LEONARD AND HUNGRY PAUL

by Ronan Hession

  ‘Oh really, is that me? Oh, of course. Excuse me for a moment folks,’ said Leonard as he let himself out of the lift in a way that implied that he would be missed. Shelley tried to wave at him but her arms were trapped. As he stepped out, the doors closed easily, resolving once and for all who had been at fault.

  He answered the call and killed off the Crazy Frog’s inane revving.

  ‘Leonard, hi, it’s me,’ said Hungry Paul. ‘Guess what?’

  ‘What?’ replied Leonard with barely contained exasperation.

  ‘I got through the competition. My sign-off phrase has been shortlisted by the Chamber of Commerce. I have to go to a prize-giving and everything. Isn’t that exciting? I was just starting my shift when our local postman came across to me and got me to sign for a registered letter in my own name. I’ve never won anything. I came straight home to tell my folks and thought I’d ring you too before I head back out and do my route.’

  Leonard’s annoyance softened when he heard how Hungry Paul had thought to include him among the first to hear the news. If ever there was a measure of their mutual fondness, it was the enthusiasm with which good news was shared between them, each friend assured of the good wishes of the other. ‘It’s great news old pal. I’m delighted for you. Can we come to the prize-giving?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. We could wear our wedding suits maybe. I know you’re busy at work, so I won’t delay. Best of luck with your seductress today.’

  ‘Okay, talk to you later. Oh, what phrase did you send in, by the way?’

  ‘Ah, you’ll have to come to the prize-giving to find out. I’ll leave the big reveal until then,’ he replied.

  Leonard walked up the stairs to his own floor, finding himself short of breath. While others spent their evenings at the gym or in boxercise, he spent his playing board games and it showed in his general lack of fitness. When he got to his desk there was a Post-it stuck to his screen, written in the prettiest curlicue handwriting: ‘Need any fire advice?’

  He set aside his general disapproval of affixing any type of adhesive to touch screens, plucked it off with a sense of possibility, and popped it into the back section of his wallet where he kept his receipts. He tried to look over to her desk, but it was blocked by a temporary partition that was used both as a social noticeboard and as a gallery of warnings about printing things unnecessarily.

  He drummed his fingers on his desk. Was this it? Was this the moment? Was this a signal, an invitation, or had she simply been left a message about his earlier contrived fire safety request and was following up like any dutiful fire warden? His stomach dropped like a lift falling through a lift shaft. His adrenal glands were revving like the Crazy Frog. Do something, do something, do something, he repeated to himself.

  He couldn’t walk over to her desk again could he? Her workmates would think he was a weirdo to keep showing up like that. What if he set off the fire alarm—was that a great idea or a terrible one? Was there a fine for setting it off mischievously, like pulling the cord on the train? Would it just make her mad at him? What if he moseyed over to the ol’ notice board, to give off the appearance of someone with a full social calendar, just swinging by to see what’s cooking for the month ahead?

  This was where he always struggled. On the rare occasions over the years when he had started to connect with a girl he could never quite figure out how to jump the canyon between being a nice guy and making romantic advances. He was always terrified of getting it all wrong and coming across as some letch whose friendliness was a façade to conceal a calculating carnal monster. His weakness had always been that he was not a closer; he had let every half chance slip away from him. For a man who suffered from indecision over the smallest things—including walking out of the Cineplex because of his inability to choose between three films, all of which he wanted to see—deciding his next romantic move was a Homeric struggle. All his plans and preparations came to nothing. Like a striker who dries up on Cup Final day, or a tennis player who double faults on the cusp of their first Grand Slam, Leonard froze under the pressure to act.

  But it is an underappreciated fact about encyclopaedia writers that even though they might never have rescued a mammoth from a tar pit, or captained a record-breaking maglev, it is impossible for them to remain unaffected by the bravery they depict every day. Leonard turned on his computer, but instead of entering the correct password (H1L30nard6!) he entered three random incorrect passwords and locked himself out. Straight away he picked up the phone and rang the helpdesk, who was Greg, sitting across the office, just a couple of Yucca plants away from Shelley’s pod of four.

