How to Get a (Love) Life

by Blake, Rosie

  He took a step forward and went to speak but I ducked into my car. I needed to get out of there. Maybe James had just meant it all in a casual, friendly way but I knew what it was like to be the girl left behind.

  ‘See you in the office,’ I called brightly, turning the key in the ignition and reversing out of the space.

  I left him standing in the car park, his clubs resting by his side, his face in a frown as he watched me drive off.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I took extra care over my outfit for the second of my carpentry classes that evening. As I jumped out of the shower and padded through to my bedroom, my mind briefly flickered to Alex, his easy smile, and quick laugh. My stomach did a tiny flip and I was pleased that I was excited. I wondered whether the anticipation of seeing him again, or whether the class itself was firing me up. I hoped it was Alex. He seemed nice and I wanted to like him. I wanted to like someone available.

  I sat in front of the mirror in my room and piled my hair on top of my head, securing it with some kirby grips. I’d decided on three-quarter-length black trousers and a pink T-shirt, in an attempt to work a sort of Sexy-Peter-Pan look. Grabbing my keys, I raced down the stairs and smiled at Julio as he called goodbye.

  Shifting gear and slowing to turn into the car park, I smiled at myself in the rear-view mirror, looking forward to the class. Today I was finishing my tray, or so I’d been promised, and I couldn’t wait to get in there and see my handiwork from last week. I wasn’t the first to arrive this time and I waved a quick greeting at Tom, who nodded hello while talking to another member of the class. I grabbed an apron from the hooks. My tray rested on the workbench and next to it lay a sheet, no bigger than A5, of bright yellow sandpaper and a small black rectangular block. I set my bag down and looked proudly at the tray, running a hand down the edge, marvelling that it had been made by my fair hands.

  I jumped as a voice at my side stated: ‘Ah, the first piece. You have broken your carpentry virginity, m’lady.’

  Alex grinned at me from behind his safety goggles as he reached over the workbench and pulled his creation towards him. ‘A much better effort than this old thing.’

  Before I could ask him what he was constructing, Tom bustled over to fill me in on what he had planned. As I pushed my neck through the hole of my apron and tied it up at the back, he wrapped the sandpaper around the block and showed me how to run it along the tray to smooth off the edges and get the surface ready for painting or varnishing.

  ‘You’ll have time to sand and varnish today. It will dry pretty quickly with the stuff we use and you can take it home today if you like.’

  ‘Oh, I would!’ I burst out, grinning at him.

  He laughed. ‘Ah, the passionate response of a first-timer.’

  I was absurdly overexcited about the prospect, imagining piling the tray with a vintage teapot and delicate little saucers and teacups (note to self: buy vintage teapot and delicate little saucers and teacups) and carrying it out to admiring tea party guests and saying, ‘Oh, this old thing. It’s nothing, just something I made!’ (followed by a light tinkly, humble laugh). I set to work immediately, chatting to Alex as I sanded and he measured up a length of slats, cursing every now and again under his breath as he checked the length with a metre ruler.

  Concentrating on rubbing down the tray’s surface, it was a moment before I realised Alex had thrown his ruler down on the workbench and was grimacing at his creation, hands curled into fists by his side.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ he announced dramatically.

  ‘Of course you can do it,’ I said in my most encouraging tone. ‘Um … what is it?’ I asked.

  ‘See, you can’t even tell what it is,’ he said hopelessly.

  ‘Oh, of course I can! It’s a, well, it’s something you, it’s …’ I started to panic. ‘It’s a sledge?’

  ‘It is not a sledge,’ he wailed. ‘It’s meant to be the makings of a cot for our firstborn.’ His shoulders sagged as he rested his palms flat on the workbench.

  I was too distracted by his words to respond. A cot? For a baby? For his baby? I probed my own feelings as I stood there watching him have his meltdown. Was my stomach churning? Did I feel sad? Disappointed? He had certainly been the most promising man I’d met in recent weeks. He picked up two slats and stared at them. I was surprised to realise I didn’t actually feel anything. Not a whiff of disappointment. My eyes widened in surprise.

  Alex took this as a bad sign. ‘You don’t think I can do it either,’ he stated.

