How to Get a (Love) Life

by Blake, Rosie

  ‘That colour really suits you,’ he said, indicating the dress.

  I mumbled back at him, barely acknowledging the compliment, racing through possible replies. ‘You too,’ just sounded odd. ‘Thank you,’ dismissive. My mouth half-opened, and then my shoulders sank in relief when I was interrupted by the waiter. James immediately ordered a jug of mulled winter cider, which we drank while we chose what to eat. I scanned the lunchtime specials, freezing in panic when my foot brushed up against a leg. The table leg? Caroline’s leg? James’ leg? I sneaked a look at them both for a response. Table leg, I reassured myself. What had come over me? I fanned myself with the menu, impossibly hot in my woollen dress.

  ‘I’m having the full roast dinner,’ announced Caroline, smacking her lips already and tucking her napkin into her purple shirt, which made us both laugh.

  ‘A good call,’ James agreed. ‘Nicola?’

  ‘I’m …’ I stopped fanning myself and scanned the menu again. The words blurred into tiny black smudges. I couldn’t think straight. I wasn’t sure why I was so flustered. I quickly added, ‘The same.’

  The waiter bustled over and we ordered main courses and more cider, hands round our mugs blowing on the surface of the drink and feeling the alcohol warming us from the inside. I looked out of the window onto the river and smiled as a double kayak went by. An elderly couple appeared at the table next to us and James turned around, chatting amicably to them as they settled themselves. I grinned as the old lady roared with laughter at something James said, and realised I’d missed something Caroline was telling me.

  ‘I didn’t catch the last bit,’ I apologised.

  ‘I noticed,’ she said, one eyebrow raised.

  I felt a blush creep into my cheeks as James turned back to the table.

  ‘Caroline, Nicola,’ James inclined his head at us both and then raised his glass. ‘For keeping my show on the road, I thank you!’

  ‘Cheers,’ we all clinked.

  Moments later, the waiter appeared with three plates, pushing cutlery out of the way to make room. Just as we were settled, forks poised, a mobile went off. James swallowed a hasty mouthful and fished in his coat pocket, pulling it out and silencing it with a tap.

  ‘So, will you be going away for a Christmas break?’ I asked him.

  He shook his head, ‘No, very much England-bound, relative-boun—’

  He was cut off by his mobile again. ‘Sorry,’ he smiled, reaching to switch it off.

  A text message beeped and he clicked on the phone and read it, before wordlessly shoving the phone back into his pocket.

  ‘You?’ he asked.

  Another text message beep. He looked heavenwards, seeming to lose an internal battle with himself, and scooped the phone back out.

  ‘I think this will keep going if I don’t get it. I’ll be back in a moment.’ He scraped his chair back and ducked outside, stamping his feet to keep warm as he held the phone to his face.

  Caroline frowned. ‘That’s odd,’ she commented.

  I chewed a forkful of beef and potato, barely tasting it as I saw James mouthing into the phone, rubbing a hand across his forehead. He looked like he’d aged twenty years in less than a minute. His forehead was pulled into a frown and his kind grey eyes had lost their usual sparkle. Whoever he was talking to, it was clearly not a pleasant conversation.

  He hurried back inside and stood over our table. ‘I’m sorry, ladies. This is terrible timing, but I’m afraid I have to be somewhere.’ He picked up his scarf from the back of his chair and swept it quickly around his neck. ‘Please order what you like, do get dessert,’ he stressed and tried to raise a smile. One side of his mouth lifted, but his eyes looked so horribly dead I panicked that something really terrible had happened.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ I asked, automatically standing up and reaching out to place a hand on his arm. He looked down at it and I snatched it back, feeling suddenly embarrassed.

  ‘Yes, I’m being summoned,’ he attempted a hollow laugh. ‘Long story,’ he said, not quite meeting my eye.

  I nodded slowly, feeling something shift. Swallowing, I opened my mouth to say something, wanting to help. Caroline stood up too. ‘Off you go then, get it sorted. We’ll eat your lunch for you.’