  ‘Hi Greg. Leonard here.’

  ‘Lenny baby. Laughing Len. Len will I see you again. What can I do you for?”

  ‘I’ve locked myself out. Can you get me back in—I can call over if that’s easier?’ suggested Leonard.

  ‘No need, my man, I should be able to do it from here—’

  But Leonard had already hung up, left his desk and was marching over to Greg before he could say another word. As he arrived, he gave a friendly hello to Shelley who was on the phone, but mercifully alone in her four-person pod.

  ‘Hi Greg. I thought it best to come over. Am just under a bit of pressure. Me and my fat fingers. Just need the password reset. Thanks. I know you’re busy.’

  Greg had been halfway through buttering a demi-baguette, and had just opened a tin of tuna that he was going to fill it with. It was not even 9am.

  ‘Okey dokey. This will take just one minutae. Take a load off, compadre,’ said Greg, unable to complete one conventional sentence.

  Leonard pointed to an empty desk in Shelley’s pod with a ‘May I?’ look on his face. Shelley made the ‘Okay’ sign with her fingers. She brought her phone call to a conclusion, saying ‘No problem. Yes indeed. The supervisor will call you back this afternoon.’

  ‘Another happy customer?’ asked Leonard.

  ‘People are already mad and upset by the time they get through to me. I’m at the nothing-can-be-done stage, so I really just give them listening therapy. So c’mere, I hear you have been converted to the merits of fire safety. Welcome aboard,’ said Shelley.

  ‘Oh, you mean my query the other day. No biggie,’ said Leonard, using an expression he had never contemplated using in his life up to now. ‘It’s just that my phone charger gets hot if I leave it on and I didn’t want to create any trouble for you. Or the other fire wardens I mean,’ answered Leonard meekly.

  ‘Google wasn’t working then?’

  ‘I tried looking it up but I just wanted to check there wasn’t anything I was missing from a company protocol point of view. Et cetera, et cetera,’ he improvised.

  ‘I would say, in my professional fire warden opinion, don’t leave it plugged in overnight. It’s bad for the environment.’

  ‘Absolutely. I use the green bin all the time. I’m always stuffing paper into it,’ answered Leonard, ‘although I’m also trying to reduce the amount I print,’ he added, pointing to the warnings on the notice board.

  Shelley gave a little laugh and decided to stop winding him up. ‘I have a favour to ask of you, actually.’

  Anything, anything, anything, he thought.

  ‘Really? Nothing too compromising I hope?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Not really. Could you sign these for me? They’re a bedtime favourite in our house.’ She took out some children’s encyclopaedias from the Facts at My Fingertips series, all credited to Mark Baxter, BEd, which Leonard had ghost-written. She held up three books on the human body, birds and capital cities, each of them with curly edges and spines wrinkled from reading and rereading.

  ‘Of course. I have never been asked for an autograph before. This is nice.’ He started flicking through them for the first time since they were published. She was right: they were good. Full of punchy little descriptions and stuffed with enthusiasm.

 
‘How about a deal? If I sign these for you, would you possibly consider meeting me for lunch in the park today, unless you have plans, in which case that’s fine. I mean, no offence taken and I’ll still sign the books for you, but if you’re free and you’d like to do it, then maybe lunch would be nice, and if it doesn’t suit you today then maybe some other day or even next week, or after Easter, I mean I’m pretty easy either way. It’s my treat, although if we’re going to the park we could get a takeaway sandwich, or maybe you bring in your lunch, you know, salad or something. Maybe, think about it and let me know what suits.’ Leonard paused for breath and to make sure he didn’t just keep babbling forever.

  ‘That would be lovely. I’m free today as it happens, though I have to be gone by two if that’s okay,’ answered Shelley.