  ‘Hmm?’ I focused on him and then burst into life. ‘Oh no, not at all, I was thinking about something else. Of course you can do it. What do you need to do?’ I asked.

  ‘Make these wooden slats all the same length and slot them into these holes, but I’ve made the holes too small.’

  ‘Ah,’ I stated, my beginner’s brain befuddled by the prospect.

  ‘So, I’m not sure I can make the holes bigger without splitting the wood.’

  ‘I see.’ I nodded. (I didn’t.) ‘So your first child!’ I smiled, attempting to distract him from gloomy thoughts.

  Alex nodded. ‘We went to the second scan yesterday. I have to have things ready soon,’ his voice rose again.

  ‘Boy or girl?’ I stepped in.

  ‘We’re not finding out. But I have less than four months until he or she needs to sleep in something and this is not going to be finished and my wife will give me that look she gives me – the one she gives me when I flick through the TV channels and select You’ve Been Framed, and I will have failed.’

  He put his head in his hands as I started laughing. ‘You’re being a drama queen!’ I pointed out.

  ‘I’m allowed,’ he mumbled from the workbench, head now resting in his folded arms.

  ‘No, you need to get a grip. Ask Tom for help and get back to work,’ I said in my most businesslike voice.

  Alex slowly raised his head. ‘You’re right.’

  Tom soon appeared and took over, showing Alex what to do and getting him back on track. I started to varnish the surface of my tray. With every stroke it turned a rich mahogany brown. Like antique furniture, like warm melted chocolate. I was mesmerised and worked in peaceful silence for the next hour. The room had a warm buzz, everyone focused on their projects, some light talk, some manoeuvring and intermittent sawing. An elderly man in front of me had brought tea in a flask and was handing round plastic cups of sweet Earl Grey. His neighbour, Brian, was here because four years ago his wife had dared him to make her a present. He had come to the class ever since. His wife was now the proud owner of three bowls, two trays, a spice rack and a sleigh bed.

  Alex was now back in the groove, cradle panic over.

  ‘So do you have kids?’ he asked in an off-the-cuff way as we returned to work.

  ‘No,’ I answered promptly.

  He didn’t probe further but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

  At the end of the class I saw a woman smiling at Alex through the square window in the door.

  ‘Is that your wife?’ I asked, bobbing my head towards her.

  Alex’s face glowed as he replied, moving instinctively towards the door. ‘That’s her.’

  She was petite, hair cut to her shoulders and slightly curled, wearing a pink sundress over the world’s most delicate bump. She looked like a pregnant extra from a production of A Midsummer’s Night Dream.

  She pushed into the room and seeing the pile of wood on the bench, she raised an eyebrow. ‘Er, very promising, darling,’ she said.

  I smiled at her comment. She caught my eye and we giggled.

  Alex turned to her. ‘Oi, stop it you two. Fran, this is Nicola, Nicola, my ever-trusting and loving wife Fran.’

  I shook her hand. ‘It’s nice to meet you, and congratulations,’ I said indicating her bump.

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied, moving closer to inspect my work. ‘Now this I can get on board with,’ she said, examining my rece
ntly varnished tray. It did look good. The varnish had dried and the wood looked smoky and rich. ‘But Alex is ambitious, imagines he will be able to build us a house soon.’

  ‘You bet on it,’ he said, one hand patting the slats. ‘This will look wonderful when it’s put together, just you see.’

  Another arched eyebrow and Fran smiled at me. ‘Remind him the baby is due in less than sixteen weeks won’t you, Nicola. Don’t let him get involved in any intricate engraving or anything like that. Just a cot. And I’ll cancel the order I put into Mothercare.’

  ‘You’ve ordered one from Mothercare?’ Alex asked, aghast.

  ‘Of course not, darling,’ she said quickly, winking at me as he turned back to clear away the slats of wood.

  I giggled again. ‘See you next week, Alex, and lovely to meet you, Fran,’ I said, hanging my apron up.

  ‘You too.’

