The Plus One

by Sophia Money-Coutts

  ‘Guess so,’ I said brightly.

  ‘I’m sorry there are so many things to ask and get through but we’re all about safety. I wouldn’t do this job if it was otherwise,’ said Graham.

  ‘Quite right,’ said Mum.

  I nodded and tried to assume the expression of a responsible adult. Strange, feeling as if our roles had reversed like this. What is the age at which you start looking after your parents instead of vice versa? I’d needed Mum from the second I was born and I still needed her now, when there was a rare love life drama or I had cystitis yet again or Peregrine did something dementing. But when do parents start needing you back more than you need them? Maybe it was now, I thought, in this hospital office. Maybe it was right this second.

  ‘I think that’s everything,’ said Graham, putting four stickers with Mum’s name on the four different bits of paper and turning to me. ‘Polly, I’m going to take your mum to the ward to get changed. Susan, once we’re down there, Dr Singh the radiographer will talk you through it all.’

  She nodded.

  I wanted to say something comforting. ‘I feel like we’re in Casualty,’ I said.

  ‘Will you be OK in the waiting area, Polly?’ said Graham, after a slight pause. ‘Or there’s a coffee shop downstairs if you fancy it?’

  ‘No, no, all good. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got a book so I’ll just wait. You OK, Mums?’

  ‘Yes, yes, Graham will look after me.’

  ‘’Course I will.’

  I watched the pair of them walk down the corridor, Graham’s Crocs squeaking back across the lino.

  After going back downstairs and through another dozen or so corridors, so many corridors I felt like I was in The Shining, I found a Costa with a long queue snaking out of it.

  ‘Excuse me, madam, do you want any coffee?’ said the lady behind the till when I reached the front.

  ‘Oh sorry, I was miles away,’ I said. ‘Yes, could I please have a white Americano?’

  ‘Anything to eat?’

  ‘No. I’m OK, thanks. I’ve got to get into a dress for a dinner tonight.’ I don’t know why I felt the need to share this with the Costa lady. A distraction from thinking about Mum lying upstairs having her scan, perhaps.

  The tables here were as forlorn as the waiting area upstairs. Old people sitting on their own and reading the Daily Mail. Plus a man in a wheelchair, wearing an eye patch, playing cards by himself.

  I sat for about an hour alternately reading my book and flicking through Instagram. Lex had put up a picture of her newly manicured nails. She’d picked a filter that made her engagement ring exceptionally shiny. ‘Game faces for drinks tonight!’ she’d written underneath. Why did people act as if they’d been lobotomized as soon as they got engaged? Then I thought about the dress I’d decided on for tonight. It was a red, sleeveless dress from Topshop, a bit short but I reckoned I could get away with it if I wore black tights and flats. Less slutty somehow with flats. My phone buzzed in my hand half an hour later. It was Mum.

  All done, just sitting in ward having a cup of tea X

  ‘It was all right, actually,’ she said, when I found her upstairs. ‘A bit terrifying when you lie back at first, but they played some nice music while I was in there and I almost fell asleep.’

  ‘So did they say anything?’

  ‘No, just that I’ll get a letter with the results.’

  I heard Graham squeaking towards us and looked up. ‘All right then, Susan? Glad you’ve got your tea. Now, you should get another letter or a phone call from your GP in a week or so to discuss the results. But otherwise you’re free to go.’

  ‘Wonderful, thank you so much.’

  ‘Not at all, just take it easy for the rest of the day. Polly, are you going to be with your mum tonight?’

  ‘No, no, she’s got a date!’ said Mum.

  ‘Not a date, a dinner,’ I said emphatically to them.

  ‘Well,’ said Graham, looking confused, ‘you both have lovely weekends then.’

  I took Mum back to Battersea from the hospital in an Uber, ignoring her insistence that this was an extravagance and that we should get the number 77 bus. Then I put the kettle on, nipped round the corner to collect Bertie from the curtain shop and walked him back to Mum’s flat.

  ‘Come on, Bertie, hurry up, just do it,’ I said, as he sniffed a lamppost and then slowly, as slowly as an old man shuffling to the loo in the middle of the night, lifted his leg and did a wee. I then took him upstairs to Mum and left them both sitting on the sofa watching an old episode of Morse.

