by Matt Dunn
I’m on a high when I nervously take my seat in front of Melanie again, and wait for her to start laying into me. But this time, and to my astonishment, she starts off by smiling warmly at me.
I nearly blow it when I ask her what she likes to do with her spare time, and her answer takes me a little by surprise. I have to get her to explain.
‘I’m sorry?’ I say. ‘Sleeping with strangers?’
Melanie’s face runs through confusion, shock, and then realization, but then, fortunately, she laughs.
‘No, Ed. I love to swim. Not swing.’
And I’m so amazed by the difference in her that it’s a full minute—one third of our allotted time together—before I realize something very important, and it’s something that causes me to sit up straight with pride. It’s not that she doesn’t remember me.
It’s that she doesn’t recognize me.
Sunday 10th April
1.04 p.m.
I’m sitting at the bar, telling Dan about my evening. When I get to the part about Tina giving me her number, I have to stop him from ordering champagne.
‘So what are you going to do?’ he asks, staring in admiration at the scrap of paper on the table in front of me.
‘What do you mean, “what am I going to do”? Nothing, of course. Have you forgotten why I’m doing all this?’
Dan shrugs. ‘Nope, but I was hoping you had.’
‘Jane’s back in a week, Dan. My entire future happiness hangs on what she thinks when she sees me. I’m hardly going to want to jeopardize that, am I?’
‘Which is exactly why you should call Tina. Go out with her.’
‘You mean think of it as a dry run for when Jane gets back?’
Dan nods. ‘Yup. Because you don’t want Jane to smell the paint.’
I sniff the arm of my jacket. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘When you see Jane for the first time. You don’t want her to smell the paint.’
I’m still no clearer. ‘What?’
‘Like the Queen.’
‘Have you been drinking?’
‘The Queen thinks the world smells of paint.’
‘You have been drinking.’
Dan emits a long-suffering sigh. ‘Everywhere she visits has just been painted. You know—to look good for when she comes. And she knows it, because she can smell the paint. Same thing applies to you and Jane. You need to be comfortable in your new skin. Otherwise Jane will see straight through it.’
‘Why? Surely I’ve proved things now. I don’t repel women any more.’
‘Maybe so. And perhaps you can even attract the odd one, and I mean that in both senses of the word “odd”, but how about sustaining it past the initial attraction? If you can’t manage that for an evening, how do you think you’re going to do it for the rest of your life?’
Tuesday 12th April
7.44 p.m.
When I meet up with Dan in the Admiral Jim, he’s looking more than a little cheesed off. What’s more, and unusually for Dan, he’s drinking beer and eating a hot dog.
‘Careful. Those things will kill you.’
‘Hark at you, mister healthy living convert.’
I make a face. ‘Do you know what they put into them?’
‘Don’t tell me,’ orders Dan. ‘It’s like women with breast implants. I don’t want to think how they’re made—I just want to enjoy the end result.’ He holds the hot dog out towards me. ‘Like a bite?’
‘No thank you!’
‘How about a beer then?’ he says, waving his bottle in front of me. Dan rarely drinks beer, but when he does, it’s only ever that expensive, cloudy, scented stuff brewed in some obscure Belgian monastery.
‘You know I would. But not for another,’ I consult my watch, ‘four days and twelve hours, sadly.’
‘Is that all you’ve got left?’
I nod, thankfully. ‘My odyssey is nearly over.’
‘Your odd what?’
‘My journey of self-discovery. My mission to find the inner me.’
Dan takes a mouthful of beer. ‘Your quest for a shag, you mean.’
‘What’s the matter with you? Bad day at the office?’
‘You could say that.’
I catch Wendy’s eye, signalling her to come over when she’s ready. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
Dan sighs. ‘Well, today, after weeks of filming, where all we’ve found are crappy old toys and naff “antiques” that date from the early Formica period, we finally come across someone who’s been left something half decent.’
‘Which was?’
