Talking to Addison

by Jenny Colgan

  My old florist friend McKay has this theory. It’s formally named after her, and it’s called the McKay Button Mushroom Theory. And it goes like this: always sleep with someone as quickly as possible after you first meet them and decide they’re a bit of all right. This can be within hours, although less than one isn’t recommended.

  Doing this saves you all the fuss and bother of finding out you have things in common, finding out you like them, realizing you’re in love with them, and then deciding to seal the deal by bouncing the bishop and discovering that, after all this – the moonlight walks, the giggling dinners, the lingering glances – he has a penis the size and consistency of a button mushroom! But it’s too late then! You’re already in too deep! You’ve wasted all that time!

  It’s a good theory, and I had always tried to follow it as closely as possible. But it suddenly occurred to me that, actually, I had fallen hook, line and sinker for Addison before I’d so much as cocked a snook at his body, so to speak.

  ‘Would you like to go for a walk?’

  I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts I didn’t hear him.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘It’s just that it’s quite a nice night, so I thought when we’d finished dinner we could go for a walk.’

  ‘Wow.’ I pondered this. The ramifications of Addison actually suggesting to physically go outside were enormous.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  He swallowed. ‘Why not? People go for walks all the time. Don’t they?’

  ‘Well, usually only when they need Rizlas, I think.’

  ‘Oh, right well, we don’t have to …’

  ‘Don’t be silly, I’d love to.’

  He smiled shyly, and I felt something grabbing at my chest. I found I couldn’t eat another cornflake in his presence. I immediately came over all self-conscious and had an almost overwhelming compulsion to put some lipstick on.

  ‘Hang on …’ I said, getting up.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Ehm …’ I didn’t want to tell him I was going to slather myself in overpriced animal fats in an attempt to make myself more alluring. ‘Ehm, I’m going to the toilet.’

  Yikes! Shit! Oh no! I might as well have added, ‘And I’m going to do the most unbelievably smelly poo whilst I’m in there, as that’s what you’ll be expecting if I’m out of the room for more than twenty-five seconds.’

  I had broken my golden rule, which was never to let a man know I had standard bodily functions – ever.

  Flushed, I fled the room, feeling Addy looking after me. In desperate haste I stole Kate’s Clarins lippy and got a bit of cornflake on it. When I tried to wipe it off, it looked as though I’d just cut off one of my fingers and was bleeding everywhere – Kate tended towards the thin scarlet slash in lipstick – and there was substantially less in the tube than there had been before. I swore hugely to myself and went to brush my teeth, trying not to make too much noise. I suspect there’s something a tad off-putting about hearing someone brush their teeth just before you take a romantic walk with them, don’t you? It takes away the spontaneity, and it’s a bit like saying, you know, normally I have really awful halitosis but, seeing as it’s you, I’ll make an effort just this once…

  Catching sight of myself in the mirror I remembered my mother’s old maxim: ‘Always brush your teeth before you put your lipstick on.’ I swore once more for luck, ran my hands quickly through my tangled dark hair and sidled back into the kitchen, pleading that he wasn’t going to say, ‘Nice poo then?’ Of course, Addison is not as other boys. He stood up when I came in, and I just stood staring at him. I had never felt so paralysingly shy in my entire life. Well, I’d never felt particularly shy – but I did now.

  ‘Shall we go?’ he asked, gently. I nodded, and he swept us out of the door, gracefully depositing the two cornflakes bowls in the sink. It felt like that tiny split second where a rollercoaster stops on the top of the rails.

  It was truly a beautiful evening; the sun was setting, the clouds were tinged pink, and after a momentary tussle at the gate, as neither of us knew which way to go, we headed down to the river bank near the Tate Gallery.

  Two minutes later, whilst I was trying to rack my brains to remember the difference between a Pentium and a Mac – or was it a PC and a Mac? – so I’d have something to talk to Addison about, a familiar figure came lurching up the road, tie askew, hair distinctly ruffled and wearing a broad smile.

  ‘Josh!’ I hollered at him.

