The Gin Lover's Guide to Dating: A sparkling and hilarious feel good romantic comedy

by Nina Kaye

  ‘But this just… isn’t fair.’ I cringe as I realise how this makes me sound. But it’s exactly how I feel. I look frantically from Sharon to Derek, who avoids eye contact at all costs.

  Sharon sighs and quickly moves on to stop me from taking my desperate plea any further. ‘All the terms of the agreement would be settled between our lawyers and your representative – paid for by us. All details of your departure would be strictly confidential…’

  As Sharon speaks, I desperately try to gather myself together; to find the confident, assertive young woman I am every single day at work. But she’s hit a weak spot; sliced through and exposed the bare nerve endings of my very deepest insecurities. Ones I didn’t even know I still had.

  ‘Quit runnin’ after things you’ve no chance at. We’re different, us. You’ll no’ fit in, so don’t bother yer backside tryin’.’

  The familiar words I had buried so deep burst to the surface. I fiercely push them away, but they fight back, taunting me cruelly. Lost in this torment, I barely register what Sharon is saying.

  ‘Liv? I asked you if you have any questions?’

  I snap back to the present.

  ‘I… err… yes, I do. Are you looking for a decision right now?’

  ‘Ideally, yes,’ Sharon replies. ‘But if you want to take some time to think things through, that’s fine.’

  I look at Sharon’s expression and her body language. It’s not fine. She wants this wrapped up straight away. Another deal done and off the table. I’m nobody to her now. Relegated to the subs bench and there’s nothing I can do to change that. I think back to the stories I’ve heard about her being a complete Jekyll and Hyde; tales I’d laughed off, unable to believe she was capable of that, because it hadn’t happened to me. How very naive of me.

  I take a faltering breath and sit back in my seat, realising that I’m defeated. ‘So, I’ll go today?’

  ‘You can gather your things and go straight after this meeting,’ says Sharon. ‘It would be a bit harsh to expect you to stay the day.’

  That would be harsh? I’m now in a whirlwind of panic. How can this be happening?

  ‘So, if there isn’t anything else,’ says Sharon, ‘I think we should call a halt just now. We’ll pick up later on the legalities when you have a representative with you.’

  ‘Fine.’ I shake my head in defeat.

  ‘Thanks for your time, Liv. Sorry it wasn’t better news.’

  With that, Sharon and Derek get up and leave the meeting room.

  I sit alone in shock for several minutes, my confidence shattered, barely able to consider the next few hours, never mind what lies beyond. What did I do wrong? If they really wanted to keep me, they’d find a way. She says it’s about roles, but this feels personal. My career is my life; it defines who I am. All my hard work to get to where I am, and it’s gone, just like that. I never once thought I’d be on the receiving end of a message like this. I was supposed to be a high flyer. Was I kidding myself? Did they just tell me I was good because it was an easier message? As I chew all this over, suddenly my whole future starts to feel uncertain.

  Eventually I get up and head miserably for the communications department, where I clear out my things. Thankfully, my colleagues are all in meetings, so I don’t have to suffer the humiliation of doing it in front of them. It doesn’t take long and soon I’m leaving the building for the last time, handing in my staff pass to reception as I go. As I emerge into the pouring rain, I look down at the brown cardboard box I’m holding, then up at the busy city streets around me, and feel completely lost.

  What do I do now?

  Chapter 2

  Several hours later I’m at the breakfast bar in the kitchen/living area of my north Edinburgh modern two-bedroom apartment, poring over online job listings, gin and tonic in hand, fizzing at myself for not handling Sharon better. Why did I let her bulldoze me like that? Where did my political savvy suddenly disappear to? I’ve dealt with worse than her – regularly – and it’s never fazed me before. It’s my job to handle people like that.

  My phone buzzes beside me. I grab it aggressively. Seeing that it’s yet another message from a concerned friend at work, I throw it straight back on the counter top.

  How did I not see that Sharon was a snake? And Derek too. The slimy bugger didn’t say a word. Not a good fit? What does that even mean? I should have called her out on that one. I’m the one who’s led the most important strategic PR campaigns in that place, managed the press at the most difficult times. I’ve written articles that have sent the share price soaring. I’ve put out internal pieces and run staff engagement events that have defused internal tensions in relation to staff resisting the merger. How can I not be a good fit?