  Next I got the bus home, thinking about my to-do list. I might as well get ready as if I was going on a date, right? Be prepared and all that. No point in going out for dinner with a man as hairy as a woodland creature. Especially after that disaster with Callum. Callum! I thought to myself as I got into the shower. Shit, I still hadn’t said anything to Bill about him. Not that I necessarily had to, I supposed. I just felt like I ought to. Maybe I should make a joke about it tonight, I thought, reaching for my razor.

  I shaved basically everything except for my face; checked the mole under my chin and removed the thick black hair that popped out of it like a beanstalk every few days; applied the special occasion Tom Ford body moisturizer I used for the incredibly rare moments when I might have to take my clothes off as part of a group activity, instead of on my own; layered on so much make-up I looked like Danny La Rue; heaved myself into the small red dress and walked to Lex’s drinks. On no account drink too much before dinner, I reminded myself.

  The engagement party was in a bar called Bananas on the Portobello Road. It was up three flights of stairs, which made me start sweating in my dress.

  ‘Hi, darling,’ said Lex, when I arrived, panting, at the bar.

  ‘Hello, you beautiful soon-to-be-bride,’ I said.

  ‘And you!’ I said ambiguously to Hamish, who was standing next to Lex at the bar. ‘Congratulations. Such good news!’ I probably wouldn’t win an Oscar for my performance, but it would do.

  ‘Thanks, Pols,’ he said. ‘Now get a drink. Let’s get hammered.’ Hamish, a huge, totem pole of a man, reached for a champagne glass from a tray on the bar.

  ‘Have you guys talked about dates yet?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lex. ‘We’re thinking the second weekend in July. At home, marquee on the lawn, that sort of thing. I know it’s quick but I don’t want to wait until next summer.’

  ‘Desperate to marry me, aren’t you, darling?’ said Hamish.

  ‘But enough about us,’ said Lex, ignoring him. ‘Can we talk about your date please?’

  ‘You’ve caught a live one, have you?’ said Hamish. ‘Well done, Pols, it’s been… what? Years? Hasn’t it?’

  I smiled thinly at him. ‘Not a date. A dinner. A work dinner.’

  ‘If it’s not a date then why have you worn a dress so short I can see your vagina?’ asked Lex.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘Do you think it’s too much?’

  ‘No. You look smoking. He’ll want to bend you over the table and ravish you before the breadsticks.’

  ‘Lex…’

  ‘And have you used your special moisturizer?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘It’s definitely a date,’ she said. I’d forgotten Lex knew about my special moisturizer.

  ‘I’m sorry I can only stay for a bit,’ I said, making a guilty face at her.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘It’s your first date in decades, go have fun.’

  ‘Who’s coming tonight then?’ I asked, keen to stop anyone else talking about my love life as if it was a rare historical phenomenon.

  ‘Various. About forty of us. Parents, a few colleagues, uni mates. The usual. And Bill’s bringing his new girlfriend.’

  ‘Girlfriend?’

  ‘Yes, the new one who works in interior design or something. Funny name.’

  ‘Ohhhh yes, we talked about her a few weeks ago. Didn’t know they were doing the girlfriend-boyfr
iend thing.’ I felt irrationally annoyed that Lex knew this first.

  ‘Well, it’s got to be something if he’s bringing her tonight. Oh, sweetheart, look, it’s your parents,’ said Lex, as a middle-aged couple appeared through the door and looked around nervously. ‘Sorry, love, do you mind if we go and say hello?’

  ‘No, no, you go,’ I said. ‘Your night.’

  I hovered by the bar watching for someone I knew as a few more people arrived, men giving bear hugs to one another, girls air-kissing, shrieking and handing cards. How many engagement parties had I been to in bars and pubs across London? I wondered. Five hundred million maybe. I smiled at a waiter who was approaching with a tray of cocktail sausages.

  ‘Yes please,’ I said, ignoring the sticks and reaching for one with my fingers.

  And then I saw him walk through the door. Callum. I was so surprised I swallowed the cocktail sausage whole and caught his eye just as my throat convulsed. I threw a hand in front of my mouth to stop the sausage reappearing and ejecting itself across the room, then turned around to face the bar and bent over slightly to have a coughing fit as quietly and discreetly as I could.

