by Anna Bell
I knock on the door and he answers with a smile on his face.
‘Nice digs,’ I say.
He shrugs. ‘I’ve lived in worse. Come on in.’
I follow him down a long corridor; I peek into the lounge as we pass with its wooden floors and duck egg walls. It’s immaculately tidy and completely unlike any shared house that I’ve ever visited.
‘Who do you live with, professional cleaners?’
‘Very funny. We’re just not slobs. Which is handy as women hate coming back to messy houses.’
Who says men can’t multitask? Luke never only thinks with his brain.
We walk into the large, square kitchen and I spot a big box on the table; I still can’t believe it represents the start of what could be a paid career. Ben would be so proud.
‘Are you OK?’ he says, looking over at the box.
‘It’s just such a big thing, isn’t it? Not only are we getting sent free clothes, we’re getting paid for it too,’ I say, turning my attention back to the box, ‘and Macchiato is such an up-andcoming designer.’
‘Macchiato is a type of coffee. Mak-eay-to is the designer.’
I fail to hear the difference in his pronunciation but nod along anyway.
‘Either way, I’m excited to see what’s inside. Are we still going to do a big unboxing video?’
‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘I’ve got the tripod out so we can both do it. Do you want a drink or anything before we start? I got you in some of that cloudy lemonade you like.’
‘That’s really thoughtful of you,’ I say, taken aback.
He shrugs, and for a moment I wonder if I’ve got him wrong.
‘It’s habit, I’ve found that it pays to remember the little details, makes a woman feel special.’
I close my eyes and take a deep breath; I haven’t got him wrong after all.
‘I’m not thirsty. Shall we just do it?’
He goes over and screws his phone to the tripod and comes back with a little remote control.
‘Right, are you ready? Have you ever done an unboxing video before?’
‘No, have you?’
‘No,’ he says.
‘Right, well we just open it, don’t we?’
‘Yeah,’ he says, nodding. ‘Do you think we need a knife?’
‘Perhaps. I guess if we’d thought ahead, we could have had one of those special letter openers that YouTubers have.’
‘The one that says, look at me I get sent so much free stuff that I need an opener.’
‘That’s the one.’
He leans over to the kitchen drawer. ‘We’ll use a steak knife.’
‘Steak knife. Fancy.’
He gives me a look and I shut my mouth.
‘Ready?’
‘Yep.’
‘And we’re rolling,’ he says and I bite my lip to stop laughing. ‘Here we are in my kitchen. That’s right, ladies and gents, This_Izzy_Loves is in my kitchen, it’s the morning after the night before, wink.’
‘OK, start again. What was that about, wink?’
‘People want to know if we’ve… you know.’
‘No one wants to know that.’
‘Come on, of course they do. Look how popular Love Island is.’
‘Well, we’re not in Casa Amor,’ I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
‘Fine, no mentioning our sex life. Take two.’
He presses the button again and this time I take the reins.
‘I have just literally arrived at Luke’s house,’ I say, giving him a definite stare, ‘and we’ve been sent this very exciting box.’
‘And we’re really looking forward to opening it, aren’t we, Baby Girl?’ he says, slipping his arm around me.
‘We certainly are, Snookums.’
He throws me a look and I flutter my eyelashes. Two can play at the ridiculous pet names game.
‘Let’s open it, shall we?’ I say.
He pauses and smiles at the camera before taking the steak knife and slicing through the packaging.
‘Ooh, look at the beautiful tissue paper and there’s a note. “Dear Izzy and Luke, can’t wait to see you wearing our designs. Lots and love from M x.”’
‘And for those of you wondering who M is – it’s Mak-eay-to,’ he says with another wink.
‘OK,’ I say, rustling through the tissue and finding the items and whipping them out: ‘Ta-d-ahhh – oooh.’
‘What the bloody hell is that?’ says Luke.
‘I have no idea.’
I hold the scratchy feeling silver fabric out and try and work out which way round it goes. Eventually I find what looks like the top.
‘What the… are they dungarees?’ I say.
I’m genuinely puzzled having never seen anything quite like it before.
‘Shit, we’re still recording,’ says Luke fumbling for the remote control.
‘Well, we can’t use that, our faces weren’t exactly complimentary.’
‘We’ll have to film it again and try and look happy about it. Do you think this is your piece or mine?’
‘Hopefully yours,’ I say, throwing it at him and pulling the next one out of the box. ‘I think there’s been a mistake; they seem to have sent that one twice.’
‘They can’t have made two of those things, could they? It’s hideous.’
He grabs it out of my hands and examines it. ‘This one is smaller. Oh no, it can’t be.’
‘What?’
‘I think they’re his and hers.’
My jaw drops open.
‘Didn’t it say something in the email about it – that they were going to be gender fluid or gender neutral or something,’ he says.
‘We’ve got to send them back, I’ll look like a sack of potatoes.’
I furiously examine it, hoping to find at least one redeeming feature.
‘What about me? At least you could try and make it look sexy.’
‘Since when have dungarees been sexy?’
‘If you wore it without a top…’
‘If I wore it without a top it would violate YouTube rules.’