  He grinned, and actually broke into a run towards us.

  ‘I had sex!!!’ he yelled, as he drew nearer. ‘I had sex!!’

  ‘And I’m sure the whole of SW1 is very happy for you!’ I said as he reached me and pounced like an over-eager puppy. ‘Well done. And, please, don’t cuddle me until you’ve had a shower.’

  ‘I had sex! With a girl!’

  ‘What was it like?’ I asked mischievously.

  ‘Oh, you know – brilliant!!’ He leaned over, out of breath. ‘Guess how many times we did it?’

  I hadn’t wanted to know anything quite so icky, but I knew how much Josh wanted to tell me.

  ‘A squillion?’

  ‘Ha ha. No, guess again.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Seven.’

  ‘Fifteen,’ he said proudly.

  I looked at him through new eyes.

  ‘Bloody hell, Josh.’

  ‘It hurt a bit at the end,’ he said. ‘And I nearly threw up once. But, you know, I had some ground to make up.’

  I nodded sagely.

  ‘She must be a bit weary.’

  ‘Not really – ehm, the first few were pretty speedy.’

  ‘Josh,’ I said, ‘too much information.’

  ‘Right, right, yes, of course.’

  He took in Addison for the first time.

  ‘Gosh – hello there, big fellow!’

  Addison did his usual peculiar half-wince greeting and gradually Josh took in the scene around him.

  ‘Oh … where are you two going?’

  ‘It’s such a beautiful night we’re going for a walk,’ I said firmly. No point in telling him the whole story – the neighbourhood had heard enough girly screaming for one night.

  ‘It is wonderful, isn’t it? Everything is wonderful. I think I’ll come with you.’

  ‘I think you won’t,’ I said, racking my brains to think up a quick rationale.

  ‘I showered, I promise,’ said Josh, wounded. ‘Blood came out and everything.’

  ‘Yeuch! Josh, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘I think I might have ruptured something,’ he went on, gloomily. ‘Worth it, though.’

  ‘No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, you have to go home and see Kate. She nearly had the police out for you this morning. She was worried sick when you didn’t come in.’

  ‘Didn’t you tell her where I was?’

  ‘Ehm … you know, I forgot.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, clearly puzzled. ‘Well, yes, OK, I’d better be getting back then.’

  ‘OK! See you later.’

  He looked confusedly at Addison.

  ‘You know, you seem a lot bigger standing up,’ he said.

  ‘Everyone does,’ I said. ‘Sex has addled your brain. OK, go home. But don’t tell Kate too much – she’ll go all neurotic and bitter.’

  ‘I’d hate to see that happen,’ said Josh. ‘OK, goodbye.’

  He leaned over and kissed me full on the mouth.

  ‘Josh, what are you doing?’

  ‘I’ve decided to be a bit more assertive in my relationships. Sha thinks I ought to be.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, I’m sure Sha is right in many things, but just remember; there’s a thin line between assertive and date rape.’

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Good one. I’ll try and remember that.’

  And he scampered off towards the house, clicking his heels once in the air in the style of Morecambe and Wise.

  I glanced at Addison and grinned and he grinned back.

&nb
sp; ‘Well, things are going to be a little different round our house,’ I said.

  ‘It’s the summer,’ said Addison. ‘It brings out the pheromones. It makes people do strange things.’

  I took his hand. ‘Is this a strange thing?’

  He smiled. ‘It is for me.’

  ‘Bad strange or good strange?’

  ‘I’d have to analyse it.’

  ‘Maybe you could devise a computer programme to measure its effects.’

  ‘Maybe.’ He screwed up his eyes and stared into the middle distance.

  ‘Well, on a probability of 97.2 per cent, I’d say I’d have to go with my intuition that it’s good strange.’

  We wandered hand in hand down to the river. The Thames, though positively filthy, was as smooth as glass and the lights of the bridges twinkled romantically in the distance. I hoisted myself inelegantly up on to the river wall and Addison plumped himself next to me with ease.

