by Matt Dunn
‘Your tea.’
‘I know, Edward. I’m teasing you. Milk no sugar, please. And can I use your bathroom?’
I show Tina where the bathroom is, then head back into the kitchen, feeling pretty pleased with myself. As I make the tea, I begin to feel more relaxed. At least Tina’s set out her position up front. There’s going to be none of this first-date fumbling, wondering where it’s going to lead, and I’ll be able to emerge from this evening knowing that I’ve managed to go through the motions and entertain a woman on a date. After all, that’s the whole point of this exercise, I remind myself.
When I walk back in with the mugs of tea, Tina’s still in the bathroom, but this presents me with my second dilemma—do I sit next to her, or rather, take the safer option of the armchair? But what am I thinking? Of course it should be the armchair. I put Tina’s mug down on the coffee table in front of where she’s been sitting, and take mine over to the chair.
As I sit down with my tea, it occurs to me that I should probably put some music on. I rest my mug in its usual place on the arm of my chair and go to stand up, but I’ve forgotten that this isn’t my old armchair, with wide, flat-topped armrests, but my new trendy leather armchair, with elegantly curved and inward-sloping armrests. What would therefore normally be a solid, secure place for a cup of hot, recently boiled liquid is now a precarious balance point, so much so that the second I let go of my mug it tips inwards, depositing its boiling contents straight into my lap.
With a yell, I leap up and out of the chair as the steaming liquid scalds my thighs, and its all I can do to undo my belt and drop my trousers, trying to stop the tea-sodden material from blistering my privates.
When Tina runs back into the room, having heard the commotion, she’s greeted by the sight of me, trousers around my ankles, shuffling towards her. This would be bad enough on its own, but the fact that I’m repeating the phrase ‘Fuck me!’ at the top of my voice probably doesn’t add to her sense of comfort and security at being alone in my flat with me.
As Tina rushes past me, grabs her handbag, and makes her escape, she doesn’t even stop to close the front door behind her.
And at least I appreciate the nice cool breeze.
11.14 p.m.
I’m sitting round at Dan’s, wearing a clean pair of trousers, holding very carefully onto my mug of tea, and telling him about my date.
‘Well, look on the bright side,’ he says, once he’s eventually stopped laughing, which admittedly takes him a long, long time. ‘At least you don’t have to worry about telling her you can’t see her again.’
‘Maybe.’
But the truth is, I’m already experiencing a new feeling. Not hurt from missing Jane, and not pain from my daily torture sessions with Sam, but it hasn’t taken me long to realize what this one is. Guilt. What was I thinking? In a few days my girlfriend, and yes, I think I can still use that word, is coming back from her ‘holiday’, and here’s me flirting with another woman. Going out for a drink with another woman. Even inviting her back to my flat.
Dan takes one look at my glum expression. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘What do you think? I could have been unfaithful to Jane, and now I’m going to have to tell her.’
‘Whoa. Unfaithful? I thought you said that nothing happened.’
‘It didn’t. But I can’t guarantee that it wouldn’t have. Or that I didn’t want it too.’
‘Hold on,’ says Dan. ‘Those two things are quite different. And besides, do you think Jane’s over there being faithful to you?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t want to think about what she might be getting up to.’
‘So why are you even going to bother telling her about what you didn’t get up to tonight?’
‘Because it’s important to be honest.’
Dan shakes his head vigorously. ‘I’ll tell you something, Edward. Where relationships are concerned, honesty might be the best policy, but dishonesty comes a close second.’
‘In your world, Dan, perhaps.’
‘Besides, you did it for her.’
‘And you think she’ll understand that?’
‘No. Which is precisely why you’re not going to tell her. Instead, just look at the positives. You managed to entertain a girl for the evening, and so much so that she agreed to come back to your place for “coffee”.’
‘I suppose. Although that may have been only because she felt sorry for me.’
Dan shrugs. ‘Even so. But sympathy votes only get you so far. This girl was obviously interested enough in you to go out with you, and even—up until you scared her off—to want to keep the evening going into extra time. What does that tell you?’
