Truth Or Date

by Portia MacIntosh

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  ‘He thinks that when we can’t find things, like our phones where we left them, that the aliens have moved them just to toy with us. Or that when we fall over seemingly nothing, it’s the aliens tripping us up. He thinks their technology is so advanced, that all we’re good for is making fun of for laughs. He’s eleven years old.’

  Her eyes widen as she reminds us of this fact.

  ‘Wow,’ I can’t help but say. ‘That’s…wow.’

  Deano just laughs.

  ‘Well, I find it hard to believe there’s anyone out there smarter than us,’ he claims.

  ‘Really?’ Nick pipes up. ‘You find it hard to believe there is anyone smarter? You?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Deano asks.

  Oh, for God’s sake.

  ‘Food is here,’ I say brightly, eyeballing the waiter on his way over to us. He places our dishes in front of us, so we all tuck in and silence falls upon the table. Well, almost silence. The sound of Deano chomping on his chicken salad is so loud – probably because noises are echoing around his open mouth as he chews. We all take it in turns to glance up and smile awkwardly as we eat, but the conversation just isn’t flowing. This is kind of a disaster. I’m supposed to be showing Nick what an awesome date I am, and how much fun I have with Deano, but the only person who is jealous at this table is me, of other people’s food, because I fucking hate salad.

  The waiter clears our plates away so I take that as my cue to try and get the conversation going again, and to try and actually achieve something, anything, that I set out to do tonight.

  ‘So, Deano has a big game coming up,’ I tell them as I squeeze his hand with faux-pride. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘Some French team, we’ll crush them.’

  I give his hand another squeeze, but it’s like holding hands with a mannequin. He’s just not giving me anything back, nothing at all I can work with, and nothing at all that’s going to make Nick jealous. Deano, seemingly unaware of the physical affection I’m trying to give him, pulls his hand out from under mine, causing my wrist to hit the table. I watch anger fill Nick’s eyes, so I think fast to distract him.

  ‘Nick is a bit of sportsman, aren’t you?’ I say.

  ‘Cricket,’ Nick replies. ‘Played a bit at uni, don’t get much time these days.’

  ‘That’s your fault, pal,’ Deano tells him, shrugging his big, strong shoulders casually. ‘I always make time for rugby.’

  ‘It’s your job,’ Nick reminds him. ‘My job is being a doctor. We might not be “crushing” any teams, but we give plenty of diseases and illnesses a run for their money.’

  ‘More exciting than cricket then,’ he laughs. ‘Hardly what you’d call a sport.’

  ‘No,’ Nick replies. ‘I should be playing rugby, getting my head kicked in so that I can be an absolute moron.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Deano asks.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Nick laughs. ‘You’re so dumb, you don’t even know when people are telling you that you’re dumb.’

  ‘OK, calm down,’ Heather insists, placing a hand on Nick’s bicep.

  Deano might be dumb, but not so much that he doesn’t realise Nick just offended him.

  ‘Come on then, doc, let’s take this outside,’ he shouts, pushing his chair out suddenly, standing up, beating a fist on his own chest like a gorilla.

  ‘Because that’s how civilised adults behave,’ Nick replies sarcastically.

  ‘That’s how I show you who is the dumb one,’ Deano shouts back.

  That doesn’t even make any sense, my God, he really is so dumb.

  I look over at Heather, to exchange a glance with her, to ask her with my eyes what we’re supposed to do, but she’s too busy watching Deano getting angry, gazing up at him in what seems like adoration, biting her lip. I don’t think she’ll be happy when he punches her boyfriend’s face in, which seems very likely at this particular moment.

  ‘Heather,’ I say, but it falls on deaf ears. ‘Heather,’ I try again a little louder. She looks at me. ‘We can take care of the bill, just take Nick home to bed before this escalates. I’ll calm Deano down, don’t worry.’

  ‘OK,’ she replies, grabbing her things. ‘Come on, babe.’

  Nick reluctantly stands up and tucks his chair under the table, all the while maintaining eye contact with Deano, who looks so ready for a fight he’s done everything but smash a bottle on the table, ready to glass him.

