by Lindsey Kelk
He giggled, the mask bobbing back and forth on his narrow shoulders. ‘They aren’t bad, they’re iconic.’
‘I’m going to level with you,’ I said, inching my bag a little higher up on my shoulder. I really didn’t want it to touch anything in the room. ‘The last game I played was Snake and it was on a Nokia phone that belonged to my dad.’
The guinea pig looked entirely unmoved.
‘But it doesn’t matter, a lot of our listeners won’t know that much about the games either. So we’ll know that if I get it, they’ll get it too.’
‘But why would someone listen to a podcast if they don’t know anything about the thing they’re talking about?’ Snazz asked.
‘I really don’t know but they do,’ I replied. ‘Why did I spend two hours watching nineteen-year-old makeup artists bitch each other out on YouTube last night? I barely know how to put on mascara. People are weird these days.’
Said the woman to the guinea pig.
‘Can I have my mates on the show?’
‘Why don’t you send me a list of people you think would be good co-hosts and I’ll get in touch with them,’ I replied. ‘But we do need to do it fairly quickly if we’re going to record the first episode at WESC.’
I heard what I took to be an agreeable sniff from underneath the mask before Snazz turned his chair around, picked up another controller identical to the one on the bed and fired all three screens back into life.
‘’K,’ he said, his back to me once again. ‘I’ll ask ’Ronica.’
A clammy sense of dread washed over me as I watched him barrel headfirst into battle, eviscerating an alien horde with nauseating realism. My career, my livelihood, depended on this rodent-headed child. He didn’t need the money, he could drop out at any time. If he quit tomorrow, he’d still have enough cash to keep himself in guinea pig heads until the day he died. Maybe I should start a gaming channel. Computer games for the woman that knew nothing. I was clever, I’d taught myself how to program Mum’s Sky+, how hard could it be? And then I felt myself throw up in my mouth as Snazz sliced open a screaming lizard man, green guts spraying onto the screen.
Maybe not.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
‘Anyway, it was completely insane,’ I told Patrick as I tore back up the motorway. ‘Wait until I tell you about the fish tank—’
‘I can’t talk right now but I can’t wait to hear about it,’ he replied, his voice crackling over the Bluetooth speaker in the car. ‘When am I seeing you?’
My eyebrows knitted together as I mentally checked the date. ‘Aren’t we having dinner tonight?’
‘Oh shit, we are,’ Patrick groaned. ‘I’m so sorry, I just this second said I’d meet my publisher. He wants to go over the chapters I was working on last week. Can I meet you after?’
‘After’s OK,’ I said, annoyed at myself for feeling so disappointed. The man had to work, didn’t he?
‘Could be quite late,’ he said, his warning softened with regret. ‘But you could stay at mine? Late supper with an early breakfast on the side? I am sorry, I clean forgot. This book is taking up so much brain space.’
‘It’s fine,’ I assured him, all the air going out of my day. ‘Don’t worry. And honestly, I don’t mind late. Maybe I can meet Sumi after work.’
‘Yes, why don’t you do that.’ He sounded relieved. ‘Just don’t tell her I fucked up again or she’ll be round to mine with the cheese grater.’
I laughed as we said goodbye and I put my foot down, undertaking an elderly lady in a Ford Fusion with a bumper sticker that read ‘Hot Rod Granny’. He was busy, it was all reasonable. So why was I so annoyed?
‘How did it go?’ Ted asked, jumping on me the moment I got back to the office. ‘Is everything OK? Did he agree on guests? Have you got anything I can give to the marketing team?’
‘It was good,’ I started. ‘I think—’
‘Great, choice, you write up the notes and send round a memo. We need to get things moving, Ros, moving and shaking and rocking and rolling.’
I was not the sort of person who would assume a co-worker was taking cocaine at work but if I were … Ted walked away, snapping his fingers and repeating the words ‘Snazzlechuff Says’ to himself over and over and over.
Grabbing a Diet Coke from the fridge, I looked back at the sunny, potentially class-A-riddled office and opened the door to the staircase. Time to return to where I belonged.
