‘Would you like to buy me another drink?’ Lauren held my hand and edged closer to me, her lips slightly parted as if she dared me to kiss them.
‘I don’t think you deserve one.’
‘Oh, really!’ She chuckled. ‘What makes you say that then?’
‘You’re teasing me.’ I leant closer to her and inhaled her Armani Code perfume; the seductive mixture of fresh ginger and honey-sandalwood made my nostrils flare.
‘You love it. Otherwise you wouldn’t have wanted to talk about chemistry…’
‘How witty!’ I laughed.
‘So, are you sensing chemistry between us right now?’
‘I think so. But I’m no scientist.’
She placed her hand behind my head and kissed me tenderly on the lips.
‘You two seem to be getting on just fine!’ Amy said.
Gareth left half an hour later with steam coming out of his ears. He claimed he had some studying to do.
Lauren and I spoke about her love for the French language, which she spoke fluently, what books she liked to read and who her favorite poets were.
‘I love poetry because it’s so deep,’ she said. ‘But I sometimes wonder if I think about things too deeply.’
‘I have that problem. I question everything.’
‘It’s the poet’s burden, I suppose. But it can be dangerous to think too much.’
‘What do you mean?’ I finished the last dregs of my pint.
‘Well, although I have a tendency to think a lot, I never let deep-thinking get me down. If we start wondering why we’re here, whether there’s life after death and, if not, what is the point in existence, we’ll get depressed.’
‘But if people didn’t question things, there’d be no such thing as poetry,’ I said.
‘Well, as long as the poets don’t drown in their sorrows. That’s what usually happens when people question too much, and realize they’ll never know all the answers.’
‘You sound like you’ve thought a lot about this subject.’
‘Like I said, I’m a deep thinker.’ Her eyes glistened like moonlit oceans, despite the dim lighting.
‘I’m guessing you’d describe yourself as a generally happy person.’ I loosened my shirt collar.
‘Le meilleur vin a sa lie. But yeah, I guess I’m happy most of the time. But you’re incurably romantic, and that gets you down sometimes.’
‘You think so?’
‘Yes, and you’ve had your heart broken. You’re a sad little puppy who dwells on silly teenage love.’
‘You’re either a mind reader or a shrink. And you’ve never had your heart broken?’
I wasn’t sure if digging up past relationships was a good idea on a first date, but her forwardness intrigued me.
‘Not really…’ She gazed into my eyes and placed a finger on my lips. ‘I think we’re gonna get on fine. This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.’
‘Do hope so, kid.’
Even though I was a soppy bastard, I didn’t know if I believed in love at first sight. But I could certainly feel myself falling at that moment. I’d been falling since I first caught sight of Lauren sunbathing in Gorsedd Gardens. I wanted nothing more than to unravel her, to discover her secrets, to hold and cherish her. It would be difficult not to rush things.
Amy and Chloe left an hour earlier than we did. I walked Lauren back to her flat. The empty streets stretched under the tranquil moonlight and lazy-pacing clouds. We held hands and chatted together, our steps echoing through the cool air. Holding hands is usually a big deal in my book, but everything was so natural with her, even though we barely knew each other. Her fingers locked into mine and it just felt right, even on a first date. I knew then that I wanted her to be mine, officially and unequivocally mine.
‘I’ve had a lovely night.’ She smiled widely as we stopped outside her flat.
‘Me too. I hope you enjoyed reading me.’ I pulled her towards me, my lips brushing against hers.
‘I hope you’ll let me read another chapter. When are you taking me out?’ she asked as we parted.
‘How about tomorrow?’
‘What shall we do?’
‘Whatever you like.’
‘Oh, c’mon, Daniel. You make the decision!’ She giggled, resting her thumbs against the corners of my lips.
‘How about I take you out for a meal?’
‘Nah. I’d get fat.’
‘Um, okay…’
‘I’d like to go to the cinema,’ she said.
‘Now you’re the one making the decision!’
‘Ah, it happens.’
‘The cinema sounds good.’
‘Then I’ll see you tomorrow.’
I got home late, but my mother was still sitting in the living room, draped in darkness and silence.
‘How come you’re still up?’ I asked her.
‘I couldn’t sleep.’
‘So you thought you’d sit downstairs alone like a weirdo!’ I chuckled.
‘Yeah, that’s right.’ She rubbed her weary eyes. ‘How was your night?’
‘Brilliant.’
‘Really?’
‘Mum, I’ve met the most amazing girl. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I really think she could be the one.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Lauren.’
‘Hmm, pretty name.’ My mother nodded approvingly.
‘That’s what I told her.’
‘You’re all loved up now then, huh?’
I laughed.
‘It’s nice to see you smiling, Daniel.’
‘You’ve been in a funny mood again, haven’t you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Sitting downstairs on your own. What’ve you been thinking about?’
‘The same things I think about when I’m lying in bed on my own.’ She sighed.
‘And what things are they?’
‘Nothing interesting. Just life in general, really. I wonder if this is it, if this is all there is to life.’
