by Nina Kaye
I study her for a moment, amazed that it took me so long to see through her insincerity. It was always there, I now realise. But it was so subtle, and I was so drawn into what I thought was a great friendship, I never saw the warning signs.
‘If you mean the bar, I’m not working there anymore.’ I intentionally fail to elaborate, to see if she shows any further interest at all.
‘Right… good.’ She seems unsure where to go next. ‘So, what are you up to then?’
It could be an innocent question, fuelled by genuine curiosity, or some level of concern for my wellbeing that she herself doesn’t even realise she has. But my instincts are bellowing at me that this is nothing more than a blatant fish for information, so she can take something juicy back to her gossip squad. I decide I’m going to give her as little as possible.
‘I’m self-employed now,’ I reply. ‘Decided to take up freelance writing – blogging, that kind of thing.’
‘That sounds interesting.’ Anya’s expression turns to one of curiosity, the bounce I used to find so endearing almost sneaks through. ‘I’ve always been interested in the idea of freelancing; being a creative entrepreneur. How’s that going for you?’
As I take in her ‘super-interested’ face, it’s like the whole three years of our now-defunct friendship flashes before me. Two things spring out: her expression, along with a never-ending stream of work-related gossip. She needs to be in the know. Not because she’s rooting for me to be a success. She needs to have and be able to share stories so she can create and maintain a bond with her colleagues: her way of securing her place with the ‘in’ crowd. None of it’s about genuine friendship. How did I not see this before?
‘It’s going OK,’ I reply eventually, now firm on sticking to my angle of non-elaboration. ‘Still early days. Will just have to see how it pans out.’
‘Right.’ Anya nods, her face already clearing of interest, now she’s under the impression that I’m still floundering in my career. ‘Well… it was good to see you.’
I’m under no illusion that it was anything of the sort, but at least the feeling’s mutual this time.
‘You too.’ I smile briefly.
‘See you then.’ Anya turns to walk away, then hesitates and swivels back on the spot. ‘Actually, since you mentioned a blog, Liv, me and the girls at works have become addicted to one recently. It’s so clever and funny. The writer calls herself MissGinFizz. Think she’s doing really well.’
‘Really?’ I keep my face poker straight as I digest this.
‘Yes, you should check it out. Maybe you can pick up some tips from her work.’
It takes all my effort not to laugh out loud. Anya and her crew are subscribed to my blog? And they have no idea that I’m MissGinFizz. I could tell her and become ‘someone’ in their eyes again. Give Anya the ripest of gossip to take back to the office. But the thing is, I no longer care what she or any of her coven think of me. That world is now in my past, and that’s where it’s going to stay.
‘OK, thanks,’ I reply. ‘Sounds interesting. I’ll take a look.’
‘No problem.’ She smiles smugly, and my one-time ‘friend’ turns and trots off in the direction of the city centre.
Several hours later, I’m camped out at a table in Hanover One, one of Edinburgh’s swankiest gin bars, situated in the city centre – and a top rival to my ex place of employment, Amethyst. As it’s Friday, the after-work crowd are making the most of their long-awaited freedom; some of them dressed in Christmas jumpers and wearing antlers and Santa hats, evidently on some kind of Christmas night out. The leather-seated booths have, till not long ago, been crammed full of high-spirited, boisterous colleagues, no doubt since the late afternoon. But as it’s reached the time when some of the office packs start to fall away, they’re gradually replaced by other types of punters, like smaller friendship groups and couples.
I hate sitting in bars alone at the weekend – even if it is just for research purposes – so I’ve recruited Dylan and Amir to join me for a couple of hours, before they head to the pub to watch the football. Amir, enjoying a rare Friday night off, is making the most of this opportunity.
‘Dylan, another pint, mate?’ he asks.
‘Nice one.’ Dylan offers a thumbs-up.
‘Liv? What are you having this time?’ Amir hands me the drinks menu.
‘I’m fine thanks, Amir.’ I hold up my drink. ‘Still on this one.’
‘You’ve got three mouthfuls left – at a push.’ Amir raises an eyebrow at me. ‘Come on, what are you having?’
