Good Enough

by PH Morris

  Chapter 12

  It was 10am when I finally awoke to a buzz from my mobile.

  Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I saw it was a text from Al:

  ‘Morning, beautiful, I’ve just landed. See you in a few, Al x’

  Christ, good job he couldn’t see me.

  I fired back a reply of just emojis, which included a tired face, a plane and a thumbs-up.

  I had a shower and managed to keep my hair dry and shuffled down the corridor to the kitchen to make myself breakfast. I had forgotten to leave the window open a crack for Marmalade, so I walked over and opened it, and chu-chu-chuc’d out of the window and called his name – nothing, the dirty stop-out. I poured some cat food into his bowl and left it for him.

  A quick bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee and I was back in my room. I had another text from Kat seeing if I was okay, and I sent her back an emoji reply of a letter, a devil and a bomb, and she replied with ‘Not funny’ and a fuming face followed by LOL.

  I felt good… no, not good, great. Sure, I had crap in my life, crap in my past and some in my present, but hopefully not so much in the future.

  So, with an unusually optimistic spring in my step, I bounced around the apartment getting ready for my date.

  I had crazy butterflies crashing around so violently that they threatened to burst through my chest. I had opted for my wedges as he was a lot taller than me, but that didn’t take much.

  I’d gone for three-quarter skinny jeans and a loose top which hid my tummy. Kat exclaimed that there was nothing there, but I knew there was.

  I managed to do Antonio proud as I did my hair. It was not as good as he had achieved, but it was not bad, and I managed some wavy curls.

  The day was warm with a few scattered clouds, so perfect second date weather, or was it third, if I counted the lift to the airport.

  I closed the door to the apartment with a slow click and a big sigh. I hoped I wouldn’t disappoint him. What if he remembered me differently? Sometimes the mind played tricks on you.

  I just needed to pull up those big-girl pants and get it over with, like ripping off a plaster.

  I took the cardboard lift, as I was a little clumsy in heels, wedged or otherwise.

  Stepping out into the hazy sunshine it was ten to twelve. I was making good time.

  Outside the pub and along the canal-side was a range of small bistro tables and chairs, and I recognised the broad shoulders over a pale blue shirt. He looked at his phone and placed it back on the table. I could see his fingers tapping. Was he impatient with me or nervous? I bet he never got nervous. He looked at his phone again.

  I stopped walking and got out my phone. I couldn’t resist.

  ‘Knock knock.’

  I grin at the back of his head as I see his ears lift a little, so I know he is smiling. I glance at my phone when it buzzes, and he replies, ‘Who’s there?’

  Then he glances around him before settling on me and, like a gentleman, he stands gracefully as I walk towards him.

  “Mel, wow, you look lovely.” He leans in and kisses me gently on the cheek.

  “Thanks.” I know I am blushing, so I duck my head and tuck my hair behind my ear.

  “Vodka and Diet Coke, right?” He indicates to the glass in front of him.

  “Well remembered!” I exclaim. “I’m sorry for keeping you talking last night,” I start, and he holds up his hand to halt me.

  “Mel, please don’t apologise, I’m glad you felt you could talk to me about so much, besides, you can keep me up anytime.” He winks at me, and again I feel my cheeks heat up. His eyes are twinkling mischievously.

  We sit and talk easily in the late summer sun, and when the sun disappears behind the clouds, I shiver a little.

  “Do you want to go inside or for a walk?” he asks.

  “Let’s walk; we can grab something to eat along the canal-side. There’s a little bistro along the way and they do a good range of tapas food and have patio heaters when it gets chilly.”

  My chair scrapes across the stone floor as I stand, and we walk along the canal-side for a few minutes. I fold my arms in front of me to block the chill and to make sure I don’t have pinkie and perky standing to attention. As if sensing my chill, and hopefully not noticing the girls standing proud, he puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. It isn’t as easy to walk this way, but I relax a little and we walk slowly. To any casual observer we would look like any other dating couple. Was that what we were?