I don’t answer him, but sip my tea contentedly, as I know exactly what it tells me.
It tells me that I’m nearly there.
Thursday 14th April
7 a.m.
I don’t sleep much, my mind buzzing with the events of the previous evening, and it’s an effort to drag myself out of bed and into my somewhat looser tracksuit in time for Sam’s knock on the door. She greets me with a ‘Hey, partner’, and we jog easily down to the promenade, picking the pace up between the piers.
It’s a beautiful spring morning, with hardly anyone about, and Sam’s pushing me hard—too hard for any real conversation, which for some reason I’m quite glad about. We do our usual seafront circuit before heading for the gym, and we’re jogging up through Norfolk Square when suddenly Eddie comes bounding up towards me, yapping excitedly. I try to run a little faster, not wanting Billy to see me out jogging, but Eddie grabs hold of the leg of my tracksuit bottoms in his teeth, and I tumble onto the grass, narrowly avoiding a fresh pile of dog poo.
‘Bloody dog,’ I say.
Sam tries to hide a smile. ‘Are you hurt?’
I do a quick check—all limbs seem to be functioning properly. ‘I don’t think so.’
As Sam holds out a hand to help me up, I look round for Billy, wondering why on earth Eddie’s out on his own, but it’s only when Eddie runs off towards the corner of the park that I see him, huddled underneath a bench. I pick myself up and sprint across to where Billy’s lying. He looks a lot worse than normal, quite possibly due to the beating he’s obviously taken, and Sam has to struggle not to heave as he’s evidently soiled himself during the night. His face is bloody, and his breathing is way too shallow for my liking.
‘Billy! Billy!’ I shake his shoulder, but get the meekest of responses. ‘Quick, Sam. Give me your mobile.’
As Sam reaches into her rucksack, Billy opens one blood-caked eyelid and a wave of recognition floods across his face.
‘Edward,’ he mumbles, then notices Sam. ‘Whoosis?’
My guess is that his slurring is caused by the beating, and not by his usual liquid breakfast.
‘Don’t try and move, Billy. I’ll get help.’
Sam looks horrified at Billy’s bruised and battered face. ‘You know him?’
‘Yes. Well, I buy the odd Big Issue from him.’
Billy feebly waves a hand in my direction. ‘Best customer,’ he wheezes, before losing consciousness again.
Sam hands me her phone and I call 999, then put Billy into the recovery position and wait for the ambulance, which arrives surprisingly quickly. The driver, however, is less than sympathetic.
‘Jesus. Bloody winos. What do you expect us to do with him? He stinks.’
I grab him by the shoulder and wheel him roughly around, taking both him and Sam by surprise. ‘He’s not a wino. He’s a homeless person, which means he’s still a person. And you’d probably smell a bit if you didn’t have a home to go to, and a shower to wash in, or even any hot water. Try and show a little compassion, if you can’t have the decency to show any respect.’
The ambulance man blushes and mumbles an apology, before he and his colleague lift Billy onto a stretcher and put him into the back of the ambulance. Eddie jumps in after him, only to be chased out by the angry driver.
> ‘These homeless always have bloody dogs,’ he says.
‘Yes. Well,’ I say, my anger subsiding, ‘that’s probably why they’re called “homeless” and not “dogless”.’
‘Do you want to come with him?’ he says to me.
‘I’ll get my car and follow,’ I reply, grabbing hold of Eddie by his bandana. ‘Sorry, Sam. Can we cut it short today?’
‘Of course,’ she says. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘What about your next client?’
‘I’ll cancel.’
I pick Eddie up, we jog round the corner to Dan’s, and ring on his doorbell. When he eventually answers, all bleary-eyed, I thrust Eddie into his arms.
‘Look after him. It’s very important.’
‘Huh?’ says Dan, as Eddie licks his face. ‘It’s a dog.’
‘Well, I’m sure you’ve entertained a few of those in your time,’ I reply.
9.05 a.m.
We’re in Accident and Emergency, waiting to see how Billy’s doing. When the doctor finally comes out, Sam and I approach him anxiously.
‘How is he?’