‘Err… OK, just a mineral water then, thanks.’ I pretend to be writing something in my notepad. ‘Sparkling, with a wedge of lime.’
‘Liv, we can keep doing this for as long as you like,’ says Amir. ‘Or you can just accept a drink.’
‘You’ve already bought me a drink.’ I don’t look up.
‘And I’d like to buy you another one.’
‘Squirt, will you put the poor guy out of his misery and choose a proper drink,’ Dylan reprimands me.
I glance up. Seeing the pointed looks, I realise that there’s no getting out of this one.
‘OK, sorry. I’ll have a Bombay and tonic. Thanks, Amir.’
‘Why do you have to do that?’ Dylan rebukes me, as Amir heads to the bar. ‘You and your bloody pride. I thought you’d got past that.’
‘It’s not just about pride.’ I put my notepad and pen down on the mahogany table. ‘I just don’t want him spending lots of money on me. It’s not like he’s loaded.’
‘Has it dawned on you that maybe he feels partly responsible for the fact that you’re in the shitter financially?’ Dylan sinks the last of his pint. ‘He may not have had a choice, but he was the one who sacked you. Buying you drinks is probably his way of feeling better about that. Don’t take that away from him.’
I pause while I deliberate this. ‘I didn’t think about it like that. He totally shouldn’t feel that way, but if he does, then I guess I can understand why he’s overcompensating for it.’
‘You always get there in the end – eventually.’ Dylan gives me an affectionate nudge.
‘All right.’ I give him a warning look. ‘Don’t go taking the moral high ground. You’re still on shaky terrain for hiding your love affair with Reyes from me.’
‘That was ages ago now,’ Dylan complains. ‘You can’t hold that against me forever.’
‘Oh, I can.’ I smile sweetly at him. ‘And I will.’
Amir returns with the drinks, and we relax and enjoy a bit of banter together: discussing possible options for my next blog post. Once they’ve finished their pints, it’s time for them to go.
‘Join us after the footie?’ Dylan asks.
‘Yeah, sure.’ I nod. ‘That should give me long enough to get some good material. Thanks again for the drinks, Amir. It’s definitely easier to sit in a bar alone after a couple.’
‘Anytime, Liv.’ Amir gives me a mini salute, and then he and Dylan disappear out the door.
Moments after they have left, one of the bar staff approaches my table and sets down a drink on a napkin in front of me.
‘Gin and tonic, from the gentleman who just left.’ He smiles at me.
‘Sorry?’ I’m confused. ‘What gentleman?’
‘The one who was sitting at your table before – with the leather jacket.’
‘Amir, what are you like.’ I mutter under my breath, then thank the barman, who returns to the bar.
As I lift my drink and take a sip, I see that there’s a message scrawled on the napkin: Some company for you when we’re away? Enjoy. X
I smile to myself, reflecting on how I have such great friends now in comparison to Anya and the rest of the McArthur Cohen lot. In fact, I have such a great life full stop – apart from things being a bit tight financially. The office and my ‘high-flying’ career had its appeal. I was caught up in the game, the politics, the never-ending search for my next career ‘hit’. But I was never truly in control
of my life. I was one tiny cog in that huge grinding wheel. Now, here, doing this. I’m free. I’m my own boss, I make the decisions, and best of all, my successes are totally mine. I’ve opened doors I never even knew existed. This is a much better fit for me than any corporate environment.
While lost in my thoughts, I become aware of someone having occupied the empty table next to me. As I glance over, I do a double take, then immediately panic. It’s Aaron.
Shit. What shall I do? I haven’t seen him since I got fired. And I don’t think I can face him. Since he’s not seen me yet, I decide to try to slip away unnoticed.
Keen not to waste my drink as well as any writing opportunities, I scan the bar for another table, spotting one where I’ll be at a safe distance. However, just as I’m surreptitiously gathering my stuff, and getting ready to slink away, Aaron looks over.
‘Liv? Is that you?’
