Here's Looking at You

by Mhairi McFarlane

  ‘Yes,’ Anna was discomfited at revealing her thought processes, ‘I don’t want anything based on looks.’

  ‘Laudable, but you have to date in the world we’re in, not the one you wish you were in. Stick some more up … Likes travel.’ That’s one of those one-size-fits-all statements isn’t it? Since you’re not nomadic it boils down to “likes holidays”?’

  Anna giggled.

  ‘I’d substitute that for something more specific … hmmm. Sporty and active. Are you? No!’ James held a hand up as Anna’s mouth formed an ‘O’ of outrage. ‘Purely because sporty and active tends to be a euphemism for “boring bugger”. Or, “walks to work”. Unless you’re a tennis pro I’d leave that one out too. They can see you don’t cane the cronuts, which is all anyone’s really interested in. Which goes back to my earlier point about photos: more of.’

  Anna thought what a strange evening this was, stuck dangling above London with James Fraser trying to woo men on her behalf, as her Cyrano de Bergerac.

  ‘Ah. OK. You say you’re a hopeless romantic?’

  Now Anna felt colour rise in her face and was glad of the low light.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I wouldn’t put that. Men read that as “will call me crying at three a.m. in week four”.’

  ‘It’s saying that I’m looking for something serious. I’m not … you know … messing about.’

  ‘Oh God, don’t say “tired of playing games”. That’s the most frightening phrase from a woman. It translates as: “you will wake to find me licking the blade of a Sabatier knife”. I thought you weren’t like all the others, James. You don’t want to end up like all the others, do you, James?’

  Anna laughed and said, ‘Well what should I put, smartarse?’

  ‘It’s got to be essence of Anna. Make it unapologetically Anna-ish. And put “doesn’t like cats”. That’s a USP right there.’

  ‘Then I’ve ruled out all cat-owning men in a single swoop.’

  ‘Be honest, have you ever met one cat-owning man you liked?’

  ‘Thinking about it, no,’ Anna said, and they grinned.

  ‘More like, cat-owning men will be amused and intrigued. And do you really want to date Mr Liking Cats Is a Dealbreaker? He sounds like he’d listen to Noah & The Whale, eat quinoa and have erectile dysfunction.’

  ‘Haha. Guess not. What’s made you so knowledgeable then? Have you internet dated?’ Anna thought hah, as if.

  ‘No, but I used to date-date, and the principle I applied on the hunt was, would someone I like, like this place I am going to? Internet’s the same. The more “you” you make it, the more you’ll find your sort of person. Visualise who you’re looking for and write it only for him.’

  ‘Hmmm. Not sure I have any idea.’

  ‘Have you been single for a while?’ James said, pocketing his phone again.

  Something about the strange circumstances made Anna risk the truth. It was pointless trying to look cool. She’d never be a steampunk courtesan.

  ‘Since forever. I mean, not forever … Seven years or so.’

  ‘Woah.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’

  ‘No, I meant woah, seems unlikely.’

  Anna acknowledged this as the polite thing to say, a platitude.

  She shrugged.

  ‘I saw someone for eighteen months after uni. Joseph. We lived together for a while. He was nice. And at university I had a horrible boyfriend called Mark who used to refuse to kiss me before we did it and criticised my appearance all the time. I’m glad I don’t have my nineteen-year-old attitude of “anyone’s better than no one” anymore.’

  Someone should do a study on the disinhibiting effect of talking at altitude, Anna thought.

  ‘Jesus,’ James said, turning. ‘He sounds … bleak.’

  Anna thought: he never set me up on a stage and called me an elephant, James.

  ‘I don’t even think I’ve ever been in love.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ James said. ‘Gives you the upper hand.’

  ‘That’s cynical!’

  ‘I mean it though.’ James stepped over to top up his champagne, lifting the bottle from the crunchy slush of the ice bucket. ‘Still none for you? Might help. Dutch courage and all that.’

  ‘Small one?’ Anna said. Groo, champagne again.

  James poured a half measure and held it out. ‘You don’t want to let go of that seat do you?’

  ‘Haha. No.’