‘You shouldn’t question things too much,’ I repeated Lauren’s sentiment.
‘What is life without questions?’
‘Life has few answers.’
‘You’d have to stop writing your poems.’
‘Maybe. I’m going to bed now. I think you should as well.’
‘I will. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, mum.’
‘Oh, and Daniel?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I hope things go well with this girl.’ She winked at me.
‘Thanks. Sleep tight.’
I fell into the comforting darkness under my blanket, while dreaming about Lauren and wondering how things would go with her. Moonlight bathed my satin bed sheets, the pale rays slowly retreating as the yolk-like morning sun rose over the horizon, signaling the beginning of a new day, and the end of a perfect night.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Every New Beginning
Over the following few weeks, I took Lauren out for food, bowling and to the cinema. We went to see a comedy film. She laughed all the way through it, and I laughed at her laughing even though the film was crap. Dating can be awkward. At first, it feels like you’re treading on eggshells. You’ve got to be careful with what you say and do, have to make sure you don’t offend this person you don’t know. You’re exploring foreign terrain. And there’s always an underlying curiosity and sexual tension. Every little touch, when her arm accidentally brushes against yours, when she leans closer to you and reveals her cleavage, sends a thousand fleeting thoughts fizzing through your head. The tension with Lauren could be unbearable at times, but we were patient. I had some barriers up after Lisa. That relationship had hurt like hell. I wanted to take it slow, really get to know this girl before committing to a label as significant and daunting as ‘relationship’, but circumstances wouldn’t allow that. I didn’t need those barriers anymore, didn’t need a safety net. Lauren and I weren’t out to hurt each other.
Lauren and I usually people watched, chatted about the other diners sitting around us, and imagined their life stories. That got us through the inevitable awkward silences that come when you’re first getting to know someone. But those silences became less frequent, and it wasn’t long until we felt totally relaxed in each other’s company, to the extent that we adopted cute nicknames and spoke to each other in that mushy language (similar to baby talk) that loved up couples use. It’s funny looking back: I used to get so nervous waiting for her to arrive. I’d stand next to these bronze statues of an immigrant couple in Cardiff Bay, overlooking the water, bright lights twinkling in the distance, traveling through the darkness. And I’d be shitting myself. What if the date didn’t go well? Yeah sure, what’s the worst that can happen blah blah, but we’ve all seen those Dr Pepper adverts. What if we didn’t really have anything in common? All those thoughts I’d spent on her would be wasted. Another false dawn, hope built on sand. What if she didn’t even come? I’d check my phone. Was she going to text, tell me she was going to be late? It would drive me wild when she didn’t reply to a text straight away, but she wasn’t like other girls. I couldn’t stand it when girls played games when it came to texting back. If a girl pretended to be aloof it wouldn’t hook me in at all. I just wouldn’t bother. But Lauren always messaged me back once she got the opportunity. She knew she had me hooked from the start.
I believe there’s someone out there for everyone. Sometimes, a relationship isn’t meant to last. But eventually the right person comes along. Each relationship is a steppingstone, another lesson leading us up the garden path and towards the right partner. At times we linger on a certain stone, often for too long. The lessons aren’t always obvious, and through the tears and heartbreak it’s hard to discern any good. Some people endure more lessons than others. But Lauren and I knew we were meant to be together, even at that young age. Everything fitted into place, like the final couplet of a sonnet, or the last touch to a canvas.
Life had never been so untroubled. Michael and I joined a rugby team, but we were always careful not to bruise our faces, in case it compromised our theatrical roles! We made more progress with the acting lark. We’d played decent roles on stage, albeit in amateur plays, since joining the actor’s union, and did clothes modeling for catalogues, which made Michael’s ego even bigger. We were sure people in the business would eventually stand up and take notice of us. It became difficult to balance my university lectures with acting, but I worked hard. Michael and I had been in a few plays together, and we always competed over who could land the larger role. One director told him off for refusing to lose to me in a fencing duel, during a production of Hamlet. I’d played the prince himself, while Michael played Laertes, a character justly killed by his own treachery.
I’m in the pub with the rugby lads,
swigging cider and still regretting
that Mars bar I decided to eat
for a challenge (which didn’t
go down well with the Guinness),
and our captain says,
‘I hear you do a bit of acting?’
Nice one, Jonathon, I think to myself.
Tell these brick-shouldered,
shower-sharing Spartans that I’m
a thespian!
But I’ve had a drink, the scrum-half
is curious, so I tell the boys
about the plays I’ve done:
‘I once helped to build
a barricade, then fought beside
my fellow revolutionaries,
our muskets poised, as bullets sang
in our ears. I’ve heard war speeches that would put our talks to shame, and make our pre-match huddles look like
an Ann Summers party.
I’ve dressed a Scottish tyrant
in his armor and informed him
of his wife’s death, while he
just talked about tomorrows.
At the moment, I’m playing a count…’
‘A what?’ a prop asks, trying
to make a crass pun.