‘We could always try. Aren’t YouTube more liberal with nudity these days?’
He looks so hopeful.
‘Is there anything else in the box, you know like a bin liner to put over our heads?’
Luke fishes round the box and pulls out two bits of mesh.
‘Oh,’ he says, his brow furrowed. ‘I think this buttons onto the dungaree straps. There you go, happy now? Your modesty will be all covered up.’
‘Bloody hell, I think I’d rather no top,’ I say, sighing.
A smile forms on Luke’s face.
‘I didn’t mean that literally,’ I say.
‘I didn’t even say anything,’ says Luke.
‘Yeah, but you were thinking it, weren’t you?’
He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t need to.
‘So, are you ready to unbox it again?’ he asks.
‘Can’t we say it got lost in the post?’ I say, wincing.
‘And risk them sending anything worse?’
‘You’re right. I’ll put them back. Have you got any tape for the box?’
Luke digs around in a kitchen drawer whilst I wrap the items back up, hoping they miraculously transform into something better when I pull them out again.
‘Got some,’ he says, waving a roll of tape. ‘Do you think we should write a script?’
‘I don’t know, won’t that come out a little staged?’
‘I guess we can’t all be natural actors like myself,’ he says.
‘No, Channing, we’re not all double threats.’
‘I like to think I’m a triple threat,’ he says with a knowing look. ‘I’m extremely talented in the—’
‘Yes, yes, I walked into that one. Let’s just be spontaneous, OK?’
‘Fine, more smiles than shock.’
He presses the button on the remote control.
‘Here we are with an unboxing video. I can hard
ly believe that Mak-eay-to have sent us some outfits,’ says Luke.
‘Yay,’ I say, doing jazz hands.
‘What the hell are those?’ he says, turning to me with a look of disgust.
I look down at my hands. ‘I’m trying to show enthusiasm.’
‘It seems sarcastic.’
‘Perhaps I’m trying to keep the attention away from my face.’
Luke presses stop on the video.
‘OK, I’ve got it, how about we keep the original introduction and we can just re-film us opening the box. I’ll do a close up of your hands when you undo the box and then it’ll make it more seamless in the edit.’
‘That could work,’ I say, nodding.
‘You’re going to have to keep talking whilst I zoom in on the box. Just be upbeat and talk about how you can’t wait to get into it.’
‘OK,’ I say, taking a calming breath.
‘And then you can use the knife to open it. Do you think you’ll be able to do that?’
‘I think I can handle that,’ I snap as he zooms in.
He gives a thumbs up and I start to witter on about the pack age.
‘I cannot believe we get to see what’s in here. We are so blessed to have this opportunity.’
I take the knife and plunge it into the box and zip it along.
‘Good,’ says Luke. He readjusts the camera so it’s pointing at us again. ‘Let’s open it up.’
He opens the box. Both of us are reluctant to dive in.
‘You go,’ I say to him and he smiles at me.
‘Ladies first, I insist.’
I groan but one of us needs to be brave. I pull out the first pair of dungarees and hold them up to the camera – and try to conceal my gasp as I spot the massive rip down the back. I must have slashed the knife right down it.
‘Um, Luke,’ I say, interrupting his spiel about the shiny fabric.
I hold the back towards him.
‘Bloody hell, Izzy. You had one job! One!’
‘I know, I’m sorry. I guess the tape wasn’t that thick and I hadn’t wrapped the clothes up enough in the tissue.’
He points the remote control at the camera and presses the button with more force than necessary.
‘Good job we didn’t do this as a live video,’ I say, trying to lighten the mood. Luke glares at me.
‘It’s not funny, Izzy. What are we going to do?’
‘It’s fine. No one has to see it, it’s at the back. I end up pinning most of the clothes I get sent to me as they don’t fit. We’ll just photograph them from the front and no one will be any the wiser.’
‘But we have to take photos of us wearing this outside. We’re going to look ridiculous as it is, let alone with our backs hanging out.’
‘It’s only one that’s ripped.’
Luke digs in the box and pulls out the identical piece to see whose I destroyed. He audibly sighs with relief when he realises it’s mine. ‘At least you’re used to it.’
‘Yes,’ I say, gritting my teeth at his chivalry. ‘Do we need to film the rest?’
‘Yeah, we’ll put it back in the box and then we’ll go from there.’
This time we make it all the way through with an Oscar-worthy performance. We manage to pull everything out of the boxes whilst smiling, concealing the giant rip.
‘I thought we’d never finish,’ says Luke when he finally turns off the camera.
‘Me neither. Good luck with the editing.’
‘Thanks, I’m going to need it,’ he says, laughing.
‘Where on earth are we going to wear these?’ I say, pulling out the press release information from the box. ‘The new gender fluid collection is designed to transition easily from office to the bar. So on trend. So Makayto.’
‘Could you imagine wearing it to work?’ he says.
‘It is casual Friday next week.’ Last Friday of the month, always a highlight.
‘You’re not serious, I’d never live it down.’
‘Of course I’m not serious. Not with the Arctic air conditioning. Maybe in the middle of winter when I wear all my summer dresses to work.’
‘I can never tell if you’re joking or not.’
