Here's Looking at You

by Mhairi McFarlane

  You might still hate me once you’ve read this, but I reason at least I’d have the comfort – cold comfort – of knowing you hate me for the truth, not Laurence’s propaganda. I have to ask you to trust me that everything I say here is the truth. Quite a big ask in the circumstances I know. I keep thinking about what you must’ve thought of me after that call from Laurence and … it’s not nice. All I can say is, I don’t come out of my version looking great either. And if I read last night’s parting shot right, there’s a fair chance I’ll never see you again, so, why lie?

  It’s true that I partly invited you to the theatre because Laurence had asked me to introduce you again. He fancied you at that school reunion, as I think you might’ve picked up. Asking you out obliged Laurence and it suited me, because I enjoy your company. If I was doing it purely for his sake as he said, why would I go? I promise you, my commitment to Laurence getting laid, and challenging modern theatre, doesn’t run that deep.

  And it’s true that I said I found your sister hard work. I’m sorry, it’s never nice to hear anyone you love run down. I didn’t dislike her, she’s just such a contrast to you, I guess I was surprised. I really liked your friend Michelle. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I don’t think I did anything very wrong in making a flippant remark. I’m allowed to hold unflattering opinions on people, even when they’re related to friends. Loz repeated that purely to make me look crap and the cost was hurting your feelings, which I think says something about him, not me.

  As for the comment I made about you at the reunion, I said that purely to try to put Laurence off pursuing you. I thought you were there with someone and I didn’t want Laurence causing trouble. It was intended as meaningless discouragement to shut him down – it was laddish talk, it wasn’t any considered thing. I don’t know how to correct this one without going too far the other way and sounding a bit of a skeeve. I mean, it’s true that broadly speaking you’re not my ‘type’ but I’m sure this doesn’t upset you in the slightest, and that the feeling’s mutual.

  All in all, I get to the end of this and I realise I look even worse than I thought I would. I could do some grovelling about how great I think you are, and how great you were with everyone last night. But instead I think I’m going to wheel out the really big guns. Attached is a photo of Luther looking angry while going to the toilet. He’s got so much fluff, he can’t fit his whole body in the litter tray, so his head pokes out the door flap while he’s doing his business. Enjoy.

  James x

  Anna clicked to open the email attachment and let go of grudging laughter when she saw the face of a disgruntled, disembodied Luther, staring into the camera with those marmalade eyes, expression like he was licking piss off a nettle.

  She read and re-read the email. It was hard to decide what she thought of this man. On the one hand, he’d taken the time to write a mostly charming confession. She gave him props for that. On the other, she disliked his natural superiority. It was so inbuilt, he wasn’t even aware when it was showing. I mean, why should she care if he liked Michelle? She wasn’t seeking approval of her friends and family from him. He had such self-consequence.

  And the part about how she wasn’t his type? Incredible! Thanks for that data, please do give me my final ranking when you have it. He obviously thought she felt wounded pride for not being thought attractive enough, as opposed to general dislike of men who pass judgments like that on women.

  However, in general, her natural justice allowed that people said a lot of things off the cuff that they might want to retract later, her included.

  Anna turned his words over and over and eventually she opened a reply.

  Dear James,

  While I’m prepared to accept everything you say is true, what I don’t understand is this – if Laurence is such a wanker, and has treated you like this, why is he still your best friend? This is someone you’ve known since school? I assume he was your best man, and so on?

  Anna

  She got an answer within five minutes, and her ego swelled slightly at the thought James might’ve been hitting refresh on his email.

  Good question. I don’t have a good answer. I’m probably due some soul searching. Laurence is a laugh but he does have the capacity to turn round and fuck you, as he’d like you to find out.

  Though I might argue that knowing him so long makes me less culpable in picking him as a friend, because your brain’s only half grown back at school. By the time you see what someone’s like, you’re stuck with them. I say I could argue that, because I can’t see your face to judge how annoyed you are and whether I could get away with it …

  Loz wasn’t my best man by the way. My sister Grace had that honour.

