The Cupid Effect

by Dorothy Koomson

  I certainly wouldn’t be sat in the house of some bird I’d met a few times. And if this person I didn’t know very well had asked about the love of my life’s sexual prowess I would’ve thought and said, ‘Mind your own business, you nosy mare.’ I certainly wouldn’t tell her. I’d automatically think she fancied him. I didn’t know her well enough not to assume that. Which led me to deduce one thing . . . From the depths of the corridor, the theme of I Dream Of Jeannie started. Claudine’s mobile.

  ‘That’ll be Kevin. Ringing to check I’m all right.’

  Kevin? Yeah, right! It’s Mel. He’s rung back cos he rang you at home and Kev’s given him a mouthful then hung up on him, so he’s ringing to check you’re OK. Kevin won’t be calling. He thinks you’re mid-coitus with Mel.

  Claudine stumbled blindly around my living room, searching for her coat and mobile like a heat-seeking missile looking for an iceberg. She finally found it, in the corridor where I’d hung it. ‘It’s Mel,’ she said, after checking the mobile’s screen.

  ‘Is it?’

  Claudine nodded, drunk and miserable. ‘Shall I answer it?’

  How the hell should I know? ‘Do you want to talk to him?’

  ‘I want to talk to Kevin,’ she wailed.

  That’s the Kevin who isn’t a patch on Mel, right? That Kevin?

  The mobile stopped playing I Dream Of Jeannie.

  Claudine stumbled drunkenly back to the sofa. She was, it had to be acknowledged, a lot drunker than me. And I was on the verge of closing my eyes and sleeping where I was. Why had I let her drag me into this piss-up session? I was so easily influenced. Offer me alcohol and I rarely said no. This wasn’t my trauma but I was drinking like it was.

  I Dream Of Jeannie started again. Mel, again.

  Claudine snatched up the phone, looked at the screen, visibly sagged. ‘Mel.’ She spat his name out as though it was phlegm.

  ‘He probably won’t stop calling until he knows you’re OK,’ I offered, kindly. This was nice speak for: PLEASE STOP THAT PLINKING MUSIC HACKSAWING INTO MY BRAIN. NOW!

  She answered the phone and spoke at length to Mel. It sounded like:

  ‘Fnugh.’ (Fine.)

  ‘Hml, know.’ (I know, I know how you feel.)

  ‘Dwnan know.’ (Don’t know.)

  ‘Fnugh. Fnugh.’ (Yes, I’m fine, stop asking.)

  The only thing I really understood was: ‘Ceri’ which probably meant she was telling him she was with me.

  From the way she pursed her lips like a sulking school girl unfairly separated from her favourite toy, it was clear she wanted Kevin to be on the other end of the phone.

  I poured Claudine into a taxi right after that phone call because she was on the verge of tears. I knew, even if she didn’t, she’d get a lot further in making up with Kevin if he saw her shed a few tears. She didn’t look like a habitual crier and Kevin, after their row, would probably appreciate it. There was no point her crying on my shoulder, I was already on her side.

  I collected glasses and bottles and cans by the light of the television. I threw away what was left of the dips, then got down on my hands and knees to rid the carpet of tortilla bits and dip drizzles. Jake was fanatical about certain things such as food bits on his cream carpet, but the bathroom could go uncleaned for months and he wouldn’t care. (Not that it did go uncleaned for months, I couldn’t stand it.)

  Wearing my hair-washing clothes, I got into bed, switched on the TV, turned down the sound and lay in the flickering light, thinking. Not just about Claudine and Mel. More the wider implications of Mel and Claudine.

  The fact your life can change in the blink of an eye; the misunderstanding of a phrase; the kissing of someone you shouldn’t. The pain of wanting something you simply can’t have.