  Once the two of them have left, and the audience we seem to have attracted go back to their meals, Deano sits back down. He looks at me, expectantly. I’m not sure if he’s expecting an apology or a thank you or what, but he isn’t getting anything of the sort.

  ‘Just so you know,’ I tell him, grabbing a menu from a passing waiter. ‘I’m definitely having dessert.’

  Chapter 25

  Dear diary, last night I had my third date with Deano and it was awful. I’ve always had it on pretty good authority that date three was when the magic happened, but the only thing magical about my dates with Deano is the fact I manage to endure them.

  I could feel bad, using Deano like this, but when he does things that reminds me he’s using me too (and with arguably worse intentions: I’m doing this for love, he’s doing this to sleep with me so he can move on to the next chick), I don’t feel quite so bad any more.

  Tonight was a fine example. I’ve noticed something: Deano hasn’t tried to kiss me. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t want him to kiss me and it is a relief that he isn’t trying to because that would be harder to get out of, but I think it says it all that he has no desire to do it. He really does just want to sleep with me, and he’s not even trying to pretend otherwise – so I had to be ready with another excuse tonight.

  It was only 10:30pm as we strolled along Park Row. The street was still busy, the bars were still full, but I’d insisted I wanted an early night. Yes, OK, maybe that wasn’t the best turn of phrase, but I did mean it literally.

  ‘We going back to yours?’ Deano asked.

  I bit my lip and pulled a bit of a face.

  ‘About that…’ I started.

  I had a feeling this might happen. I also figured that even Deano would realise I was having a never-ending period, so I looked up different excuses to get out of sex. Some of them were hilarious, like: “the dog is watching” or “I’ve eaten too much dairy” but, sadly, Deano knows I don’t have a dog, and he’s seen that I haven’t eaten anything all night. It’s unpleasant, and it’s awkward, but I had to go with the only excuse I figured would work.

  ‘I have thrush,’ I told him.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he inevitably asked.

  ‘It’s a fungal infection,’ I told him. ‘Downstairs.’

  Deano recoiled in horror.

  ‘Who have you caught that off?’ he asked accusingly.

  ‘You don’t catch it from anyone,’ I told him. ‘It’s when the natural balance of your vagina is…off.’ I’m pretty sure, I can’t remember what I read on the NHS website word for word, despite trying to memorise it earlier.

  ‘So I can’t catch it, we’re fine,’ he said with a shrug.

  I can’t help but be amazed, and a little impressed, at just how much Deano will put up with for a shag. The fact I told him I have a “fungal infection” – and I used those exact words – didn’t put him off. Never mind the fact it would probably mean I didn’t feel up to sex at all, that’s a non-issue.

  ‘Well, there’s a chance I could pass it on to you,’ I told him, because I did read that, even though it was uncommon, it could still happen. ‘I wouldn’t wish this on you.’ Much. ‘It’s horrible. Itching, burning – discharge.’

  If that isn’t a boner-killer of a statement, nothing is.

  ‘Fuck,’ he replied. ‘No way do I want that. When will it be gone?’

  ‘Few days, tops.’

  I smiled sweetly and we parted ways, as usual.

  I’ve just relayed this st
ory to Millsy, who finds it absolutely hilarious.

  ‘Ruby, I told you he was an absolute animal,’ he cackles. ‘That’s grim.’

  ‘I know, right?’

  I’ve been rehearsing lines with Millsy all morning, but I couldn’t keep this story in a second longer so we’ve taken a coffee break. Even though Uncle Mills is never here, his flat has all the bells and whistles you could imagine – including an epic coffee machine that might intimidate most people, but can be easily navigated by a couple of trained baristas. We made our drinks and took them outside. Even though it’s late October, there’s something so relaxing about getting wrapped up and sitting on the benches outside, looking over the river, people-watching, sipping good coffee and chatting rubbish with your best friend.

  ‘Anyway, we need to get back to rehearsing,’ Millsy insists, jumping to his feet before pulling me up with his free hand.

  ‘But you haven’t sorted my problem for me,’ I tell him.

  ‘I think you get a cream from the doctor for it – Nick might get you some, mates rates,’ he tells me. ‘In fact, getting him to give you the once-over might be the best way to seduce him.’

  ‘You know I don’t mean my faux-thrush, and that’s a disgusting joke, even for you,’ I reply.