‘Just bruising, perhaps a mild concussion. He’s asleep now, but we’ll keep him in overnight just to be sure.’
I breathe a sigh of relief. ‘That’s good news.’
‘Are you Eddie? He’s been asking for you.’
Sam nudges me. ‘Eddie. I like it,’ she whispers.
‘No, I’m…It’s a long story. But when he wakes up, tell him Eddie s fine. He’s being looked after.’
The doctor looks from me to Sam. ‘Does he have someone we could call?’
I shake my head. ‘I’m not sure…’
‘Perhaps they know him at the church drop-in centre?’ suggests Sam.
The doctor nods. ‘Is he religious, do you know?’
‘Maybe,’ I say, trying to remember whether I’ve ever heard Billy talk about religion, but as far as I know, all he worships is the bottle. ‘I think he’s more the spiritual type. Is there anything he needs?’
The doctor thinks for a moment. ‘A change of clothes, perhaps?’
I reach into my wallet, and hand the doctor some notes. ‘Could someone perhaps get him some? He’s a very proud man and won’t take charity, but if he wakes up and finds some stuff already there…’
The doctor smiles. ‘I understand.’
9.21 a.m.
When I drop Sam off at her flat, she leans across and kisses me on the cheek. I can’t stop myself from reaching up to touch the spot where her lips have landed.
‘What was that for?’
‘That was a lovely thing you did today, to stop and help like that. Really lovely. Most people would have just walked on past.’
‘Well, you helped too. A real Sam-aritan.’
Sam groans. ‘Is it too late to work on your sense of humour?’
‘Anyway, I had to stop. For one thing, I was knackered. Besides, any excuse to get me out of the gym session.’
‘Edward, I was trying to pay you a compliment. Don’t throw it back at me.’
‘Sorry, Sam. But I couldn’t just let him lie there.’
‘And that’s the difference between you and so many other people.’
‘Well, that’s very nice of you to say so.’
Sam opens the car door and starts to get out, then pauses mid-way. ‘Listen…’
‘Yes?’
‘That party tonight at your boss’s house? I’d love to come.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. If you’ve not asked anyone else, that is.’
‘Er…No.’
‘Great. Well, pick me up at eight?’
‘Eight it is.’
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she says, as she gets out and shuts the door behind her.
And as I watch Sam disappear into her flat, I realize that so will I.
12.02 p.m.
I’m in the office, preparing the invoices for the Go-Soft campaign, when Natasha finally appears. I can tell immediately that she’s in a bad mood, so try and head it off.
‘Good morning.’
Natasha glares at her watch, and then at me. ‘Wrong on both those counts.’
She slams the door behind her, stomps over to her desk, and sits there staring at her PC. After ten minutes, I pluck up the courage to bring her a cup of coffee.
‘Here you go.’
She looks up at me miserably. Even to my untrained eye, it looks like she’s been crying.
‘Thanks, Edward. Sorry.’
‘For what?’
‘For snapping at you earlier.’
‘Is something wrong?’
I can tell for a moment that she’s considering biting my head off. Something’s clearly wrong, and I brace myself for her reaction to what’s obviously the most inane question I could have asked. But things have changed in the Staff-IT office, because instead, and on top of the apology, she starts to explain.
‘It’s Terry. He’s not coming to my party.’
This strikes me as the kind of thing a five year old might say. ‘Why not? Did he give you a reason?’
Natasha sniffs. ‘Some rubbish about his wife having another baby.’
‘Ah.’ In all the time I’ve worked for her, this is probably only the second conversation we’ve had about anything to do with her private life.
‘It’s just, well, I know you probably think I’m a heartless bitch…’
Natasha pauses, and I don’t know whether this is one of those moments I’m meant to leap in and contradict her.
‘Well, not completely heartless, exactly. I mean, not that you’re a bitch, or anything…’
‘It’s just that sometimes I wonder what it’s all about. This relationship lark. Why do the men I like always seem to feel threatened by me?’
‘Possibly because you’re actually a threatening woman?’
Natasha looks up sharply. ‘Threatening? How so?’