  Jx

  Anna fired back instantly, and knew by doing so, she was effectively forgiving him. Perhaps it was the effect of him distancing himself from choices made at school.

  Your sister? Really?

  Ax

  Oh no, and she added a kiss?! Anna Alessi you are apparently an utter walkover with a man who can pen a pretty email, she thought. His response was near-instant.

  Yep. I have the pictures to prove it. She’s a war photographer, in Mali at the moment. It does great things for my mum’s nerves. Grace got the brains, guts and talent in my family, it was well unfair. She’s twenty-six and she takes absolutely no bullshit from anybody and risks stray gunfire and standing on landmines, while I’m figuring out ways to virally market probiotic yoghurt drinks.

  Actually, and I’m honestly not saying this to help paddle myself out of Poo Creek, she reminds me a bit of you. Especially in her willingness to tell me when I’m being a cock-end. It’d be cool if there’s ever a chance to introduce you two sometime, even if the assaults on my dignity would be terrible. She’d like you a lot.

  Jx

  There was James Fraser in a nutshell, Anna thought. All the warmth of wanting her to meet someone dear to him, wrapped in the tacit expectation that despite insulting her, there would be a ‘sometime’.

  OK, apology accepted. Btw Laurence is taking me ice-skating. Not what I’d have expected from him, somehow.

  Ax

  This time, it took half an hour to get a reply. Anna wondered if he didn’t like her going on this date. She could see why – Laurence’s information sharing hadn’t gone well for James so far.

  And why was she going? Laurence seemed pretty nefarious. His approach had been direct and completely disarming. Her phone had gone as she left the ladies at the All Star Lanes, and when she answered, and mentioned where she was, Laurence had said, sharply, ‘You’re on a date date with James?’

  Then when she’d explained it wasn’t, he’d said, OK, well I’ve never done this before but here’s the thing. I’ve never met anyone I’ve felt such an instant spark with as you and who I wanted to know better, and while I can imagine nothing you’ve seen or heard about me makes you want to date me, I want to see you. So instead of scheming and plotting, I’ve decided to be completely honest and simply straight out beg you for an evening together. No strings, no pressure. If you say no, I promise I won’t ask again.

  Surprisingly, it was hard to say no. And then when she’d been weighing it up, boom, Laurence comes in with his: James has been helping me out because he knows I’m mad about you, so I’m not quite sure what tonight’s about. He can be rather two-faced though … And in curiosity, Anna had asked Laurence what he meant. Cue the unpleasant revelations.

  Anna had listened to this spiel while looking over at Lexie, who was slumped, gazing at James with the un-self-consciousness of the very hammered. Lexie had told Anna at length how unbelievably kind and honourable James was at work. She took Lexie’s account of his greatness with a pinch of salt, given she was smitten. And this honour didn’t extend to being honest about his romantic status, she noticed.

  There had been a strange moment, one she wouldn’t be telling anybody about, when James was helping her bowl. He’d been pressed against her and it had felt … for a second, it fe
lt very right. In fact, she kept replaying the sensation, imagining him holding her. Oh God, she was lonelier than she’d admitted to herself. She was going to be like someone in prison who butched up and got panther tattoos and started frotting other inmates in desperation.

  Laurence and James. At the Mock Rock, who was the worse out of the two of them? James. It was James who’d lured her onstage.

  And hadn’t Michelle – and even James himself – said she’d been wasting her time by only going on internet dates with ‘Mr Safe Bet But Dull’?

  So Anna had said, ‘OK, Laurence. Why not?’

  You’re actually going on this date with Loz? Wow. I look forward to hearing how it goes. If you’re not telling the story to a courtroom via video link, using dolls. (Sorry. Don’t drink anything that tastes strangely chalky though.)

  Jx

  44

  James was Monday morning revving-the-engine dossing, emailing his sister, and started in guilty surprise when he realised he had someone right at his shoulder.