  We arrive at the bistro and opt for the inside. He guides me in through the door, and we are lucky to get a good seat as one couple gets up to leave.

  “Grab a table,” he says, directing me towards that side of the room. “I’ll grab a couple of menus. What do you want to drink?” he adds.

  “Alistair, please let me get these.”

  “No, absolutely not, please sit, I’ll just be a minute. What do you want?”

  “Can I have a coffee, please?”

  “You sure?” he enquires.

  “Yes, I’m a bit chilly, so a latte would be great, thanks, Al.”

  “No bother,” he comments, but he sounds Scottish at that point and I smile.

  A few minutes later he’s back, and we decide to order some food. It’s bistro food, and I recommend the steaks with the twice-cooked chips, which I really don’t understand.

  Our food arrives, and he’s opted for the same as me, and when the twice-cooked chips arrive they are stacked like Jenga and taste amazing.

  We talk about anything and everything, from growing up, schools, interests, sports, aspirations.

  A lot of things we don’t share; for example, he loves sport, and I can’t be bothered with it, although he threatens to convert me to rugby. Our upbringing couldn’t be more different in many ways, but the one thing we share is our outlook on life.

  I try to live my life to the full, as does he. I’m often overly sensitive and a closed book, and he gets that; like he says, having two sisters has improved his ability to tune into the needs of moody women, and I would say he always seems to know what to say at the right time. Why on earth has he not been snapped up by some woman?

  “Alistair, can I ask you a personal question?”

  He has just taken a big mouthful of steak and chips and nods enthusiastically. “Sure,” he manages from the side of his mouth.

  “Why haven’t you got a girlfriend?”

  He stops chewing momentarily, nods and then tries to finish his mouthful quickly.

  I am about to say, ‘You don’t need to say if you don’t want to’, but the truth is I want to know.

  He takes a swig of his pint and lays down the knife and fork at an angle on his plate.

  “Well, I did have a girlfriend a few years ago, probably the only real serious relationship I’ve had. She cheated on me with one of my best friends. So, I finished with her and punched my so-called mate on the nose. That’s the highlighted version; to be honest I was devastated. I thought she was the one, and I was planning on asking her to marry me. I came home early from training because I’d taken a knock to the head and found them in bed. He was on the team and had said he had a stomach bug, and she said she was going to her friends for a girlie night in. I shocked them both when I came home. At first, I thought the knock to the head was causing my eyes to play tricks on me, but there they both were. It took a few years to properly get over it. I dated a few girls, odd dates, here and there, nothing major. One day a few months ago, a bare-arsed lady walked right into my life, and out again, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

  On the last word, he picks up his cutlery and starts cutting into his food.

  “Wow, that must have been tough,” is all I can manage.

  “Yep, it was, at the time. I thought there was something wrong with me; you know, people don’t cheat if they are happy, do they,
but I realised it wasn’t my fault but theirs, and also things happen for a reason,” he continues. “My mum said that 1) she’d never really liked her, and 2) it was better to find out now than later.”

  I laugh out loud. “No way! That’s what my mum said about Mark. Bet those two would be a formidable double act if they ever met.”

  “Yeah, I guess they would be.” He raises his glass and says, “Here’s to awesome know-it-all mothers!”

  We clink a glass to a coffee cup.

  The afternoon seemed to fly by as we talked about travel and mainly the places he had been, and I wanted to go. He explained that working in a city or a far-flung country is not really seeing it; you are just passing through from airport to hotel, to work and back again.

  When I asked him where his favourite place to visit was, he surprised me.

  “Ah, that’s an easy one. It’s the north-west coast of Scotland; the beaches up there are some of the best in the world, white sandy beaches, beautiful.”

  In Scotland?” I ask cynically.

  He gets out his phone and finds some pictures. “These were taken a few weeks ago. When the sun is shining you could be anywhere in the world.”

  And he was right: it was unbelievable – blue turquoise crystal waters and white sand. “Who’s that?” I point to the chocolate brown Labrador in the pic.

