by Lauren Sams
We had slept together twice and exchanged almost constant IMs throughout the work day. But he had never called me outside of work or even invited me out for dinner. I told myself I was being a total Samantha and that that was very cool and grown-up, but secretly I just wanted to meet someone who actually wanted to hang out with me.
‘Hi, Georgie,’ Robin said, sidling up to me at the fax machine. That’s how long ago it was: there’s a fax machine in this story.
‘Hi,’ I said, trying to keep track of the numbers I was dialling. It was an international number, a long one, so I had to constantly check if I was in the right place. I’d made so many mistakes in this office (mainly out of a severe lack of shits given) that I literally couldn’t afford another. I’d be fired (quite unceremoniously, I imagined: there’d be no cute rom-com scene where I walked out sadly with a pot plant and a cardboard box of my belongings: just me exiting the building with my pathetic Fiorucci handbag and half a blueberry muffin left over from my breakfast). I had no savings and no back-up plan. I definitely could not go back home. I was so invested in making this grown-up life work that if it didn’t, if I couldn’t, I feared my stocks would never recover.
Robin either didn’t notice that I was preoccupied with the fax, or just didn’t care. ‘A bunch of us are going out tonight. To O’Hooligans, around the corner.’
I knew the place. It was an Irish pub (duh) that smelled of sweaty, unwashed backpackers and always appeared to be too small to contain its multitude of revellers. Every night, people would spill onto the footpath and eventually the street. Then the police would be called and people would either be stuffed back inside or told to go home. It was awful, but it also served $1 beers until 10 pm. Ipso facto, it wasn’t totally intolerable.
‘Oh yeah?’ I asked, finally entering the last digit and hitting ‘send’ with a flourish. The fax machine began its inimitable screech and chewed the paper through.
Robin nodded. ‘Are you in?’
‘Are you asking me out?’ I said.
He looked taken aback. ‘Uh … I don’t know. It’s just a group of people going out.’
So, not a date, then. I was good enough to bone a couple of times but no, this wasn’t a date. Don’t get your hopes up, George. Robin had read Ulysses – allegedly – but he couldn’t ask me out, even though he really actually had. But I was hard up for a drink, almost completely lacking in self-esteem and in need of some excitement to sustain me in this job, so I said yes.
‘How long have you been at Fitzwilliam Fallow?’ Casey, an assistant even more junior than me, asked me later that night at the bar.
‘Um … ten months,’ I said, enjoying a large swig of my cheap beer. Ten months, three weeks and one day, actually. I had promised myself I would stick it out for a year, then look for another job, one in which I wasn’t called upon to mop my boss’s floor … the one in his house, that is. So I was counting up the days until I made it to 365.
‘Oh wow … that seems like a long time,’ she said. ‘I’ve only been here three weeks and I don’t know if I can hack it.’
‘Yeah, it’s pretty shit.’
She laughed, and I did too. ‘So what do you really want to do? Like, assuming you don’t want to send faxes to Wisconsin for the rest of your life. Or get flat whites from the other side of town every day for Pubus.’ Pubus was our boss – his real name was Parbus, but we changed it because, well, he was a massive wanker and deserved an awful nickname.
‘Ha! “Extra hot, Georgie! Don’t forget the ten sugars!’’’ I said in an exaggerated British accent, imitating Pubus. ‘Yeah, believe it or not, I do have some higher aspirations. I want to work at a magazine, actually.’
‘Ooh, really? I love magazines. Which one?’
I shrugged. ‘Um, any of them. I think I could be good at it.’
Casey nodded. ‘Yeah, definitely. So are you here with Robin? I heard him ask you if you wanted to come today. I think he likes you.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘No, I don’t think so,’ I snorted. I needed Nina back desperately. She’d have told me weeks ago to stop the Robin thing; that he might have been a little bit cute but that he was also a lot of a wankhead. Instead, I decided to confide in Casey, my friend of five minutes. ‘I actually asked him if it was a date – like an idiot – and he said no. So … no. We are not here together.’
‘Oh,’ she said, leaning away from me onto the worn pleather couch. ‘So do you mind if … I … if me and Robin, um, hook up?’ She took a strand of her obviously dyed blonde hair and twirled it around her fingers in a ridiculous way that, ridiculously, annoyed me.