  There were false laughs all round and James left, answering his mobile again as he ducked out of the restaurant.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Days passed and the weather worsened so much that heading into work usually meant the death of at least one umbrella between us. On the first reasonably mild day in an age, I hit the shops in my lunch break. I had decided to make an effort to dress up for my next date. I felt glamorous and excited as I whisked round the stores trying on dresses in colours I didn’t usually plump for. I settled on a green floral tea dress that was smart enough for the office but girly too (fine, this is exactly how the shop assistant described it, but I agreed). I’d bought a deep red lipstick to match it and some cute vintage T-Bar heels. Lewis had called me at home the night before and we’d agreed to meet for a drink in a bar in the centre of town the next evening.

  I arrived promptly at the agreed time of 7:30 p.m. The bar had a Mexican theme; lots of garish yellows and bright reds clashed in dramatic fashion. On the walls, pictures of men looking swarthy, moustachioed and muscular hung alongside mini guitar ornaments. Low, squashy sofas lined the back of the room, all currently occupied, so I perched on a stool at a small round table by the window and sipped on a glass of wine.

  Lewis was late, and after half an hour of waiting, I shuffled over to the bar to buy another white wine from a miserable-looking waiter in a sombrero. I tried to look anywhere but at his hat, which was tricky – it was so big that it cast a shadow down the entire length of the bar. The waiter grunted and handed me my change. I scuttled back to my stool, perched on high once more. I didn’t really hold out huge hopes for this date, especially considering how late he was, but I felt a nice hint of intrigue about meeting someone completely new, about the possibilities of the evening. Until, of course, it occurred to me that Lewis might have stood me up.

  I suddenly panicked. What if he had simply decided not to come? Was I about to spend my evening sitting in a Mexican bar, rain streaming down the windows outside, ploughing my way through a bottle of wine and a few tequilas, attempting to raise a smile from the grumpy waiter? What if Lewis had called Mark to cancel and Mark hadn’t passed on the message? This wasn’t impossible, Mark’s mobile was about as old as Mark himself – a ‘Pay-as-You-Go’ with some kind of hologram sticker on the back.

  How long should I wait? I’d already been here for over thirty minutes. Should I leave now? Should I pretend to answer my phone and have a fake conversation with a fake friend and then leave? That would perhaps be less sad. But what if the phone rang while I was having the fake conversation? That would be worse. I rolled my eyes. This was a nightmare. This was rubbish. This was … a man, coming into the bar and glancing in my direction. This was Lewis, thank God.

  Lewis bounded over to the table, apologising for his lateness. Then, exactly like an overkeen Labrador puppy, he took off his coat, shaking the rain from it, splashing our table, and me, with droplets. I was relieved that he hadn’t stood me up, however, so I smiled indulgently at him, dabbing discreetly at the droplets. Things could only get better, I reasoned.

  ‘Nicky,’ he beamed, grabbing my hand and nearly knocking over my wine with the effort. It’s Nicola, I thought. Nic-o-la. I was about to correct Lewis out loud, when he turned his back on me to yell at the miserable waiter. ‘All right, mate!’ The waiter seethed at him.

  After slinging his wet coat over the back of a chair, Lewis proceeded to blow his nose with one of the paper napkins close to hand. Then, noticing I was already halfway through my wine, he went off to the bar and bought himself a drink, not bothering to ask me whether I might care for a top-up. He left the paper napkin screwed up on the surface of the table and I spent an uncomfortable couple of minutes trying to distract
myself from thoughts of what lay inside its folds.

  He finally joined me, downed most of his beer in one go and, leaning back in his chair, took a good long hard look at me, as if I were a horse at an auction. I took the opportunity to get a better look at him. He was tall, with dark brown hair. All of his features were in the right place (although his nose had been broken at some point), and he didn’t appear to have a dire dress sense. I was marginally concerned that it wasn’t just the rain that was making his hair glisten under the lights, but, relatively speaking, he was passable.

  We swapped small talk about our lives, our houses, the city, our jobs. From what I could gather, Lewis worked in a call centre. Dressing up his title as ‘Sales Executive’ really didn’t make it any more glamorous, but I didn’t want to be snobby about it.

  ‘So, what are your hobbies?’ I asked, taking a quick sip of my drink and hoping to find something we might have in common. ‘What do you like to do?’

  ‘Oh, this and that, Nicky, this and that,’ he replied helpfully.

  My shoulders dropped.

  ‘Among other things, I MC at gigs,’ he continued.

