‘So, any names picked out yet?’ I ask, and she reels off a list, and I smile and nod and coo and tell her they are all gorgeous and then Lydia makes a beeline for us and pulls up the giant knitted pouffe.
‘You didn’t mention you went for a drink with Ollie,’ she says, and I think, news travels fast.
‘Oh. Well, yeah, I did,’ I say. ‘Turns out his mum lives near my dad and we were both up that way for Christmas.’
‘And are things still weird between you?’
‘Not at all. Things are fine, actually, hence the drink.’
‘So now Lucas is out of the picture—’
‘Wait, you and Lucas broke up?’ Talia interrupts, and I nod.
‘Yep. He was an arsehole,’ I explain for the third time tonight. Talia looks sympathetic and tells me what an enormous shame that is and I wonder why she cares. After all, she only met him once. And now that I think about it, he wasn’t all that keen on staying long at that party, despite the fact it was Lydia’s birthday. I immediately file that away in my ever growing dossier of Ways Lucas Was A Tosser.
‘Who’s Ollie?’ she asks, and I fill her in and show her a photo so she’s up to speed.
‘So now Lucas is out of the picture?’ Lydia repeats.
‘Well, no. It’s not like that,’ I say, but just for a couple of seconds I consider telling her about the kiss. Just so that there’s someone else in the world who knows. Just so I could have someone to analyse it all with. I want to tell someone about the lovely thing he said to me just before it happened. I want to tell her how it felt to pretend we were each other’s just for those few moments. But I don’t, because she knows about Lou and she’d ask when they broke up, and I’d have to admit they haven’t, and I don’t want those few seconds to be tarnished by anything. And besides, we agreed we wouldn’t. To the grave, we said. So I keep quiet. I don’t tell her anything. It’s definitely better that I keep that memory just for me.
‘A nice friendly drink, then?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Amazing coincidence,’ she says.
‘Wasn’t it just?’ I say.
Talia looks like she’s trying to work out if Lydia’s comment was loaded or not. She bounces her gaze between the two of us, and then down at the photo of Ollie, still on my phone screen.
‘Just popping to the loo,’ I say. ‘Back in a tick.’
Lydia’s waiting for me in her hallway when I’ve finished.
‘Come with me,’ she whispers, urgently, and pulls me towards the kitchen.
‘The eagle flies at midnight,’ I giggle, and she comes to an abrupt stop by the door. She doesn’t react.
‘There’s a man in there,’ she says in the same hushed tones.
‘Lydia, there are men everywhere in your flat,’ I say. ‘That’s sort of the nature of parties, no? Lots of people milling about. Unless he’s someone you don’t know, in which case, am I to see him off? Have you trapped him somehow?’
‘No,’ she says. ‘He’s a colleague of Jeff’s. And he’s single…’
‘Lyds. Must we do this?’
‘I think we must,’ she says, solemnly. ‘Tonight is the first time I’ve met him, but he seems like a nice guy. We both think you’d hit it off.’
‘What? When did you discuss this?’
‘After you spoke to Jeff in the kitchen,’ she shrugs. ‘He came and found me.’
I can’t help but think this is all a little bit much. It’s been less than two weeks. And I’m not sure how keen I am on my love life being discussed like this at their New Year party.
‘I don’t know about this,’ I say, pulling my hand away. ‘This isn’t massively appropriate. I’m not a little project for you.’
Lydia’s face changes. Her eyes slant down and she looks disappointed and I instantly want to make amends. She’s only trying to help.
‘Okay,’ I say, quickly. ‘Humour me, what’s he like? If I walk through that door, what am I going to find?’
Her face brightens.
‘He’s tall, but not too tall. Mid brown hair. Not unfortunate-looking at all.’
‘And personality-wise?’
‘Unsure, to be honest. I haven’t spoken to him much. But in terms of pleasantries, he’s great.’
‘Lydia!’ I hiss, and she shushes me and flaps her hands about. ‘How can you stand there and say you think we’d hit it off if you haven’t said anything much other than hello? He could be such a knob. You could be trying to set me up with a knob. Don’t set me up with someone you haven’t even vetted yourself.’
‘You seem to have no problem setting yourself up with knobs though, Fran, judging by your recent summary. Maybe it’s time for someone else to man the helm. Maybe I’ll have better luck.’
‘Fine, fine,’ I say, and she beams and pushes open the kitchen door. Jeff’s standing by the sink, hemming in this poor, unsuspecting man. He turns around when we enter and I realise I forgot to ask for his name.