‘Uh, no. Not really. I mean, no, I don’t. Go for it. You have my blessing. Which you do not need.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Right, I’m going to get another drink. You want one?’
Casey nodded eagerly. ‘Yeah, a beer please.’
‘Cool. You got a dollar?’ There was no way I was paying for this chick’s beer, no matter how cheap it was.
I made my way to the bar through the gangs of sloppily dressed backpackers – most still in their day outfits of shorts, singlets and trainers, with the requisite bikini tan lines on the women – when someone caught my eye. She wasn’t dressed like a backpacker. She wore skinny jeans and a shell top and ballet flats. She looked far too glossy to be in a place like this, where her flats would surely be sticky with beer by the end of the night. She looked like Nina. Oh my god, she was Nina.
‘Nina!’
She turned towards me and yep – it was her. She looked exactly the same as she had when she’d left – well, it had only been ten months – the same shoulder-length red hair, the same freckle-dappled skin, the same wide toothy grin.
‘George!’ She yelled my name with her whole body, it seemed, pushing through the crowd so she was in front of me in moments.
‘You’re back?’
She nodded, her mouth wide. ‘I skipped Bangkok. Too hot. And, you know, you’ve had one satay stick, you’ve had ‘em all, right?’
‘Right! But – you didn’t tell me!’
Nina shook her head. ‘I wanted to surprise you! And I just got in. Which is why I look like shit. We all do. But we figured we’d drop off our bags and head straight back out – Contiki-style!’ I tried to hide my shudder and hoped I’d never hear Nina say those words again.
‘Wait, what are you doing here?’ Nina asked.
‘Work thing. My office is right around the corner.’ Nina had been away almost the entire time I’d worked at Fitzwilliam Fallow, so she’d missed out on approximately 7003 stories about exactly how depressed it made me to be there every day.
‘Oh, right. Is it still the worst place in the world?’
‘Oh yeah. Absolutely. Luckily my workmates are so charming or I’d want to neck myself,’ I said, gesturing to the group of Fitzwilliam staffers in the corner, who were all doing shots to that awful Chumbawumba song.
‘Yeah, we weren’t exactly keen on coming here either, but it was the closest to the backpackers we’re staying in.’
‘We?’
Nina nodded and gestured to the group behind her. ‘The A-Team.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘The Aussies on the tour. Well, the Sydney people, anyway. And, um, Matt.’
‘Matt?’
Nina and I had been emailing while she was away and she’d never mentioned a Matt. She’d never mentioned any guy.
Nina suddenly looked coy, an expression I was not used to seeing on her face. ‘Matty Ingleton? From high school? Remember him?’
‘He’s here?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why?’
Nina smiled coyly. ‘Um … we’re here together, George.’
‘You’re dating Matt Ingleton? But … how?’ Matt was so tall, skinny and pale he looked like a male Tilda Swinton. He was also hilarious and clumsy and perpetually dishevelled. So not Nina’s type. But then I remembered that the only ‘type’ of Nina’s that I knew about was Ryan Hastings, the pimply cricket star she’d been in love with for
most of high school.
‘He was on the same bus. And I … I think I kind of … love him?’ It sounded more like a question but I sensed the giddiness in Nina’s voice. I opened my mouth to reply but Nina got in first. ‘Come and say hello to him and we’ll get some drinks, yeah?’ She put her arm through mine and we snaked our way back to her group of friends, a rowdy group of couples – all couples – debating the merits of Paris over Berlin.
‘Berlin had beer, you guys,’ said a guy in a Manchester United jersey.
‘Yeah, cause there was no beer in Paris. Not a drop,’ said the girl to his left. She jabbed his arm playfully and they shared a kiss.
‘Well, whenever we had dinner in Paris, they served us wine,’ said Man U.
‘Guys, this is my best friend George, from high school,’ said Nina, announcing me to the group. I smiled and they all smiled politely back at me, then went back to their conversation about beer in Berlin.
