by James Bailey
“Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s too early to say, but there are only two things that I don’t like so far.”
“The fact he’s still wearing that festival wristband from two years ago?”
“Not that, actually. The first thing is our names being the same.”
“You’ve just realized how confusing that is?”
“Yes, I never know who people are talking to when they call our names. I’ve almost stopped responding to my own name now because I think they’re talking to him.”
“Shall we start calling you Jakey to differentiate?”
“No, thanks!”
“Big Jake?”
“I’m OK.” He laughs. “Anyway, the other, bigger issue is the vegan thing. I’m sorry but I just can’t. I am so fed up of having to eat lentils all the time. I like proper sausages, what can I say?” He grins.
“I think if these are your only problems then you’re doing very well.” I smile.
As we take a sip of our drinks, a couple of attractive girls walk past our table and catch sight of Jeremy.
“OH MY GOD, that’s so cute. What’s his name?” “Can we hold him?” they ask simultaneously.
“Yes, feel free, his name is Jeremy. Be careful, he’s quite heavy.” I lift Jeremy out of the pram and into the brunette’s hands.
“He’s so cute.”
“Like his owner!” The blonde girl giggles.
“I didn’t realize rabbits were such babe magnets,” Jake whispers to me as the two take turns to cuddle Jeremy.
“Nor did I. It didn’t work with Jade. She never even requested weekend visitation rights.”
“Why don’t you ask one of them out? Or both! They’re totally into you.”
I flip the coin. It’s tails.
I shake my head.
“Oh, go on, ignore what the coin says. This could be the start of a beautiful romance, and Jeremy would have a mum.”
I can’t say I’m not tempted as the blonde girl smiles at me. She is attractive. Her vintage crop top reveals a large sprawling tattoo that stretches around her back. Her forearm is punctured with a microdermal piercing. I don’t know what the point of this is, but I know it means she is too cool for me.
“No, I can’t go against the coin,” I say reluctantly.
“If you ever want someone to look after him then let us know. We only live around the corner.” She smiles and waves me and Jeremy goodbye.
“If things don’t work out with Jake, maybe I’ll have to get a rabbit too,” Jake says, looking on.
As the girls head out of the pub, they’re replaced by the three usual suspects—the Quizlamic Extremists. They don’t acknowledge us, which feels worse than if they goaded us as they walked past. Jessie follows them in, making a face behind their backs. She’s dressed in a garish yellow ski jacket.
“Bit cold?”
“No, I’m OK, thanks. How are you two?” she asks as she takes a seat, deciding to leave her jacket on, and putting Jake’s coat on over the top too.
“Yeah I’m g—”
“Actually, now you’re both here”—Jake interrupts me in typically exaggerated and dramatic fashion—“I’ve got some news to tell you.”
“You’ve won the lottery?”
“You’ve quit your job?”
“Your hotel is now the thirty-fourth best in the city?”
“Nope, nope, nope. We’re going to be on TV!”
“What do you mean? Why are we going to be on TV? All of us?”
“A few months ago I signed us up to go on a new quiz show that they’re filming in Bristol and this morning I got a phone call to say they want us to be on! So exciting, right?”
“You signed us up for a TV quiz show? But we can’t even win this quiz!”
“What were you thinking?”
“Well, maybe we will win when we don’t have to face the Extremists.”
“Or maybe we’ll completely humiliate ourselves in front of millions?”
“Don’t worry, it’s only daytime TV, so no one will actually be watching. It will just be a load of unemployed and retired people sleeping through it. Actually, Josh, you should be good, as that’s all you do all day, watch these kind of shows.”
“Yeah, yeah, very funny. Actually, I don’t just watch daytime TV, I’ll have you know. I spend most of my days doing stupid job applications. It’s just not that easy to get a job.”
“Well, there you go, you could do with the prize money, then.”
This is true. My hotel payoff money is nearly all gone, not helped by having to buy rabbit food constantly and spending far too much on drinks at Jessie’s party. I can’t bring myself to pawn the engagement ring, not yet. And worse, it seems that I’m never going to get a job. Having applied for literally hundreds of vacancies, yesterday I mucked up an automated video interview by not realizing the video had started to record.
“Don’t we have to audition or something first?” I ask.
“I’ve already done that too. One of their researchers gave me a call, and I had three minutes to answer as many questions as possible. They were quite easy. And then I just had to send photos of us all and tell them a bit about us.”
“And get our permission, presumably? Thanks for checking first that we actually want to do it!” I say.
“Well, I knew you wouldn’t have a problem with it and I didn’t want to get you excited before it was confirmed.”
“I’m not sure I want to go on TV,” Jessie says apologetically.
“What do you mean? Come on, it will be fun!”
“When is it?”
“Not for a few months, so we have time to revise. Are you guys in?”
I fling the coin into the air. The movement has become second nature.
“I suppose so,” I agree begrudgingly.
“Great, and Jessie?” Jake asks as we both look expectantly at her.
“Oh, go on, then, if I have to. Although I’ve got to survive the marathon first before I can think about this quiz, anyway.”
These marathon runners love to keep bringing it up.
