Asking for a Friend

by Andi Osho

  ‘So tell me more about your work,’ he said.

  She looked into his eyes. That piercing crystal blue was insanely sensual. Should she give him another chance? she thought, as he rubbed his arm gently against hers. There was no denying, he had game which he probably needed to counteract the…

  ‘Hmmf.’

  Okay, I’m done, concluded Meagan, sliding out of her seat.

  ‘Oh no,’ she said barely committing to a convincing performance, ‘I’ve just remembered.’

  She shrugged on her coat as Bruno stood.

  ‘What is it?’ he said. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yeah, well, no. Jemima. The woman who introduced us.’

  Out of the corner of her eye Meagan could see Bruno’s face etched with worry. She groaned inside. Humans made everything take so much longer.

  ‘She’s on dialysis and I need to change her thing.’

  ‘Goodness,’ Bruno said putting his hand on her shoulder. ‘I thought you were going to say, you’d arranged to meet her.’

  That would have been a less harrowing excuse, thought Meagan.

  ‘Is there anything I can do? Hmmf.’

  The guilt instantly evaporated. She tied the belt around her thick coat, texting as she headed for the door.

  ‘No, babe. It’s all good!’

  Chapter 21

  Jemima

  Jemima walked to the middle of Liverpool Street station’s busy concourse, her stress levels peaking. This, she realised, was a far cry from the day before on her absolutely-not-a-date-but-keep-it-secret-from-the-girls-anyway evening with Chance. Yes, she’d been anxious but she’d also felt, was it, butterflies? She looked up at the information board. It was a few minutes after seven. She was almost half an hour early but she wasn’t being keen, just cautious. She wanted to see him approaching before he saw her. Liverpool Street had a myriad of exits and Jemima was prepared to use any one of them if she needed to. Just then she felt a tap on her right shoulder. She turned but over her left came a quiet, ‘Great minds and all that.’

  Jemima hated the tap-the-wrong-shoulder gag. ‘Good one,’ she said with a pinched smile.

  ‘Get here early just in case!’ Lance laughed, rubbing his hands together with a loud clap.

  Jemima exhaled a nicer smile onto her face. ‘So, where to?’ she asked.

  ‘My van’s outside. Just jump in the back and roll yourself up in the rug,’ said Lance.

  Jemima looked at him. A murder joke two minutes after meeting? What due diligence had Simi actually done on this individual?

  ‘Only joking. You’re too gorgeous to murder,’ he said beckoning her to follow.

  Jemima went to move but her feet were nailed to the spot. Though Lance was as threatening as a crane fly in a bath tub he just didn’t get it. Women had to think about personal safety all the time – especially on dates. All guys had to worry about was if their wallet condom had expired. Murder jokes – not cool. Ahead of her Lance stopped, turning back concerned.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  Jemima hesitated and his face fell.

  ‘I’ve done it again. So sorry. I’ve been told countless times to rein in the gags. I overcompensate and start gabbling,’ he said walking back towards her.

  Jemima looked up at him. His contrition, real and heartfelt, took her by surprise. In her mental Rolodex she slipped his index card out of the total wanker section.

  ‘I just replayed the van thing back in my head. It sounded awful,’ he said slapping his forehead. ‘I heard something similar at a comedy night and, well… think I’ll stick to the day job.’

  ‘It’s fine. Let’s start over. I’m alright,’ Jemima said giving him a friendly jab.

  ‘Or are you all left? Sorry. I’m out of control.’

  Jemima facepalmed, as they exited the station, a little snort of laughter escaping before she could stop herself.

  ‘Here we are. Thought it might be fun to try something a bit quirky,’ Lance said.

  Jemima looked up at the restaurant sign.

  ‘Cereal Offenders. Great name, isn’t it?’ said Lance.

  Jemima laughed to herself. This was the restaurant Gil, her lumbersexual date from the week before, had been yakking on about. Clearly, the Universe really wanted Jemima to have breakfast for dinner this month.

  ‘Hey Fast Breakers, welcome to Cereal Offenders, the crunchiest corner of Shoreditch,’ said their chirpy waitress.