  It was only Lexie, phew. She was messy on Friday, and poor girl, she still looked mole-eyed and papery-skinned today. It was possible she went out over the weekend too, of course – she wasn’t an old git like James. Somehow he pictured her staying in. Lexie was a pink Blossom Hill wine, Thorntons dusted truffles, furry monster-claw slippers type of girl.

  ‘Will you say thanks to Anna for getting me home?’ she said. ‘I’m so embarrassed.’

  ‘Course, no worries. We’ve all got hammered when the boss is buying the drinks before, don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Did I ruin your night?’

  ‘My night?’

  ‘Yes …?’

  Ohhhh. Anna took her home by herself, didn’t she? He’d been relying on Lexie having a memory gap, but she obviously recalled that much. Erk.

  ‘No it was fine, honestly,’ he blathered. ‘Did you feel a bit shabby on Saturday morning?’

  ‘I was so sick. Like Exorcist head spin sick,’ Lexie said. ‘I was sick before we left the bowling. Anna was so kind. I wanted to stay and we were in the ladies and she heard me and said, I know that at this moment you think you want to stay out, but if you go home now I promise you’ll have nothing to regret. If you stay any longer you’ll have that blackout where you can’t remember what you said or did, which is the worst. It was such a girl power thing, like something only your bestie would do.’

  Yeah, Lexie definitely had a white four-poster draped in Liberty fabric bunting from Etsy, flowers in old-fashioned watering cans and the whole True Blood collectors’ box set.

  ‘Ah, that’s nice. Yeah Anna’s thoughtful, isn’t she? I will let her know, Lex.’

  Posh Charles had been listening in, and turned in his seat.

  ‘If you don’t mind me saying, I think she’s a real catch. I didn’t really get to know your ex-wife, but Anna’s very … approachable. Lovely girl. And she was telling me about her work, she must be a serious bright spark.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lexie nodded, sombrely. ‘Anna is so nice, definitely.’

  ‘I never undah-stood how you und Eva ticked,’ said Christabel from Germany who did the accounts and occasionally discussed her sex life in a way so matter-of-factly explicit it made James sweat. ‘She voz a bit of an ice queen. You always seemed more serious around her, not ze witty James we know.’

  It seemed odd to James they’d presume the ‘real’ James was the one at work, not the one with his wife.

  ‘You’ve upgraded to the 2.0 version,’ Parker said. ‘Ironed out the glitches. More useability.’

  Parker never meant to be a git, yet he did often achieve it.

  James grimaced. This was odd. He’d always thought because Eva looked the part, everyone had been impressed. He hadn’t thought they’d be much fussed with ‘nice’. He felt a little ashamed, even chastened. He thought the Parlez people were trivial, yet here was proof how shallow he could be. He had hidden shallows.

  ‘Yes, you’re well rid of that last one,’ Harris said, seizing eagerly on the chance to say something negative, as if ‘that last one’ was a respectful way to speak of a human you’d recently thought worthy of pledging your troth to. He’d hate to be bereaved around Harris. You haven’t lost a relative, you’ve pruned your card list.

  There was a chorus of muttered agreement that his chemistry with Eva was far inferior to that which he’d feigned with Anna and it left James in some discomfort.

  So his successful lying left it open for them all to say what they really thought of the wife he was still in love with? And if and when they got back together, would that announcement now creak with awkwardness?

  James turned to his screen, looked blankly at the amusing email to Grace, and clicked ‘save to drafts’. He didn’t feel very perky anymore. What was that maxim? Cheats never prosper.

  Or, do they? An email arrived from Laurence. James didn’t have the testicular fortitude to deal with him face-to-face, or on FaceTime, and had sent him a pretty blunt missive telling him he was a wanker for saying what he did to Anna.

  There was something disquieting about that episode. He knew Laurence was a ruthless bastard when in hot pursuit, but James didn’t usually get run over as an innocent bystander. Maybe that’s because you’ve never been in the way before, a voice whispered.

  James thought about the times he’d laughed with Laurence at the latest hysterical voicemail from a scorned woman, or covered for him when he’d left a venue by a fire door.