  Waving a goodbye to Tom, I picked up the two ends of the newspaper my tray was resting on and pushed backwards through the door, holding it out carefully in front of me as I manoeuvred down the corridor and out into the car park. I would take it into work. We needed something with which to carry our endless cups of tea.

  Fran and Alex emerged as I was driving out. Alex had stopped, one hand resting gently on the belly of his wife as he pulled her, laughing, towards him for a kiss. I wanted that, I thought as I drove past. Briefly, a face flashed across my mind. My stomach twisted and I distracted myself by turning on the car radio and accelerating away.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  ‘Why are we whispering?’

  ‘I’m not sure, it just feels like a whispering moment.’

  ‘I agree.’

  Mark and I went back to gazing up at the stars scattered above our heads. He’d got us into the planetarium after work. It was amazing really. Lying back in my seat it really was like there were no edges to it all. I really felt like it was just tiny me and the universe.

  ‘So, did you have intercourse with New Year’s Eve Man?’ This was already a creepy question from Mark, but seemed worse because he whispered it.

  ‘Mark.’ I sat up with a frown.

  ‘What? It’s a perfectly sensible question.’

  ‘Do you have to call it intercourse? I craned my neck to look at him. He’d rolled his leather jacket to create a makeshift pillow and was staring at Orion’s Belt or the Saucepan. Or something.

  ‘That’s what it’s called.’ He shrugged.

  I rolled my eyes.

  ‘Fine,’ he muttered. ‘Nicola, did you make sweet love on your date.’

  I laid back down. ‘No, Mark, I did not make sweet love. In fact I didn’t make anything.’

  ‘Was that James?’ he asked.

  ‘What? No, it wasn’t. James is my boss and anyway nothing is happening with James and why do you keep bringing him up anyway?’

  ‘Boss? Is that a euphemism?’

  ‘What?’

  Mark was shaking with quiet laughter.

  ‘You’re a Prick Face. How’s it going with Carol?’ I asked, swiftly changing the subject.

  The ensuing silence made me sit up again. ‘Is everything alright with you two?’

  Mark sat up, ‘Well, actually, Nic … I was going to say …’

  I looked agog. ‘Mark Brown, tell me you have not broken up with a girl who is utterly perfect for you in every way. A woman who loves disgusting rodents, who’s super fun and who has a figure that rivals Jessica Rabbit …’ I realised I was huffing.

  ‘Nic, Nic …’ Mark reached out and punched my arm.

  ‘Ow,’ I yelped.

  ‘Sorry, I was just trying to shut you up. I have to tell you something.’

  ‘You could go for the traditional: “Sister, I have to tell you something.”’

  ‘Whatever, Nic. This is important. Carol and I haven’t broken up. In fact …’

  If it wasn’t so dark in the observatory, I’d swear my brother was blushing.

  ‘… I wanted to ask, whether, and I want your honest opinion, Nic, whether you think I should ask her to move in with me?’

  There was a perfect silence and over our heads a star streaked across the sky.

  I sat up slowly, blinked a few times and looked at my lovely brother.

  ‘That is a brilliant idea. Yes, you definitely should.’

  And then, grinning, I threw myself into a hug and punched his arm so hard that he swore. I knew my brother had found the one person who could make him happy. And that made me happy too.

  On the way home my feet became heavier and, climbing the stairs to the flat, I felt weary. The excitement of Mark’s news had worn off slightly by the time I closed the door on the outside world, and instead I felt lonely and tired.

  As I poured myself a glass of wine I ranted inwardly at myself. What kind of person did this make me? My brother was having an epic romance and here I was feeling sorry for myself. I was ashamed of myself. I should have dragged him back to the flat and pulled out a bottle of champagne so we could toast this lovely moment in his life. I should have forced him to sit on the sofa and fed him lots of sisterly advice.

  Maybe that was my problem. Who was I to advise him? What did I really know about relationships? Here I was, sitting in my pristine flat, alone, again. I’d spent the last two months on useless dates with hopeless men and had nothing to show for it.

  The image of Alex with his wife popped into my head along with my brother’s face when he talked about Carol – they were incredibly lucky. What an amazing thing to have, to know that that kind of love was possible.