  ‘You all right?’ said Callum’s voice behind me, then there was a hand on my back.

  I swallowed and turned around. My eyes were watery from the choking. A good look.

  ‘Yup, sorry, just…’

  ‘An allergic reaction to seeing me?’

  ‘Ha, er, I mean no. Just apparently unable to swallow properly.’ I smiled at him and then felt annoyed with myself for looking too friendly.

  ‘Oh really?’ he said.

  I blushed. ‘Why are you here anyway?’ That was better, I told myself. Cool and detached. That’s what I should be going for.

  ‘Oh, thanks very much,’ he said, leaning around me and putting his arm on the bar to reach for a glass of champagne from the tray. ‘Top up?’ He nodded his head towards my empty glass.

  ‘Yes, please. Thanks.’ Why does being English and having manners make it basically IMPOSSIBLE to be aloof? Legs would never have this problem, I thought. She would just be all French and insouciant.

  Callum took my empty glass and passed me a full one.

  ‘What I mean is how do you know these guys?’ I went on, trying to sound stern.

  ‘I only know Hamish,’ he said.

  ‘How come?’

  ‘From rugby.’

  ‘Ohhhhhh, right.’

  ‘How are you anyway?’ he said. ‘Actually…’ He shook his head. ‘Scratch that. Can I start again?’

  I frowned at him. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘I behaved badly, I’m sorry for being a dick.’

  He paused and there was an awkward moment where I wasn’t sure what to say. I was worrying that I had sausage breath and he was standing quite close to me. And then we were interrupted.

  ‘There she is!’ I looked up to see Bill approaching, and caught sight of a blonde girl behind him.

  ‘Hi, dude, sorry, sausage breath,’ I said, leaning in to kiss him hello.

  ‘My favourite,’ said Bill, ‘and this,’ he added, taking the blonde girl’s hand, ‘is Willow.’

  ‘So good to meet you.’ I leant in to kiss Willow hello as she held out a hand for me to shake, so we awkwardly did both at the same time. She, obviously, did not smell of sausage; she had shiny blonde hair which smelt like marshmallow.

  ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Billy’s told me so much about you.’

  Billy?

  ‘Hi, mate,’ said Bill to Callum, shaking his hand. ‘Didn’t know you knew this lot.’

  ‘Only Hamish really, we play for the same rugby club.’

  ‘Hi,’ said Willow, flicking her hair at Callum. Oh no. She was a hair flicker.

  ‘So,’ said Bill, ‘Here we all are. Good news about these two, isn’t it?’ He inclined his head towards Lex and Hamish.

  ‘Mmm, kind of,’ I murmured. I was grateful that he hadn’t seemed to notice any awkwardness between me and Callum. I obviously couldn’t make any sort of joke about it with him now, with both Willow and Callum hovering. I’d have to save it for another day.

  ‘Oh dear, we’re in that sort of mood tonight, are we?’ Bill knew my thoughts about Hamish, that I didn’t think he was good enough.

  ‘No, no,’ I said, mindful that Callum was listening. ‘It’s just—a bit quick, that’s all.’

  ‘Pols,’ warned Bill.

  ‘All right, all right.’

  ‘Anyway, where’s Joe?’ asked Bill.

  ‘Playing in some concert at Wigmore Hall.’

  Bill nodded, then looked down at my legs. ‘Why are you wearing such a short dress?’

  ‘I’m having dinner with someone.’

  ‘Oooh. Like a date?’ asked Willow. It was a bit annoying, the way she said ‘Oooh’. Slightly patronising. Then she flicked her hair again.

  ‘No. Just with someone I interviewed last weekend. I’m a journalist,’ I explained to her.

  ‘Oh yes, Billy told me. Is it someone famous?’

  ‘Er, kind of. He’s called Jasper. Jasper Milton.’

  ‘Oh my God, him,’ said Willow, her eyes widening. ‘I know him. I mean, I don’t know him. But I know who you mean. Wow! How exciting. That’s definitely a date. Although, no offence, doesn’t he normally date models?’

  None taken, I said to myself in my head. Then I nodded.

  ‘Wow,’ repeated Willow, eyes still bulging.

  ‘Never heard of him,’ said Bill.