  Jemima looked around at the vast display of cereal boxes on the walls. There was even an entire section devoted to Rice Krispies. There were vintage boxes, novelty boxes, Star Wars boxes. A veritable treasure trove of cereal memorabilia. The restaurant itself was filled with rows of tables like a Victorian orphanage. All of them were packed with parties, works dos and rowdy groups of friends with not a single couple in the entire place.

  ‘Came here last week for a mate’s birthday. It was brilliant!’ said Lance over the din of spoons clunking against bowls.

  Jemima looked at him. For some reason, Simi had thought he was the perfect match for her?

  ‘Okay, Fast Breakers, we’ve got a table for you. Right this way,’ chirruped their waitress.

  ‘After you,’ said Lance gesturing for Jemima to go ahead.

  She wasn’t as keen on chivalry as Meagan and Simi. However, given that fifteen minutes earlier Lance had sounded like a tone-deaf nitwit, the gesture was welcome. Jemima followed the waitress to their table.

  ‘So, tell me about yourself,’ Jemima asked as they squeezed onto their bench.

  ‘You mean apart from my razor-sharp wit?’

  ‘Now that was actually funny,’ said Jemima as she settled into the evening.

  Over their bowls of sugary, multi-coloured hoops, their conversation took the standard first date twists and turns. There were the usual questions about siblings, a momentary detour into school days and a toe dipped into the political hotspots of the day. It was all pretty bearable, Jemima mused, as she grabbed a paper straw from the holder in the centre of their table and slurped up the milk at the bottom of her bowl. She’d forgotten just how good cereal milk tasted.

  ‘Thumbs up?’ Lance asked pushing away his bowl.

  ‘I’ve been pleasantly surprised.’

  ‘I saw your face when we first arrived,’ said Lance.

  Jemima chuckled. ‘Yeah, it just reminded me of someone—’

  ‘Another date?’

  ‘Yes, I’m a cereal dater.’

  Lance blanched at the pun then went in for a high-five. Jemima duly obliged, taking a small bow.

  ‘This is a really nice turn of events,’ said Lance, smiling at Jemima.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Well, I would never have asked you out. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re lovely but if your mate hadn’t come up to me, this would not have happened. I haven’t dated for years,’ Lance said almost grimacing.

  Jemima paused. Though she was ready to call it a night, her intrigue was now piqued. She knew her reasons for not wanting to date but what was his excuse? In the interests of her book, she would probe a little further. When she’d had enough she’d simply glare at the door in the way her mother did when she’d had enough of guests.

  ‘So, if dating’s not your thing, why did you say yes?’ she asked.

  Lance grinned. ‘It was an experiment. Plus, your friend said you fancied me.’

  ‘An experiment? What type of experiment?’

  ‘I wanted to see if dating was as ghastly as I remembered then I saw you and thought…’ said Lance with a why-not shrug.

  ‘Riiiiiight,’ said Jemima, mirroring his shrug.

  ‘Being with someone means giving up too much. I’ve been married three times. I’m not making that mistake again,’ he said.

  Jemima blinked at him. Married… three times? She couldn’t wait to hear what Simi thought they had in common.

  ‘Romance is just a temporary hormonal imbalance. You know what a brain scan of someone in love is identical to?’ La
nce said.

  Jemima shook her head not sure she wanted to know.

  ‘An addict,’ said Lance sitting back with a worldly-wise nod. ‘It’s all just chemicals. So now, the minute I get a whiff of it, I’m out of there. Not worth it.’

  Jemima was baffled. In her gut, what he was saying felt wrong. There had to be more to it than that, otherwise why was adding romance to Beverly’s story such a big deal? And if being in love was just some chemical interchange between two skin suits, what was the point of anything?

  ‘That’s so cynical. It’s about connection. It’s not all hormones,’ said Jemima.

  ‘You obviously haven’t been in love for a while but I bet you know someone who has. Don’t they do anything to be with their beau, think about them, talk about them, want them all the time – like an addict?’

