by Daniel Grant
I arrive back at the flat with less than half the items I wanted to get. Must start writing a shopping list. As I’m hauling the shopping up the stairs I spot Tristan smoking on his balcony. A joint. Of that, I have no doubt.
‘Hey Ollie, that looks heavy,’ he calls.
‘Yeah it is,’ I reply.
‘Maybe you should try Tesco delivery. Then the guy lugs the shit up for you.’ Maybe you should fuck off Tristan. Get a proper job, stop dealing to teenagers. Hmm? Try that.
‘Yeah maybe.’ I drop the shopping outside the front door and knock. Parker better be in. I wait, glancing briefly at Tristan who waves and pulls an exaggerated comical smile. I nod back, smiling politely. Where the fuck is Parker? I bang again. ‘Come on,’ I say quietly.
‘You forget your keys?’ Tristan asks, inhaling a deep breath of military grade ganja.
‘No, just…Parker’s supposed to be in,’ I reply. I can’t believe this, he’s there all the bloody time and the one time I need him to be in...fuck it, just do it myself. I fumble through the absurd number of pockets in my jacket before eventually finding my keys. I open the door and nearly fall in. Tristan laughs at my misfortune. What a cocksucker. I start lifting bags from the hallway into the kitchen. This is far too much work. Why the hell am I doing this? I have two flatmates, both of whom don’t pull their weight around the place and here I am, Captain Muggings, doing the shopping for the two of them. I don’t care if Ashley is a good kisser, she still has to do her part.
‘Parker?’ I call. Nothing. Brilliant. I carry the last of the bags into the kitchen and sigh. I walk down the hallway to the toilet when I notice Parker’s bedroom door closed. I walk slowly up to it and listen. Silence. I say a quick prayer that he’s not engaged in some form of self-abuse, then I knock. Nothing. ‘Parker?’ I say again, opening the door. He’s not in there but the fool has left his novel up on his computer. Now, should I? I know what you’re thinking, it’s personal, it’s a first draft, he wouldn’t be happy about it. All good reasons, I grant you. But fuck it, if the roles were reversed, Parker wouldn’t even be hesitating. I scroll up and start to read. Here’s a sample:
‘Her eyes glared at me like she was gonna kick the living crap out of my arse. I wanted her bad but somehow I also knew she wanted to play the game.’ –Punctuation, grammar and general rules of English thrown mercilessly out of the window -something about a time machine. Blah-blah, hang on let me get to a good bit…ummm. Okay- ‘the guy had no idea what was coming. With her devastatingly fast moves she had him in a headlock before he knew what had happened. The blood started to drain from his head and he started to feel dizzy. Her grip was locked tight. A hyena couldn’t have escaped that grip (???) Slowly he came to the realisations (how he spelt it) that he was indeed doomed.’
‘Shit,’ I say out loud. What did you think? A budding Charles Dickens in the making or could Parker be about to find out that his choice of career is a massive mistake? Could it be edited to be better? Sure, if we started with a blank page. Oh Parker. He’s hung his dreams on this? Fuck. Now what? Do I tell him, devastate the guy? Or pretend I haven’t and make subtle hints? I wish I’d never seen the thing now. How is he ever going to pay his way, long term, if this is the sort of drivel he’s churning out? Not good. Not good at all. I walk back to the kitchen, unload the shopping and make myself some lunch.
Ashley comes home at five, still wearing her pub uniform.
‘Hey,’ she says, walking into the living room. I’ve got my feet up, watching TBN. I know I’m sad for watching the news on my day off. Can’t help it, I quite enjoy it.
‘Hi. How was work?’ I ask. She collapses onto the sofa and pulls her shoes off.
‘Interesting. Some guy started telling me all this personal stuff and by accident we ended up snogging,’ she replies, smiling.
‘Really? That’s terrible.’
‘I know. But see, the thing is, he’s not over his ex and he’s trying to move on with his life but every so often he takes reminiscent step backwards. And he’s been so good to me I want to try and help him move forwards.’