‘George!’ said a man I didn’t recognise. Then I realised – it was Matt. Still giving Big Bird a run for his money, obviously, but he had filled out since I’d seen him last. His chest wasn’t sunken, his shoulders were broad, not bony. He still had cheekbones you could slice Brie on, but his face had become more rugged. The white-blonde hair he’d had in high school had taken on a ginger note. He looked, in short, like Prince Harry does now. While the rest of us had been wasting our time trying to bag Williams, Nina had circumvented the whole process, and whaddya know? It worked. Damn, Nina. Nice one.
‘Oh my god, George!’ He swept me up in a hug and actually lifted me off the floor.
‘Um, hi! I hear you’re part of the gang now,’ I said, as he put me down.
He nodded, pulling Nina close to him. ‘Yep. I’m off the market now, girls, so back off. Sorry. No hard feelings, yeah?’
I smiled. ‘I should buy you guys a drink.’
Matt shook his head in an I-wouldn’t-dream-of-it kind of way. ‘No, no. Let me buy you guys one. This is a momentous occasion. How long is it since you’ve seen each other? Months and months, yeah? How’d you cope without each other?’
Nina and I looked at each other. Neither of us answered.
‘Champagne all round, then,’ said Matt.
‘Oh no, you don’t have to do that,’ I said. ‘That’s so expensive. Just a beer for me.’
‘No way. You two stay here. I’ll be right back,’ he said, taking off for the bar.
Nina turned to me. ‘Who would have thought Matty Ingleton would turn out to be such a babe, right?’
‘Nina, he’s awesome. Really – he’s so great. I don’t remember him being so cool – I totally missed the signs,’ I said, meaning every word. Even though he was only twenty-two, Matt seemed like a man. Robin, by comparison, seemed like a spoilt boy. No wonder Nina was so into Matt: he was a flower, a beautiful flower, in a field full of cow patties.
‘How come you never told me about this?’ I asked.
Nina gave me an apologetic grimace. ‘I’m sorry. I hated keeping it a secret, but … I didn’t want to tell you over email, and I didn’t know what would happen. Thought it might just be a holiday thing. But … I don’t know … maybe it’s not. He told me he loves me.’
‘Really?’
Nina nodded, beaming.
‘That’s so cool, hon. Wow. I want to hear everything, all the disgustingly loved-up details, OK?’
‘You sure?’
‘Oh yeah … Contiki-style, right?’
She jabbed me with her elbow. ‘Shudduuuup. It’s – what do they call it? – part of the whole experience.’
I smirked. ‘Riiiight.’
‘Anyway, what’s new with you? Are you going out with anyone?’
I looked over at Robin, who had Casey pinned in a corner. His palm was positioned on the wall so that his underarm was level with her face. Gross. He was lecherously close to her but she seemed to be enjoying his attention.
So that’s over, I thought. Time to get a new job before everyone finds out I got dumped for Casey.
‘No, not really,’ I said.
‘I sense a story.’
How did she know? How could she tell, after months apart, that something was up?
‘Oh, you know, standard story. Slept with a guy from work, thought it was going to be something more but he’s currently inspecting new goods, so … nope, not seeing anyone.’
‘Ugh, what a jerk! Is he here?’ Nina looked around.
I nodded. ‘Yeah. That guy – over there, with that girl.’ I pointed in their direction as subtly as possible. The last thing I needed was for Robin and Casey to think I was talking about them, even though I absolutely was.
‘Oh George … he’s wearing sunglasses on his head … indoors. I mean, even in this disgusting excuse for a bar. What a tosser. You deserve so much better.’
‘I know. He’s also terrible in bed.’ He was. And he had absolutely no idea.
‘Yeah, he looks like it. He’s always been good-looking, hasn’t he? Never had an awkward period. I firmly believe you need an awkward period to be a good lover.’
I laughed. ‘Lover? Who are you? Lady Chatterley?’
She laughed too. ‘No … but I do speak from experience.’
Right on cue, Matt returned with the promised bottle of champagne. Well, Tasmanian sparkling. Toohey’s drinkers couldn’t be choosers. And right behind him was Robin, holding Casey’s hand. He motioned to me.
‘What?’ I asked, newly filled with confidence after seeing Robin for who he was – a complete twat whose sole interest was, coincidentally, twat.