  I sighed lightly and a little flame of hope stirred within. I had to keep up the search. It was worth it. I’d seen proof.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Struggling into the office just past eight thirty the next day, I was surprised to see the door ajar and Caroline, who normally wafted into the office just after 9 o’clock, rearranging the furniture and scattering any spare surface with shiny confetti pieces shaped like tiny balloons. She turned, mouth half-open, before putting a hand to her chest.

  ‘Nic! Oh, good you can help. I thought you were James arriving early.’

  I put my bag down on my chair. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘It’s James’ birthday! I thought we should make a fuss of him.’ She threw me a pack of unopened balloons. ‘Get to work.’

  ‘You know it’s not even 9 o’clock and I’ve had no caffeine as yet.’

  She rolled her eyes and walking towards the office kitchen, said, ‘Coming right up, your majesty.’ She bowed in the doorway and I laughed, tearing open the bag and taking out a balloon in an alarming shade of yellow. By the time Caroline returned with a mug (that said ‘I Love Leeds’ for no discernible reason), I was surrounded by an assortment of balloons in varying sizes and had the onset of earache.

  Caroline tapped at her computer and Lesley Gore’s ‘It’s my Party’ started up.

  ‘Just getting us in the groove,’ she called over the chorus.

  I looked to the heavens in mock exasperation and reached for the mug.

  The music was still blaring when James appeared. He laughed as he walked through the office. ‘You have been busy,’ he chuckled, looking around the room.

  Caroline walked over and folded him into an enormous hug. He laughed again and kissed her on the cheek. ‘You’re both brilliant.’

  He leant down to kiss me on the cheek. Our eyes met. ‘Thank you.’

  I felt my whole face get hot. I looked away hurriedly, my insides screeching.

  We ate Ben 10 chocolate cake for breakfast off kitchen roll, crumbs scattered over the CVs on my desk, and drank tea with a drop of whisky. (‘It’s a special day,’ Caroline argued, pouring in a sizeable amount.) She was making us both laugh with her tales from the weekend. Apparently Ben had decided that clothes really inhibited people and he wanted to be ‘like Adam in the garden’. The trouble was that he decided to become Adam in the garden at one of her husband’s work dinner parties.

  James
was sitting on the floor, head resting against the wall, long legs stretched out. His tie had come loose and he clearly hadn’t shaved that morning. He would have looked devilishly attractive if Caroline hadn’t forced him into a cone-shaped hat emblazoned with ‘Birthday Boy’ in big cartoon letters.

  A Meatloaf track played, and as I leant against the wall laughing at something Caroline said, James’ hand brushed against mine. My stomach lurched. I felt as if I were fourteen years old. Before I could look at him there was a cough from the doorway. There, dressed in an immaculate navy blue pencil skirt and silk cream blouse, stood Thalia. I snatched my hand away from James’ like I’d touched the hob. James struggled to his feet as Thalia tottered into the room, looking down at us, her height made more impressive by four-inch Louboutins.

  ‘Cosy,’ she sniffed.

  I laughed, one ‘ha’: horribly forced. James had taken off his hat and I hastily brushed confetti pieces off my jumper into my hand, feeling foolish, seeing the scene through her eyes. Caroline remained sitting on her cushion, openly put out that the party appeared to have had its moment. She offered Thalia some cake.

  Thalia replied, ‘Wheat free,’ and tapped her stomach, which made Caroline place a hand on hers protectively.

  ‘Er, this is a surprise,’ James cut across.

  ‘I just came to wish you a happy birthday.’ She smiled: it didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Shall we?’ she motioned with her head to his office and James took a moment to follow her train of thought.

  ‘Yes, okay.’ He turned around. ‘Caroline, Nic, thank you for the impromptu birthday party.’ He dabbed at the corner of his mouth, missing a chocolate smear that Thalia then reached out and wiped for him with her forefinger. James took a step back. The intimate gesture made the edges of my mouth turn down. They disappeared into his office. Caroline looked at me, head on one side as she searched my face. She didn’t say anything, just got up and started to clear away the empty mugs. I busily flicked the crumbs from my skirt with a piece of kitchen roll, feeling foolish that there was a lump in my throat.