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

by Nina Kaye

  Used to Dylan’s straight-talking approach, I’m unfazed by this comment.

  ‘I know you’re putting on a brave face,’ Dylan continues, his tone softer. ‘But I think you’re hurt and in shock. I think your confidence will have taken a knock. And you know what? That’s OK. It’s totally normal to feel that way. What’s not normal is to deny that it’s had any impact; and to act like some kind of indestructible ballbreaker.’

  ‘I’m not.’ I watch my cigarette burn slowly, having already abandoned the idea of smoking it.

  ‘Yes, you are. It’s me you’re talking to. How long have we known each other? You used to share everything with me: your dad’s rages; days of no food in your house, because your mum had spent her dole cheque on vodka. You’ve always been tough – you had to be to get through that. But you still felt it – and you let me in.’

  ‘Are you finished?’ I’m staring straight ahead of me.

  ‘I’m finished.’ Dylan shrugs his shoulders resignedly.

  ‘Good.’

  We sit in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth of the evening sun on our faces, listening to the sound of the traffic below. The predictable drone of engines is temporarily drowned out as an ambulance races by, siren blaring, then gradually fading away.

  ‘So, an opportunity, you say?’ Dylan prompts me.

  ‘Yes, exactly.’ I stub out my cigarette in the makeshift ashtray I use for Dylan’s visits. ‘I spent a few hours online this afternoon and there are a number of jobs in my area being advertised at the moment.’

  ‘Sounds promising.’ Dylan takes a swig of his Corona. ‘Though I’ve heard it’s tough in the job market at the moment. Got a friend in telesales who’s been unemployed for a while. Says all the power is with the hirers. Loads of companies downsizing and a shedload of people chasing after the same jobs.’

  ‘That doesn’t worry me,’ I say. ‘With my experience, I should be able to walk into something as soon as I’m officially free from McArthur Cohen.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Dylan shrugs. ‘So, as well as getting your career sorted, are you gonna use this time to do a bit more of your own stuff? Maybe write some more articles, like the ones you tried to get published before? They were really good – if a bit “Lean in” for my taste.’

  ‘Hey!’ I complain. ‘You wouldn’t even know that term if I hadn’t introduced you to it. Those articles were aimed at professional career women, to help them succeed and rise above chauvinistic behaviours in the workplace – the kind you have just so keenly demonstrated. Anya and Stella thought they were great.’

  ‘Sorry, didn’t mean it like that.’ Dylan shrugs again. ‘But I preferred the stuff you used to write at school – about the real hard shit people have to deal with in their lives and wanting to make the world a better place. Always felt real proud of you when you read that stuff out to me.’

  ‘That was a long time ago.’ I’m keen to change the subject. ‘No, I’m going to stay fully focused on my job search. That’s enough for now.’

  ‘How about you finally find yourself a bloke?’ Dylan ignores the hint.

  ‘Eh… no. No time for that nonsense. Men just get in the way.’

  ‘What, like me?’ Dylan jokes, then takes a long thoughtful drag on his cigarette. ‘You’re not getting any younger.’

  ‘Thanks for that.’ I throw him a look. ‘I’m not so old either. It might be normal to pop them out in your teens on the estate, but in the real world, people have kids much older. It’s meant to be a time of equality and opportunities for all. I want to be a high-flying businesswoman, Dylan, not a stay-at-home mum. Plus, who are you to judge?’

  ‘I’m not single by choice and you know it.’ Dylan stubs out his own roll-up. ‘Keira was the one who left me.’

  ‘Sorry, that was low.’ I look down at the floor.

  ‘No worries, Squirt. I get it. I just think it would be good for you to have someone around to help you chill a bit and enjoy life, that’s all.’

  ‘Dylan, you know how that works in practice. It starts out well, then they realise I’m not going to deprioritise my career for them, they start to resent me – and it all goes to shit. No. Men are off the agenda for the foreseeable future.’

  ‘All right, I hear you.’ Dylan holds up his hands in defeat. ‘Then forget that. How about you come for drinks at the Broken Arms instead? Surely you can take one day off. It’s been years since you made an appearance on the estate. The old crowd think you’ve ditched them altogether.’

  ‘I haven’t ditched them.’ I trace a non-existent pattern on the balcony floor with my toe. ‘I just don’t… fit in there anymore.’