‘I see. Did he listen?’
‘He did after I stuck my tongue down his throat.’ We both chuckle. I look at her, a moment of genuine affection between us. ‘We used to be a good team, Ollie.’ I nod, the smile fading.
‘Yeah we did. Until we started going out,’ I reply.
‘Yeah, things went a bit weird. Why was that?’
‘I don’t know. Never figured it out. Better with the physical stuff, I guess.’
‘Yeah,’ she says, a cheeky smile forming. I chuckle. The atmosphere has become charged, I’m breathing quickly. She moves closer to me, suddenly running her finger over my chest. I glance down then back to her.
‘We shouldn’t really…’ I start to say. She shakes her head.
‘No, we shouldn’t.’ We stare at each other, the tension overwhelming. Our lips move almost closer.
‘This is not a good idea,’ I say with no real conviction in my voice.
‘No,’ she says. I move in and kiss her. Urgent. Passionate. She responds, moving her arm around my waist. All the pent-up tension forcing its way out of both of us. My fingers move over the familiar curves of her body, she feels the same as when we were at school. She pulls off my T-shirt. I unbutton her work trousers and yank them down. I feel her pulling at my jeans and suddenly my abdomen feels cool as the denim is removed. Before I even know what’s happening, we’re making love on the sofa, half-naked. Energy moves from me to her and back. She pulls my hair and scratches my back. I move between her legs roughly, little yelps escaping from her. Parker could come back from wherever he is…where did he go anyway? Who cares, Ashley feels so good. We were just made for each other. I can’t remember how many times we’ve done this but every time feels like the first. I slow down, the energy changing and suddenly we stare at each other. Neither saying anything. Peering straight into each other’s souls. I see who she is. I feel it and I know she sees me. She comes, shaking softly as she does. I come. Eyes closed, feeling the utter ecstasy of the encounter flooding through me. And then, silence. Nothing and everything. Slowly, I’m aware of my breathing, and before long I’m aware of hers. We’re back in reality. Back in the present. I open my eyes, there she is. Her blouse is ripped under her armpits and her makeup smeared. She looks at me and smiles. ‘Oops,’ she says. I smile.
‘Yeah, oops,’ I repeat.
Friday. I sit at work, thinking. Always thinking. Mostly about Svetla. A little about Ashley and some about Lauren. What am I doing? Somehow, while being fucked up about Svetla, I’ve managed to book myself on a date with Lauren and fooled around with Ashley. Total confusion reigns. Should I even go on this date with Lauren when I’m feeling like this? Surely someone’s going to get hurt, most likely me but there’s a possibility it could be Lauren and I would hate that. She seems like a nice girl. Do I want to load her up with my baggage? Of which, there is a considerable amount. What to do? Could do with some advice. I look around. It’s a quiet day today, not much news around. Julie sits reading the Guardian. Such a liberal, doesn’t make her a bad person or anything. I walk over to her and sit down.
‘Hi,’ I say.
‘Hi Ollie, how’s it going?’
‘Not bad. I have a little dilemma.’ She turns towards me and folds her newspaper.
‘Oh? I love dilemmas. Tell me.’
‘Okay well. You know that Swedish girl I was going out with?’
‘Svetla, yes we all know about her Ollie.’
‘Ah,’ I reply. I hadn’t realised I’d bored everyone with my tales of the Swedish one.
‘What about her? Don’t tell me you’re back together?’
‘No. Just…I’m going on a date tonight,’ I say. She inhales excitedly.
‘With the girl in the City?’
‘Lauren, yeah. But the thing is, I sort of…fooled around with an old school friend who happens to be staying with me.’ Julie’s expression shifts from excite
d to a small frown. ‘We’re not going out or anything but we have this sort of, complex relationship.’ Her expression changes again to what I would describe as disappointment. ‘We went out in school but it was a bit of a disaster and we nearly lost our friendship, so we worked out some rules. Bearing in mind this was a few years ago, I’m assuming those rules still apply.’