  Wanting something so much that you make yourself and everyone around you miserable because you can’t have it. It was madness, but we all did it. There was this film I saw once that encapsulated that madness quite neatly. It was a shite film, but I remember one of the main characters saying something like, ‘Why do people love those who are not in love with them? Is that not madness? Does a man go to the airport to pick up his brother when he has no brother?’ It was madness, but we all still did it. Even when I could see the hopelessness, when I knew there was no chance whatsoever of getting what I wanted, I craved things, made myself sick over things. Even when I knew, no matter what I did, I couldn’t have that thing (Drew Tucker, case in point). Mel and Claudine were doing it now. Deep down they both knew what they wanted, it was simply easier to ignore it. Pretend it wasn’t happening, wasn’t staring them right in the face. Part of that was self-flagellation. Punishing themselves for what they did that one night. Fair enough, they did a bad, bad thing. Feeling guilty was part of the cheating package. What I wanted to know was, why was I being dragged in to share in the punishment? I mean, I hadn’t had sex in six months.

  chapter twenty

  The Morning After(ish)

  ‘Have you seen Claudine? Is she all right?’

  Mel, complete with chaos, had flung himself into the seat opposite me in the canteen. I’d only nipped down there for a break from library duties. I was not having a good day. Gwen’s demon group had been excruciatingly fractious, most of them hadn’t done the set reading, the rest didn’t understand the reading and thought, for some reason, I would understand it better than they did. Admittedly, I was being paid to understand it better than they did, but I was only human. I had a life – of sorts. I hadn’t meant to get ridiculously drunk on Saturday and spend Sunday recovering and then staying up later, reading and planning.

  It’d hit me as I had to re-read something for the sixtieth time, while drying and tonging my hair, that I wasn’t as young as I used to be. The days when I could pull an all-nighter and still function the next day were gone. I’d wanted to tell the group that. Instead, I stood in front of them, trawling my brain for any dregs of my psychology degree that would help me get on with this so I could get to the library and read up some more for my meeting with my research supervisor tomorrow. Eventually, we’d all admitted defeat, I sent them off to do the reading and come back next time with valid questions instead of their favoured refrain of ‘I don’t gerrit’. I’d scuttled off to the library for some eleventh-hour reading. Trying to work out what the supervisor may ask me about. What she’d think was wishy-washy in the stuff I’d sent to her.

  I’d staved off hunger pangs until two-thirty so anyone who was likely to want to communicate with me would be off doing something better. Ha.

  ‘I last saw her at about three Sunday morning, and she was fine then. Drunk, but fine.’

  ‘She’s not in today. I’m really worried about her.’

  ‘Have you spoken to her?’ I replied.

  ‘No. Her mobile was switched off all of yesterday. I called the house once and HE said he’d kick my head in if I showed my face around there. I’m really worried. I think he might hurt her.’

  ‘How do you mean, hurt her?’

  ‘You know, get physical.’

  And you didn’t think to go round there, try to rescue her? What a man.

  I mentally slapped myself for thinking such a nasty thought. I was tired and wound up, my life could unravel tomorrow. The supervisor could put an end to my heart’s desire. But that didn’t give me an excuse to be nasty. Even if it was just mentally nasty.

  ‘Has he ever hit her before?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘And has she ever said she’s scared of him?’

  ‘No, but he sounded so angry.’

  ‘I’d be angry if I was him. And if the person I saw as the root of all my problems kept calling, I’d probably threaten violence too. Just threaten it, mind.’

  Mel’s silence said, ‘I’m not convinced.’

  ‘They’ve got a lot to sort out,’ I added.

  ‘It’s just not like her to miss a lecture. Something must have happened.’

  ‘Must it?’ I snapped.

  �
�Yeah!’ Mel said desperately. ‘You don’t know her like I do. This just isn’t like her.’

  I didn’t growl, I didn’t sigh. I counted to five, threw down my fork. ‘Why can’t it be something good that happened? You know, they took themselves off somewhere where they could be alone without the phone constantly ringing and people dropping around so they can talk.’

  Mel shook his head. ‘No. No, I don’t think so.’

  I sighed. Couldn’t help myself. I didn’t have the time or energy for this. ‘Two things I’ve learnt about these things, Mel, if something bad had happened, you’d have heard about it by now – bad news always travels faster than good news. And,’ I softened my voice, made an effort to sound sympathetic, ‘because you’re part of the problem, you probably can’t be part of the solution right now.’