  I take a deep swig of my smooth, floral gin and tonic, and scroll down the listings on my iPad, noting that there’s plenty there. I’ll have another job in no time.

  My phone buzzes again. This time it’s a text from Dylan.

  Hey Squirt. Meeting go ok?

  I hesitate. What do I tell him? I compose a very brief summary of what’s happened. But seeing my harsh reality glaring accusingly back at me is just too much. I swiftly delete it and tap out a different response.

  Yup. All good as expected. X

  Dylan doesn’t need to know. Once I’ve got a new job, I’ll just tell him I decided my promotion wasn’t a big enough jump, so I moved on.

  I’m about to lob my phone back on the counter when I realise I should probably do some damage limitation. Sharon said that my colleagues would simply be told it was a mutual decision, but I know how that sounds – I’ve even had to manage the fallout from these situations before in my job. I need to be on the front foot with this.

  I quickly look up Anya in my contacts list, hit the call button and wait for her to answer.

  ‘Liv, hi!’ She sounds out of breath. ‘Oh, I’m so glad you called! Did you get my messages? There’s all sorts of rumours flying around. What happened?’

  I bristle a little, knowing the biggest office gossips will be all over this.

  ‘Honestly, have people got nothing better to do?’ I try to sound as casual as possible. ‘It’s no biggie. I just decided it was time to go. Didn’t fancy any of the roles in the new structure, so I made an agreement with Sharon. Worked out well actually.’

  ‘Oh… right, well that’s… great.’ Anya sounds a bit strangled. ‘So, you’re happy about it?’

  ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?’ I add a deliberate air of dismissiveness. ‘I’m being paid to plan and execute my next career move. As much as I’ve enjoyed working at McArthur Cohen, that place is just too tolerant of deadbeats like Derek. I’ve always known I’d need to jump ship to get where I really want to be.’

  ‘OK, well in that case, that really is amazing!’ Anya’s bounce is back, leaving me in no doubt that she’s convinced. ‘I’m so pleased for you, Liv. And don’t worry, I’ll make those rumours go away.’

  ‘Whatever.’ My tone is nonchalant. ‘Not that I’m interested at all, but what kind of nonsense has been spreading? Go on, give me a laugh.’

  ‘Just total nonsense, as you say,’ Anya says, and I picture her waving her hand around dramatically in the way that she does when she gets animated. ‘So, Jake from the Strategy team said that he heard you’d been sacked, and Sinead was told that you left the building in tears after a run-in with Sharon. And apparently, it’s all round the Sales department that you told her where to go. You didn’t, did you?’

  I wish I had.

  ‘No, obviously not.’ I put on a bored voice. ‘It was a mutual agreement. There were no tears, no recriminations and nobody was sacked.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what came out in the email from Sharon,’ says Anya. ‘She said it was a mutual thing.’

  ‘Listen, Anya, it was great to catch up, but I need to go. I’ve got a call with a head-hunter in five minutes.’

  ‘You’re a fast worker!’

  ‘No point delaying my journey to success.
I’ll speak to you later, yeah?’

  ‘Hang on… you’re still going to come to Tony’s retirement party next week, right?’ Anya voice is filled with concern. ‘Tom, Stella, the whole crowd, they’re all going to be there. And they’ve been really concerned, hearing you were gone.’

  ‘Of course. No way I’m missing that. I know, they’ve been great. I’ve had loads of messages. Just been too busy to reply this afternoon. I’ll message them back later.’

  ‘Fab! Well, good luck, Liv. Speak soon!’

  I end the call and take a slug from my now rather flat gin and tonic, job done. Anya has just the right contacts to make sure my story gets to the right people. I pour myself a top-up and return to my job listings.

  By seven in the evening, I’ve spoken with contacts at three recruitment agencies, applied for five jobs online, put some feelers out on LinkedIn and made my way through a further three gin and tonics. The alcohol having given me a temporary lift, I’ve now convinced myself that this was exactly what should have happened all along. Just a shame I didn’t get in there first. Sharon, Derek and the gossipmongers can all continue with their sad little lives, while I get out and make the most of this opportunity. Thank you, Sharon. You really have done me a favour, you cold cow.