He’s exactly as described. Tall (but not too tall), mid brown hair, slightly darker and thicker than what you might refer to as ‘mousy’. Clear skin. Nice brown eyes. Sort of crinkly. The mark of a GSOH. He’s wearing black skinny jeans and there’s an absence of mask. I push mine up into my hair.
‘Fran and I just came to get a drink,’ Lydia lies and Jeff tries to look like our entrance is a surprise, and I think, if I’ve read the situation correctly, his friend had no idea about them trying to set us up. What a sneaky little game they are playing.
‘Fran,’ Jeff says. ‘This is Tim. Tim has just started working with us. Tim, this is Lydia’s friend, Fran. Fran has… very red hair.’
Thanks a bunch, Jeff. I’ve known him for years and that’s the best intro he can come up with?
‘Actually, I should get back to the living room,’ Lydia says, and scurries out. Jeff mutters something I don’t quite catch and follows her, leaving Tim and I alone in the kitchen with all the drinks and half empty trays of food. We both look around, awkwardly. Study the light fittings and the array of cook books on the shelf and the taps. I’m trying to think of something cool and witty to say but I seem to have lost the power of speech.
‘Did you have a nice Christmas?’ I ask, finally and he laughs.
‘I did thanks, yeah. You?’
‘Not too shabby, ta.’
‘Do you get the feeling this might be…’ he asks. He’s wrinkled up his nose and I can’t decide if he’s horrified at the idea or not.
‘Oh, for sure,’ I confirm, nodding.
‘I’m actually heading off in a bit. I’ve got another party to go to. At a mate’s place. But this was on the way, so thought I’d pop in.’
‘Oh right.’
‘Is there a cold beer going begging in there?’ he asks, nodding at the fridge, and I open the door and hand him two.
‘Crack one open for me, would you?’ I ask.
The caps crank off and flip onto the sideboard and the bottles fizz slightly.
‘Do you know how to open this door?’ he asks, rattling the handle. ‘I was trying to go out for a fag when Jeff came in and literally cornered me.’
I open one of the drawers in the island and throw a key fob of the Eiffel Tower with the back door key at him. ‘Magic,’ he says.
‘I’ll join you,’ I say.
* * *
A little later on, after Tim and I have chatted our way through two drinks, Lydia joins us with her ever-filled tray of snacks and she smiles and touches his arm and asks if she can borrow me for just a second.
‘You are incredibly obvious, you know that?’ I say, when we’re out of earshot.
‘Well, what do you think?’
‘Yeah. Nice. Yeah,’ I say, noncommittally. Lydia isn’t satisfied.
‘Just nice? You seem to be getting on well.’
‘Yes. He isn’t hard to talk to and we can both hold a conversation.’
‘Do you think he knows?’
‘About your matchmaking? Yes. He does. He mentioned i
t.’
‘Rats!’
‘What do you expect when you act like some kind of poor man’s Cilla Black? You might as well give us a choice of three envelopes and send us off on a holiday somewhere.’
‘Are you going to give him your number?’
‘So you don’t have to? Yeah, if he asks for it, and only if he asks for it. He’s going in a bit, anyway. Somewhere else to be for midnight apparently.’
Lydia presses her fist to her mouth and hops from one foot to the other.
‘He’s definitely stayed longer than he was intending to. This is so exciting,’ she squeaks. ‘Shame, though. You could have done with a kiss at midnight.’
‘Please stop,’ I say, but truthfully I’ve liked the attention, and I wasn’t lying about him being easy to talk to, and hypothetically speaking, I probably would have let him kiss me as we rung in the new year. Probably would have kissed him back, too.
Tim’s coming back to where we’re standing now, but this time his coat is slung over his arm.
‘Well, I’m going to have to shoot if I’m making it to Balham for midnight,’ he says.
‘Thanks for coming, Fran’ll see you out,’ Lydia almost shrieks.
‘Sorry about all that,’ I say, as we’re hovering by the front gate. ‘I mean, clearly they were trying to set us up, but please don’t think they’re like that all the time. They’re much more chilled on the whole. Not such psychos.’
Tim laughs which in turn makes me giggle, and I hope opportunity knocks for a number swap, because despite their loony attempt at matchmaking, Lydia and Jeff weren’t entirely off the mark.
‘It’s been a nice evening,’ he says. ‘Bit surreal, but nice all the same.’
‘I called her a poor man’s Cilla,’ I say.
