by Hannah Doyle
Relief floods through me as I laugh. ‘Pizza is a safe space, Alice. Somewhere we can express our personalities without judgement.’
‘There are so many ways to express yourself when it comes to pizza,’ she nods thoughtfully. ‘Pepperoni or salami, mozzarella or burrata, mushroom or pepper. But pineapple? That’s just plain wrong. I can’t believe I didn’t know you were a dirty pineapple pizza lover. What’s next … ham?’ She wrinkles her nose.
I nod towards the packet of ham hiding behind an empty box of pizza dough.
‘Oh my.’ She holds her hands up in horror and I love how quickly we’ve got our rapport back. After the mini-break I thought that was it but I understand that Alice has never been big into dating before. I guess she’s bound to have wobbles along the way and all I can do is be here to ride them out with her.
‘Surely you’re not going to dump me because of my pizza preferences? That would be very short-sighted of you. Besides, people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.’ I look pointedly towards her own pizza. She’s making a smiley face using two slices of salami as eyes, halved olives as the pupils and a mouth made out of sliced peppers. She’s currently adding hair and eyebrows with grated mozzarella.
Alice follows my gaze and bites her lip.
‘I’m going to call her Penelope,’ she announces.
‘I think my five-year-old nieces could make something more professional.’
‘Pipe down,’ she retorts. ‘Penelope could do with some contouring. Could you pass me the passata, please?’
We muck about contentedly, putting our pizzas in the oven and drinking our wine and just being. It feels good.
Later, we’re settled on the sofa grabbing slices of pizza when Alice gives me a devilish look.
‘You must never speak of this,’ she declares as she takes a bite of mine.
Quick as a flash, I grab my phone and snap her mid-bite.
‘Oh no you didn’t?’
‘Just a little evidence of the fact that you’re currently eating my pineapple and ham taste sensation and enjoying it.’
‘It’s really good,’ she whispers.
‘I see. Perhaps I’m owed an apology then?’
Alice bites into the crust with a raised eyebrow.
‘You did just tell me I was a disgrace to my Italian heritage,’ I point out.
‘Oh yes. Sorry about that. I bow down to your superior knowledge, Zach Moretti. Would you like a slice of Penelope?’
I look down at Alice’s own creation. ‘Do you think she’ll mind if I eat one of her eyes?’
‘Nah,’ Alice laughs. ‘She’s cool like that.’
As we flick through film options on Netflix, Alice seems genuinely thrilled to discover that my recent watches are mostly romcoms, chuckling about me being ‘too cool for school’ on the outside but a ‘giant softie’ on the inside. It’s the kind of thing that I might normally feel mortified about but to be honest, I’m just happy to know that I’ve made her smile. Her hair is loose again tonight and she keeps absent-mindedly pushing it behind her shoulders when we talk.
‘I think we should go for a Nordic crime,’ she says eventually. ‘I loved that book you chose for me and look, this film’s got murder and snow. Sounds cosy!’
‘A cosy murder?’
‘Exactly,’ she laughs, grabbing the remote. ‘Shall I put it on?’
‘Alice?’ I say, turning on the sofa so I’m facing her.
‘You’d prefer a romcom, right?’
‘No, a cosy murder with some snow sounds good. I just wanted to say that I’m proud
of you. I hope you don’t think that I’m out of line for saying it. I just … I don’t know. You’ve been through a lot and yet you’re this incredible ray of sunshine. You’re smart and funny and kind of dark. I mean, who names their pizza Penelope and then demolishes it with glee?’ Alice is laughing now and I pause to take a drink. ‘And you’re successful and determined, too. So I just wanted to say that I think you’re great.’
I rub the back of my neck, suddenly embarrassed.
Alice has inched closer to my body and we’re pressed up against each other now.
‘Thank you,’ she whispers, lips close to my ear. ‘You know, I reckon you and I are more similar than we think. You’re smart and funny and kind of … light, actually. Underneath this achingly cool exterior of yours lies a romcom loving snuggle fan.’
‘I do enjoy snuggles,’ I murmur, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her on top of me.