  Mel’s big hazel eyes watered up. I knew that look well. It plucked on my heart strings. ‘You’re right of course.’

  Usually. Usually those eyes played my heart strings like a harp. Today they aggravated every nerve in my body. I tutted. ‘No, I’m not. You said it yourself, you know Claudine and Kevin better than I ever will, so only you know what the problem is.’ Mel’s face brightened a little.

  ‘Look, Mel, I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’ve got a really important meeting in the morning and I haven’t done even half of what I’m supposed to do.’ I got up, taking my half wolfed down food with me. ‘I’m sure it’ll be OK. Bye.’

  I almost got to the library. Almost. All right, I got outside the canteen, my heart strings playing such a loud instrumental of ‘Endless Love’ that I couldn’t hear anything else. Not the people leaving the canteen, not the students in corridors, not anything. I stopped, took a deep breath, turned around and went back to Mel. He’d looked so dejected, so genuinely worried . . . I’d obviously learnt nothing from the whole Trudy episode. And it wasn’t like this meeting tomorrow was my first proper assessment or anything. My future in Leeds didn’t rest upon the outcome of this meeting tomorrow, did it?

  ‘All right,’ I said, sitting back on the orange plastic chair.

  Mel glanced up, his face brightening as he saw me. Rarely are people so pleased to see me.

  ‘This is what we’re going to do,’ I said. ‘I’ll call Claudine and make up something about her leaving something at my place on Saturday if Kevin answers. And then, if there’s no answer, we can go around, check it’s all OK.’ Although if it isn’t, I don’t know what we’ll do.

  ‘Really?’ Mel said. ‘You’ll do that?’

  I hate myself sometimes. I am weak. I allow myself to be swayed to the will of others too easily. Saturday night, case in point. This moment, another case in point. ‘Really. But first, tell me what you’re so worried about.’

  And he did.

  ‘You’re too nice for your own good, you,’ Jess said to me later.

  ‘So you wouldn’t have gone back?’ I replied.

  ‘Oh yes, course I would, but if I’d told you that story, you’d have said, “You’re too nice for your own good, you”, so I’m saying it back to you. It’s what friends are for.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘But it was all right in the end? With Claudine?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, it was fine. They’d gone away, like I said, to sort things out.’

  ‘I bet Mel was pleased.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say pleased. More like, relieved, plus . . .’

  ‘Plus?’

  ‘Plus a whole rainbow of emotions I wasn’t sure one person could feel in about three seconds, but, anyway, love, I’m going to try to get some reading done before this meeting tomorrow.’

  ‘Try to do some reading?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ceri, do or do not, there is no try.’

  ‘Yeah, all right, Yoda. I’d better go.’

  ‘All right, good luck. Call me tomorrow to let me know how it went, bye.’

  ‘Bye.’

  chapter twenty-one

  Advertising

  I’d practically stripped my left thumb of its top layer of nail by the time Craig arrived in my corner of the Senior Common Room.

  Craig, who was researching his PhD and teaching in the sociology department, gave me the impression that he’d been waylaid on the road to something bigger and better. I also suspected he’d be studying for his PhD for nigh on for ever for that same reason. He was a man with far too many things on his mind. He’d be talking to you one minute, his dark brown eyes watching intently behind his thin framed glasses, then he’d ‘sit back’. Not physically, mentally. Mentally, he’d take a back seat to the conversation, his mind calculating something of extreme importance.

  ‘There you are, Ceri,’ he said, dropping his regulation paper pile on the table where I sat. ‘I’ve been halfway round the college looking for you.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to look in here?’

  He thought about it for a second, shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘I’ve been here since,’ I looked to the large white clock on the wall above the far door, ‘eight-thirty. My office partner had tutorials from 8a.m.’

  ‘Oh,’ Craig said.

  ‘You didn’t try my office either, did you?’ I said.

  Craig’s brown eyes stared at me as he shook his head.

  If I wasn’t so nervous about my assessment, I would’ve laughed. As it was, I was so nervous I’d worn a skirt. I’d even flirted with the idea of wearing a blouse, I’d gone as far as taking it out of the wardrobe but I didn’t actually put it on. I stuck to my favourite long-sleeved red top that was slightly bobbly, but fit me perfectly.