  ‘Talk to me,’ I said to him. ‘We’ve spent months living in the same house and you know practically everything about me and all I know about you is that you have a computer girlfriend and you like Jean-Luc Picard.’

  ‘Everyone likes Jean-Luc Picard,’ he said.

  ‘Exactly. So I can discount that piece of information as being on a par with “and you breathe in and out”. So, come on, tell me.’

  He shifted and looked uncomfortable.

  ‘I don’t really …’

  ‘… like talking about yourself; no, I know that. But I’d really like to get to know you,’ I said, as sincerely as I could manage. For some reason I suddenly reminded myself of the boys who tried to get into my knickers when I was eighteen. They were sweet talkers too. But this was different! I really cared! This wasn’t just McKay BMS. I hoped. I wondered what boys called it. Fried-egg syndrome? Clyde Tunnel syndrome? Yuk. I shook myself, and a thought occurred to me.

  ‘How about I ask you questions?’

  He glanced up at me through his thick dark lashes.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We’ll turn it into an interview. Like Parkinson. Then, if you don’t want to talk about something, you can say, “You can read all about that in my forthcoming book,” or attack me with an emu.’

  ‘OK.’ He nodded.

  I gesticulated to some ducks on the river.

  ‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen and ducks. And tonight on Parkinson, as my very special star guest, with an entire programme devoted solely to him – Addison Farthing!!!!’

  The ducks failed to go wild, but I clapped uproariously and Addison gracefully raised a modest hand in acknowledgement.

  ‘Now, Mr Farthing, obviously we’re feeling most privileged and excited to have you on the wall …’

  ‘Call me Addison, please.’

  ‘Well, yes, of course … Addison. So, Addison, the story in all the papers at the moment and what everyone wants to know is …’

  He looked worried.

  ‘What exactly do you do for a living? And, you know, I’m going to need that in phrases the ducks can understand.’

  His face relaxed. ‘Well, people want to know if you can join computer systems together to make the most out of them. So they get me to work out what’s compatible and whether they can be combined for optimum effect.’

  Half the ducks took off from the riverside.

  ‘Well, there’s a rude audience for you.’

  ‘It is a bit boring.’

  ‘No, no. Don’t forget you’re on the most popular show on the river.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘OK.’ I hit him with a slightly harder one. ‘What were you like when you were small?’

  His brow furrowed for a second, as if he couldn’t remember.

  ‘Don’t you want to know – like, what’s my favourite colour or something?’

  ‘What’s your favourite colour?’

  ‘Light blue.’

  ‘OK. What were you like when you were small?’

  ‘Can I attack you with an emu now?’

  ‘No. Tell me.’

  And slowly, carefully, he did. In an odd way, I hardly listened to him at all. It was mesmerizing just to hear his gruff, low voice as a gentle wind blew across his dark hair and he stared out, straight past me. I kept thinking, ‘I’m here! With Addison! We’re here! Together!’ After thinking about it for so long it was like going on a date with Brad Pitt – difficult to enjoy for itself, more for what it meant and how many people could see you while it was actually happening.

  But I did hear him. His mother was Croatian, which accounted for those dark looks and high cheekbones, and his dad a lecturer. Only child, shy at school, good at science, chess club, played the piano, everything going fine … until, of course, they went on holiday to France just before he was due to start secondary school and everything went so terribly wrong. He started to stutter at this bit.

  ‘What started the fire?’ I asked gently, hoping against hope he wasn’t going to say, ‘Well, I set this firework off for a joke …’

  ‘Wiring, they thought,’ he said. ‘It was all very confused, and the French authorities didn’t really want to know … My mother’s English has never been that great, and her French is worse,’ he said, now staring hard at his toes. ‘I don’t even remember how it happened or how long it took. It was all a big mess, then finally we got home – someone dropped us off, I can’t remember who – and I went in the house and all I wanted to do was play the piano, for some reason. To play the piano like normal. Then I thought I had to stop because it was late and Dad didn’t like me playing the piano late at night, it kept him awake.’

