Yes, the Red Lion. The last time I went there was for a hike (leisurely walk in my case) then lunch (a former boyfriend was a fitness fanatic; needless to say we didn’t last long) and it was delicious, but I’ve never been there in the evening, so this should be a new experience.
I’m not wrong. Adam, it turns out, suffers from narcolepsy. Everything starts well; he’s charming, with old-fashioned values (pulls out my chair for me), but we’re halfway through a conversation when he falls asleep. I’ve seen a programme recently where someone did this, so I guess what’s happened. What I can’t remember though, is what to do about it. Should I wake him up? Leave him be until he wakes of his own accord? What if that’s hours? It’s like Keith Mk 2 all over again.
I needn’t have worried.
“Sorry. Did I fall asleep?”
“You did.”
“I’m so sorry. I get no warning when it happens. I had an early night last night, but it often doesn’t make any difference.”
“It must be very difficult to live with.”
“I’ve had it for years, so I’m quite used to it, but…”
There he goes again. This time it’s a bit longer, about quarter of an hour, so I’m glad I’ve brought my iPhone with me so I can play some games. I get bored with Sudoku, move on to FreeCell and have just cracked level ninety-five with my personal best score when Adam wakes up.
He’s drooled on his top, so I offer him a tissue.
“God, I’m so sorry. It’s not been this bad for a while.”
“Are you nervous?”
“A little. I wasn’t, but I suppose I am now.”
“Don’t be. I don’t mind.” And I don’t. “You can’t help it, after all.”
“Not really, no. I’ve used a CPAP then BiPAP machines, and acetazolamide helps.”
“Wow. It is serious.”
“But I don’t snore.”
“You don’t? Are they related?”
“Usually, but I sleep alone. I don’t wake myself up snoring though, so I assume I don’t.”
I don’t know what to say, but I’m quite impressed that we’re getting a decent, and interesting, conversation. I’m about to ask if anything can be done surgically – I remember a little boy who went to the States for treatment – when I realise I’m talking to myself.
We’d not got around to getting a drink; I’m not sure why. He was sitting at the table when I got there, so I leave him where he is and go to the bar. I order a couple of Cokes (I’m going to have to think of something more original as I’m getting sick of them) and have just put them down when he wakes up with a jolt, catching his right hand on the table and spilling some of his drink.
“Man. I’m so sorry. You must think I’m a complete idiot.”
“No, it’s fine. This is going to sound heartless, but if it wasn’t so sad, it would be funny.”
“I used to get laughed at when I was at school.”
“That’s terrible. It’s been going on that long?”
“Over twenty-five years.” He’s older than me, must be almost forty.
“What caused it, do they know?”
“I’d always been quite a big child…”
He looks all right to me.
“…and it kind of crept up on me. I put the tiredness down to studying hard, but it’s never really gone away.”
“And you’ve learned to live with it.”
“Had to. I have an incredibly understanding boss.”
“What do you do?”
“I work for a chocolate company, on the factory line.”
I only know of one chocolate company in the area and my thoughts go back to Tim. Like Duncan, Adam’s battled with weight and won. “Do you do shift work?”
“I do. Nights mainly.”
“Which doesn’t help.”
“No, but it pays better.”
“Money isn’t everything. I’m sorry, that sounded…”
“It’s okay. I rather overstretched myself on a house with my ex and had to buy her out.”
“But it’s affecting your life.” Again my size eight feet engage mouth full force.
“Yes, but I’m doing something about it.”
“Really?”
“I’ve told my bosses and they’ve been great. The company doctor’s recommending me for surgery.”
“Must be a good company to have their own doctor.”
“He works in a local practice, but we’re on a health scheme which he supports.”
“Does it affect your driving?”