  ‘Great. Of course, you head whenever. Great, great, great,’ said Leonard, unable to conceal a smile as relief swept through his body.

  ‘Oh, the books. Who should I make them out to?’ asked Leonard, going through the pretence of asking officially for the name he already knew.

  ‘To Patrick, please,’ asked Shelley.

  ‘Em, okay. Patrick it is.’

  Who the hell is Patrick? thought Leonard.

  ‘He’s my son. He’s seven. We read your books all the time. Well, he reads them and then reads them to me. He couldn’t believe it when I told him the guy who writes them works in my office. By the way, I just told him you were Mark Baxter BEd, so maybe best to sign it as him.’

  ‘Right’ answered Leonard, winded and wondering what was going on.

  ‘Just kidding, sign your own name! God, wouldn’t that be terrible to ask you to pretend to be that other faker. Honestly. My name is Shelley by the way. Pleased to meet you.’

  She extended her hand in mock formality as if offering it for a kiss. Leonard hesitated about whether she actually expected him to kiss it, which he would have done, but then she laughed again and took it back.

  ‘I’m Leonard. Not Mark. No BEd. So, I suppose I’ll just sign these then. Let’s see, I had better do a little message, lemme think.’

  He signed the books to Patrick and gave them back.

  ‘Here’s your new password, Lenster,’ said Greg, as he came over and handed Leonard a Post-it with M0nkeyc0ck! on it.

  ‘Okay. Thanks Greg. Thanks Shelley. See you at one. I’ll pick you up here if that’s okay?’

  ‘Of course. One at the pod. Thanks for the autographs. Patrick will be delighted.’

  Leonard walked back to his desk and collapsed. Never had he made such progress in his love life in such a short period. It had taken a lot out of him. How was he supposed to find the energy for round two at lunch time?

  And Patrick? Well, that explained the half days and the rushing off at 2pm. A girl with a son. He hadn’t bargained for that. What if it all worked out? He could be a parent in a matter of weeks. This was all going very fast. Was the real father still on the scene? Was Shelley really interested in him, or was she just looking for someone who would get on with Patrick? It’s a big leap from writing encyclopaedias to raising a child, at least without some intermediate stages in between. Okay: calm down, Leonard. One step at a time. Stay in the moment.

  Leonard picked Shelley up at her desk at exactly one and offered to carry her bags for her. Like all people who cycle to work she carried far too much stuff and had even more crap under her desk. He tried to think of somewhere trendy to grab a sandwich that they could then eat in the park, already pretending to be someone a little different, as people tend to do in the early days. He chose a hipster sandwich bar called Bite Me! There was a long queue, with several bearded young men ahead, wearing paisley pyjama tops and ordering veggie specials.

  ‘No shortage of vegetarians, that’s for sure. No wonder they can fit into those jeans. Are those blokes wearing women’s jeans? Good God!’ said Leonard, slightly forgetting himself.

  Shelley just smiled.

  They reached the top of the queue, where a girl with Cutie tattooed on her neck waited to take their order.

  ‘Let me see, I’ll have the Meat Feast please,’ said Leonard, ordering something which was basically a full barnyard in a wrap, although with hummus, inevitably. ‘And what would you like Shelley? My treat.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll have the veggie special,’ she said, nudging Leonard, ‘And I should also confess that I am wearing women’s jeans—hope that’s okay?’

  Leonard apologised for the veggie incorrectness.

  ‘I didn’t mean anything by it. Sorry. Does it bother you if I eat meat?’

  ‘You’re fine,’ she answered, ‘I’m not sensitive about things like that. Why don’t we go find a bench and maybe ask each other loads of searching personal questions?’ she asked.

  ‘Not too searching I hope. I’ll start wishing I had some interesting secrets to tell,’ he answered.

  They chatted on the way and Leonard did pretty okay. His initial awkwardness actually teed up some banter between them, and he was happy playing the straight man to her goofy sense of humour, which he was starting to get the hang of. They found a little bench near the duck pond, though there were no ducks on it, just some moorhens and a couple of sleeping swans.