  ‘You mean you don’t want to fit in.’

  ‘No. That’s not it. I’m happy here. People grow up, and they move on. That’s a fact of life.’

  ‘You’d probably have moved on from me by now too – if I’d let you.’ Dylan looks almost downtrodden for a moment.

  I take in his puppy dog face, his dishevelled brown hair and single earring. Guilt stabs at me like an electric shock.

  ‘Definitely not.’ I shift a little in my seat, knowing that scenario might have been all too possible.

  For a few minutes, we sit quietly, then Dylan breaks the silence.

  ‘Your mum’s been asking for you.’

  I wince, saying nothing.

  ‘Saw her last week in Iceland.’ He continues. ‘She doesn’t look well.’

  ‘She’s never looked well.’ I avoid Dylan’s gaze.

  ‘I’m just saying. You could pop in every now and again.’

  ‘What’s the point? She never bothered with me. Was never there when I needed her. And she’s not interested now. She’s only asking because she doesn’t have anything else to say to you.’

  Dylan searches my face, his expression unreadable. Uncomfortable, I look away.

  ‘Look, I know you had it tough.’ He reaches over and squeezes my shoulder affectionately, sparking an automatic flinch given the current topic of conversation. ‘It hasn’t been plain sailing for any of us. But that doesn’t mean you need to turn into the ice queen, cut everyone off, and pretend it never happened. Especially given what happened today. You need a bit of support.’

  ‘I’m not cutting people off, Dylan.’ I try to hide the exasperation from my voice. ‘I just want to make something of myself. I want a decent life. Without her in it. She’d bleed me dry if she got the chance. Now, can we talk about something else – please?’

  Dylan watches me for a moment then stubs out his cigarette.

  ‘Probably not the time to be suggesting – given your current predicament – that you switch from your poncey gin to the Lidl one then either? It’s only a tenner a bottle.’

  This time Dylan gets my full death stare.

  ‘Right then, time to make a move, I guess.’ He swiftly gets up from his seat and heads back indoors; I follow close behind. ‘I’m glad you’re OK – or you’re at least faking being OK. If you need anything, give me a bell.’

  To my surprise, he plants a little kiss on the top of my head.

  ‘I am fine. I’m not putting it on.’ I stand with my arms folded to show him I mean business.

  ‘Whatevs. Later, Squirt.’ He gives me a wink and then disappears out the door.

  Chapter 3

  ‘Liv, it’s so great to see you!’

  ‘It’s only been a week.’ I give my friend and colleague, Stella, a quick hug and hop up onto the bar stool next to her.

  Why is everyone treating me like some long-lost pal?

  ‘I know that,’ Stella gushes. ‘But I’m so glad you came. Tony will be too. I just can’t believe he’s retiring already…’

  I tune out distractedly as Stella continues her outpouring. Why the hell wouldn’t I have come tonight? I’m moving on, not awaiting sentence for defrauding the company.

  ‘So, how are you doing?’ Stella leans in conspiratorially, her tonged blonde ringlets tumbling forward into her face. ‘Really, I mean. Last week must h
ave been tough.’

  So much for Anya quashing the rumours. I’ll just have to deal with them myself.

  ‘Come on.’ I laugh. ‘You haven’t fallen for the nonsense that’s been circulating, have you?’

  ‘Oh, no. Obviously not.’ Stella gives a tinkling laugh that lands a bit hollow. ‘I was just… worried about you.’

  ‘Well thanks, I’m great.’ I pat Stella’s shoulder. ‘I’ve got a couple of interviews lined up already.’

  ‘Good for you, Liv! Seizing the day.’

  ‘Yes. I am.’ I eye my friend, suspiciously. ‘So, have there been any more announcements?’

  Stella just about chokes on her champagne. ‘Oh, goodness. Sorry, Liv, just realised I forgot to… um… tell Steve what to feed the kids tonight. Be right back.’

  I’m left alone, as Stella dashes outside in her bling – and clearly too high stilettos.

  Scanning the room, I spot Tony at the bar, just along from me.

  ‘Tony, how are you?’ I greet him warmly. ‘Your big day is finally here.’