It was only Wednesday but I’d already spent every night since Sunday in my shed, all on my own. By the time I got home from work, I didn’t have the energy to talk to my parents and there was always the threat of a repeated sushi incident. Lucy wasn’t feeling up to coming into town and I wasn’t feeling up to crossing the length and breadth of London when I knew Creepy Dave would be there as well. Sumi kept cancelling on me and Patrick had his meeting. Which left my oldest, greatest, would-never-let-me-down, best-in-the-world friend, Adrian.
‘Can’t,’ he said from the screen of my phone. ‘Sorry.’
‘You’re sure?’ I pleaded, batting my eyelashes and puckering up my lips as Adrian reared away in mock disgust.
‘If I wasn’t sure already, that mug has made my mind up for me,’ he replied, pretending to yak over his shoulder. ‘I’ve told you, I can’t. I’ve got a big date.’
‘You’ve always got a big date,’ I said, deep in the bowels of PodPad. ‘Cancel it and come to dinner with me.’
‘Afraid I really can’t.’
I stared at his face in the giant screen, his big green eyes staring right back at me.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked, crushing a stack of Pringles that would have to pass for lunch into my mouth. ‘Since when are you such a smitten kitten?’
‘Since I met Eva,’ he replied.
‘And who’s Eva?’
‘The CrossFit instructor,’ he answered, proud as Punch. ‘You’ll meet her at la bebe fiesta on Saturday, she’s amazing.’
It was almost enough to make me fall off my chair.
‘You’re bringing a girl to a friend thing? A girl you actually like?’
‘A girl I really like,’ he confirmed, eyes as big as saucers. He kicked his legs up behind him, swinging them back and forth like a teenage girl in the movies. ‘I asked her for coffee after class on Sunday morning, we went out for dinner on Monday, we were texting all last night and tonight we’re going for dinner. If things carry on this way, we’ll be engaged by the weekend.’
‘Adrian, this is amazing and terrifying and I can’t see out a window down here so could you be a doll and look outside and check for flying pigs?’ I asked, still in a state of shock.
‘Ros, she’s so beautiful,’ he sighed, eyes skyward. ‘But it’s not just that. She’s so funny. She’s the funniest woman I’ve ever met. And she’s got amazing stories about everything, I could listen to her talk about anything for hours.’
‘Wow.’
I didn’t know what else to say. I’d known Adrian for my entire life and I’d never, ever known him talk this way about a woman. Or a man. Or any living thing. ‘So, what I’m hearing is, the sex is amazing?’
‘Maybe tonight.’ I watched him pick at a loose thread on what looked like a fresh-out-the-packet duvet cover. ‘Or do you think I should wait longer? It’s too soon, isn’t it? I don’t want to rush things.’
‘Adrian Anderson,’ I said with a gasp. ‘You are blushing. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in love.’
‘Whatever, who cares, so what?’ he mumbled, his face beetroot red. ‘What’s going on with you? How come you want to hang out with me when you could be balls deep in Patrick Parker?’
‘Wouldn’t he be balls deep in … never mind,’ I replied, frowning at the sex maths. ‘He’s got a meeting with his publisher. I’m seeing him later.’
‘What about Lucy?’ Ade suggested.
‘She said something about dinner with the antenatal girls tonight,’ I replied, screwing up my face.
‘Sumi?’
>
‘She said she’d try but she’d probably be working late.’
‘She’s cancelled on me loads lately, work must be chaos,’ he acknowledged with a nod. ‘Question. Do you think roller skating would be a good date? Show Eva I’m fun?’
‘Oh my god, you really are in love,’ I laughed happily. ‘Yes to skating. It’ll be lovely, you’ll hold hands, very romantic.’
‘What if she falls over and breaks her leg?’ he asked, face crumpling with concern.
‘You’ll take her to the hospital and have a great story to tell the grandkids.’
‘Christ,’ he sighed. ‘Is this how it is? All the time?’
I smiled at my friend through the screen. ‘Is what how it is?’
‘This,’ he rolled onto his back and held the phone over his face. ‘I’m desperate to see her, can’t stop thinking about her, can’t stop talking about her. And so far I’ve gone through my entire wardrobe five times and can’t find a single thing to wear tonight.’