  ‘Wanna bite?’ she offered.

  ‘No thanks. I don’t suppose there’s much point in offering you a bite of mine?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Although all the animals in this wrap are, or were, vegetarian, so that’s a halfway house maybe?’ he said.

  ‘Nice to know there are no carnivores in it. No lions or tigers.’ Shelley looked at the birds on the pond. ‘Should we throw them some bread or wrap or something?’

  ‘Best not to. There’s no nutrition in it and it’s not good for them,’ he answered.

  ‘Of course. I must remember you’re Mr Encyclopaedia. You could probably tell me where they come from and how big their eggs are and everything. Go on. Tell me something I’ve never heard before.’ She was actually excited.

  ‘Let me think. How about that they’d actually prefer some defrosted frozen peas?’

  ‘Ah!’ she laughed, or rather hooted. ‘I’ve got some of those! They’re in my bag. Actually it’s a mix of frozen veg. I bought them on the way to work and was going to cook them at home. How about we throw some in?’ She reached into her bag and rooted around a bit, taking out a few things in order to find the veg: goat’s milk, Quorn burgers, soya yoghurts and green lentils.

  ‘If you like. What about your dinner?’

  ‘Never mind. Patrick hates vegetables. He’ll be delighted with sausage and beans.’

  So they stood at the pond and started scattering the food. The carrots were not fully defrosted and sank; the peas and corn floated and were picked off. Shelley’s sense of fairness came out as she weighted her throws towards the less pushy birds. After the bag was empty, she crumpled it up and asked Leonard straight out, while handing him a cupcake: ‘So, is this just a lunch or a getting to know you or what?’

  ‘I’m not sure what you’d call it. I’d certainly like to get to know you. If that’s okay, I mean. I’m not writing an encyclopaedia about you or anything. I’m not just good at mining for facts. I’m also happy to feed vegetables to birds or just hang out.’

  They started walking as they chatted, taking the edge off the intensity of her question. He told her his age, that he had grown up nearby, that he was an only child and then finally, in what seemed like a fitting detail to explain where his life was at just then, that his mother had passed away a few weeks before.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Leonard.’

  The first time she had said his name.

  ‘You must still be grieving. That’s so sad. You must really miss her.’

  For Leonard, this was the first time he had really had a conversation about the whole thing. That he was having it on his first date with a girl he reall
y liked was either a really bad sign or a really good one.

  ‘I do miss her. I do,’ he said, strangely unable to make light of it.

  ‘Let me see.’ Shelley took up the reins of the conversation. ‘I’m twenty-seven, on the way to twenty-eight. I don’t like my job or the customers, but I like the people I work with. I started art college but didn’t finish it. I have a son, Patrick, who’s seven. Feel free to feel weird about that. No “biggie” as you might say. He’s about yea big, with curly auburn hair, green eyes and Star Wars glasses. As he says about himself, he has “a big imagination and a big heart,” which is the truest thing I have ever heard. His father is not on the scene—let’s just get that out of the way. I’d like to go back to art college someday, but for now I still draw for fun, though I have sort of plateaued in terms of my talent. I like noisy music but I like it to have good lyrics. Not necessarily clever lyrics, just lyrics that have some spirit.’

  The hour until two o’clock when, as she put it, she would turn into a pumpkin, seemed like the shortest hour of Leonard’s life. They chatted and chatted in what, if he wasn’t mistaken, seemed like the start of something. Their conversation, though not smooth, seemed to bounce back from slow patches and find its rhythm easily. They didn’t link arms or hold hands, but they did seem to walk quite close to one another and their elbows brushed without clumsiness several times. He carried her bag and she was the more confident of the two of them. As the time wore on, and ran out, Leonard had not only abandoned his plans and contrivances, but had forgotten he ever had them. He walked her back to her bike with the time approaching two.