  ‘It is indeed, young Liv,’ Tony booms in his baritone voice, his plump, weather- beaten cheeks bright red from the alcohol. ‘Couldn’t have come faster. How are you, love? Are you doing all right?’

  Please, not another one.

  ‘I’m great thanks.’ I make myself sound as self-assured as I possibly can. ‘Got a few interviews lined up.’

  ‘Well done, young Liv.’ Tony gives me a jovial and rather inappropriate slap on the back. ‘Those idiots don’t know talent when it smacks them in the face.’

  He nods in the direction of another group; my heart sinks as I see both Sharon and Derek standing there. Sharon’s in her usual alpha-female flow – loud, dominant and vulgar. Derek hangs awkwardly by her side, surreptitiously checking something on his phone, while pretending to be as engrossed as everyone else.

  ‘As much as I tend to agree…’ I put my hand on Tony’s arm casually ‘…in this case, it was totally mutual.’

  ‘You can’t fool me.’ Tony gives me an overly dramatic your-secret-is-safe-with-me wink. ‘I’ve been around long enough to know a settlement agreement when I see one. Here, one for the road, eh?’ He thrusts a glass of champagne into my hand.

  As he says this, I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach. Deciding some fresh air is urgently needed, I excuse myself and head out to the terrace of the Union Canal-side bar into the early June heatwave that’s provided a welcome respite from the previous weeks of rain. I take a seat at one of the tables closest to the edge, where two dabbling ducks are chattering and peeping away contentedly, creating hypnotic ripples in the glassy water. I pretend I’m looking something up on my phone while I assess the situation. What the hell is going on? First Stella, then Tony. And where are Anya, Tom and the others?

  I sit for several minutes, slugging my champagne, listening to the ducks, all the time keeping up my charade of being engrossed in my phone. Eventually I hear a rabble behind me and turn to see Anya, Tom and a couple of other friends from the office approaching though the passageway from the bustle of Fountainbridge. The level of laughter and boisterousness indicates they’ve already had a few drinks.

  ‘Where have you lot been?’ I stand up and address them boorishly.

  ‘Liv!’ Anya bounces over to me and gives me a hug. ‘It’s so good to—’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I know. That’s a line I haven’t heard too many times already this evening.’

  ‘Well, it is.’ Anya misses the sarcasm in my voice. ‘I’ve been missing you this last week.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll get used to it.’ I smile at her, pleased that she’s genuinely missed me.

  ‘Liv, buddy.’ Tom gives me his signature bone-breaking handshake-come-awkward-hug. ‘How’ve you been?’

  ‘Great, thanks.’ I smile brightly at him, now realising that this is something I’ll just have to endure. ‘So, where have you all been?’

  ‘Tom suggested a quick one in Sally’s Bar, and that turned into three or four,’ says Anya, as I greet my other friends from work: Dom and Marta.

  ‘Guilty as charged.’ Tom holds his hands up in mock surrender.

  Anya springs a little on the spot, giggling like a schoolgirl. I catch a look between them: clearly they’re totally enraptured with each other.

  ‘Right.’ I force a smile, but can’t help wondering, once again, why Anya didn’t text me and ask me to join them.

  ‘Let’s get some more drinks in,’ Tom declares. ‘My round.’

  He bounds off into the bar, while the rest of us follow close behind.

  Brushing away my feeling of being left out, I join in the energetic and innuendo-charged banter. It’s just like normal. Nothing’s changed. And why should it?

  Once we have our drinks, we head back outside to join yet more colleagues. It’s a warm, still evening, adding to the already high spirits. Outdoor speakers pump out a funky summer beat, while ties are discarded, top buttons undone, and the females of the group kick off their high heels, revealing perfectly shellacked toes in a kaleidoscope of colours.

  ‘So, have there been any other updates on the new structure?’ I ask Anya and Tom. ‘I asked Stella before, but she went all weird and took off.’

  I glance over at Stella, who’s chatting with Dom and Marta, having blatantly avoided me since our earlier interaction.

  ‘Oh, erm…’ Anya hesitates, and I see her exchange an uncomfortable look with Tom.

  ‘What is it?’ An uneasy feeling starts to stir in my stomach. ‘Anya?’

  Anya looks like a cornered animal. She stares pleadingly at Tom, who steps in to rescue her.