‘Maybe we’re pieces of a jigsaw puzzle,’ she suggests, her hair falling down onto my shoulders as I lean up and kiss her.
That might just be the closest reference Alice has made to us fitting together, being together, working together. I will take that.
Oysters
Alice
Natalie’s crouching down by the washing machine, muttering to herself when I walk into the kitchen.
‘Oh here you are,’ she says accusingly, holding up a pair of my pants with a right look on her face.
‘Just coming to empty out my washing but it seems you beat me to it?’
She bats my comments aside, nodding furiously towards the pants in her hand.
‘What are these?’
Oh no, she’s lost it. Breaking up with Jake, going nuts on the dating scene, taking a man sabbatical and setting up a new business … all in the space of a few months. I guess it was only a matter of time but I’m mad with myself for not seeing it coming.
‘These are pants,’ I say, edging towards her. ‘Shall we put them down and make a hot chocolate?’
‘I’m fine!’ she says indignantly. ‘However these so-called pants are not. They’re beige. What the eff are you doing with your life, babes?’
‘Well that’s rude! I’m quite busy running a business you know.’
Nat tuts, throwing the knickers into the laundry basket and sitting me down. ‘These pants are not the one. How can you have the wardrobe of a stylish rainbow when all the while you’re hiding this dirty magnolia-coloured secret underneath?’
‘They’re just pants,’ I argue.
‘“Just pants” indeed. Please. You need to get some lingerie and you need to do it now. The type that errs on the side of too expensive.’
‘I think I’ll stick to buying basics from M&S. The last thing I need is to be dealing with a wedgie when I’m at work.’
Nat’s looking more violated by the minute. ‘I know what you’re thinking and you can stop right there. Wearing beautiful lingerie is empowering. It’s not about who might see it, it’s about how it makes you feel. If your tits are happy then the rest of you will follow, that’s my motto.’
‘Is it though?’ I laugh. But as I retrieve my knickers from her withering gaze and head upstairs to hang out my laundry, I wonder if Nat has a point. A little sexy lingerie couldn’t hurt, right? Especially as I have some Serious Plans for Zach on our next date.
So I take the tram out to Meadowhall. And yes, I do buy sexy underwear for a guy and yes I will have to repent at my next feminist meeting but honestly, it will be worth it. I arrive back at home with three new sets and a large dent in my bank balance. Later, I find myself wearing a peach plunge bra and briefs trimmed with tulle while I cook up a romantic storm in my kitchen.
Since my massive meltdown Zach and I have settled into a pace that suits both of us and I really feel like we’re connecting. Not long ago the thought would have had me running for the hills but now I’m actively enjoying it. I’m into Zach and I haven’t given the bolting option a second thought for ages. I like it. And tonight, I am planning the ultimate romantic dinner date to celebrate. Dylan’s back for the whole week and Nat’s staying at his parent’s house, leaving my house empty for Zach and me.
Somebody pop a Barry White playlist on, quick!
‘Oysters?’ Zach says, his eyebrows raised in a sexy-as-hell way. He looks good tonight. He’s wearing a T-shirt with an actual motif on it which feels ground breaking. The T-shirt is pale
grey (sure) but across the front stretches a snow-capped mountain with a red sun setting behind it. Red! I love that he wears less muted colours now.
‘Oysters,’ I nod. ‘Shucked them myself.’
‘Lucky them,’ he says in that low voice of his, running a hand through his hair then down to his stubbled jawline.
Quite frankly I’m tempted to sack off cooking altogether and skip straight to the bedroom.
‘Champagne?’ I offer, my peach lacy boobs and I (plus the pale pink shirt-dress I threw on over the top for decency purposes) making our way to the fridge. I take two of Mum’s vintage champagne saucers from the kitchen cupboard and pop the cork while Zach leans against the counter, watching me.
‘Cheers,’ I say.
‘Saluti,’ he replies, and as we clink our glasses together I feel my whole body relax. How can someone give you goosebumps and make you feel content in equal measure? Is he a wizard?