‘So these rules say you can shag her but not go out with her?’
‘Well, yeah I guess. God, you think I’m evil don’t you?’
‘No, just a man,’ she replies, sighing. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t be shagging your school friend when you’re going out with Lauren.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. A pause before I then continue with, ‘I’m just worried I’m going out with Lauren for the wrong reasons and maybe I’m still fucked up about Svetla and using Ashley to make myself feel better.’
‘So you’re shagging one, dating another while secretly pining for the third?’ Julie says, staring at me. Well jeez, when you put it like that…
‘I am such an arsehole, aren’t I?’ I say. She shakes her head.
‘A little bit, yeah.’ Her words sting with the bitterness of truth. ‘Look, what do you want?’
‘You think I should cancel the date?’
‘No,’ she replies, thoughtfully. ‘Just, don’t string her along. I guess you don’t owe her anything but it could get really bad, really soon. Especially if you carry on with your school friend.’
‘Yeah,’ I reply, taking in what she’s said.
‘So, she lives with you, this friend?’
‘Yeah, her boyfriend was being an arse, she had nowhere else to go.’
‘She just showed up?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Man, she is so in love with you.’
‘No, it’s not that sort of relationship.’
‘I know you think that but trust me, she wants your babies,’ she says.
‘This is not helping. How’s Josh anyway, has he asked yet?’ I ask, deftly changing the subject. Julie sighs again.
‘No and I’m getting…it’s fine. I’m not expecting anything.’
‘But if he doesn’t ask you to marry him the next sixty days, he’s toast, right?’
‘Right,’ she says, automatically. ‘No! I just…look, the ball is in his court. That’s all I’m going to say.’
‘I’m sure he’ll do it soon.’
‘Yeah. Exactly,’ she says, looking back at her paper.
How do I describe the Proxy Bar? A little bit too fashionable? The customers inside look like they all own swimming pools and Segways. There isn’t a man in there that isn’t wearing a tie and jacket even though there’s no official dress code. The best word I can find to describe this place is poncey. Marginally too up-its-own-arse. I peer inside, looking for Lauren. I can’t see her. Do I want to go in, sit at the bar like a loner boy? Or should I stand outside looking like a homeless person on the scrounge? I opt to head inside, it’s too cold outside anyway even if it is July. Blue LEDs light the top of the bar. The aluminium bar stools are buffed to a high shine. The noise is incredible. People have to shout above the din. Although I would never choose to hang out in a place like this (my wallet could never take the damage) I have to admit it does have a certain energy. The place feels comfortable in its style, abundant with primness and patrons.
Taking a deep breath, I walk over to the bar. I glance over at the sea of customers impatiently waiting to be served. Well, at least I can kill some time while the staff supply the rest of these people.
‘Yes sir?’ the barman says. I glance over at others who’d been waiting longer.
‘Oh…uh,’ I reply. I haven’t even chosen what I want. I look at the line of draught selection, all premium beers. All, no doubt, painful on the wallet. I can’t decide. The barman’s expression shifts from expectant friendliness to annoyed irritation.
‘Uh, uh…Leffe, I’ll have a Leffe,’ I blurt out. Man, that was surprisingly hard work. I glance around again, looking for Lauren. No sign. I look at my watch. Five past eight. It’s fine, she probably couldn’t get away from work. The barman places a beer mat down on the bar and positions my pint on top.
‘Six pounds fifty please.’ My mouth hits the floor. I almost say ‘Fuck me.’ That is an insane amount of money for a pint, don’t you think? Christ, that must be in the running for most expensive pint in London. Six pounds fifty! I begrudgingly hand over the money, shaking my head as I turn to look for somewhere to sit. The place is heaving, there’s no way we’re sitting in here. I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn to see Lauren standing behind me. She looks breathtaking. Wearing a power suit and white blouse, the whole ensemble looks fantastically sexy.