  Instantly, Simi popped into Jemima’s head like a jack-in-the-box. Lance couldn’t have described her more accurately if he’d tried. Could he be right? Though Jemima didn’t want it for herself, surely the world would be a much drearier place if being in love was simply biological impulses. She shifted in her seat, glaring at the door. Lance had short-circuited her brain. Jemima beckoned the waitress who scuttled over with their bill.

  ‘Hope you snap, crackle and pop back soon!’ She beamed as Lance tapped his credit card on her reader.

  ‘Well, thanks for breaking your, you know, rule, to come out tonight,’ Jemima said as they made their way to the exit.

  ‘It was lovely,’ said Lance, taking Jemima’s hand and kissing it. ‘And if I’m ever after a fourth ex-wife, I’ll look you up!’

  ‘Great… Cheerios!’ said Jemima striding off down the street in the opposite direction.

  In her Uber on the way home, Jemima huffed. What a bizarre evening. At times, she’d found Lance vaguely attractive but the next moment she’d wanted to waterboard him in a vat of semi-skimmed milk. Her car breezed down Upper Street and Jemima noticed all the couples doing normal coupley things or, according to Lance, satisfying their rampant addictions. His comments had really got under her skin. At the next turning the car cruised past Nostromo. On impulse, Jemima looked up at Chance’s window and smiled. The lights were off. She wondered where he might be and who he was dousing in coffee tonight.

  Not long after, Jemima was relieved to be back home, padding around in her pyjamas. Simi was at a stage combat class and the place was silent. She went through to her living room, staring at a book she’d put off reading for a very long time. She peeled it from the shelf, her fingers tracing the gold letters of its glossy cover.

  ‘A Walk on the Mild Side by Pete Dasos,’ she read.

  It was very kind of Chance to give her his copy of the book and she was glad he had. Perhaps, within its pages, she would find an antidote to Lance’s depressing cynicism or maybe just an escape. She headed back to her bedroom, snuggled under her duvet and prised open the book.

  Jemima’s eyes snapped open. Her bedside lamp was still on, her hand clasped around Pete’s book. She’d only meant to read a few chapters but had ended up reading it cover to cover! She looked down. In her other hand was a ball of tissues. She opened the hardback, peering at its smooth, white pages and all at once, she wanted to see Chance. She wanted to talk about Pete and Lula’s journey. She wanted to talk about that wedding. Quickly, she dressed and headed out.

  ‘Hello?’ came the voice, tinny and distant through the intercom.

  Jemima hovered, her breath a rising pillar in the chilly morning air. Now, standing outside Chance’s practice, this felt like a bad idea made by her sleep-deprived brain. She had a tonne of work to do plus she was meeting Simi and Meagan tonight. She didn’t have time for an impromptu book club. She turned to leave.

  ‘Can I help you?’ came the voice, it’s Australian twang unmistakable.

  Jemima stopped, leaning in to speak.

  She stared at the intercom. She would return Chance’s book another time, she decided as she headed back the way she came. He was probably busy fixing twisted ankles and untennis-ing people’s elbows.

  ‘Jemima!’ Chance called from behind her.

  Her knees locked, rooting her to the spot.

  ‘Shit,’ she murmured before turning around.

  ‘Hey,’ said Chance trotting over. ‘What a brilliant surprise. You okay?’

  Jemima instantly held up Pete’s autobiography, a defensive barrier between them.

  ‘I just came to return your book,’ she blurted.

  ‘Ah, thanks but you didn’t have to. It’s lovely to see you though.’ Chance smiled.

  Bad idea, Jemima, bad idea, she intoned, vowing never to follow her instincts again. Stupid sleep-deprived brain. Stupid instincts. Stupid chemicals.

  Chance shivered. ‘I’ve got a break between patients. Fancy a walk?’

  ‘Mmmm,’ said Jemima, as though her head was being nodded for her.

  Damn those instincts!

  ‘Great! Let me grab my jacket,’ he said as he dashed back inside.

  Before Jemima could change her mind, Chance had remerged, wrapped in a thick, navy parka and scarf.

  ‘Looks cosy,’ said Jemima.

  Chance grinned, opening up one side of his coat to let her snuggle inside. She froze.