“You haven’t actually got long to go now—how are you feeling about it?”
“I think I’m feeling about as positive as I can be at this point. Although I haven’t told you guys yet that I’m going to run it dressed as a unicorn.”
“I think you’ve both lost the plot,” I say, baffled. “Isn’t running the marathon hard enough without being dressed as a unicorn?”
“It’s just I need to raise some more sponsorship, so I’m hoping fancy dress might help, and, well, you know I love unicorns so it seemed the best choice.”
“Have you got your outfit yet?”
“Yes, I bought it online. Her name is Ruby.”
“Ruby? You’ve named your unicorn outfit? I don’t think I can appear on TV with you two!” I say, as I rock Jeremy back and forth in his pram.
11
I’ve never been on a blind date before but I decide that I need to make a good first impression. As I step off the bus, checking my appearance using my iPhone camera, I opt to buy some flowers.
The florist is closed, so I pop into Sainsbury’s instead. I have no idea about flowers, or what Olivia England is going to like, not helped by the fact Jake has remained tight-lipped and kept her an enigma. I debate about which ones to buy before using the coin to flip between the multicolored gerberas and the pink tulips. The tulips win. As I pay at one of the automated checkouts I try to remove the labels from the cellophane to make them look slightly more upmarket.
I arrive at the restaurant early. This branch of the high-street pizza chain is located inside an old lead works building, but its interior is as generic as every other one up and down the country. Dozens of dark mahogany wooden tables matched with beige chairs are already laid out with cutlery and wineglasses. It’s immediately clear that I didn’t need to reserve a table; the large venue, which probably seats a couple of hundred people, is all but empty this evening. One solitary thir
ty-something man, sitting at the far side perusing the menu, looks up at me, seemingly pleased that he will not be completely alone anymore.
A smiley waitress comes over to greet me.
“Hey, how are you doing this evening? Table for one?”
“No, two actually,” I say almost defensively. “I did reserve a table . . .”
Before I can finish, she is leading me to the far side of the restaurant, grabbing two menus en route. Despite having the entire restaurant available, she seats me right next to the man, who has to move his backpack, and gives me an awkward nod as I sit down on the leather seating that stretches the length of the restaurant wall.
We’re literally sharing the same seat. What is wrong with every other chair?
“Would you like some drinks to go on with?”
“Just some tap water, please . . . and also I have this voucher, do you want me to show it to you now?” I retrieve and unfold a voucher from my coat pocket and show it to the waitress.
I wasn’t hesitant about this date because of Jade, or how badly my Tinder date went, but more so as I have no money. Given I blew my savings listening to an old man loudly orgasming down the phone, I’m stuck with £17 in my account and an engagement ring worth hundreds sitting in my drawer. Fortunately, I spotted this restaurant is running an offer on 2-4-1 meals if it’s your birthday, and I figured if the Queen is allowed two birthdays a year, then why shouldn’t I?
I worry the waitress is going to ask for some proof but she doesn’t even look at the voucher as she takes it.
“Thank you, I’ll just go and scan it into the till.”
I’m glad that Olivia isn’t here yet. She doesn’t need to know I will only be paying half the price for our meal.
I pull out my phone and open Facebook to double-check what she looks like. Jake refused to show me any photos, but I managed to find her profile via his. The problem is, the only photo I can see is a group picture from three years ago. I carry on flicking through Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter to kill time before refreshing each one again in case there are any new posts.
Fortunately, it’s not long before Olivia arrives. She utters something to the waitress and starts walking toward me. It’s quite a long walk, giving me plenty of time to decide how I’m going to greet her. I smile enthusiastically, and then realize I can’t keep smiling for the entire thirty seconds it’s going to take her to reach the table in heels. I then wave, really awkwardly, before finally deciding to stand up.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“That’s OK, Lisa, I haven’t ordered yet,” the man next to me says as she takes a seat at his table.
No. Please no.
She smiles at me sympathetically.
As I sit back down and hold my head in my hands, I hear another woman’s voice.
“Josh?”
“Yes, oh, hi, is it Olivia?”
I smash my knees on the underside of the table as I stand up again to greet her.
I’m having an absolute nightmare.
“How are you doing? You look very nice,” I say, trying to mask the pain.
She genuinely does look very nice. She may not be Miss England, but she is certainly attractive. Jake has done well. She has long blonde hair cascading down past her shoulders and green eyes, albeit she also has enough teeth for three people. She presumably bankrupted the tooth fairy as a child.
“Thank you, you look really good too—I like your shirt,” she says kindly.
Another choice made by the coin, given I was stuck about which shirt to wear.
“Thanks very much. Oh, I got you these.” I nearly forget to hand over the flowers.
“They’re lovely. You know you didn’t have to, but that’s very sweet,” she says taking them.
The coin is on a roll.
“So, how has your birthday been so far?” the waitress asks as she delivers our jug of water.
“Yes, it’s been great, thanks,” I respond immediately, hoping Olivia won’t ask how the waitress knows it’s my birthday.
“Did you do anything fun?” the waitress continues, in a thick Spanish accent.
What did I do for my birthday? Crap.