‘And the worst part is that feeling that it could all go to shit any second,’ I agreed. ‘Like, oh my god, don’t let me say the wrong thing and fuck this up. One minute you’re high as a kite and the next you’re ready to chuck yourself under a bus.’
‘Thanks for the heads up,’ Adrian replied, his voice weighted with sarcasm. ‘I haven’t got to that part yet.’
I cleared my throat and put on a strangled smile.
‘Maybe you’ll be lucky and that’s just a girl thing,’ I suggested. ‘You don’t run through conversations after you hang out and worry about what you said?’
‘Can confirm, I do not,’ he said. ‘Perhaps that’s just a Ros thing.’
‘I’d better go,’ I said, suddenly desperate to get off the phone. ‘I’ve got to call a load of children and ask their mums if they can come and play on my podcast.’
‘Sweet,’ Adrian said as I heard a keyboard clacking in the background. ‘Is it too much if I send her flowers at work today? It’s too much, isn’t it?’
‘Send them tomorrow,’ I instructed gently. ‘You’re already seeing her tonight. Flowers in the morning will be a nice surprise.’
‘See her tonight, send flowers tomorrow,’ he repeated, closing his laptop. ‘Thanks, mate. I’m so glad you’re back. Sumi would have laughed in my face.’
‘And I didn’t?’ I replied, waving goodbye.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
At seven o’clock on the dot, I walked into Good Luck Bar to meet Sumi for dinner, only there was no Sumi waiting for me. Instead, I found a smiling John waving from the bar and beckoning me over to an empty high stool right in front of him.
Shrugging my arms out of my backpack straps, I trotted over to the only space left, straightening the sleeves of my T-shirt and giving myself a surreptitious sniff as I went.
‘Evening,’ John said, placing a large wine glass in front of me and filling it with Sauvignon Blanc.
‘Evening,’ I replied, gratefully lifting the glass in his direction and taking a sip. I had made a deal with myself to stop drinking in the week but it wouldn’t do to be rude.
‘Good news,’ he said as he put the bottle back in the fridge. ‘That’s on the house. Bad news, Sumi isn’t coming.’
‘What do you mean she isn’t coming?’ I asked, immediately checking my phone.
‘She’s caught up but she didn’t want to tell you because she didn’t want you to spend the evening sat on your own in that shed,’ he recited from his own phone before slinging it back by the till. The cracked screen made my heart hurt. So little regard for the precious. ‘I thought it was a bit rude to refer to your place as a shed but you know her better than I do.’
Yes, I do, I thought to myself. I picked up the wine.
‘No, she’s being literal. I’m living in a converted shed at the bottom of my parents’ garden.’
He crossed his arms and leaned against the back of the bar.
‘Is it a nice shed?’
‘It is not.’
‘Then why are you living there?’
I looked at him over the rim of the wine glass. This drink was not free. This drink had a very high price tag indeed.
‘Haven’t got anywhere else to go,’ I said. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, London is really expensive. It’s going to take a while to find somewhere I can afford.’
‘There’ll be an article about you in the Daily Mail next week,’ he said with a disbelieving chuckle. ‘London Rents So High, This Professional Has to Live in a Shed.’
He pushed his black hair back from his eyes, revealing a strong, straight hairline. His forehead was paler than the rest of him, he must have been out in the sun since Saturday. The first time I’d seen him, I thought his nose was too big for his face but as soon as he started talking, it made perfect sense. Slightly larger than average, a little bit crooked, but perfectly at home with the rest of his generous features.
Gazing down at the glass of wine on the counter, I sighed. I was exhausted. If Sumi wasn’t coming, could I really stick it out all evening on my own until Patrick showed up?
‘I’m getting the feeling you’ve had a not-brilliant day,’ John said. ‘Trouble at the mill?’
I breathed in through my nose and pulled a hair elastic off my wrist, twisting my hair up into a topknot.
‘You could say that,’ I confirmed as a large man placed himself on the newly vacant stool at the side of me. My eyes widened in momentary panic as I realized he was a white man with dreadlocks. My forever nemeses. ‘How much do you know about e-sports?’