  We head back inside and sit down on the sofa, grabbing our scripts and opening them on the page where we left off.

  I sigh deeply.

  ‘Mate, come on, he’s not worth it,’ Millsy tells me, giving my shoulder a gentle, semi-patronising bump with his fist.

  I pull a face.

  ‘Maybe,’ I reply.

  Millsy screams theatrically.

  ‘I hate seeing you like this,’ he tells me, exasperated. ‘Look, I’m telling you, Lady Macbeth his ass. Emasculate him.’

  I roll my eyes.

  ‘And how do you propose I do that?’ I ask. ‘Because there isn’t a jar in the world that I’ll be able to get into quicker and easier than he can, not even Nutella. And I fucking love Nutella.’

  ‘I know you do,’ he replies. ‘I’m still not over that sweet lasagne you made. But I’m not talking about out-macho-ing him. If I were, I’d just out-macho him for you.’

  I think for a moment.

  ‘He already has a girlfriend who wears the fair trade trousers, she’s doing a pretty good job of emasculating him all on her own.’

  ‘That’s it,’ Millsy says victoriously, clapping his hands. ‘Have her do it.’

  ‘How?’ I ask.

  Millsy thinks so hard it looks like it physically hurts him.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he says slowly. ‘Yet. But you’ll think of something. You’ve always been good at improvisation.’

  ‘Well, sticking to the script certainly isn’t doing me any good,’ I reply.

  A message comes through on my phone, snapping me from my thoughts.

  ‘Oh, for fuck sake,’ I complain. ‘It’s Deano, he keeps trying to sext me.’

  ‘Oh man, he is desperate,’ Millsy laughs. ‘He sent you any dick pics yet?’

  ‘Not yet,’ I tell him, just as another message comes through. And there it is. ‘Now he has.’

  Why do men think it’s a good idea to send unsolicited dick pics? Seriously, what thought process takes place that ends with: I know, I’ll send her a picture of my junk? And, I’m not saying I would appreciate them if they had some artistic merit, but they’re always so awful. Bad angles, poor personal hygiene and, arguably one of the weirdest moves I see so often, using something like the TV remote control for perspective – something that doesn’t make me think: “my, what big junk you have”, it just makes me less likely to want to change the channel at your house. Nope, I’ll never understand dick pics. It’s the photographic equivalent of when a cat brings you a dead mouse as a gift. Like, I appreciate the gesture, I guess, but what the fuck do you actually expect me to do with that?

  ‘You going to send him something back?’ Millsy asks curiously.

  ‘What, like sext him back out of duty? Like it’s admin work?’

  ‘Exactly,’ he laughs. ‘Sexting is a mere formality of modern dating.’

  As Millsy continues to deliver his lines, I wonder just how happily I could drive a rift between Nick and Heather. I mean obviously I could happily do it just because I don’t like her, but I’m talking about morally. Yes, I have morals too. No matter how much I want him for myself, I’m not sure I could comfortably use underhand tactics to steal a man from a fellow female. I don’t struggle to understand why she likes him, but even though I’m unsure what he sees in her, he must see something, and if that’s what he wants, I should let him have it, right? I’ll just have to try and get over this stupid crush.

  Chapter 26

  After the long walk up the hill from Millsy’s – not made easier by all the coffee I drank and the biscuits I ate during rehearsals – I am positively knackered. I must be so unfit, to feel so shocking after walking up a hill. Then again, I did rush a little, because it’s freezing out there tonight, and also because I really need to pee. I don’t like to use the bathroom at Chez Mills, mostly because it doesn’t get cleaned ever, but also because with the number of different girls that sit on it, it’ll be like an STD hotbed. Like my friend’s face, probably.

  Just when I think I couldn’t be happier to be home, I walk into the living room to see Heather sitting on the sofa.

  ‘Where’s Nick?’ I ask.

  ‘He’s in the shower,’ she tells me, as she flicks through a magazine.

  ‘Fuck,’ I can’t help but exclaim. ‘I really need the lav.’

  ‘You should’ve gone at break time,’ she tells me. I shoot her a look. ‘Sorry, just a little teacher humour.’