‘Of course I’m joking. The only place this would be acceptable to wear would be a spa – it looks like one of those special suits you wear to sweat yourself thin.’
‘So where are we going to wear it?’ Luke asks. ‘It’s going to look a bit weird if we only model it in the house.’
‘I know, I know. But in the press release they mention the office and the bar, so ideally we want a photo of us in both types of location.’
‘OK, what about us sitting at a desk, to make it look like an office? My roommate upstairs is a PhD student and has a desk. I’m sure we could use that.’
‘Has your other roommate got a bar in his room too?’
‘Unfortunately not.’
‘So we will have to go out into the actual world for that one?’ I say, raising an eyebrow.
‘Maybe they won’t be so bad when we put them on,’ he says, holding it up again and wincing.
‘Are you kidding me? They are going to look hideous.’
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ he says.
Five minutes later and I’m standing on the cold tiles of Luke’s bathroom trying to see what I look like from the vanity mirror mounted on the wall. At least the modesty panel seems to be keeping my boobs covered, even if it does look rubbish at the back with my bra exposed and the giant rip.
‘Well?’ shouts Luke through the door.
‘I’m not sure I can come out.’
‘Come on, it can’t look worse than mine.’
‘Wanna bet?’
I take a deep breath and unbolt the door.
I look him up and down and he does the same, before both of us burst out laughing.
‘Maybe this his and hers thing is what’s been missing from all my relationships,’ he says.
I put my hand on my hip causing the fabric to stretch, and the results are definitely not flattering.
‘Do you think there’s a filter on earth that’s going to make this look any better?’ I ask, knowing the answer already.
‘Think of the money.’
I close my eyes and do exactly that. But this isn’t just about the money for me. This is validation that I’m not wasting my time on a pipe dream. Ben believed I could do this and I feel like I’m doing it for him as well as me.
‘Six photos and a few posts on stories,’ says Luke.
‘OK.’ I need to concentrate on the big picture and what this represents. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
Chapter 17
My belly’s churning like a washing machine walking into Ted’s restaurant. I wish my belly would understand that this is categorically not a date.
I push open the door at ten to seven and a whoosh of lively chatter greets me. It’s already really busy with families and groups of people.
I try not to draw too much attention to myself standing at the front looking for Aidan, but it’s so busy that he could be here and I wouldn’t know it.
‘Can I help?’ asks the waitress.
‘I’m meeting a… friend,’ I say.
‘Oh, a friend,’ she says. ‘Gotcha. Have you booked?’
‘I think so.’
‘Great, what’s the name?’
‘Um, Aidan. Well, mine’s not, but the table might be under that. Table for two?’
She scans down her list.
‘Can’t see an Aidan. Would it be under his surname?’
‘Possibly,’ I say, looking over her shoulder and hoping he’s already sat here. ‘I don’t know it.’
‘You’re going on a date with someone and you haven’t googled them first?’ she says with a look of horror.
‘No, I haven’t, but I met him in real life when I was at the cinema.’
‘You picked up a guy at the cinema? How did you know he wasn’t a weirdo?’
‘I didn’t pick
him up, we’re just friends. And I’d sort of met him before… Shall I wait for him at the bar?’
‘Yeah, of course, sorry,’ she says, scuttling off.
I walk over to the bar and climb up onto a very tall high stool with some difficulty, and order an elderflower mocktail.
‘Hey,’ says Aidan, appearing next to me before I even take my first sip. ‘How are you?’
‘Good, good,’ I say far too enthusiastically. ‘And you?’
‘Yes, good. And you?’
‘Good…’
We seem to have forgotten the art of conversation.
‘Shall we get our table? I didn’t know what name it would be under,’ I say.
‘Great, table, yeah,’ he says, nodding. He seems to be as nervous as I am.
I manage to shimmy down off the stool and follow him over to the waitress.
‘He found you then? Doesn’t look like a weirdo,’ she says in a whisper to me as she scrutinises him. ‘What name’s the table booked under?’
‘Simmons,’ says Aidan.
‘Ah, there you go,’ says the waitress, giving me a wink. ‘You’ll be able to find him on Facebook now and properly vet him.’ My cheeks start to burn and I try to ignore the look of confusion on Aidan’s face. ‘Your table will be ready in about five or ten minutes, if you take a seat at the bar.’
She hands Aidan a pager and I look back at the high stool that’s fast becoming my new nemesis. Aidan seems to mount his in a single motion whereas I have to use the little step all the while clinging onto the bar to make sure the stool doesn’t swing away from me.
‘You OK there?’ he asks, reaching out to help me.
‘Yeah, fine,’ I say when I finally plant my bum on the seat. I pick up my drink and sip it to demonstrate.
‘You look different,’ I say, trying to work out what it is. ‘Your beard is gone.’
‘Not entirely,’ he says, rubbing at the stubble that stands in its place. ‘It got so hot in August that it had to come off, though. Now I’ll grow it again to keep me warm until winter. By the time they play It’s a Wonderful Life on TV I’ll be like a yeti.’
‘Interesting,’ I say, nodding whilst trying to picture him with a full-on big beard.