  ‘Oh, Billy, come on, he’s always in the news,’ said Willow. Billy indeed. I’d never known anyone to call him Billy. Why wasn’t he stopping her?

  ‘Not in my news he isn’t,’ said Bill. ‘Why were you interviewing him anyway?’

  ‘He’s the son of a duke. So, it’s perfect Posh! stuff. And he was in the papers the other day. Again. Falling out of a club. Photographed, I mean.’

  ‘But if you’ve already interviewed him why are you having dinner with him now?’ said Bill.

  ‘Jeeeeees, sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know I needed permission from you and a note from my mum to have dinner with someone.’

  We were interrupted by a tinkling sound across the room. It was Hamish, tapping on his glass.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt everyone from getting lashed,’ he started, ‘but I thought I should say a few, brief words. Firstly, to thank my parents for the party tonight, so drink up because it’s on Dad.’ There were laddy cheers from across the room.

  ‘But really to thank Lex.’ He paused. ‘Because I know some of you think this has been a bit fast. But I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I just know it. So, could you all raise your glasses to toast my future wife, and I can’t wait for July when I’ll be taking her up the aisle myself.’ More laddy cheers.

  I rolled my eyes and then looked at my phone. ‘Right, going to make a move. Bye, guys.’ I bent down to grab my bag and blew them a kiss so I didn’t have to go through that awkward rigmarole of kissing people I’d only just said hello to all over again. And I was still worrying about breathing on Callum. I needed to find a bit of old gum rolling around in the bottom of my bag.

  ‘DON’T SLEEP WITH HIM ON THE FIRST DATE, POLS,’ Bill shouted across the room as I left, so everyone looked at me.

  5

  ‘HELLO,’ SAID JASPER, STANDING up from the table to kiss me. I had had visions of slinking into the restaurant in a calm and perhaps even seductive manner, but I was, obviously, immediately flustered.

  ‘Hello, how you doing? Where shall I put my coat? Oh, I can just hang it on the back of my…’

  ‘Madam, can I take your coat?’ A waiter appeared at our table.

  ‘Yes please, thank you.’ I pulled it off and instantly knocked a full water glass over on the table with my elbow. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.’ I pulled my napkin out to mop the water up and a fork clattered to the floor. Other tables, I noted, had paused, forks in air, and were watching. Meanwhile, the water was running in
a steady line off the table and started pooling beside my chair.

  ‘Madam is not to worry. I will get a cloth,’ said the waiter, ‘and a clean fork.’

  ‘Madam maybe needs a drink?’ said Jasper, who sat back down again at the table, which was discreetly tucked into the corner of the restaurant. He looked relaxed, good even, in jeans and a pale blue collared shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He leant forward to hand me his napkin. ‘Quite the entrance.’

  ‘Not totally what I planned.’ I smiled as the waiter returned.

  ‘Here you go, madam.’ He put a new napkin on my lap, laid down a new fork, a new water glass and then crouched down to wipe the floor with a cloth.

  ‘What would you like to drink?’ the waiter asked, standing up again.

  ‘Er, not sure. What are you having?’ I looked at Jasper.

  ‘I’m just finishing a gin and tonic but I might move on to wine.’

  ‘Red?’

  ‘Whatever you like.’

  ‘Um, probably red.’

  ‘A bottle of your Montepulciano please,’ said Jasper.

  ‘The two thousand and four, sir?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘You’re a regular?’ I asked as the waiter retreated from the table, dripping cloth in hand.

  ‘A sometimes regular. When I’m in London. Excellent veal. Now, how is that piece you’ve written about me?’

  ‘All done.’

  ‘Have you said lots of terrible things?’

  ‘No. Only a few. Actually, I’ve been terribly nice and left out all sorts of detail that I could have put in.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Never you mind. What have you achieved this week anyway?’

  ‘Oh, not much. Drove around to see a couple of farmers. Had another row with my mother.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘You can probably guess.’

  ‘Ah.’ I felt awkward.

  ‘Ah, exactly. Presumably there’s no mention of that in your piece?’

  ‘Oh no, no. ’Course not. Not really the magazine’s thing, that’s more… newspaper stuff.’

  ‘And how’s my friend Lala?’

  ‘Er, she’s good.’

  ‘Have you told her that we’re having dinner?’