  ‘MC?’ I queried, trying to work out the acronym in my head. Mexican Cookery? Model Cardigans? Make Cakes?

  ‘MC. You know, DJ, MC, like rap.’

  ‘Rap! What, you’re a rapper?’ I exclaimed, astonishment clearly apparent on my face.

  ‘No, it’s a bit different, Nicky. Rappers plan the words they’re going to rap. I freestyle on the spot. I make it up literally ON THE SPOT,’ he stressed.

  ‘So, you don’t learn it beforehand?’ I asked, but only to piss him off as I’d already worked out that he made it up ON THE SPOT.

  ‘The words just come straight out of my mouth when the DJ plays the music,’ he pointed at his mouth as he said this, which made me like him less.

  ‘What do you MC about?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, everything. The world around me, Nicky,’ he opened his arms out wide to demonstrate the world around him.

  ‘Like what? The room, where you are, or the world outside?’ I asked.

  ‘I can do it about anything.’ He shrugged, trying to look modest, and failing.

  ‘Cool,’ I nodded. My shoulders slumped and, twiddling with my straw, I awkwardly looked around the room.

  Then Lewis piped up. ‘I’m just going to the bar to get a drink and then we’ll have a think.’ He stood up and clicked his fingers at me.

  ‘Sorry, what?’ I replied.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, Nicky. I’m, like, going over there, but feel free to fix your hair, yeah.’

  Oh my God. Was Lewis MCing for me?

  ‘I’m MCing for you, Nicky, I’m not taking the mickey,’ he said, sauntering to the bar, a renewed swagger in his gait.

  I was left mouthing silent questions. Questions like: ‘Oh my God, why are you doing that?’ and ‘What have I done to deserve this?’

  I didn’t have the guts to leave. I just sat there patting my hair at the back, nervously, and thinking of the Doc Martin repeat I could be watching right now. And I was not even an avid fan of Doc Martin. Frankly, an entire series of Splash seemed a more attractive prospect than this.

  Lewis strutted back over and I spotted the triumphant look in his eye from twelve paces. ‘Here you go, I’ve got a voucher so this one is free. Yeah, Nicky, that’s right, that drink’s on me. Word.’

  My mouth fell open.

  ‘Er, thanks. That’s kind,’ I said, pulling myself together just enough to take the drink from his hand. He had a voucher for this bar. And he was still rhyming. And we both had full drinks, so this wasn’t ending any time soon. I felt an overwhelming urge to cry.

  ‘Thanks,’ I whispered again, huddled over the tall table.

  He nodded. Was he disappointed? Should I have rhymed? Oh God, he was beginning to squirm in his chair. I took a breath and straightened up. ‘Um, that’s really kind. You’ve a nice, er, mind?’ I finished uncertainly, feeling fucking stupid.

  Lewis looked delightedly at me. I’d clearly given him the green light. ‘So, like, I’m going to sit with you and chat and we’ll get on like that.’ He clicked his hand as he said ‘that’.

  ‘Good,’ I said as enthusiastically as I could muster to a man who seemed to think we were in some kind of Eminem film.

  ‘So, you got me here, to drink a beer, so let me ask you about your …’ Then he stopped. His eyes widened and he panicked. Deer, fear, mere, peer, tier, queer, I could see him rushing frantically through the alphabet, knowing he had lost his rhythm. A vein throbbed in his neck. I suddenly felt a surge of sympathy for him.

  ‘Career?’ I offered.

  ‘Yeah, career, yeah. No fear,’ he rapped, the relief palpable as the tension eased from his neck.

  ‘Um … well …’ I muttered, desperate to not prompt any more. ‘I um, I work in town for an agency. We represent actors, models, promotional staff, that sort of thing,’ I explained.

  ‘Musicians?’ Lewis queried, suddenly looking even keener.

  ‘Er, no. No musicians,’ I replied.

  His shoulders sagged, but then he brought his hand to his face and started making a sort of ‘Boom, boom, wicka, wicka’ noise repeatedly. I looked around me. Other couples were engrossed in their own conversations; a hen party was concentrating on consuming as much tequila as was humanly possible in a few short minutes. No one appeared to notice as Lewis continued to ‘Boom, boom, wicka, wicka’, his hands moving at his lips as he started up once more. ‘Because, Nicky, rapping is an art form, rapping is a skill. It’s music to your ears, right, so call it what you will.’ Then he finished with another ‘Boom, boom, wicka, wicka’.