‘I’ve dabbled in Twitch from time to time,’ John replied with a shaky hand gesture. ‘But my knowledge is limited to Halo, StarCraft, a little bit of Fortnite. But I’m far from an expert.’
‘You know more than I do, I might have to hire you as a consultant,’ I admitted, more than a little bit surprised. I inched my stool to the right away from my neighbour who was fumbling around under the bar near my knees.
‘S’there a plug socket?’ he grunted at John.
‘Sorry, no,’ he replied. ‘All the plugs are over by the sofas. If it’s your phone you need, I can plug it in behind the bar?’
The man huffed in response before heaving a huge beige plastic case onto the bar top. My tiny bowl of snack mix jumped an inch off the counter in surprise. I glanced over at John and raised my glass to my lips, quietly watching. What on earth was inside?
‘Can I get some tap water?’ he asked.
‘Sure,’ John replied, reaching for a glass. ‘You want a menu?’
‘No.’
Aware that I was staring, I shifted my attention to our reflections in the mirrored wall behind John. It was a weird shape for a laptop bag and altogether too beige to be from this decade. Unless it was something from the last Yeezy collection and I was just terribly out of it. I knew Kanye loved his neutrals.
‘How come you’re worrying yourself about gaming?’
Somehow, John managed to tear his eyes away from the man and turn his attention back to me.
‘Um, I’m producing a podcast for a gamer,’ I said, too distracted to get into it. What was in the case? ‘Not that exciting.’
‘Have to admit, it took me a while to get into them but now I’m obsessed with podcasts,’ John said, resting his elbow on the bar and cupping his chin in his hand. ‘I can’t run without one now.’
I quirked an eyebrow.
‘You run?’
‘I run,’ he confirmed with a grin. ‘But yeah, love podcasts. I started with that one about that man who got done for killing his girlfriend, even though he said he didn’t? God, that was fascinating.’
I forced a smile and nodded. A hundred years from now, historians were going to look at all these murder podcasts and wonder what the hell were they thinking? Nothing like dumping a metric ton of hints on how to get away with murder into the public domain. You know who found that kind of stuff useful? Murderers.
‘But I can’t listen to all that gory stuff now, the world�
��s too depressing as it is.’
‘I’m sorry but can you please keep it down?’ said Mr White Man with Dreadlocks. ‘Some of us are trying to work.’
And then he unclipped the sides of his big beige case to reveal a giant, electric typewriter. With lips pursed tightly together, I looked back at John, wide-eyed. His hand was clamped firmly over his mouth as he tried to look apologetic.
‘Very sorry, sir,’ he said before taking the wine he had poured me out of the fridge, grabbing a second glass and nodding over to a small table with two chairs in the corner of the bar. A closer inspection showed a small triangular sign that declared it reserved.
‘You’re sitting at a reserved table?’ I gasped, following him, wine in hand.
‘It was reserved for seven o’clock,’ he replied as he topped off my glass before filling his own. ‘Either it’s a no-show or they sat somewhere else.’
‘And you’re sure you’re not too busy?’ I asked. I really didn’t want to be on my own.
John nodded. ‘It’s fine. Camille is technically in charge tonight anyway and we’re not that busy.’
I looked over my shoulder at the crowded room. Seemed pretty busy to me.
‘Do you get that in here a lot?’ I asked, eyes lingering on my former neighbour. He had spread out happily, the lid of his typewriter case shoving my bar mix out of his way. Gah, the bar mix. Gone but not forgotten.
‘Rude people?’ John replied, folding himself into the velvet-upholstered chair. ‘Morning, noon and night.’
‘Electric typewriters straight out of the eighties,’ I clarified. ‘And rude people. I can’t believe he’s going to sit there and not order something.’
‘Give him three minutes and he’ll start eating your leftover nuts as well.’
He smiled, a quick, fleeting smile that still had turned-down edges, even when it lit up his light brown eyes. Where everything about Patrick was easy, John seemed at odds with himself. He was too tall, too angular, afraid to smile, sharp and spiky. Patrick was smooth and languid and sure of himself, so much more relaxed. Both of them put me on edge in different ways.