‘I dunno. I’m not the antiques expert, am I? Some sort of crystal decanter thing that Digby practically got a hard-on about. Two hundred years old, apparently. Worth a small fortune.’
‘Well, that’s good news, isn’t it?’
Dan grimaces. ‘It would have been.’
‘What do you mean, “would have been”?’
‘If I hadn’t dropped it. On camera.’
I have to stifle a laugh. ‘How did you manage that?’
‘Well, I was trying to be funny, you know, by pretending to drop it.’
‘But instead, you “actually” dropped it?’
‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘Ouch. So what’s happened.’
‘Well, firstly, we’ve had to recompense the couple. Secondly, of course, we can’t put the programme out, so that’s a whole two days’ filming wasted, and thirdly…’
‘Thirdly?’
‘They’ve given me a warning. One more thing and I’m out. Banished to the wasteland that is free-to-air.’
‘One more thing? What else have you done?’
‘You know.’ Dan blushes slightly. ‘The thing with that chap’s wife.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Dan had been caught trying to make a move on one of the bereaved couples’ wives. ‘Not the best career move, perhaps?’
‘Yes, well, she was begging for it.’
‘Dan, that’s not a very nice thing to say. I mean, I know they call it their hour of need…’
‘No, really. She was actually begging for it. Down on her knees, and everything.’
‘And that’s when her husband saw the two of you.’
‘Exactly Didn’t quite believe my “dropped contact lens” excuse.’
‘Quite.’
‘I tell you, sometimes it’s hard being “TV’s Dan Davis”. Every time I meet someone they’re expecting me to be this perfect person they’ve seen on television, with flawlessly scripted lines, whereas the reality is…’ Dan stops talking, and downs the remainder of his beer.
‘What’s the reality, mate?’
Dan sighs. ‘That sometimes I need my lines written for me. Maybe that’s why my relationships don’t last. Because they see through the gloss and realize that I’m pretty much just what it says on the tin.’
I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. ‘And there was me thinking it was because you never call them the next morning. Anyway, look on the bright side.’
‘Don’t you bloody start.’
‘I’m serious. At least you’ve got something for It’ll Be All Right on the Night 207, or whatever number they’re up to now.’
Dan brightens slightly. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
When Wendy appears, I order my usual sparkling water, and buy Dan a refill.
‘Five pounds fifty, please,’ she says, placing the bottle down carefully on the bar. ‘Four pounds of which is for Dan’s beer, by the way.’
‘Blimey,’ I say. ‘I thought it was brewed by monks?’
‘Well, they’ve obviously got expensive habits,’ she replies.
There’s a pause, before Wendy and I collapse in a fit of childish laughter, filled only by the whooshing sound of her joke flying way over Dan’s head.
Wednesday 13th April
7.09 p.m.
We’ve arranged to meet for drinks at Bar Bados, a Caribbean-themed bar-restaurant on Western Road. The p
lace is quite busy already, and rather noisy, mainly due to the table full of Elvis impersonators, probably out on a stag do, in one corner.
I’m a little late, having had to unscrew the u-bend underneath my sink when one of my contact lenses fell down the plug hole, and peer anxiously around the gloomy interior until I spot Tina in one of the corner booths. I’m pleased, and not a little relieved, when she smiles and waves me over—last time I did this the person thought I was someone else.
‘Hi, Ed,’ she says.
I’m not sure whether I should kiss her hello or shake her hand, given that we’ve only previously spent a total of three minutes in each other’s company. She’ll lead you, Dan had said, but when Tina just sits there, smiling up at me, I realize I’m not getting any clues. I settle for sitting down opposite her, and against my better judgement, try to remember Dan’s dating advice. Ah yes—start with a compliment.
‘You look nice.’
‘Thanks,’ says Tina. ‘So do you. I’m glad you called.’
‘Well, I’m glad you gave me your number.’
Tina blushes slightly. ‘I don’t normally do that sort of thing. It’s just that there was something about you. Something different to the guys who normally come to those things.’