  ‘Hilarious,’ I reply, sitting down in the armchair. ‘Why are you reading a bridal magazine?’

  ‘Because it came free with my usual mag, and because it doesn’t hurt to be prepared,’ she informs me.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I reply sarcastically. ‘One must always be ready to tie the knot. Just in case.’

  Heather raises her eyebrows and gets back to her magazine.

  ‘Well, Nick and I certainly are serious about one another,’ she tells me, despite me not asking. ‘I’d make a good wife for him. And, of course, his family are loaded, so I wouldn’t say no, would I?’

  ‘Sorry, what did you just say?’ I ask.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I’m with Nick for his money. I know he doesn’t like to take it from his family. But he is due a large inheritance at some point, given that his parents only have him and his sister to leave everything to. But even on his future doctor’s wage, I imagine we’ll be more than comfortable. And I know he’s got his grandma’s ring ready to give to someone, and that thing is worth a fortune.’

  ‘Funny,’ I reply. ‘Because it sounds exactly like you’re saying you’re with him for his money.’

  ‘Now, now, Ruby. Don’t be jealous,’ Heather ticks me off. It’s weird, it’s like since I tried to befriend her, I guess she thinks she can open up to me a little more. ‘It sounds like you’ve found yourself a rich sap in Deano. Don’t try and pretend you’re with him for his personality,’ she laughs. ‘At least he’s hot like Nick, I could certainly go there too.’

  I might not be “dating” Deano for his personality, but I’m certainly not seeing him for his money, in fact, that’s never crossed my mind. On every date I’ve been on with him so far, I have insisted on splitting the bill, just because I don’t feel comfortable taking money from men. I know that many of my female friends – even if it’s just because they’re traditional – are more than happy to let men pay for everything, but I’m not happy doing that. Heather, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to feel any shame at all in targeting well-off men.

  Finally, things click into place. Whether I end up with Nick or not, there’s no way he should be with this chick. She wants to bleed him dry and I care about him way too much to make that happen. I know exactly what I need to do, and exactly how
I can go about doing it.

  ‘I’m not being jealous,’ I tell her. ‘It’s just that I don’t want to ruin the surprise.’

  Heather’s ears prick up. She puts her magazine down.

  ‘Oh?’ she says.

  ‘Yeah, well, I mean maybe I should tell you. It sounds like it might help things along.’

  Help me to help you show Nick your true colours, more like.

  ‘Go on,’ she insists. ‘And hurry up about it, he’ll be out of the shower any minute.’

  ‘OK, sure.’ I lean in and switch to a hushed voice. ‘I overheard him on the phone, saying that he wanted to propose to you. In fact, he mentioned giving you his gran’s ring.’

  ‘No way,’ Heather squeaks. ‘Do you know how much that thing is worth?!’

  ‘Way,’ I tell her. ‘Thing is, he’s scared to ask you, in case it freaks you out because it’s so soon in your relationship.’

  ‘Who cares?’ she says excitedly. ‘Nothing would make me happier.’

  Oh, I’ll bet it wouldn’t.

  ‘Here’s the thing: if he knows that you know, he’ll be upset that the surprise has been spoiled – it won’t be special.’

  ‘So what do I do?’ she asks, anxiety consuming every last muscle in her face. She’s terrified she’s going to lose him and therefore his money.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I tell her. ‘Unless you take the initiative? I mean, it’s a sure-thing, right?’

  Heather considers this for a moment and I can practically see the pound signs rolling around in her eyes.

  ‘OK, can you give us some privacy?’ she asks. ‘This shouldn’t take long.’

  ‘Of course,’ I say with a smile. ‘Take all the time you need.’

  I pull myself up from my chair and head into my bedroom. All I need to do is wait in here for a few minutes, and then I can go back out there and enjoy the fireworks. And I do love a good firework display. Any feelings of guilt I had before evaporated the second Heather showed herself for the gold-digger she really is.

  I make the decision to get changed, hopping out of the Victoria’s Secret tracksuit I’ve been wearing all day and slipping on a dress. Because if I’m going to be the first female Nick clocks eyes on after Heather blindsides him with a premature, emasculating, blatantly gold-digging proposal, then I want to look my best. I slip on a dress and run my straighteners over my hair. Twenty minutes go by.