  I couldn’t pretend any more. I just looked at him aghast.

  ‘I, I, um … I have to be somewhere,’ I gabbled, downing my drink and looking around for my jacket.

  ‘But, Nicky, we’re just getting started. Don’t leave, baby, you’ll regret it if you …’ Then his eyes widened once more. I couldn’t bear it. I didn’t even suggest ‘departed’. I just looked at him, pity in my eyes. He was still struggling to finish the sentence, and then his head drooped forward and he reached for his coat.

  ‘Let’s call it a night,’ I said gently. ‘Alright?’

  He nodded once, eyes cast down.

  We both left the bar and, without a backwards glance, I hailed a passing taxi.

  ‘It was good to meet you, Lewis,’ I said, as I clambered into the back of the cab. I didn’t bother to make up another lie about where I had to be, why I had to leave so soon. He knew.

  ‘Never again, Mark,’ I said, the moment he answered his phone.

  ‘But—’ he began.

  ‘—No, no, no, no, no,’ I chanted, refusing to be interrupted. ‘No more setting me up. I’m doing this on my own, if I’m doing it at all. Frankly, after the disaster of a date I’ve just had, I am seriously questioning ever agreeing to meet anyone of the opposite sex ever again.’

  ‘Nic, you’re being a bit extreme,’ Mark protested.

  ‘Never,’ I said indignantly, and then, suddenly, completely out of nowhere, I started laughing hysterically.

  Mark was stuck in a baffled silence on the other end as I continued to laugh, then hiccough and then giggle again.

  ‘Er. Nic,’ he said, between hiccoughs. ‘Nic, are you okay?’

  I collapsed onto my sofa, gave one last little snort and then sighed. ‘Actually, I think I am,’ I said, dropping my head back onto the cushions. ‘Just no more disastrous dates this week, please, brother dear.’

  ‘Fine. I promise. By the way, when are you going home for Christmas?’

  ‘Oh, lordy, is it that time of year again?’ I said, stretching out my legs and wiggling my toes in front of me.

  ‘Be nice, Nicola,’ Mark warned.

  ‘She provokes me,’ I protested.

  ‘I know, but you’re younger and prettier, so it’s your duty to be nice to her.’

  ‘No, she’s older and wiser,’ I corrected him. ‘An
d my mother.’

  ‘I’ll be there to get you through the dark times,’ he said teasingly.

  ‘I know you will. What do you want for Christmas?’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really. Apparently it’s traditional to exchange gifts at Christmas.’

  ‘Well, now that you mention it, I have been thinking about getting a chinchilla or my own domestic fruit bat.’

  I groaned at this announcement. ‘Can’t I just get you a book, or a DVD?’

  ‘Fine, sis, fine.’ He sounded disappointed and I felt guilty. Maybe I could stretch to a rodent for his home. I made a mental note to research this possibility. I could call Roger at the pet shop.

  ‘So, I’ll see you at home then,’ I said, about to hang up.

  ‘Can you come over tomorrow night?’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ I shrugged. ‘I suppose I could after work.’

  ‘Awesome. I have something to show you,’ he said, excitement creeping into his voice.

  ‘It’s not another moped helmet, is it?’

  ‘Motorbike. And no.’

  ‘Alright, I’ll be there. Oh and Mark,’ I said. ‘At Christmas – please don’t bring any random friends home with you. I can assure you now that they are NOT my type.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Dating is officially dreadful,’ I announced as I arrived at work the next day. We were now into the last week before Christmas, but even that thought hadn’t been able to cheer me.

  ‘Oh dear, not another dud?’ Caroline asked, bringing me a tea and perching on my desk with a look of a concern. She held a chocolate Hobnob aloft, on the off-chance I was tempted to stray from the routine. Where was the harm? I ate the biscuit.

  ‘Tight, tedious and into rapping,’ I stated, rattling off the characteristics on each finger.

  ‘Into napping?’ she asked, brow wrinkling.

  ‘Rapp.. oh never mind. It was dreadful,’ I wailed.

  ‘That bad?’ she grabbed the full packet of Hobnobs (it was an emergency after all). I noticed Caroline staring at me as I scarfed down two in quick succession.