‘Oh yes?’ I ask, fishing slightly. ‘Which was?’
Tina regards me quizzically. ‘I can’t quite put my finger on it.’
‘Maybe you will later.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Put your finger on it…Oh, I see. No. Sorry. I mean, realize what it is that’s different…Never mind.’
She’s already got a drink, so I head to the bar and order myself a large glass of wine. When I sit back down opposite her. Tina smiles at me, and looks at her watch.
‘Right. You’ve got three minutes.’
‘Oh. Right. Well…’
‘Only kidding. So, Ed. Tell me a little more about yourself.’
‘Gosh. Where to start?’ Probably not with the Jane stuff. ‘There’s not much to tell, really.’
‘Go on.’
‘No, honestly. There’s really not much to tell.’
I talk a little about my job, careful not to give too much away, then try and turn the conversation round. ‘What about you? What do you do?’
‘Oh, I work with lager.’
I don’t know quite how to process this. Is she telling me she works at a brewery, or is some kind of weird frozen beer sculptor?
‘What?’
‘Lager. It’s a charity. Lesbian and Gay Equal Rights.’
Ah. I’d forgotten for a moment that we lived in Be-right-on. ‘That sounds…I don’t know what I’m supposed to say about that. But you’re not…Are you?’
Tina laughs. Fortunately. ‘Oh no. It’s just a job. But I do believe in equal rights for all. Don’t you?’
‘Oh yes. Absolutely.’
‘None of this gender stereotyping, for example.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’
‘Great,’ she says, holding out her empty glass. ‘Now get me another drink, please.’
8.02 p.m.
‘I’m a little hungry,’ says Tina. ‘I didn’t get a chance to eat earlier. Shall we order some food?’
I can’t believe that this ‘early evening date’ tactic of Dan’s actually works. Deciding to follow the rest of his strategy, I look around at what other people are eating. Sadly, Caribbean cuisine doesn’t seem to feature many spaghetti dishes.
‘Here? Or shall we go for an Italian?’
Tina looks at me a little strangely. ‘Italian? Why?’
‘No reason,’ I reply, picking up the menu sheepishly.
9.34 p.m.
The evening still seems to be going well. I’m having a pleasant time, Tina appears to be having a pleasant time, and as we chat over our food, I’m starting to see how this dating business can be fun. And it is fun, up until the point where we get on to past relationships. Tina tells me about the six or so boyfriends she’s had since leaving college, and how she thought she’d give speed dating a try as obviously her work hasn’t proved to be the best environment to meet single men. At least, not single men who aren’t interested in other single men.
It’s a little smoky in the bar, and my new lenses are starting to call out for a little more lubrication, which, of course, is making my eyes water. At the same time, I’m giving Tina an—admittedly abridged—version of what’s happened with Jane and me, leaving out the fact that I’ve gone through this whole process to try to win her back, and deciding not to point out that Tina is, in fact, a trial run for Jane’s imminent return.
I get to the bit about Jane leaving for Tibet and dab at my eyes, which are running quite freely now, with my napkin. When Tina suddenly puts her hand on mine, it’s all I can do not to pull away in shock.
‘You poor thing,’ she says. ‘If it’s too upsetting for you, we can talk about something else.’
‘No. That’s fine. It’s just I…’ I consider telling her it’s my new contact lenses, but then she might remove her hand.
Tina reaches up to my face and wipes away a tear that’s running down my cheek.
‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘These things get easier with time.’
Funny. That’s just what my optician said.
10.25 p.m.
We’re arguing already, but in a nice way, struggling to hear each other above the noise in the bar.
‘Tina, I asked you out. That means I’m paying.’
‘But that’s just reinforcing outmoded social conventions.’
‘It’s only right that I pay. After all, in caveman days, if we’d wanted to eat, I’d have hunted it down and killed it.’
Tina stares at her plate. ‘A salad? Besides, we’re not in caveman days any more.’