I am sure at least fifteen minutes have now passed since she asked the question. I am starting to sweat profusely. My blue shirt, which Olivia just complimented, is quickly changing color. Pools of wet patches forming under my armpits are cascading into a sea of sweat. I have to wipe my forehead with my napkin.
Just say something, Josh. Anything.
“I went to Laser Quest,” I stutter, to the surprise of the waitress, Olivia, and, most of all, myself.
Where did that come from? What twenty-eight-year-old goes to Laser Quest for their birthday? Does Laser Quest still exist?
“Ah, cool, did you get any nice presents?”
What is with all the questions? Is she going to start waterboarding me next?
I suddenly realize what she’s doing. She is on to me. She can see straight through my story. She has probably alerted the authorities that I’ve defrauded the restaurant. I will be frogmarched out and arrested. If I can’t deal with these questions, I have no chance on the stand opposite a crackpot barrister. I’ll be admitting to all sorts of charges. I’ll be locked up for years. I am about to faint.
“I got a yo-yo.”
A yo-yo? What on earth am I saying?
She looks confused. I hope it is because yo-yos aren’t big in Europe and she presumes a yo-yo is a new games console or the name of a new mobile phone, which would make far more sense for a twenty-eight-year-old to have received. Why didn’t I say that? What is wrong with me?
“OK, well, happy birthday from me!” She’s trying to be friendly, but I am not falling for it. I have seen enough reruns of police dramas to know this routine. Good cop, bad cop. She isn’t tricking me that easily.
“Let me know when you’re ready to order.” She leaves us, presumably going to ponder her next move.
Just when I think I am about to get a break from the inquisition, Olivia starts.
“Jake didn’t mention it was your birthday. I am very flattered that you’ve decided to spend it with me.”
“Oh, no, it’s . . . Yes, don’t worry, it’s my pleasure,” I say clumsily.
I realize I have just told my attractive, sophisticated date that I spent the day running around in a dark room pretending to shoot people. I’ve got no chance with her.
“I will have to give you a present later.” She smiles, before realizing how flirtatious it sounds and then starts to giggle. I start laughing too.
I knew following the coin’s decisions would work out well.
“So, what do you fancy, then?” I try and divert the conversation away from my fake birthday. The coin has already pre-picked my choice, but given my interrogation from the waitress, I feel too nervous to eat anything.
“It’s on me, by the way. I’d love to treat you, it’s not every day I get to take such a beautiful woman out for dinner.”
That actually sounded all right, didn’t it?
“Oh, no, that’s very kind but . . .”
“I insist. It’s . . . well, it’s my birthday, so you can’t argue with me.”
“Well, that’s very nice of you, thank you.” She smiles.
“What would you like?”
“I quite like the look of the sea bass.”
Hang on. At that price, I’m not surprised you like it.
“What about the spaghetti? I’ve had that before here, and it was really good,” I say, trying to convince her to pick a cheaper option. Even at 2-4-1, I can’t afford the sea bass.
“Umm, OK, yes, that sounds nice,” she says, trusting my recommendation without reading the description. “It’s very quiet, isn’t it,” she says, looking around the deserted restaurant.
“You see, I decided to hire the whole restaurant just for you,” I joke. I’m going to make a comment about the couple next to us not getting the memo until I realize they can hear me. Even the chef ca
n hear every word we say. Couldn’t they put some music on?
As the waitress approaches again, I worry she is going to grab the dangling light bulb, shine it into my face, and launch into the next round of interrogation.
“Have you both decided yet?”
“Yes, I think we’re going to have one margherita pizza, and one spaghetti,” I say, pointing to the menu.
“Great. Any drinks?”
“I think we’ll be fine with the tap water,” I say before Olivia can order anything else.
“OK, that will be with you soon. If there’s anything else you need, just give me a shout.”
“Thank you very much,” Olivia says to the waitress enthusiastically.
“So how do you know Jake?” I ask.
“I actually know Jake’s boyfriend, Jake.”
“It’s confusing, isn’t it?”
“Yes, just a little.” She giggles. “So I’ve been friends with him since school and got to know your Jake recently. You worked with him, right?”
“Yep, we used to work together in the hotel.”
“But not anymore?”
“Um, no . . . I’m in between things at the moment, really. What about you?”
“I’m doing my PhD . . .”
I’m too distracted by the couple next to us to properly listen. They are passionately making out across their table, inches away from us, taking the Lady and the Tramp spaghetti routine to new levels.
“So . . . Jake was telling me you broke up with your ex quite recently?” I lean over to ask, trying to divert my eyes from their spaghetti antics.
Why did I ask her that?
I am not sure that both suffering bad breakups means you’re destined for each other, and it doesn’t necessarily make great conversation either. It’s not the most optimistic subject to discuss over dinner on a first date.
“Yes, I found out that Hamish was cheating on me.” She says it in an exasperated fashion, as if she still can’t believe it. “He was a lecturer, very intelligent, really good-looking, much older than me, and we’d been together since I was nineteen. Then we went for dinner at my best friend’s new house. It was the first time we’d been to her house, and he struggled to explain to me how his phone automatically connected to her home Wi-Fi.”