We move easily around the kitchen together, him with a tea towel slung over his shoulder as he takes charge of cleaning up my mess, me with a bowl of homemade garlic butter in my hand and the temptation to just chuck a baguette into it and call it a night. But no, I will find some restraint. I’ve nestled the oysters into little salt houses on a baking tray and am dolloping a helping of garlic butter into each on. Grill on, I pop them under for a couple of minutes.
‘Smells amazing,’ Zach says appreciatively.
‘Let’s hope they taste as good,’ I reply. Full disclosure, I searched ‘how to eat oysters’ on YouTube earlier so that I could look like I know what I’m doing when it came to the crunch.
Zach’s chatting about his latest project as we sit down at the dining table. ‘I’m only in the early stages but it’s kind of inspired by you,’ he says, looking at me nervously.
‘Is it?’
‘I’ve been pushing my own boundaries a bit. My latest work definitely makes use of a wider colour palette.’
I feel honoured. ‘I’d love to see it,’ I say.
‘You would?’
‘Yes! I know I was super critical of your work in the early days but I was just being a brash buffoon. Just because I don’t necessarily understand something doesn’t mean I should rule it out, right?’ Zach raises his eyebrows as we both realise that sentence has relevance on a much wider scale. ‘Anyway, I loved the painting you did for me. Besides, you’ve been so involved with my job and so enthusiastic about the project with Nat that now I just feel kind of rude for not showing enough interest in your artwork. Forgive me?’
Zach sits back in his chair, flashing those delicious green eyes at me.
‘Seriously, there’s nothing to forgive. I’d love to show you the new stuff but I’ll need a bit more time before I’m happy with it.’
‘I’ll attempt to be patient, them,’ I grin, placing the oysters in the middle of our table. YouTube taught me to take a sip first, chew then swallow, which is not at all like I’d thought, but I am so ready for the aphrodisiac!
Hmm. I’m not sure. It’s kind of like chewing garlicky slime. Still, Zach looks genuinely impressed so I’m happy. Plus my go-to pasta dish takes minutes to make so I know the main course will be a winner. I literally bake a camembert and then chuck the molten cheese into some linguine. Not the healthiest, I’ll admit, but still pretty tasty if I do say so myself.
After the oysters I serve up steaming bowls of pasta and top up Zach’s glass. He’s smouldering at me from across the table and I take a moment to marvel at how every element of tonight seems to be combining into a melting pot of romance. An empty house. A sexy AF dinner date. Oysters to start. Champagne. Lacy bra. I think I might be the unexpected queen of romance? Me! A commitment-phobe.
I feel a tingling sensation as I watch Zach expertly swirl pasta around his fork. His eyes meet mine as he takes his first mouthful.
‘So good,’ he says.
Is it the oysters or is it just Zach? I’m going to have to insist that he gets naked quite soon. For once the plate of food in front of me seems too big. Why did I pile so much pasta on? It’s going to take ages to eat and I’ve a right frisk on.
I take a bite but I’m distracted. My stomach somersaults like it’s taking part in some gymnastics. Bloody hell, one plate of oysters and one hot date and I’ve turned into a complete melt! I swear I can feel butterflies and everything.
Then I hear a growl and slowly but surely, I realise that these are no butterflies. This is the noise of a stomach which no longer wants to be acquaintances with the oysters I’ve just introduced it to.
Rumble.
OH HELL NO.
I race up to the bathroom as fast as my shaking legs can carry me. There, I frantically turn the tap on to disguise the sound of my dinner making an unwelcome reappearance.
I’m face down in the toilet, retching, when I hear a knock at the door and groan.
‘Alice, are you okay?’
‘Um …’
BARF.
‘Can I come in?’
‘No?’
‘It sounds like you could do with some help.’
I cast a hopeless look around the bathroom which does not look good. My clammy forehead is resting on the toilet seat as I reach out my foot and nudge the door open, still cradling the loo. Zach rushes to my side, holding my hair back and telling me it will be all right.
It will not, I think.
My romantic moment has been absolutely blooding ruined!