  When Craig had come bursting in, I’d been contemplating another herbal tea. The last six hadn’t calmed me down. Maybe lucky number seven would do it. I wasn’t used to these kind of nerves. It felt like my first day on the job all over again. Only worse. With this, there was no blagging, she’d had a chance to read what I’d done so far. I had a whole lot of reading stored in my brain cells. But still, I felt I should be doing something more. Something. Anything. I was of the busy generation. I couldn’t do one thing at a time. I was often writing and watching television; reading and listening to the radio. It also felt unnatural to be prepared and finished in time; I was usually working right up to the wire. Some of my best work had been done two hours before a deadline.

  ‘Anyway Craig, what was so important you looked practically nowhere for me?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, oh your research supervisor called. She’s got food-poisoning, she can’t make your appointment.’

  ‘What?’ My chest loosened, my stomach tightened. ‘WHAT?’ I slapped my hands onto my cheeks. ‘Why didn’t she call me?’

  ‘She called you at home, your flatmate said you’d left; she tried your mobile, it was off; so she called here and I told the secretary that I’d find you.’

  I flopped forwards on to the table, all my muscles unclenching. ‘I’ve been terrified the whole weekend for nothing. Nothing.’ I could’ve enjoyed getting drunk on Saturday night. Not been so brusque with Mel yesterday.

  ‘At least you’ve done the work,’ Craig offered.

  I met his philosophical gaze with one as hard as flint. ‘Don’t get all positive on me Craig, I’m not in the right frame of mind. My nerves are shot. I’ve been dreaming about this meeting. It’s so important.’ I got up, went to the white jug kettle on the kitchenette sideboard, flicked it on. I raised a cup to Craig, he shook his head.

  ‘It’s like getting all dressed up but with nowhere to go.’ I folded my arms, leant back against the counter top, lightly butting my bum against it. I pointed at my dark denim skirt. ‘Literally.’

  Craig checked his watch, sat down. He obviously had time to spend with me. ‘What’s your research about anyway? I know you said before that you’re not doing a PhD, you’re just doing research but I never got around to asking what it’s about.’

  He hadn’t ‘sat back’ yet – this was a good sign, I still had someone to talk to. To unload on. And after the way I’d worke
d myself up into a frenzy, there was rather a lot that wanted to be unloaded. Poor Jake and Ed had been tiptoeing around me all Monday night – even offering me herbal tea and cheesecake had been tantamount to offering me an ‘outside’ (i.e., calling Angel a big girl’s blouse, and asking me to step outside for a fight to the death). Neither of them, rather cleverly, said, ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about.’ I would’ve battered them if they did.

  Craig was actively listening right then. He probably realised, though, I’d be unloading whether he was listening or taking a jaunt through his mind.

  I poured hot water onto the tea bag. The scent of peppermint wafted up in the steam leaving the cup. ‘I’m writing a paper on subliminal advertising,’ I explained. It was, of course, more than that. More than just a case of ‘subliminal advertising’. It was more to do with perception and communication and the way our conscious and subconscious minds worked independently and dependently. How we found out things without being directly told; how we told people things without actually saying them. On the most basic level, it was about how we perceived things without realising we’d perceived them.

  Take for instance the case of someone calling you a few minutes after you’ve thought about them. You think, that’s strange, I must be psychic. However, it might not be psychic ability at all. It could actually be that at an earlier date you’d said you hardly went out on Wednesdays. Maybe you’d mentioned that telly was much better on a Wednesday night, or that you preferred going out on a Thursday rather than a Wednesday night. So, that person you’re talking to unintentionally, subliminally, has it in their head that Wednesday is the best day to call you. You, without realising it, always think of that person on a Wednesday because you’ve started on some level to associate them with you not going out on that night of the week. Also, subliminally, you’ve told them that the best day to call you is a Wednesday. So, when they call, it’s not cos you’re psychic or have super-enhanced women’s intuition, you have subliminally communicated when to call you.

  And that was my study. On subliminal perception, on the ways people subliminally advertise things.