  “Oh, that’s Archie. He’s mine. I don’t see him much; he lives with my sister because I travel a lot.” His mouth forms into a thin line.

  “You miss him, don’t you?” I state the obvious.

  “Oh god yes, he’s ace. I’ve had him for about seven years, and he’s great at reading your mood – he knows when you are sad and comes to snuggle you and puts his head on your lap and just stares at you with his big brown eyes. When we go to the beach, he loves digging and running in the water, and at the lodge he swims in the loch.” He’s grinning now.

  Our drinks are finished, and I go off to the bar to get more; this time, I opt for a glass of wine and another beer for Alistair. I glance back, and he is on his mobile and I can see he is frowning, but not a confused frown, more concern.

  I silence my worrying mind and chant the mantra, “It’s nothing bad and it’s not about me.”

  As I walk back with our drinks, he plasters a smile on his face, but his eyes are sad. It has taken me a long time to work out the subtleties of emotion due to my lack of emotional input as a baby, but I am getting better at it. I know when something is off, even if I can’t put my finger on it all the time.

  “Everything okay?” I ask tentatively.

  He blows out a big breath. “It’s my sister, Abbie. She’s just got rid of a sleaze-ball she was seeing, and he’s making her life a bit of a misery. She thinks he’s going to post some pics of her online.” I notice his hand flex into a fist.

  “That sounds horrendous,” I comment, treading carefully.

  “Hey, if I get my hands on him, he’ll know about it.” He blows out another breath, trying to calm himself. “I don’t want to ruin the mood talking about that dick, so let’s talk about something more fun, like…when are you going to see me again?”

  He smiles a genuine warm smile, and the anger seems to dissipate. Well, I hope I read that right.

  “You want to see me again, even before the end of this date?” I ask incredulously. “What if something happens in the second half of the date and you think, ‘oh no, she’s crazy.’”

  He smiles again. “I think that ship has sailed.”

  Suddenly I feel awkward again – not that he thinks I’m crazy but that he accepts me despite my craziness.

  “I don’t know,” I add sheepishly, “what did you have in mind?”

  He’s stroking his chin in mock thinking. “Well, you know that lodge I showed you on that pic of Archie and me? Why don’t you join me for a weekend? It’s got two bedrooms, and it’s lovely and away from everything, and we could get to know each other better.” He smiles an encouraging smile.

  I guess that would be nice and it looks amazing. I’ve never been to that area before. He takes my hesitation as an indication of my reluctance and adds, “Look, Mel, I’m not trying to whisk you away for any funny business; there are two bedrooms, and it doesn’t have to be anything but taking it slow and getting to know each other.”

  I look up at him through my lashes. “I happen to like a bit of funny business.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him, acting braver than I feel but throwing caution to the wind.

  “Great, how does next weekend sound? I’m away from tomorrow until Thursday, then I am back in Aberdeen. You probably don’t want to drive all the way up, why don’t you fly up to Inverness and I will collect you from there? We can drive to the lodge; it’s about an hour and a half from there. What do you think?”

  “Sounds great. I’m owed some time off, so I can fly up at lunchtime on Friday if that works for you?”

  “To our weekend away,” and he holds up his half-finished pint, and we clink glasses.

  After we finish our drinks, we contemplate our next public house, but I have a niggle of a headache over my left eye. I need a tablet, so could do with a pit stop to the apartment, which is only a few minutes away. Alistair is fine with this, offering to go to the chemist for me, but sweet as that is it’s closer to the flat than the nearest chemist.

  So, we stroll quietly to the flat and ride the lift to our floor; he frowns at the cardboard lift and reads the notice by way of explanation.

  I get my keys out of my bag and open the door to the apartment and can hear David singing his head off in the shower. I smile at Alistair.

  “That’s David, you remember I told you about him? My flatmate… well, it’s his apartment, I’m just a hanger-on.”

  “David?” he frowns again.