“That’s the downside. I have a licence, but can only drive short distances and when I’m not feeling tired. I usually like to have someone with me, but it’s not always possible. If it gets bad, like it is at the moment, I get someone else to drive. My brother drove…”
He’s nodded off again. Poor thing. This time it lasts a few seconds and he wakes up talking as if he was mid-flow. “Oh yes, I’m very hopeful.”
“That’s great.” I don’t know what else to say. My heart goes out to him. “I saw a programme a while back on it and it was fascinating.”
“My family and I had never heard of it until I was diagnosed and obviously research has gone a long way since then.”
Having exhausted, pardon the pun, the conversation, I’m glad of an opportunity to divert it. “And I love the way technology’s gone in the last few years. It’s all amazing and you wonder where it’s going next.”
“A girl after my own heart.”
Now we’re talking. “I was playing with a wind-up grasshopper the other day and it was simple, but such fun.”
“Oh?”
I couldn’t have expected him to say anything else, could I?
“I can’t get over how you cope with…” I realise I’m sounding like a broken record and would send anyone to sleep, which I duly do. As I sit and wait for him to wake up again, I wonder how he gets any work done at all if he falls asleep so often. I couldn’t see William lasting long with me if I had it. I dig out my iPhone again and restart FreeCell.
I get through level ninety-six and pause, hoping Adam will wake, but smash level ninety-seven and he’s still asleep. He looks pretty comfortable and, despite what he said earlier, he does snore… in fact quite loudly. People are looking at us and I have a distinct case of déjà vu.
Half an hour and a cup of tea later (it makes a change from another Coke) he’s still asleep. I decide to wait another ten minutes and see what happens.
Fifteen go by and he’s still snoring, so I pull my notepad and pen out of my bag and write a note. He can’t be too surprised that I wouldn’t hang around forever and I make it as polite as possible: that I had a lovely evening, but I had to go, and for him to take care.
I feel rather guilty as I leave the note tucked under his glass, but assume he’s arranged a time with his brother, so he’ll no doubt wake him up.
Driving home, I think about how easy I have it. I may whinge about not having a spare evening for a couple of weeks, but can pretty much do what I like, whenever I like. As the saying goes, I got it good.
Chapter 17 – Alex at the Red Hot
I come into work to an email from Duncan.
Hi, Izzy. Sorry about that. I said it really for Donna’s benefit. I thought she’d be upset if I said I’d requested her and not you, but you have my details already, so we didn’t need to request each other, did we?
He has a point, but I’d still requested him. And he’d requested Donna. I shouldn’t have been surprised.
My date tonight, with AlexC17, is set for the Red Hot World Buffet on Sixfields. It’s not ’til eight, so I reckon I can squeeze in a movie beforehand, making the most of my season ticket. If I can get something for around six that should slot in nicely.
I go on the Cineworld website and plump for Hitman Sam, a comedy about a trainee hitman. It starts at six, so with the usual twenty minutes of adverts, timing should be perfect.
In the meantime I have to crack on with the article and have loads
of emails from people reacting (mostly positively) to this month’s column. William’s in and looks a bit stressed, so I opt for the article first.
What did I learn from last night? To have a good night’s sleep.
I met A last night and it was a lovely, if rather frustrating, evening. Frustrating for both of us because A suffers from narcolepsy. In a good way, I’m hoping that last night was an unusually bad night for him as he fell asleep four or five times on me (not literally ‘on’ me, but you know what I mean)…
I delete everything from ‘on me’ onwards and continue.
… five times. I knew a little about the condition, but seeing it for myself made me realise how difficult it must be to live with. I’m a very independent person and can’t imagine having to rely on others for the most basic of day-to-day care. While a lot of sufferers live perfectly self-sufficient lives, others with more severe forms of illness…
I’m struggling to make this not sound condescending or preachy, so I Shift/F7 to bring up the thesaurus and change illness to ailment, then to complaint and back to illness. I’m still not happy with it, but hope that inspiration will strike during the editing process.