  I hop off my bar stool, switch on the Bose Bluetooth speaker that sits on my bookcase and select shuffle in iTunes on my phone. The room is immediately filled with the clear, crisp beat, and uplifting melody of Happy by Pharrell Williams: just the right tonic to offer me a further boost. Before I know it, I’m dancing round my living area, sliding across the laminate flooring, using my iPhone as a microphone prop.

  I’m almost shouting the words of the chorus, acting in a way that I’d never be seen dead doing in public; a way that I haven’t allowed myself to be in years, when suddenly there’s an almighty thundering at my front door.

  ‘Shit. The neighbours.’ Forgetting I have a pseudo remote in my hand, I run across to the speaker to kill the sound.

  I dart into the hallway and peer through the spyhole. To my surprise, it’s Dylan, looking very impatient. Definitely not what I need right now. I stand silently, completely still, hoping he’ll go away. He doesn’t. Thunderous rapping ensues once more, vibrating through me like a violent military assault.

  ‘Liv? I know you’re there. I heard the music. You gonna open the bloody door or what?’

  Realising I have no choice, I reluctantly unlock the door and open it.

  ‘Dylan. Hi. Sorry, didn’t hear you there.’

  ‘Yeah, you did.’ He slumps past me sulkily. ‘You were avoiding me.’

  ‘I wasn’t. Well, not at first anyway. How did you get into the building?’

  ‘Your neighbour let me in. What’s with the party? You sounded like a demented crow.’ He throws me a cheeky grin.

  ‘What? I… How long were you standing outside?’ I feel myself begin to redden.

  ‘Long enough.’

  Dylan heads straight for my fridge, helps himself to a Corona and starts to make a sandwich. ‘Why’d you buy this crap? Get some real beer in.’

  ‘It’s not crap. And I don’t normally buy beer at all. It’s left over from having the work lot round the other week.’

  ‘Huh. That makes sense.’ Dylan huffs. ‘Poncey lager for the ponce brigade.’

  ‘It’s not… arghh… never mind. How was your day? To what do I owe this pleasure?’

  Dylan plonks himself on one of my bar stools, takes a huge bite from the sandwich and looks at me.

  ‘My day was fine. It’s just admin work but seems a good company and better than my last job. Learning about all sorts of cool tech stuff. Why do you think I’m here?’

  ‘Because it’s the end of the month and you’ve run out of money again, so you’ve come to raid my fridge?’

  ‘Half right. Guess again.’ His piercing blue eyes are fixed on mine.

  ‘Because there’s a match on and you want to watch it on Sky?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Well, what then?’ I’m starting to get impatient.

  ‘Tell you what.’ He grins at me. ‘How about you tell me all about your meeting today, and once we’ve toasted your promotion, I’ll tell you why I’m here.’

  ‘Err… OK. There’s not much to tell.’ Despite the booze, I start to sweat a little, which irritates me slightly. ‘I had my meeting and got the right outcome.’

  ‘What outcome was that?’

  ‘You know. I’m moving on up in the dizzy world of communications and PR.’ I hate lying to Dylan, but there’s no way I’m revealing the truth.

  ‘Really? That’s the balls, Squirt. Let’s defo toast that. Get your glass.’

  I tentatively pick up my gin and tonic and walk over to him.

  ‘To your big promotion.’ Dylan inelegantly smacks his beer bottle against my glass, which I instinctively inspect to see if it’s still in one piece.

  ‘Yup.’ I smile widely. ‘To my big—’

  ‘Cut the bullshit, Liv.’ Dylan puts his beer down on the breakfast bar and looks me straight in the eye knowingly.

  ‘What?’ Shocked, I pull back a little. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m talking about the fact that, as of this morning, you’re unemployed.’

  I freeze momentarily, then I go the fridge to refill my glass and get him another beer; anything to avoid the inevitable.

  ‘That’s not technically true.’ I hand him the open bottle. ‘I’m actually on garden leave. How do you know?’

  ‘Because, I went to the gym after work, and on my way home I bumped into your poncey mate, Angina, or whatever her name is – the one you were trying to hide me from a few months back. She told me what actually happened this morning.’