‘A count,’ I repeat, ‘in a comedy
of manners. There’s nothing
like standing on a proscenium stage,
the lights in your eyes
as the drapes are opened.
Nothing like the cold touch
of a prop weapon and the stench
of the costumes you wear each night,
as sweat pours down your brow,
your heart thunders, and you deliver
your lines to an expectant audience.
I’ve loved acting since I was a boy
with a tail poking out of my arse,
asking Little Red to join
her grandma in bed.’
The lads just nod.
Some with respect. Others amazed
their number eight has been prancing around on stage since childhood.
I take another swig of my pint,
smile and say:
‘By the way, lads, did I mention that I like to write poetry?’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Drama Society
Cardiff University’s drama society is called Act One. It’s been going for donkey’s years now and despite being just that, an amateur university drama society, full of some students who were there for the fun (and the society was incredibly fun) and were well aware they couldn’t act their ways out of paper bags, has produced successful actors, writers and directors. Little acorns. Act One made my university experience. I became obsessed with it. At first, Michael and I didn’t fit in. We were regarded as too laddish, just there to chat up girls, swag and slag around. That was before anyone saw us act. I like to think their reservations disappeared after that. Michael and Daniel became the gruesome twosome of Act One before long, the Hugh and Laurie, the Bert and Ernie who didn’t, fortunately, sleep together.
The society put on a number of plays each term. We’d rehearse on Mondays and Thursdays each week. These rehearsals would become more frequent and intense as it got closer to opening night. It could be difficult to balance the intense rehearsal periods with essay writing. Act One was a massive, often dysfunctional family. Michael gave the best description of it I can conjure: ‘Every group of friends has at least one show-off, one person who wants to be the leader, the constant center of attention, the entertainer, regardless of whether he or she is entertaining and talented or not. Act One is essentially a society consisting of at least two hundred of these fuckers.’ He also compared our fixation with amateur drama to heroin addiction, because you had to ‘contend with a great number of pricks to feed your habit.’
Our introduction to the society didn’t go too well, although we landed very good parts. I was Don Pedro and he was Claudio in Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing, which just happened to be the first Shakespeare production in the history of the society to sell out every night. During the Halloween social, in a pub in Cardiff, someone called me a shit actor as I made my way to the loos.
He’s never seen me act
before, the cheeky prick! I thought to myself.
So Michael and I approached him, offered to take him outside for a private dance. Turns out he was a good kid. It was just a joke. He’d heard a lot about me from my director but understood I didn’t know who he was, so the banter could be misconstrued. I felt like a twat. At a fancy-dress house party a week later, dressed as a hippy ironically enough, Michael threatened to punch an obnoxious Act One veteran in the garden. I’m not surprised this society of lovey-dovey wannabe actors felt threatened by us. They really didn’t take to Michael’s pulling technique either. He’d walk into a social and talk to (try to charm the knickers off) every single girl who wasn’t totally troglodytic within the first hour, so he’d have plenty of options for a quick shag at the end of the night.
Much Ado About Nothing was great fun. I learned a lot from that production. It was my first opportunity to shine in a decent stage role. Since Little Red Riding Hood anyway. The directors, a Mutt and Jeff, friend and foe couple named Mikey and Rhian, wanted to make the production accessible for those who didn’t know Shakespeare, which is often a problem when showing the Bard’s plays to modern audiences. So they cut it, extensively, even getting rid of a major character - Antonio. The play is a comedy, and a very funny one it is too, but there are moments of darkness concerning the villainous Don John’s deception, with themes of infidelity and voyeurism, all concluding in a tragicomical resolution. The plot concerns my character Don Pedro, Prince of Aragon, arriving at Messina to stay with the elderly Governor, Leonato. Michael’s character, Claudio, serves under my command. Incongruous as the casting choice might be, I have to advise his character how best to woo the beautiful Hero, Leonato’s daughter. Don John, Pedro’s bastard brother, tricks Claudio into believing that Hero has shagged another bloke on the eve of their wedding. It’s all very Jeremy Kyle. The central characters are not Don Pedro and Claudio, however. They are Benedick, or Benedickhead as I liked to call the actor playing him, and Beatrice. Benedick was the part I originally wanted. He is tricked into falling in love with Beatrice, and vice-versa. At the start they are both antiromantic, but end up falling hard for each other. Both actors were excellent in many respects. The girl playing Beatrice, Charlotte, was a raven-haired beauty from Edinburgh who showed a great range of emotions. Chris, who played Benedick, was excellent at making Jacobean dialogue sound as modern and accessible as possible. Looking back, I can’t deny I was jealous of him. He had the starring role. And he always wanted to be the center of attention in Act One, organizing the annual paintball trips, barbeques and whatnot, anything so long as he got to be the lead. But what I really didn’t like about him was how bitchy he was, how two-faced. A smiling villain if ever there was one. He epitomized everything that was ugly in the society. For every saint in Act One, there was a Judas puckering up.
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