  ‘Makes sense. If this capsule became detached from The Eye and we plummeted into the Thames, you’d probably survive if you kept hold of the bench. You could paddle to the riverbank with it under you like a life float.’

  ‘Oh screw you,’ Anna laughed, as James planted the base of the champagne glass next to her and held it there steady, until she could find the will to let go and grab it.

  She appreciated his mixture of teasing and genuine thoughtfulness. He returned to the window and she managed a quick hard swig of fizz, clashing the glass against her teeth in her haste. She had two more slugs, and it was gone.

  ‘I mean, I’ve liked people …’ – oh no, now her chatter was being driven by alcohol and altitude. ‘But I can’t say I’ve ever had that overwhelming, whole-body sensation of all-consuming love for one person. Someone I feel like I’ve been waiting for my whole life. Someone who understands me and I understand him and it’s like we’re best friends … who can’t keep their hands off each other.’

  James turned.

  ‘Not completely sure that kind of love exists beyond rom coms. Or the first week, anyway.’

  ‘Thanks for the encouragement,’ Anna said.

  ‘Ah, sorry. Don’t ask the man whose wife is being diddled by another for views on romance.’

  ‘She’s met someone else?’

  ‘A model. He’s twenty-three. I have some insight into how the first wives of rock stars feel.’

  ‘Is he hot?’

  ‘No he’s a hand model, he’s got a head like Frank Sidebottom. Yes he’s “hot”, thanks, Dr Feelgood.’

  They both laughed until she sensed James was thinking about his wife, and it faded. James Fraser being made to feel physically inferior was an interesting notion.

  ‘Think you’ll get back together?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Ah, I dunno. If you’d asked me that recently I’d have said a cautious yes. Now I don’t know.’

  ‘But you want to?’

  ‘Apparently, I do. Not sure why.’

  ‘Because you have that all-consuming rom com love for one person?’

  ‘Because I’m a glutton for punishment.’

  They lapsed into silence.

  ‘OK, so let’s recap the new Anna profile. Historian—’

  ‘That makes me sound sixty-eight years old and like I use a battery-operated nasal hair trimmer.’

  ‘But I’m not the sort who’s ancient and uses a battery-operated nasal hair trimmer. Think the kind of woman who’d fearlessly investigate a cursed mummy’s tomb holding a tiki torch alongside Indiana Jones.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that be an archaeologist?’

  ‘Hush! Finish it with: I’m hot. I hate cats. For brunch I like omelettes in baps. Call me.’

  ‘Hahahaha!’ Hot? Not that hot and not your type. ‘You’re quite good at this, I guess.’

  ‘Oh, the disbelief in your voice,’ James said, smiling. ‘I have a lot of responsibility you know. I run all my clients’ social media accounts. One false move on HootSuite and the Scholl insoles reputation could be toast.’

  And amazingly, they were back at street level.

  When they stepped out of the doors, they were still laughing. Anna had forgotten they were with a group.

  ‘Have a good ride?’ a wiry little man in a bright green coat, beret and houndstooth trousers said, slightly sneerily.

  Anna noticed a theme to the expressions on the faces of those waiting for them. It was something unfamiliar to her. So unfamiliar it took a moment to decode the emotion. Envy.

  Reall
y? James’s colleagues were envying them their private trip for two? Their burgeoning pretend-romance and their secret couple jokes?

  Anna thought how often envy could be completely cured by knowing the prosaic truth.

  42

  James hadn’t expected to enjoy the bowling but when they got to the retro bar-diner in the All Star Lanes, it was actually larky fun. And despite some major last-minute, what the hell are you doing second thoughts on James’s part, Anna’s presence really made it so much more pleasurable.

  She was great with everyone: relaxed, friendly, but effortful. Perhaps she started off wary, but with the help of alcohol, she became herself. And as she’d instinctively homed in on Lexie as the nicest person there, James approved of her taste.

  He imagined how Eva would be right now. Listening to Harris or Ramona with her slightly-judgy-but-inscrutable Sphinx cat face on, he guessed. Then drifting back to James’s side to say slighting things that would’ve made him feel slightly nervous, if proud that he was with the coolest girl in the room. She never made him feel good enough either, he realised.