‘Are we not?’ I nod towards the stag do in the corner, where the Elvis impersonators are taking turns to climb on the table and sing. ‘I’m worried we’ll go deaf. And it sounds like some of them already are.’
Tina glances over at them without releasing her grip on the bill. ‘They are making a bit of a din.’
‘Is it Elvises? Or Elvi?’
Tina cups her hand to her ear. ‘What?’
‘I said, is it Elvises…’
Tina smiles. ‘I heard you. I was making a joke. About the noise.’
‘What’s wrong with my nose?’
‘No, I said…Ah. Touché.’
We have definitely had a good time, but not as much of a good time as the—well, whatever the collective term for a group of Elvis Presley look-alikes is, who are now all standing on the table, belting out ‘Love Me Tender’ at the tops of their voices.
‘Shall we go?’
Tina just nods, we agree to split the bill, and head outside, strolling back along Western Road to where her car is parked. As Tina blips the door open, she turns to me, then surprises me by leaning in and kissing me on the mouth. Before I can even purse my lips in response, she breaks away.
‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘Tonight was fun.’
I don’t quite know how to react. I’ve not kissed another woman on the lips since Jane left, and to be honest, I hadn’t kissed Jane on the lips for a while by then anyway, so in truth, this is one of the most exciting things that’s happened to me in ages. I’m trying to work out what my response should be when Tina shivers in the chilly evening.
‘Where do you live?’
I indicate back along past the restaurant. ‘Oh, not far. Just about five minutes that way.’
‘Jump in. I’ll give you a lift.’
‘No, that’s OK. I don’t mind walking.’
Tina gets into the driver’s seat, then leans across and opens her passenger door. ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘I won’t bite. Unless you want me to.’
I don’t know what to do. If I get into the car, who knows where that will lead. If I don’t, I can just kiss this evening, and Tina, goodbye. Which of course, I’m supposed to, because after all, this is just a trial run for when Jan
e gets back. What I am sure of is that she’s flirting with me. Big time. And in a guilty way, I like it.
After a moment’s hesitation, and more because I’m cold than for any other reason, I get in.
‘Buckle up,’ she says, with a mischievous smile. ‘Better to be safe than sorry.’
For the first time in ages, there’s a parking spot right outside my front door. God, or more likely the devil, must be smiling down on me, so instead of having to double park and drop me off, Tina’s able to pull her car into the space. We sit there awkwardly for a moment before I move to open my door.
‘Thanks for the lift. I’d ask you in for a coffee, but…’
Tina stares straight ahead. ‘Oh. I see.’
‘No, it’s not that. It’s just that I don’t have any coffee. I forgot to buy some. I’ve got tea…’
Tina looks at me for a few moments, as if she’s weighing something up, then switches the engine off and unbuckles her seatbelt. ‘Tea would be lovely. But…’
‘But what?’
‘But I’m not going to sleep with you tonight, Ed. I’m not that kind of girl.’
I’m stunned. ‘Nor am I. I mean, I’m not that kind of boy. Man, I mean.’
Tina raises one eyebrow, ‘Yeah, right.’
As we walk up my front steps, I try frantically to work out what Tina’s ‘I’m not going to sleep with you tonight’ means. Is it simply to leave me in no doubt that we’re going inside just for a cup of tea? Or does the ‘tonight’ part suggest something more, as in ‘but I might another night’? For the first time, I envy Dan’s simplistic approach.
When I show Tina inside, she takes one look around the lounge and whistles appreciatively. ‘Nice place. And cool furniture.’
I have to stop myself from punching the air. ‘Thanks.’ And thanks, Dan. Or rather, thanks Alexis.
Tina sits down on the sofa, and I nip off into the kitchen, hurriedly removing my photos from the front of the fridge, then put the kettle on, before sticking my head back through the kitchen door.
‘How do you take it?’
Tina makes a mock-horror face. ‘I beg your pardon?’