  All’s fair in love, war, and ten-pin bowling, Jimmy! Seriously, sorry, I didn’t think you gave a shit about her, otherwise I’d have toned it down. She started fishing about you and I ran my mouth without thinking in return, big apologies. Get me back by endorsing my skills at cottaging on LinkedIn, or something.

  I’ve finally got a date though. Dusting off my best Ciro Citterio suit and spritzing myself with Sean John’s ‘Implied Consent’ for this one …

  Loz

  45

  Despite being utterly useless at every sport and nearly every physical activity bar ‘pottering’, Anna was reasonable at ice-skating. Her dad used to take her to the local rink when she was a little girl, to avoid shopping excursions with his wife and younger daughter. He’d read a book and obligingly wave at Anna every time she completed a full circuit.

  The trick was willing the belief you could do it, slicing forward and pushing your feet out in graceful swooping motions. It helped that as an amateur you didn’t need to be especially lithe, you only needed balance.

  Once Anna and Laurence had collected their boots from the building adjacent to Somerset House, laced them blood vessel-constrictingly tight and wobbled out onto the rink like newborn foals, she half-expected Laurence to start pulling figures of eight, screeching to a halt with showers of snow spurting behind his heels.

  Instead, Laurence seemed authentically terrified, and his high centre of gravity made him particularly ungainly. He spent a lot of time gripping the rail, grim-faced. Anna couldn’t work out if he knew this incompetence would be endearing or if he’d simply messed up the planning, to his advantage. He’d never been less self-assured, and Anna had never liked him more. After he waved her on, she did a few laps of the rink solo.

  ‘You might’ve warned me you were good,’ Laurence said, on her third pass, when he was making agonisingly slow progress behind a flotilla of tiny schoolgirls wearing Hello Kitty rucksacks.

  ‘Haha, I’m not good! I’ve not been for years. You need to get your confidence up, is all.’

  ‘You’re one of those walk-on-water, effortlessly brilliant at everything people, aren’t you? Or rather, whoosh about on frozen water.’

  ‘I promise you I am definitely not.’

  Anna adjusted her homemade chunky black scarf (the one Atelier of Judy Alessi production she still wore) over her chin, and felt girlishly pleased at the compliment, however misapplied. Wait. She was having fun, on a date? Amazing. With Laurence? Even more amazing. A man who James said was the very shit-devil in
Hugo Boss. Was any sort of relationship, even a fling, even remotely possible?

  Physically, Laurence’s cock-of-the-walk style wasn’t really Anna’s bag, but she could imagine those who fancied him, fancied him hard.

  When he wasn’t ice-skating, he had that innate male louche ‘comfortable in his own skin’ appeal, the kind of confidence you hoped would rub off on you by rubbing against him. And that expressive, asymmetric face was, in its way, more compellingly attractive than perfection. Things you took a little longer to like, you liked longer, Anna had observed before.

  ‘Do you want to hold on to me?’ she asked, curious to see how Laurence’s alpha masculinity would take this offer.

  ‘Won’t I drag you down?’

  ‘I’ll take the risk.’

  Laurence gingerly accepted the crook of her arm and let go of the railing. He wasn’t skating so much as trying to walk in ice skates. His weight tugged on her elbow.

  ‘Push forward,’ she demonstrated with her feet. ‘Think you’re not going to wobble and you won’t wobble.’

  Laurence tried a slightly more fluid movement.

  ‘See!’ Anna said, guiding him out of the path of a gang of students, towards the centre of the rink. Being further from the comfort zone of the railing had a bad psychological effect and Laurence’s weight on Anna’s arm increased.

  ‘You’re OK,’ she soothed. ‘Skate …’

  ‘Skate, like if you can say it, do it,’ Laurence said, mock irritated.

  ‘Sorry, true,’ Anna laughed. ‘Just ski probably wouldn’t help me.’

  A few moments passed when she thought he was getting the hang of it, then she felt a sharp tug on her arm.

  ‘Wait, wha-wha-wha WHOOOARGH.’ Without warning, Laurence lurched back and forth and did a funny running on the spot move, before tumbling, yanking Anna to the ground with him.