  He tried to think of a higher quality of Eva’s that wasn’t the sort of superficial thing that impressed you as a teenager. Kind? Pass. Considerate? Hmmm. But you know, he didn’t need to date a charity worker or soup kitchen volunteer. No need to get all emo in his self-pity.

  When he’d called his sister Grace to tell her about Eva leaving him, she’d said: she always seemed a bit dismissive of you. But you like people like that. He said: do I? Yeah. The mean girls. And the mean boys.

  He didn’t know anyone who’d pass The Grace Test in fact, but it was a test worth passing.

  If Eva returned, what would his family think of her second time around? Not much, he feared. Oh well: it wasn’t about what they wanted, was it? If he got her back. He found it hard to imagine the alternative. He’d had no practice at not getting what he wanted.

  Speaking of having sufficient practice at something, he noticed that Anna could really do with some bowling lessons. She was lamentably bad, hooting with goofy laughter every time she barely grazed the pins. Eventually, James decided he couldn’t watch her sling another ball uselessly down the gutter.

  ‘Can I offer some constructive criticism?’ he said, bounding up to where she stood, taking over in the guise of being an over-attentive new boyfriend.

  Anna brushed her russet-black curls out of her face and looked impassive. She was teaming a cocktail dress with patterned tights and silly bowling shoes and looked very sweet.

  ‘First of all, why are you bowling that weight? It’s like a concrete cannonball. It’s about half your body weight.’

  She blushed. The ultra-sassy, smart Anna blushed at the mention of her weight. Women were bizarre sometimes.

  ‘It … Uh. I liked the pearly colour.’

  James grinned.

  ‘Oh-kaaaay. Well, can I suggest this, which is possibly not as appealing a hue, but much better for the purposes of you knocking things down.’

  He took her ball and swapped it for another, supporting it underneath with a palm as she slotted her fingers into the three holes on top.

  ‘Swing it,’ he said, demonstrating with a sweep of his arm. ‘Keep your eye line fixed on where you want it to go and try not to drop the ball like a dead body down a rubbish chute. Flowing motion …’ he gestured. ‘You hate me for this, don’t you?’

  ‘I think you’re worse than Fred West, and own some of his knitwear,’ Anna said, making James laugh loudly.

  Anna swung the ball back and forth, and crashed it onto the lane from a small height. She watched it veer to the side and take out three pins before clattering out of sight.

  ‘Better …’ James said, one hand on the back of his neck. ‘Still a bit “Fling Pin”. Can I make a wild guess? You were useless at sports at school?’

  James smiled again and she smiled politely and yet looked mildly disconcerted. He was being pretty cheeky to her this evening, admittedly. He just wanted to make her laugh. She was sharp, and he really enjoyed sparring with her. If she was a colleague, he might look forward to going to work.

  ‘Mind if I demonstrate? Look, you already hate me as much as a serial killer, so there’s no more hate room.’

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’ Anna said. ‘Oh, go on then.’

  ‘Right, so, if you’re like this …’ He stood behind her, and as she held the ball and swung, he guided her arm. With a lurch as she threw it, they were momentarily thrown against each other.

  James felt a jolt. An undeniably male-female spark at their bodies suddenly being so close, like a key being turned in a dashboard and all the nerve-ending lights lighting up, ding.

  He stepped back and carried on giving encouragement from a distance, thinking, well this is a surprise, because I certainly don’t fancy her.

  I mean, no slur on Anna, she was nice. If she was the kind of thing you were into, you’d go completely gaga for her. James betted she had a ravening horde after her among the boffins she worked with. Especially as a lot of the academics he’d seen looked like they were made in the Jim Henson Creature Workshop.

  But even if he decided to take on a freelance project, Anna was definitely not someone you had ‘marital break’ affair sex with. She was too important and serious-minded for that. If he was going to do that, he’d do it with … a Lexie, maybe. Not an Anna. Anna he wanted to keep as a friend. She was the first person to intrigue him since forever.

  In fact, he needed to figure out a way to say to her: ‘I’d like to carry on seeing each other as friends’ without it sounding like it implied wanting more, because he knew she didn’t fancy him in the slightest either. Argh, how do you take the sex thing off the table without sounding like you assume it’s on the table in the first place?

