, I have never seen orange look so good on a face. You have a face for orange. Did you know that?’

  ‘I had no idea,’ said Abby flatly, raising her eyebrows at Ben.

  ‘Braindead is the funniest man I know, Abby,’ said Ben, draping an arm around his buddy.

  ‘And we all know what funny men are . . .’ began Braindead.

  ‘Really sexy,’ Ben finished off for him, not trusting Braindead with what his conclusion might be. ‘Women find funny men really sexy, don’t they, Abby? It’s a well-known fact.’

  Abby giggled then downed another shot.

  ‘Doesn’t mean I have a big cock, though,’ continued Braindead. ‘Just so you know. I mean, it’s not small or anything, just not enormous, if that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t want you to think that just because I’m funny and sexy that I have a massive cock. Wouldn’t want to disappoint you. Because that can happen, can’t it? And I’d rather this conversation continued with you knowing I have an average-sized cock, then we all know where we stand.’

  Abby giggled, and Ben’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘Mate,’ he said, gently pulling Braindead to one side. ‘Too much information. Not sure Abby’s ready for that yet.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Braindead. He glanced at Abby then put his mouth close to Ben’s ear to attempt a whisper.

  ‘I was just trying to manage expectations,’ he hissed. ‘I think that’s where I’m going wrong. I seem to disappoint women so I thought if I start by lowering expectations that might work in my favour. Besides, it seems really unfair that she doesn’t know how big my cock is but I can see exactly how big her tits are.’

  It was like an automatic reaction, he couldn’t help it. Braindead mentioned Abby’s tits and Ben found himself staring at her overflowing black sequined vest top which failed to hide the contrasting turquoise bra desperately trying to restrain her bust. As soon as he realised what he was doing he flicked his eyes away. Abby trapped his gaze and he felt helpless to look elsewhere in case he looked in the wrong place again.

  ‘Another round?’ said Braindead, somewhere to his left.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Abby, refusing to release Ben’s gaze.

  ‘Back in a mo,’ said Braindead, and he made for the other end of the bar to attract Kevin’s attention. He was only ten yards away, but he was gone, and Ben felt naked and vulnerable.

  ‘Like what you see?’ Abby said, smiling and snaking her hand over his arm.

  ‘No!’ he cried. ‘I mean yes. I mean, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘I liked it,’ she said, leaning forward so that he could feel her hot breath on his ear. ‘You can look anytime.’

  ‘No,’ he said again. ‘I don’t want to. Not that you’re not lovely to look at and everything but . . . I’m engaged, Abby. I have a baby.’ The music was throbbing around in his head, the shots were making him feel weak in more ways than one and the proximity of Abby’s breasts was breathtaking. He looked longingly at Braindead, who had his back turned to him at the bar. Please turn round, he thought. Please come back now and then we’ll go and this will all be over.

  Then things went a bit hazy. Abby was kissing him, holding his head firmly between her hands as she ground her lips against his. Stop! his head was screaming as his legs started to buckle under him. He raised his hands to grasp her arms in an attempt to free his head, but she just tightened her grip. Ben thrust his hips outwards, as though any contact at waist level would spark spontaneous combustion. Suddenly someone grabbed his shoulder and yanked him out of Abby’s grasp.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ shouted Braindead.

  ‘Thank God,’ muttered Ben, wiping his lips as he staggered backwards.

  ‘I’ll get my own drink, shall I?’ enquired Abby, looking slightly smug. She headed off to hunt down a barman.

  ‘I can’t believe you!’ said Braindead. ‘I leave you for five minutes and she was all over you? You’ve got Katy, you wanker. Why do you have to go and steel my bird?’

  ‘I didn’t! She jumped me.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Braindead sarcastically. ‘Women do that all the time, don’t they? Do you think I’m an idiot or something?’ He looked Ben up and down in disgust, then turned and walked off.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ‘They fancy each other,’ shouted Matthew.

  ‘What?’ Ian shouted back.

  ‘I said, they fancy each other,’ Matthew repeated, right in his ear.

  He had sat alone in the restaurant for some time, trying to get over the shock of Alison’s proud announcement that Ben had described her as eye candy. He’d sat sipping the rest of the champagne, staring into space and mulling it over, while the rest of the restaurant bustled around him. It was just such an odd response from Alison. She was the last person to be happy to be on the receiving end of such a label. The thought that she would ever enjoy being appreciated merely for her looks was unimaginable.