  ‘I wasn’t trying to hide you.’ Irritation starts to rise within me. ‘I needed to speak to Anya – her name’s Anya – about something confidential at work, so I had to go out of earshot.’

  ‘Don’t bullshit me, Liv.’ Dylan looks mildly hurt. ‘I may – like you – not be from the upper ends of society, but I’m not thick.’

  I flinch at this observation, more at the reminder of my roots, than from the suggestion that I might consider Dylan to be less than able.

  ‘I know that, Dylan. OK, so you bumped into Anya, and she told you I decided to leave. So what? I realised the promotion wasn’t quite what I wanted after all, so I decided to take a bold decision. What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Everything’s wrong with that.’ Dylan regards me with frustration. ‘Firstly, it’s a stupid thing to do, throwing in a job like that without something to move on to. And second, I just don’t buy it. Yesterday you were all about getting a bigwig job in that place; it’s all you’ve talked about for months, and now, just like that, you’ve decided it’s not good enough for you?’

  Dylan fixes his defiant gaze on me. Unable to bear the scrutiny, and with my defences still weak from the earlier events of the day – plus the alcohol – I don’t have the fight in me to try to keep my charade going. Not with Dylan. He knows me too well. I pad across to the large charcoal fabric sofa and slump onto it.

  ‘I’ve been let go.’

  Dylan leaps off the bar stool and joins me on the sofa. ‘What happened?’

  Defeated, I tell him everything; the whole humiliating truth. I don’t cry. I never cry. I learned a long time ago that crying doesn’t help anything. Especially with an emotionally stunted mother and a father too loose with his tongue – as well as his fists. Dylan listens quietly, saying nothing until I’m done.

  ‘Bastards,’ he mutters eventually, his face etched with concentration as he rolls himself a cigarette. ‘They’ve really messed things up for you.’

  ‘Roll me one too?’ I ask.

  ‘No way. You haven’t touched a fag in years. I’m not letting you start again. Anyway, doesn’t fit your new image.’

  ‘Dylan. Roll me a cigarette.’ I command. ‘According to you, I’ve pretty much just had the worst day of my career. I
don’t need you looking out for my health right now – or making snide comments about my lifestyle.’

  Dylan looks up at me and smiles. ‘There she is. The ice queen returns.’

  ‘Stop it, would you?’

  Dylan just chuckles, hands me his cigarette and rolls another.

  We put on our jackets and head out onto the balcony, drinks in hand, and take a seat on my patio furniture. It’s a warm, sunny evening, with just a spattering of white fluffy clouds moving slowly across the horizon. The early evening Edinburgh traffic hums away rhythmically below. Dylan offers me a light and then sees to his own cigarette. I watch him blow smoke rings, remembering how I used to want to be able to do that myself, but could never master it.

  ‘So, rough day then,’ he says. ‘Sorry, Squirt.’

  ‘It’s fine. I’ll be fine.’ I take a puff of my roll-up and immediately start to cough; ignoring the knowing look Dylan gives me. ‘Before you arrived, I had already decided it was for the best. Now I realise I should have gotten out months ago. It’s the fact that they got one up on me. I was unwittingly led into that situation and I didn’t catch on quick enough. It’s my fault.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  ‘But, thankfully,’ I continue, ignoring him, ‘because of the settlement agreement they can’t tell anyone what really happened, so my reputation shouldn’t be affected by it. Dylan, this is actually a good thing. It’s my chance to go out and grab what I want.’

  ‘Here we go again.’ Dylan sighs. ‘It will probably work out for the best in the long run. You don’t want to work for a company that can ditch you so thanklessly after you’ve given them so much. All the having to act a certain way, the power grabs, the knife in the back when you’re not looking. When you gonna accept that this just isn’t you?’

  ‘It’s totally me.’ I sit back, lift my chin and offer a deliberate pout. ‘Why wouldn’t it be me? I’m as good as everyone else there.’

  ‘Wrong.’ Dylan looks me straight in the eye. ‘You’re better. Talking corporate bollocks and going to poncey bars isn’t a measure of anything. It just makes you a bit of a twat.’