‘I’m going to fetch you some water,’ Zach says, giving my back one last rub while I feel distinctly sorry for myself. This is not how I’d seen tonight ending.
BLARRRRGGHHHHH.
Oh my god it’s never-ending. I see actual pieces of oyster floating in the toilet bowl and the sight of that makes me retch again. Grim. I hear Zach padding back up the stairs and quickly flush it, trying to retain the last shred of dignity I can.
‘Here,’ he says. He’s put ice in it. I’d thank him for being so sweet if I could find the energy. I take a grateful sip and then lie down on the bathroom floor for a bit, trying to figure out if there’s anything else left to come out. After five or so minutes I realise I’m done. The sweating has stopped and I feel weak but no longer on the verge of chunder.
Zach helps me to stand up. ‘Shall we get you out of those clothes?’ He asks.
‘That’s the sort of thing I was hoping you’d say,’ I joke feebly.
‘There she is,’ he laughs. ‘Still making a joke after you’ve chucked your guts up.’
‘Do you feel okay?’ I check.
‘Absolutely fine,’ he says. ‘I think you must have got a bad oyster. Is it inappropriate to tell you that I like your underwear right now?’
I look down at my lacy bra and pants. There’s a bit of sick on the left bra-strap. Sigh.
‘I tell you what, why don’t you grab a shower while I get you some fresh clothes?’
I nod appreciatively.
After a warm shower, I feel better for getting cleaned up but a wave of exhaustion hits me. My hair’s back to smelling like apples rather than oyster vom and as I step out of the bathroom, Zach strides in with some bathroom cleaner and starts scrubbing the loo. I’m both mortified and bowled over by his thoughtfulness.
‘You really don’t have to …’
‘It’s not a problem,’ he says. ‘I’ve put some comfy looking stuff on your bed.’
I pad into my bedroom and find a pair of soft cotton joggers and an oversized T-shirt there, along with another icy glass of water.
There’s nothing else for it. I sit down and cry.
‘Hey, what’s the matter?’ Zach rushes in and crouches at my feet. ‘Do you need to be sick again?’
‘No,’ I sob. ‘I’m just … this is so sweet of you.’
‘Alice, you’re not feeling very well. I’m just taking care of you.’
‘Exactly!’ I sniff, and we can add snot to the bodily fluids Zach has had to witness this evening.
‘Being sick’s the worst,’ he says.
‘I’m definitely not going to leave you when you’re not feeling well,’ he says. ‘It’s part of the job description as your boyfriend. No arguments.’
It strikes me that this is the first time in my adult life that someone has taken care of me when I felt sick. I’ve grown used to taking care of myself as a way of self-preservation, not letting anyone get too close for fear that it would be too claustrophobic, too involved. Too dangerous. But now, as Zach lies down next to me and gently draws circles on my forehead with his fingers, I can see that there are so many things I’ve been missing out on. Having him by my side when I’m feeling unwell is new, and very comforting.
Relaxed by his gentle touch and reassured by his presence I fall asleep in his arms.
Ping Pong
Zach
With bowls of yoghurt and two cups of tea balanced on a tray, I reverse through Alice’s bedroom door, trying not to spill anything as I set the tray down on her bed. Sunlight streams through, casting her in an ethereal light where she’s propped up in bed.
When she sees me she pulls a pillow over her face and pretends to hide.
‘If you’re looking for the girl who spent last night throwing up, she’s not here,’ she cringes. ‘In fact, it never happened. Erase it from your memory!’
‘Happens to the best of us,’ I smile as she peeps at me over the pillow. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘So much better. I slept like a baby. Thanks for taking care of me, Zach.’
‘It’s what I’m here for.’ I say, handing her a cup of tea. I’ve never seen her vulnerable like that before, but even when she was hurling her guts up she was trying to crack jokes minutes afterwards. She is one tough cookie. She has a couple of spoons of yoghurt and yawns.
‘Want me to head to the pharmacy? I’m not sure what I could get but I bet they could offer advice.’
‘Thank you but honestly there’s no need. I’m just going to take it easy today and drink a lot of water.’