I freeze. He’s seen me. What do I do now? Put on a voice and pretend to be someone else? I have my back to him, so he doesn’t know for sure that it’s me. I realise I’m being stupid, and a bloody coward. I’ve been busted, so I need to face the man, and humbly apologise. Then it’s over and done with.
Slowly, I start to turn towards him. ‘Aaron? Hi. Sorry, I didn’t see you there.’
‘Yes, you did.’ He greets me with his usual flat tone. ‘And you were hoping to sneak away unnoticed.’
‘What? No.’ I plaster a look of shock on my face. ‘I wouldn’t do that.’
‘You absolutely would.’ He throws me the same don’t-bullshit-me look I often receive from Dylan. ‘Especially after being fired from the hotel.’
‘Oh, yeah, about that…’ I reluctantly sit back down, squirming unbearably inside. ‘I’m… really sorry about that. I know I totally abused the opportunity you gave me, as well as your trust. It was reckless and immature, and be assured that I’ve learned my lesson – big time. I really am so sorry, Aaron.’
I sit back and wait for his response, unable to make eye contact. For a few moments Aaron says nothing, and I’m aware of him scrutinising me in his appraising way, making me squirm even more.
‘I just wish you’d covered your tracks better,’ he says eventually.
‘Sorry, what?’ I stare at him in amazement.
‘Your blog was good.’ He shrugs. ‘Really good. And you were a good bar worker. No reason why you couldn’t have done both. It was just a clumsy error. You upped the drama and humour around the situation, but you kept the factual details too accurate. I bet you make sure no one can recognise themselves in your writing now.’
‘You’re spot on there.’ I’m still looking at Aaron with utter bewilderment. ‘But, wait… I thought you’d be really angry with me. I’ve had that same reaction from the others – that I could have done both. From Dylan, even Amir, but I never expected it from you. I was your hire and I let you down; surely you must be pissed off?’
‘Why? Because I’m the stuffy hotel manager?’ Aaron tilts his head and examines me like I’m some kind of lab experiment. ‘Liv, I believe in helping people get on: which includes encouraging them to harness their entrepreneurial spirit – if they’re lucky enough to have some.’
‘I know… I mean…’ I’m so simultaneously astounded and relieved – Aaron’s approval meaning so much to me that I’m tripping over myself. ‘I knew you were supportive… I just… well… you fired me.’
‘The company fired you,’ Aaron corrects me. ‘There was no other way. If I could have stopped that, I would have. It was out of my hands. If I’d stepped in, questions would have been asked. And that customer would have followed through on her threat.’
‘I understand.’ I nod. ‘Wow. Thanks, Aaron. The thought of bumping into you, after everything that happened… it’s been filling me with dread for weeks.’
‘I can see that.’ He grins almost proudly. ‘Never saw myself as the scary type.’
‘You’re actually not.’ I smile. ‘Well, not in comparison to a lot of people. I’m so glad you liked my blog. I’m still writing it, you know.’
‘I know.’
‘You’re following it?’ My amazement reaches new levels.
‘I am. And your new one too. It’s still as good as it was.’
‘I take that as high praise coming from you.’ I’m elated to hear this. ‘I’ve actually been offered some freelance blogging work as well. By a couple of people who have been following me online. That will really help with my cash flow.’
Aaron studies me for a moment. His forgiveness and reassurance make me uncomfortable. I take a swig of my gin and tonic as an excuse to look away.
‘As much as I know you would be great at it, I don’t think you need to find a new job in communications, Liv,’ he says finally. ‘I think you’ve found your niche. And I think you’re going to be very successful.’
‘Stop it.’ I wave my hand at him. ‘You’re going to give me a big head.’
‘Don’t worry. That was all you were getting.’ His face returns to its usual poker expression.
‘Oh, right, of course.’ I suddenly flush with embarrassment.
‘I was joking.’ He raises an eyebrow at me.
‘Right, yeah, I knew that.’ I hide behind my drink once more, hoping this awkward moment will pass quickly.
‘Well, I won’t keep you any longer.’ Aaron pulls out his laptop and sets it down next to his drink. ‘I’ve got a few emails to send before an evening appointment. I’ll let you get back to your research – assuming you’re not just here drinking alone for the sake of it.’