  ‘Eye candy,’ he kept muttering to himself in disbelief. He was certain that if he’d ever called her eye candy, she would have blown a gasket and accused him of some kind of hideous demeaning behaviour. But no, apparently being called eye candy by the likes of Ben – a young, fit, footie-playing, ex-PE instructor, super caring stay-at-home dad – well, that was a major compliment. She was seriously chuffed. He thought she might even have been blushing as she flung it in his face as her parting shot. Matthew was angry with Ben for saying such a thing to his wife, and even angrier with Alison for liking it.

  They’d actually been flirting, he suddenly realised when he’d nearly polished off the whole bottle of champagne. That’s what it was. In his own house. How dare they! And they were both parents of newborns. Absolutely disgraceful!

  Having ascertained Ian’s whereabouts via text, he paid the bill to a bewildered waiter, who cheered up dramatically when he saw the size of the tip. Matthew fled the restaurant to download the latest development to his mate.

  It was now after ten, and what Ian had described as Becki’s local did not look like the type of place that a man in his forties could frequent without looking like a bit of a loser. Matthew soon found Ian in Cocktail Emporium, standing alone at a high table, ogling his girlfriend on the dance floor whilst trying desperately to look as though he was twenty years younger. His shocking pink and yellow designer shirt could have been carried off by a long, toned torso, but Ian’s slight beer belly and too short arms meant the colourful garment made him look like a children’s TV presenter. An attempt at using hair wax to hone a more youthful style had failed, due to lack of hair. What was left was unpleasant, greasy-looking strands. However, he still had a massive beam on his face when Matthew walked in, and he welcomed him with a bear hug and a cocktail.

  ‘Seriously?’ said Matthew. ‘You drink cocktails now?’

  ‘Sure,’ Ian shrugged, taking a sip. ‘No big deal.’

  ‘And what are you wearing?’

  ‘Becki took me shopping today. She says I look ten years younger.’

  ‘You look like someone desperately trying to look ten years younger. Is this really all necessary, just for her?’

  ‘Who is the one in a happy, sexually active relationship here, and who is the one running to me because his wife fancies another bloke and they haven’t had sex in months? If it makes her happy if I wear a pink shirt, mate, I’m gonna wear a pink shirt.’

  Matthew felt his shoulders sag. If only this problem could be solved by wearing a pink shirt. Somehow he didn’t think it would have the necessary impact on Alison. He
picked up the drink bought for him by Ian and took a sip. It tasted disgusting.

  They didn’t talk for a while, just stood together watching the clutch of women on the dance floor, who were tottering and writhing against each other, displaying their young bodies to the various groups of men loitering around the edge. They were no doubt waiting for the point when they would be drunk enough to step onto the dance floor themselves and chance their arm at trying to pull. Becki was contorting her body into ridiculous positions, causing Matthew to look away at one point as it seemed inevitable that any minute he was going to see a flash of knickers.

  ‘So tell me again exactly what she said,’ Ian asked eventually, turning his back on the dance display to avoid distraction.

  ‘She said Ben told her she was eye candy.’

  ‘Right,’ Ian nodded.

  ‘That’s a come-on, right?’ said Matthew. ‘He fancies her?’

  ‘You can’t be sure,’ said Ian, shaking his head.

  ‘But she liked it,’ urged Matthew. ‘Alison liked being called eye candy!’

  ‘You never can tell with women, mate. When I was married I’d tell Caroline that she looked gorgeous and she’d fly off the flipping handle – tell me I was after something, or ask me what cock-up I was covering up. Women’s reactions to compliments are one of the most mystifying things known to man. Throwing a woman a compliment is like throwing meat into the lions’ den. You may get a big fat lick, but more than likely you’ll get your hand bitten off.’

  All Matthew could do was nod in agreement. Just that evening he’d told Alison how much her dress suited her. He’d realised his mistake when she had pointed out that it suited her because it was an old maternity dress she’d bought in the early stages of her pregnancy and was now, to her horror, the only dress in her wardrobe that actually fitted.

  ‘What really worries me is what motivated Ben to say that,’ Matthew continued. ‘Why would he say that to Alison?’