  ‘I’m kidding,’ he laughed, digging his hands deep in his pockets. ‘Wow, you guys sure know how to do a cold snap. How’s about a couple of laps around the park, get the blood going?’

  Jemima relaxed and, once again her invisible puppeteer nodded her head and they walked off down the street.

  ‘So, what did you think of Pete’s book?’ Chance asked as they rounded the corner to the park. ‘I know it’s a bit rough in places.’

  ‘It was lovely,’ said Jemima. ‘You get a few mentions.’

  These were both understatements. The book had been enchanting from beginning to end and Jemima had been moved by how much Chance featured. The love between him and Pete was evident. Furthermore, the love between Pete and Lula and the way it inspired him to work to regain his mobility had been… profound. That was the word Jemima had whispered to herself in the middle of the night as she read. This wasn’t a book about learning to walk or war wounds and injuries. This was a meditation on love and Jemima had found it unputdownable. Screw Lance and his brain scans. Love was real.

  ‘I do get the odd mention, don’t I?’ Chance smiled sheepishly.

  They walked on for a while, bound by the quiet. This felt so different from yesterday with Lance. There was a lightness whenever she was around Chance, just walking.

  ‘It said in the book you gave up medical school to help Pete,’ Jemima said.

  Chance’s smile flickered almost imperceptibly but Jemima saw it. In her brief glances, she wanted to study him, understand him, know him a little better.

  ‘There was a complication with one of his surgeries. Lula had to work full time and there was no one to look after him during the day so I took six months out, flew to Mexico and… well, you know how life is… A year later, after I came home, I decided to just keep going with my OT practice and set up the charity instead.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Jemima as they completed their lap of the park, returning to where they’d begun.

  ‘The way I see it,’ said Chance holding onto the railings and watching an old couple throwing breadcrumbs for some ducks, ‘it doesn’t matter how you give back just as long as you do.’

  Once again Jemima’s puppeteer took over her body and before she knew it she was putting a comforting hand on Chance. He looked back at her. She could tell, though he would never blame Pete, the missed opportunity weighed on him still.

  They both turned back to watch the old couple scatter food for the hungry ducks who waddled and pecked their way through the scraps.

  ‘Don’t you hope you can be like them one day…’ said Chance, almost to himself.

  ‘The ducks?’ said Jemima.

  Chance smiled before looking back at the couple.

  ‘So, dare I ask how the writin
g’s going?’

  ‘It’s definitely going,’ Jemima replied as her gaze followed the old couple stroll, arm in arm, to a nearby bench.

  ‘Well if you ever need a sounding board, I’m always here.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Jemima said appreciating the offer.

  ‘So, is it going so well you’d be free for dinner? I found this amazing Mexican joint. If you liked the tequila I had on the plane, you will love this place. It’s got fifty-seven varieties. It’s like the Heinz of tequila,’ said Chance.

  ‘I… I’m not…’ she stammered.

  ‘Doesn’t have to be dinner. Could be lunch? Breakfast – a coffee? A piece of cake? Another walk?’ said Chance.

  Jemima’s stomach tangled up. She could say yes, she thought, as she looked into Chance’s gentle eyes. And one day maybe she would but that day wasn’t today.

  ‘The thing is… me and my girlfriends are playing this dating game. It’s really to help Simi, my friend, change her habits. Point is, we’ve got these rules. No outside dating.’ She shrugged apologetically.

  Was it still an excuse if it was true?

  Chance stared at her blankly. ‘I didn’t say… I mean, it’s just dinner.’

  Jemima’s mouth gaped as she frantically replayed the conversation. ‘Well you said…’

  ‘I had a nice time at the reading. I just thought we could do something again but no sweat…’ he said glancing at his watch, ‘I’ve got an eleven thirty appointment. You coming?’

  He turned to leave and after a moment, a confused Jemima followed him.

  After some awkward small talk, they reached his practice.

  ‘Well, see you around,’ he said before disappearing inside.

  Jemima stared at his closed door. Eventually, she turned and stomped back to her flat, her mind whirring with irritation. Not that she was interested, she stewed, but why didn’t he want a date?