‘No, I’m not.’ I laugh. ‘Definitely not. Lots of research to do.’
We both appear to immerse ourselves in our work. At first I find it difficult to concentrate. Aaron’s words play back in my mind. As much as I love this new world I’m part of, and I’ll definitely keep pursuing it, I sometimes have moments of doubt that I can pull it off. Aaron’s endorsement of my new career choice means more to me than he can possibly understand.
Eventually, I settle into watching the goings-on in the bar, while scribbling lots of notes, and contemplating how I can use the attractive festive setting of the bar in my next blog post. After a while, I almost forget Aaron’s there. There’s so much going on that I barely pause for thought in between jotting down ideas.
I’m so lost in my work that I almost miss my phone lighting up with a new message. Still engrossed in my blog-related thoughts, I pick it up absently, assuming it’s a message from Dylan or from Reyes on her break. But when I unlock my screen, my heart jumps. It’s an alert from my blog chat app, and the message is from Graham.
Goosebumps break out all over my body as I quickly open it up and read it in full.
GrahamLeeton: How are you, MissGinFizz? I know it’s been a long time and I have a lot of explaining to do, but I’m hoping you’ll hear me out.
I stare at the screen, my pulse thumping between my ears, a whole mishmash of thoughts and reactions swimming through my mind. He’s back? From what? How am I supposed to feel about this? Should I be angry with him for disappearing the way he did, and leaving me feeling so empty? I was really hurt, that’s for sure.
With curiosity overriding my emotions, I decide I need to know where he’s been before I can decide how I feel about all this. What was so delicate and important that he had to cut all contact with me, just like that? Should I make him wait and let him feel some of what I felt? Oh, who are you kidding, Liv?
I tap out a response, opting for blasé as an opener.
MissGinFizz: Oh, hello stranger. I’m good thanks. How have you been?
He replies with a longer message that comes through so quickly, he must have been writing it before I even responded.
GrahamLeeton: You don’t need to pretend. If you had done what I did, I would have been really hurt. Being left with all those unanswered questions. And I would have missed you terribly. Even though I was the one who chose to disappear, I still missed you.
I stare at the screen. How do
I respond to that? How do I even feel about that? Of course, I’m hurt. I’ve never stopped hurting. But am I angry with him? It’s not a feeling I recognise when I think about Graham. Perhaps I should have been royally pissed off, but the overriding feeling was one of sadness and loss.
Feeling myself becoming emotional, I take a moment to try and compose myself. I glance over at Aaron, who’s putting away his laptop and getting ready to leave. He looks over and catches my eye.
‘It was nice to see you, Liv. Have a good Christmas.’
‘Same to you, Aaron.’ I drag my attention away from my phone and smile at him. ‘Thanks again for being so understanding. I hope I’ll see you around.’
‘I’m sure our paths will cross again.’ He gives me a little nod, and then walks away.
Once he’s gone, I look down at the screen in my hand, reading Graham’s message again. He missed me terribly? Why would he say that if he didn’t mean it? I realise that, much as it may make me vulnerable again, I need to hear his explanation. I need to be honest with him, and tell him how much I’ve missed him too. But not like this.
I compose and send my response.
MissGinFizz: OK, I was hurt. I’m still hurt. I will let you explain, but on one condition – you do it in person.
I sit back in my seat, feeling a little shaky inside. What if he says no? And I get the same excuse as before. I don’t think I could handle that. I impatiently tap my fingers on the table, and on spotting my half-drunk gin and tonic, grab it and sink the rest of it. There. At least that will numb the pain if he lets me down again.
After three or four minutes, I’m starting to panic. Have I scared him off already? Maybe he was hoping we could have just continued chatting online again, without the immediate demand of meeting in person. Just as I’m beginning to wonder if I should have taken a softer approach, my phone lights up. Grabbing it, I drink in his response.
GrahamLeeton: OK, deal. Will you join me for dinner – right now?
As I’m staring in astonishment at the words in front of me, another message pops up on my screen with the name and address of a restaurant and a selfie – of him.