  After they lost at bowling, he lost track of Anna in the melee, and half an hour later when she reappeared, it was to tell him she was leaving.

  ‘Lexie’s in a state. Drunk way too much. I’m going to put her in a taxi,’ Anna said.

  ‘Oh.’ James’s spirits fluttered to the floor. Anna was all that was good about this evening and he’d hoped she’d be up for the late bar, when he planned on amusing her by recounting some Parlez scandals. If she was going, he wanted to go too. ‘Does Lexie need that much care?’

  ‘She’s getting that much care,’ Anna said, and James wondered if he was imagining her manner had become brittle.

  ‘I’ll see you out,’ James said, to her back, as she’d already turned to leave. ‘I’ll grab my coat.’ Another bonus of a pretend-girlfriend – everyone merely nodded and winked when he said he was ducking out early.

  ‘Is everything alright?’ James said, outside, as Anna deposited a seriously indisposed Lexie on a bench while they waited for the cab.

  Anna turned to face him and he could see from her expression everything was not OK.

  ‘Laurence called me to ask me out,’ she said, and James felt a flash of extreme irritation. Can you not even stop pestering women when they’re pretending to be my date …

  ‘He said you passed on my number?’

  Oh God, why had he done that? It was lazy, Loz had been bothering him and he’d given in too easily.

  ‘And he told me you only invited me to the theatre as a favour to him. And that you called my sister “a scientifically significant breakthrough of a living brain donor”.’

  James’s jaw dropped, while his gut clenched in embarrassment.

  ‘Thank you, Laurence. Both of those things have been taken out of context.’

  ‘So you don’t pass judgement on women you barely know in an offensive manner?’ Anna said, looking Theodora-ish regal, as if she was about to order James’s execution without flinching. She pulled at her hair as the wind tangled it round her face.

  ‘Not usually, I hope.’

  ‘I must’ve misheard you at the reunion then. I could’ve sworn the words “not that hot and not my type” left your mouth, about me.’

&nb
sp; James gulped hard. Uh oh. That snipe at Laurence. She heard that? Ouch …

  ‘I didn’t mean … Look, Loz is shit stirring to get into your pants,’ he said.

  ‘Whereas you are a model of masculine honesty, stood here with someone you asked to pretend to be your date tonight?’

  ‘I never said I was perfect, just not as bad as him,’ James said, utterly lamely. ‘Are you going on a date with Laurence?’

  Anna shrugged.

  ‘It’d be no more a bad idea than this one.’

  She had her arm out, and a Hackney with a yellow light finally swung to the kerb.

  ‘If you think Laurence is the better man, you are right through the looking glass. Trust me, Anna, he will hurt you. Don’t do it.’

  ‘I’m not interested in who you think I should date.’

  ‘I understand that, but I’m telling you as a friend. Laurence is not a man you want to get involved with.’

  ‘A friend,’ Anna snorted.

  ‘I thought I was.’

  ‘For a mad moment, so did I. But I think it’s best if we call it a day. Or a night,’ Anna said.

  After some puppetry of Lexie’s floppy limbs to get her seated, Anna followed her into the taxi, banged the door hard and didn’t look back as it drove away.

  43

  Anna was beetling around her flat, wondering if she could make enough of a lunch from half a jar of red jalapeños, a stale Warburtons toastie loaf and a lump of cheddar with blue-green speckles or if she should go to the shops, when she saw an email from James Fraser arrive on her open laptop.

  On a Saturday? She didn’t know what to expect when she opened the mail, but prepared herself to be angered by it. If it was any sort of apology, she guessed it’d be a bid to stop her telling anyone at Parlez she’d not been a real date.

  Yet as she opened it, Anna saw the message was pretty hefty. She was surprised. James Fraser didn’t strike her as someone who needed – or even wanted – women in his life who gave him grief. Apart from his wife.

  She wrapped her hands around either side of her cup of tea while she read.

  Dear Anna,

  I apologise if this is very unwelcome, but then, you can always mark me as spam, or send me a jiggling arse cheeks gif as reply. I wanted the opportunity to explain.