‘Hi,’ she says.
‘Hi,’ I reply, unsure whether to go for a kiss on the cheek. Fortunately, she leans into me and kisses my left cheek. It sends my nerves tingling. I smile. She glances down at my pint.
‘Leffe? Good choice, I love Leffe.’
‘Let me get you one,’ I reply, turning to the bar. Of course, now he’s serving someone else and I just know I won’t be that lucky again.
‘You look very nice,’ Lauren says, putting her hand through my arm.
‘Thanks, so do you,’ I reply, knowing how lame it sounds.
‘Sorry I’m late, had a few bits to clear up at the office.’
‘No worries.’ I’m strangely nervous, not sure what to say. I turn back to the bar, a vague attempt to catch a barman’s attention. We stand, slightly awkwardly, neither saying anything.
‘So busy day?’ I say, still having no luck with the barman.
‘Always. You?’
‘Not really, not much going on,’ I reply.
‘It didn’t look like there was much news around today.’
‘No. Bit dull,’ I reply. I turn back to the barman who catches my eye, I smile at him.
‘Yes mate,’ he says, suddenly spotting Lauren. I see him do a double take. Yeah fuckhead…she’s with me. Don’t know why I called him fuckhead but it feels right somehow.
‘Another pint of Leffe please,’ I say. He nods and glances at Lauren. Or was it at her tits? Unsure. Let’s not go there. I turn back to her. ‘Sorry about that email.’
‘Why?’
‘I dunno, just could have written something…better, I guess.’
‘Ollie, seriously, don’t worry about it. If I thought you were a psycho, I would have given tonight a miss.’
‘Fair enough,’ I reply. I don’t know what else to say other than the obligatory ‘Will you have sex with me?’ which I know I can’t say out loud but...any thoughts would be great at this point? Anyone? No? Brilliant.
Luckily, the barman brings over the pint and asks for another eye-watering sum of money for it. At this rate, I’ll be out of money before we’ve even eaten. She takes the drink and sips the beer.
‘Damn that’s good,’ she says, ‘those Belgians really know what they’re doing when it comes to beer.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. Lame-arse. I look around the bar. ‘Nice place.’
‘Yeah, it’s okay. It’s a bit pretentious but it’s close to work so, convenient.’
‘Should have booked a table, sorry.’
‘I’ll just ask someone to move,’ she says.
‘Yeah right, good one.’ I say, chuckling. Turns out, she’s not joking. She heads over to two guys sitting at a large double table that could easily accommodate more if they were pulled apart. I watch her talking to them. They are eager to please, their expressions give them away. Men are so easily influenced. I observe this knowing full well I would be doing exactly what they are doing, which is moving their chairs closer so we can pull one of their tables away. Lauren beckons to me to come over, which I do, like the obedient dog that I am.
‘Wow, good job,’ I say, pulling off my jacket and hanging it over the chair.
‘Just have to ask, most people are very accommodating if you ask with a smile,’ she replies, taking her seat.
‘Well, they’r
e accommodating for you, Lauren. Doubt it works for everyone.’
‘Why’s that?’ she asks.
‘Well, because you’re…’
‘What?’
‘Pretty.’
‘You think I’m pretty?’
‘Come on, you know you’re gorgeous.’
‘I think I’m not bad. I wanted to see what you thought.’
‘Well I don’t really think it’s up for discussion.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ I smile and take a sip of my beer.
‘So, how did you get into being a news producer?’ she asks.
‘I used to be a runner for music videos, commercials. Making tea and coffee and stuff. And I was sending letters off to people asking for jobs and one was TBN who came back to me saying ‘thank you for your letter, we’ll keep it on file, blah blah’ and then six months later I got a phone call asking if I wanted to come in for an interview. So I did and they gave me a job as a news runner, running scripts to presenters and helping graphics with the background images behind the newsreader. So I sort of worked my way up from there.’