… must have to rely on family and friends to live as normal a life as possible. A child growing up with narcolepsy will know no different, but what happens when the child grows into a teenager and wants their independence? Given that nearly eight per cent of the population (in the US anyway) have it, you’d think we’d see more people falling asleep around us. There is medication and a variety of techniques to sleep better and therefore lessen the chances of falling asleep during waking hours, but as yet there is no cure.
So if you’re feeling tired and whinge that you didn’t sleep very well last night, spare a thought for those who struggle, day in, day out, to stay awake.
I save the draft and Alt/Tab over to tallgirlnn1. It’s suddenly dawned on me that after AlexC17 tonight, my well of dates is dry. I shouldn’t panic as I’ve set up late-notice dates before, but with nothing on the horizon, I get worried.
I’m pleased to see there are seven messages from guys I’ve not corresponded with yet and fire off replies.
DodgeNitroSXT (which I Google and find is a cool-looking gas guzzler) sounds like fun. He’s ‘up for anything’ and is ‘not afraid of a challenge’.
SoftieBear on the other hand sounds like… well, a softie. There’s a picture of his dog, a puppy, which is really cute. Apparently she’s a red merle Australian Shepherd, which I’ve never heard of, but has the weirdest blue eyes and huge black irises. A non-animal lover would think she’s creepy, but to me she’s a bundle of fluff and I want to meet her as much, if not more so, as her owner. I think about contacting Duncan to borrow one of his dogs, but I can’t tell him what I really do until the month is over. I could, I suppose, but keeping shtum would make life easier.
QuincyJ’s profile doesn’t say much, which is fine. A lot of them don’t. At this point, I can’t be too fussy.
CloudSpirit seems a little away with the fairies, although I’d rather have a deep and meaningful experience than a struggle for conversation with a brain-numb bumpkin.
Another guy with a horizontal attitude is JakeT. Like Dodge, he’s happy to do anything a partner suggests, but does sound as if he can’t make a decision. Just a feeling I have.
Then there’s another Eddie: EddieG. If it wasn’t for the name I’d have thought I was visiting a woman’s profile. There’s no picture (I’ve so far still managed to pick guys who don’t have one of themselves and it’s proven fun to have no idea what they look like, so it’s more of a true blind date), but it’s a very pink and fluffy profile. Nice, I guess, for a man to show his feminine side for a change.
The one I’m keen to meet is TechnoGeek. Just the name is Izzy territory and his profile lists gadgets he’s bought recently and thinks are ‘cool’. I recognise all but one and have tested most of them. I wouldn’t have bought a couple of the computer games that he did, but he’s a bloke and I’m not into gaming. I listen to technology podcasts, but glaze over when it comes to that kind of stuff.
It takes quite a while to go to each profile then reply, and by the time I’ve done EddieG’s and finalised my article, it’s one thirty. I’m surprised Donna’s not come over before now to drag me out to lunch, but see she’s not at her desk. I do my meerkat impression and she’s in William’s office. The door is shut, so it must be serious.
I stay standing for a minute or two before dropping back down to my seat when William threatens to look in my direction. I rise slowly, peering round my blue cloth-covered partition and watch Donna nodding and leaving his office, closing the door again behind her.
She skips back to her desk. I’m relieved it’s good news and am sorely tempted to go rushing over to her desk. I sink slowly back onto my chair, but keep looking in her direction.
“What are you doing?” Karen whispers.
Without turning, I reply. “Donna’s just come out of William’s office with a huge grin. Something’s happened.”
“And you want to know what.”
“Of course. Wouldn’t you?”
She nods. “Go over and speak to her then.”
I don’t need telling twice.
“I saw you in William’s office. What did he want?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Donna Clarke, don’t give me that.”
She clenches both fists, screws her face up and wiggles on her chair. “All right, but not here. And you’ve got to swear not to tell anyone.”
“Of course. You know me. I’m great at keeping secrets.” Next to her, I’m the world’s worst, but she’ll go blabbing it around the office anyway, so I won’t need to.