  Realising that I had spoken of my friends and not my living arrangements, I understood where he is going with the conversation, I just hold up my hands. “Oh, I’m not his type, if you know what I mean.”

  Just then, to demonstrate the point, the bedroom door opens and out steps David, with a towel round his waist and one wrapped around his head, turban-style. Seeing us both standing there, he let out a girly squeal.

  As straight-faced as I can manage, I turn to Al and say, “See what I mean?”

  “For fuck’s sake, Mel, you frightened the bejesus out of me. “He clutches a hand to his chest above his heart – could this scene get any camper?

  “Hi, David, this is Alistair. Alistair, David.”

  Alistair nods a hello, and David smiles warmly, holds up one finger to indicate he will be right back, turns on a sixpence in such a way that a supermodel would have been proud and strides back into his room.

  I lead Alistair into the kitchen while I rummage around in the cupboard, and a few minutes later David appears in tracksuit bottoms, a cotton shirt and bare feet. He has combed his hair, and it shines from the wetness.

  He walks up to Alistair, holds out his hand and, glaring at me, says, “Hi, I’m David. We haven’t been properly introduced. Nice to meet you.”

  Alistair shakes his hand and smiles. “Hello again.”

  Turning his back on Alistair and walking towards me, he mouths, ‘Oh my god.’

  “Are you stopping, or going? I was going to put on a pot of coffee if you’re staying.”

  “I was popping back for a headache tablet, but we can stop for a few. Would you like a coffee, Alistair?”

  Alistair looks at me expectantly, wondering what the right answer is, and I nod slightly.

  “Coffee would be great, David, thanks,” Alistair replies.

  I don’t know why, but David’s opinion of Alistair matters. I think it’s on account of my crappy ability to choose a decent bloke; and although David’s romantic pedigree isn’t much better than mine, he does seem to know a bad boy when he sees one, the difference being that I seem to gravit
ate to them accidentally and David would gravitate purposely.

  In my bathroom I locate the migraine tablets that always save the day and grab a glass of water before returning to the kitchen where, surprise, surprise, they are getting on like a house of on fire.

  “Here she is,” says David, announcing my arrival. “Feeling better?”

  “I will do in about fifteen minutes, thanks, Auntie D,” I smile.

  Changing from playful to concern in a second, David asks, “Have you seen Marmalade?”

  “No, I haven’t,” glancing at the bowl of uneaten cat biscuits. “It doesn’t look like he’s made an appearance since I put his food out this morning. Don’t worry,” I reassure him, “he’s probably found himself a little friend and been fed elsewhere. Like father, like son,” I joke, and David smiles weakly, but the effort doesn’t reach his eyes. I rub his arm comfortingly.

  “Right, we’re off out again, as soon as you’ve finished your brew,” I say, changing the subject, and Alistair drains his cup quickly.

  I give David a quick peck, grab my bag and walk out of the apartment, and within minutes we are out on the street.

  Glancing at my watch, “It’s five. Is it too early for eats?” I ask, turning to Alistair.

  “Well, we haven’t eaten much, and I haven’t eaten since breakfast so let’s have tunch,” he smiles.

  “Tunch?”

  “Yeah, between tea and lunch. Or, if you prefer, dunch, if you call it dinner.”

  “Not where I’m from. Dinner is the same as lunch and tea is just tea, unless it’s a drink, and then it’s a brew.”

  Laughing at me, Alistair shakes his head.”Tunch it is, then.”

  As we walked along Deansgate towards the centre of town, he gently held my hand, and it felt warm and a little rough, like he worked with his hands. Not like Mark’s that were soft from office work.

  I don’t want to compare them, it was difficult not to, but there was no comparison. Oh, shut up, I said to myself. At times like this, I got on my nerves.

  We found a nice Spanish restaurant and, after a few minutes of polite suggestions and choosing tapas, we found that we generally liked the same things. I loved seafood and spicy things, both of which Mark hated, so, consequently, we never came here.