‘So, ah … Casey and I are going to get out of here.’
I raised an eyebrow and remained silent. It was a trick I’d seen in movies – the cops said nothing to force the baddies into confessing. Worked every time on NYPD Blue.
Robin coughed. ‘And, ah … we were wondering if, ah, you wanted to come with us.’
‘Excuse me?’ Was he …? No, he couldn’t be. Not in public, not in front of everyone.
Robin rolled his eyes. ‘You know what I mean, George. Don’t be all coy. Are you coming or not?’ Oh god, he was.
‘Gee, with an invitation like that to MY FIRST THREESOME, how could I refuse?’
‘Shh! Keep your voice down, would you? God, Georgie, don’t be a complete bitch. We were just asking.’ As if he had ‘just asked me’ if I wanted a coffee, or a hand with the fucking fax machine.
‘Oh, how bloody polite of you! Thank you so much for considering my feelings. What a superstar guy you are, Robin. Just fuck off, please.’
‘You OK, George?’ asked Nina. She glared at Robin the way Liam Neeson would have if he were my father.
I nodded.
‘Sweetheart, stay out of this. I was just asking George a question, alright? Nothing to worry about.’ He turned to me. ‘So, it’s a definite no, then, is it?’
‘Yes! Now fuck off, Robin!’
‘You heard the lady,’ said Nina. ‘Fuck off, Robin, before I tell the bouncer you put a roofie in this girl’s drink, OK?’
Robin, who was probably not completely unfamiliar with such drugs, did indeed fuck off and ever since then, it had been me and Nina against the world.
Until, of course, I went and got myself knocked up when I was meant to be helping her get pregnant.
I snuggled into Ellie, for once feeling grateful to have a maternal friend.
‘So, what, El? Why am I remembering this story?’
‘Because, George. Because it’s the moment your adult life started.’
‘That sounds like something Oprah would say.’
‘Good,’ she said, eyebrows raised. ‘Oprah knows what she’s talking about. You tell that story a lot, George. It says a lot about you and Nina.’
‘I’m not sure about that.’
She nodded. ‘I am. Look, George, I know what you and Nina have is special. You guys are closer than best friends. I know it’s not what we have, and that’s OK.’
I turned towards El and sa
w her sniff back a tear. ‘What I’m saying is,’ she said gently, stroking my hair, ‘it’s going to be OK.’
I shook my head and smiled ruefully. ‘You’re lying.’
‘No, I’m not. You’ll figure out what to do. You and Nina will be fine, too. It just takes time.’
It was a nice thing to say. If only it was true.
13
Week 17,
DAY 5
‘Lucas! Lucas! Lucas! Right, that is it. Mummy is counting to three. Lucas! One … Lucas, I mean it. Mummy. Is. Counting. One … Two …’
Listening to Ellie try to rein in her toddler was more excruciating than having to respond to tipsy PR chicks trying to shove their mismatched products into the mag. ‘Sorry, but our successful, literate, highly paid readers don’t really go in for crotchless edible undies, even if they do taste like salted caramel. Thanks anyway.’
‘Lucas! You’re getting a time out … One … Don’t make me go to three, Lucas. Don’t make me!’
What is with this number warning system? It reminded me of the signs before a speed camera – what is the point of a punishment system if you are going to warn everyone of the punishment and then flag exactly how to avoid it? When I was a kid, we just got in trouble. Bam, you’re in trouble. No memo beforehand, just a swift palm of the hand to the backside.
It was an understatement to say that I hadn’t quite adjusted to life in the Hughes household. It had only been a week, but I was bamboozled by the mechanics of the place nonetheless. Lucas woke at 5.50 am every single day. Even on the weekend! I had blithely assumed that once up, Lucas could take care of himself for, say, the next three or four hours while the rest of the house slept, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Everyone was awake by 5.55. Tops. The weird thing was, Ellie and Simon didn’t even seem to mind. They got up, cheerfully made each other coffee and got ready for the day ahead. When I finally made my way to the kitchen after showering, Ellie and Simon would already have eaten breakfast and fed Lucas, washed the dishes, done three loads of washing and vacuumed and mopped the floor. All before 7 am.