I back away slightly. ‘In that you make threats. Remember that guy who had the Ferrari?’
‘Steve?’
‘Yeah. You told him you’d pour paint stripper all over it if he didn’t move in with you. And what about the one whose wife you challenged to a fight?’
‘Peter?’
‘He was a nice guy. Why didn’t you see him again?’
Natasha blushes. ‘What, apart from the injunction?’
‘And then there was Martin. With the stutter.’
‘He didn’t have a stutter.’
‘He does now.’
Natasha looks indignant. ‘Yes, well, that was blown out of all proportion.’
‘Again, the courts didn’t seem to think so.’
‘So tell me, Edward. Where do you think I’m going wrong?’
Gulp. I do a quick check for sharp objects within Natasha’s reach. ‘Maybe…maybe you’re just setting your sights on the wrong types of men. They’re married; possibly not completely happily in most cases but they value it, so when they’ve had their fun, and push comes to shove…’
Natasha stares at her untouched coffee for a few moments. ‘Perhaps you’re right, Edward. But what are the right types of men?’
‘Well, them not having wives would possibly be a good start,’ I suggest.
‘Maybe.’ She looks up at me and smiles hopefully. ‘You’re bound to know at least one single, good-looking guy, perhaps as a date for me? What about this friend of yours—Dan, isn’t it? Why don’t you bring him along tonight?’
At first this strikes me as ridiculous, firstly that Natasha is asking whether I know anyone I can set her up with, and secondly that she and Dan might get on, let alone get it on. Plus, the last thing I want is for Dan to try and have a ‘crack’ at Sam, especially in front of me. But as I think about it, I begin to realize that it’s a brilliant idea. I’ll earn some serious Brownie points with Natasha, she’s bound to flirt outrageously with Dan all evening, which in turn will be the perfect diversionary tactic to keep him away from Sam.
‘I’ll
see what I can do.’
7.45 p.m.
I’m in the Mini with Dan, who of course has leapt at the chance for a free night out, and we’re on our way to pick up Sam for tonight’s party at Natasha’s. I’m dressed in Paul Smith again, but with a tie this time, and lightly doused in Guerlain’s ‘Vetiver’, which may sound like a disease, but is actually the classiest aftershave known to man. And woman, apparently.
As I speed along the seafront, I can’t help but smile to myself. As much as I hate to admit it, I do feel better driving this car than my old Volvo. Nought to sixty takes just nine point two seconds, as opposed to my old heap, which had a job even reaching sixty, let alone doing it in anything you’d want to measure with a stopwatch. I can park in spaces that don’t have to be bus-length. I can overtake. I like the way it feels behind the wheel, and I like that I feel that I belong here too.
Dan catches sight of my inane grin. ‘Told you,’ he says. ‘Cool car, eh?’
I glance across at him, before effortlessly accelerating past a bus. ‘I am a Mini driver, and I’m proud.’
‘Mate,’ he says, ‘if you were Minnie Driver, we wouldn’t be talking now.’
When I ring on Sam’s doorbell, I hear Oliver bark a few times, so I’m ready when he runs out and tries to jump up on me, but when Sam appears I’m certainly not prepared for her. She’s wearing a classic little black dress, with shoes and handbag to match, a simple gold necklace, and diamond earrings that sparkle almost as much as her eyes. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in anything other than a tracksuit or jeans, and as enjoyable as that has been, the sight of her this evening almost blows me away.
‘Something wrong?’ she asks, before pulling her coat on. ‘Too over the top? Too little?’
‘Yeah,’ calls Dan from the car, where he’s contorted awkwardly in the back seat. ‘Like a woman can ever wear too little.’
‘No. Not at all,’ I say, ignoring him. ‘You look, well, amazing, if I can say so.’
Sam blushes, and then rubs her fingers up and down the lapel of my suit. ‘You scrub up pretty well yourself.’
I open the car door for her, and she says hello to Dan, who responds with a smile, his teeth shining out from the dark interior.
‘Shift forward a bit, mate,’ he says, as we head back through Brighton and up towards Dyke Road. ‘There’s not a lot of room in here.’