She grabs her bag and we walk to my desk. I half whisper, half mouth, “I’ll tell you later,” to Karen and she nods.
I’d forgotten to print off my article, do so now and nip it into William’s office, but he’s on the phone, so we exchange smiles and I rejoin Donna.
We go to the Fishmarket Café for lunch (I got up too late to make a sandwich, which would have been difficult anyway as I hadn’t got any bread) and by the time we’ve got our fruit teas (we both plump for blackcurrant), order our food and sit at a corner table, she’s fit to burst.
“William wants me to do an exposé on the cost of glasses – why it’s so much more expensive in shops than getting them off the internet… which reminds me, I’ve got two dates. It’s going to be all about customer service versus quality and do you get what you pay for because you can’t try on what you’re buying online.”
I’m not sure which she wants me to comment on first, especially as I can’t see how the exposé is top secret, so I go for the juiciest. “With whom?”
“Boots, SpecSavers, Vision Express–”
“No, the dates. Who are the dates with?”
“Walter the anti-smoker, Nick the librarian, and…” She pauses.
“Three? Who’s the third?”
“Duncan.”
“Of course.”
“I won’t if you don’t want me too,” she blurts. “It’s just that we both requested each other, and… he emailed me.”
“No… I mean yes, it’s fine.” I’m not sure whether it’s fine or not, but she seems so happy and he isn’t mine to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ on, so I change the subject. “The exposé sounds interesting. If you want any help with the internet research, let me know.”
“Ah, thanks. I didn’t like to ask, I know you’ve got your hands full.”
I know who I’d like to have my hands full of, but say nothing and smile at the waitress as she brings our chicken and ham salads. “Thank you.”
I open my sachet of salad cream and squeeze the end like a toothpaste tube, spluttering it across the plate.
Donna puts her sachet on a side plate and smiles. “So, Izzy Belle, who are you meeting tonight?”
I tell her all about AlexC17 and the week’s worth of men I’m hoping to line up, and she eats
while watching me with rabbit-in-headlights eyes.
“Wow! I wish I had your job.”
“You’re not doing so badly yourself. At least you know what you’re letting yourself in for. Although I can’t see what you see in Walter, Nick was nice. A little quiet for you perhaps, but genuine.”
“Walter was funny.”
“Really? He didn’t make me laugh.” It takes a lot to make me laugh, unless you’re called Donna.
“And he’s so clever. Nick was nice. I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know?”
“Which one I prefer.”
“Does it matter? Besides, there’s Duncan to think about too.” As if I’m not.
“Yes, but…”
“Don’t not see him just because of me. I had my chance. Besides, if he was ‘the one’ I’d have felt it, wouldn’t I?”
“I suppose, but…”
“No buts. You have a good time.”
“I’ll try.” And, knowing Donna, she’ll do exactly that.
By the time we finish our salads, share a jam doughnut and get back to the office, there are five tallgirlnn1 messages.
DodgeNitroSXT is set for The Romany pub (my nearest – perfect) tomorrow night. SoftieBear suggests we meet at Abington Park Saturday afternoon while CloudSpirit (Callum) opts for a Sunday mid-morning walk at Delapre Park, and JakeT says there’s a pub quiz at The Four Pears at Little Houghton on Tuesday (a change from their usual Sunday, apparently). EddieG is flamboyant to say the least. He, Edgar, says he would be delighted to meet with me and that I’m his first message, so he can’t wait.
That just leaves QuincyJ and TechnoGeek, and I will TechnoGeek to reply. He’s not logged on for ‘over a week’, so I’m not hopeful, but QuincyJ checked his messages in the last twenty-four hours, so perhaps he’ll come back with something. From his profile name, it’s a toss-up between him being my favourite 1970s pathologist or the Motown guru, but of course I know he’s neither.
The Serial Dater Page 19