  ‘There were some other updates last week,’ he says.

  ‘Like what?’ I probe.

  ‘Like… Liv, do you really want to hear this?’ Tom asks.

  ‘Of course.’ I look from Tom to Anya. ‘I’ve only just left. I’m still interested in what’s going on.’

  Anya’s usual vibrancy has wilted like a dying flower; she edges closer to Tom’s side.

  ‘OK… sure.’ Tom looks a bit pained as he takes a long swig from his pint of craft beer. ‘They’ve only announced the senior roles so far. Sharon’s going to take on a new Executive Director role for our division.’

  ‘Sharon?’ I forget to hide my disgust.

  ‘Yes. And I think she’ll do a good job.’ Tom gives me a curious look. ‘She’s certainly got the experience. Don’t you think?’

  ‘Sure, yeah, of course.’ I silently curse myself for not being more circumspect. ‘What else?’

  ‘Derek’s going to be the Director of PR.’

  It takes all my effort not to swear out loud. Derek? Derek – that walking communication-free zone who has no interest in people, or interactions of any kind – is going to be Director of Public Relations?

  ‘Interesting choices.’ I keep my voice neutral to stop my real feelings surfacing again. ‘What about senior management level?’

  Anya lets out an involuntary peep of discomfort. I look at her quizzically.

  ‘Liv. Seriously.’ Tom regards me, clearly concerned. ‘Is that not enough?’

  ‘No. Tell me,’ I command.

  I know full well that I’m not going to like this one bit.

  ‘OK, here goes.’ Tom takes a sharp intake of breath. ‘Apparently there were quite a few other “mutual” exits last week…’

  I flinch as he says this. That’s my cover story well and truly blown.

  ‘That left a few vacant posts. There were two in our area.’

  ‘There were?’ My eyes bore into the back of Sharon’s head; what a lying cow.

  I’m trying my best to stay calm, but I can feel the anger beginning to smoulder.

  ‘So, what roles, and who do you think will apply?’ I ask.

  Tom looks at Anya, who’s starting to look more like a toddler clinging to its mother’s leg than Tom’s current love interest. He sighs loudly. I brace myself.

  ‘They didn’t open up the vacanc
ies. They decided to appoint people from the Corporate Future Leaders Programme.’ Tom pauses for a moment. ‘I got one of the jobs and Stella got the other.’

  My sparking anger is instantly extinguished by blunt shock. For a moment, I feel like I’m going to faint. Why am I only hearing this now? Anya should have told me, so I was prepared. Tom and Stella got the jobs, while I got the boot? No wonder Stella made a run for it when I asked her. She doesn’t even work in our department.

  I was just as good as them. What did I do that was so wrong?

  The unwelcome and all too familiar voice inside my head pipes up again.

  ‘You’ll no’ fit in, so don’t bother yer backside tryin’.’

  It’s joined by Dylan’s voice.

  ‘When you gonna accept that this just isn’t you?’

  I feel like I can’t breathe. A blanket of nausea engulfs me. The outdoor bar area suddenly feels really distant, and I realise that if I don’t get out of here fast, I’m going to humiliate myself in front of all my colleagues.

  ‘Liv, are you OK?’ Tom puts a concerned hand on my arm.

  I can see Anya peering at me from behind him.

  ‘I’m… yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Too much champagne on an empty stomach. I’ll be right back.’

  Without waiting for a response from Tom, I take off for the safety of the toilets, ignoring the collective murmur of ‘Is she OK?’ behind me.

  Shortly after my rather inelegant bolt for the loos – and having had a very serious word with myself – I rejoin my friends, determined that not an ounce of how I felt only minutes before will resurface. Even though I’ve only been away for several minutes, I notice the temperature has dropped a couple of degrees and the light is just starting to fade.

  ‘How you doing?’ Tom’s big brown eyes search my face. ‘You didn’t look too good there. I knew that would be hard to hear.’

  ‘About the jobs? Not at all.’ I wave my hand dismissively. ‘I couldn’t give a donkey’s arse about that. Just shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Tom asks. ‘You went a bit grey. Or maybe it was green—’

  ‘Congratulations on the promotion, by the way.’ I give him a big squeeze of a hug, forcing him to change the subject. ‘Well deserved. I’m so pleased for you.’