  He stopped and bit his lip hard.

  ‘Oh God, Addison.’ I slipped my arm through his and held it tight. My head was spinning. I mean, I had wanted him to talk to me, but I hadn’t thought he really would. I mean, what was it about me that was making him talk? I wasn’t anything special. I couldn’t quite see where I deserved these confidences. Unless, of course, he was in love with me … I was the first person he could speak to about these things – Oh my God. Oh my God!

  Realizing I should perhaps be thinking less selfish thoughts when someone was pouring out something massive and deeply personal, I clutched his arm and rubbed my hand ineffectually up and down his leg.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said, in my best Mother Teresa soothing voice. ‘It’s OK. It’s good to get it out.’

  That sounded like he was vomiting. But he wasn’t even crying, just staring very, very hard.

  ‘Then I had to go to school, but they left me alone, pretty much. Then I got really into computers – the teacher let me sit in the lab during breaks …’

  ‘What, you mean you missed out all that good smoking and swearing practice?’

  ‘… then I got a degree in computer science and here I am. And I have been miserable for longer than I ever thought possible.’

  He stopped short.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever said that out loud before.’

  I looked up at him. ‘It’s probably a good thing that you did.’

  He smiled weakly, and he was so adorable, I fell against him and gave him a huge hug, which he reciprocated. His hand touched my hair and I thought I was going to faint. We stayed like that for a while, whilst I considered kissing him and decided that revelations hour wasn’t really the right time to start getting carnal. So eventually we drew apart.

  ‘Do you think the ducks approved?’ said Addison, as I pushed my hair back behind my ears.

  ‘Who cares about the ducks?’ I said. ‘Bloody punters.’

  He gazed out over the water.

  ‘Thanks for telling me,’ I said. ‘I feel … honoured.’

  I did.

  ‘Oh,’ Addison laughed, slightly embarrassed.

  ‘That was down to Claudia. She’s forever getting on at me to start living again; move on. Tell people, and get it out.’ He looked at me. ‘I’m very glad I did.’

  What! Claudia!

  If I’d had a mouthful of so
mething I’d have spat it out.

  I stared miserably at the ducks, thinking how much easier they had it than us. Then one began to peck another one really hard on the head and I remembered how much I’d miss EastEnders … but still. They had it easy. I was just confused. I mean, this was a date, wasn’t it?

  Addison turned towards me, excited.

  ‘And you,’ he said. Ah. This was getting better.

  ‘But mostly her.’

  Poo.

  ‘She told me to get out, enjoy life, get to know people. Start over again. Then, you know, I met you, and it really seemed as if things were getting better, that I could get to know people.’

  ‘Of course you can,’ I said, more kindly than I felt. Actually, I felt like having a big fat tantrum, but it wasn’t really that appropriate under the circumstances.

  He shrugged. ‘Then last night … I’d thought I was doing OK, I really did. And all the time I was just … sitting on it.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ I said. ‘Good to get it out.’

  ‘You sound like Claudia.’ He smiled.

  Great. I sound like a pig.

  ‘Last night was …’ he looked shy ‘… really special for me.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said.

  ‘And now …’ He stood up unsteadily. ‘Hey – I’m outside! It’s a wonderful sunset! Wonderful ducks! Everything is going to be OK!’

  He waved his hands in the air.

  ‘OK, OK.’ I smiled. ‘You’re feeling better. That’s great.’

  The sun was shooting deeply sexy pink things across the sky.

  ‘No!’ he said, towering above me. ‘You haven’t been locked in a room for fifteen years! It’s wonderful!’

  His happiness was infectious. Sod it, I thought. She’s in America and I adore him. Sod it.

  ‘It is wonderful,’ I said, standing up next to him.

  ‘It’s brilliant!’ he said.

  ‘Yes, it is!’ I said, flinging my arms out too.

  I stared up at him, trying to manoeuvre myself into the most kissable position. The ducks started squawking and leaping up and down.

  ‘Look at the ducks,’ he yelled. ‘They’re celebrating.’