‘Ah Fran,’ he says, suddenly serious. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to say to Jeff at work,’ and I decide to go for it.
‘Tell him you’re taking me out on a date. Tell him we’re going to a nice bar and then out for Thai. You know, if he asks. Then you can ask him if he and Lydia know of anywhere and he’ll think for a bit, text her to ask, and she’ll tell him the place we go to sometimes that does the best pad Thai I’ve ever had.’
‘Ahh, I see what you did there. You could just tell me the restaurant, though?’
‘But where’s the fun in that, Tim?’ I ask, passing him my phone. ‘Pop your number in.’
He does as he’s told and I call it. ‘Now you have mine,’ I say. ‘Happy new year.’ And I walk back inside, waving as I go.
* * *
At just before midnight we all head out into the street and huddle together to count the new year in and watch the fireworks across the city. We chant down from ten to one and are rewarded at zero with explosions of colour lighting up the sky in whistles and bangs, fading out to nothing but falling debris and a smoky haze. We pull our masks away from our faces and hug and kiss. We chink the bottles and glasses we’ve brought out with us and wish each other well for the year ahead. Phones start beeping, mine included.
Dad
HNY petal. Love Dad.
Carlina
Happy new year, bitches! I wish you all a year of insanely good sex.
Mickey
Happy New Year everyone xx
Ollie
Happy New Year Fran. Hope you’re having a good one x
Tim
Poor man’s Cilla. Still laughing! HNY!
Chapter Nineteen
January
The office is bare without the Christmas decorations. The giant tree has been dismantled by the time I get in on Wednesday morning. Lexi and Ben carefully wrap the yellow and black company branded baubles in bubble wrap and return them to their box at the back of the stationery cupboard. The metallic smell of tinsel has gone. All the spray-on snow wiped off the windows.
Sinjin’s in first. New headphones on. Giant mug of tea. A tower of white toast with a very liberal helping of chocolate spread.
‘Merry happy new year,’ I say. He pulls his headphones down so they hang around his neck.
‘Same to you,’ he says. ‘Did you have a nice break?’
‘Yeah, good to relax, you know?’
‘Can you believe everyone is still talking about that thing that happened at the Christmas party?’ he asks, and my blood runs cold.
‘What do you mean, everyone’s talking about it? What thing?’ I ask. I’m trying to play it cool, but the words sound nervous and the stupid giggle I choke back definitely doesn’t help matters.
‘You know,’ Sinjin says, coyly. ‘That thing that everyone’s talking about.’
‘Oh,’ I croak, remembering the conversation I overheard in the kitchen. ‘Well. Quite honestly I’m surprised anyone still gives a shit. It was ages ago now.’
He stares at me for a couple of seconds and he looks like he’s thinking of some witty retort, but Carlina strides through the door and, thankfully, the moment swiftly passes.
‘Hey girl, hey,’ I call over, all pretend confidence.
‘Yooooouuuuuuu,’ she squeals, dumping her bag on her desk and enveloping me in a hug. ‘Happy new year! Did you have a good one? You did not respond to my midnight text. I thought for sure you would. Out of everyone I sent it to, I really thought, ah yeah, Fran will answer that.’
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I was going to, but then the networks got busy. You know how it is.’
‘I’m kidding,’ she says. ‘I don’t really give a fuck. Let’s get a coffee.’
There’s no one in the kitchen and we use this as an opportunity for a quick catch-up. She takes a packet of crumpets out of her bag and slots two into the toaster. When they’re done she pulls out a tub of butter, spreads it on her breakfast and returns it to the fridge whilst I make coffee.
‘Where are my manners? Did you want a couple of these?’ she asks, but I shake my head and tell her I had a muffin instead. ‘How was your break?’ she asks.
‘Nice thanks. I’ve decided to write a blog about dating for the site and I went for a drink with Ollie on Christmas day.’
She puts down her plate and stares at me. ‘You what?’ she asks.
‘After I broke up with Lucas and saw all that shit on his Facebook, I got the rage and emailed Maxine with an idea to write a dating blog. She gave me the green light, so off I go, basically.’
‘Right,’ she says. ‘We’ll dissect that later on, and believe me I do want to know, but right now you need to tell me about drinking with Ollie. How? Why? Did he also have a break-up and did you realise that you’re actually besotted with each other? Are you going to live happily ever after? It’ll be a short-lived blog if so.’
‘No, no and no,’ I say.
‘Too bad,’ she muses, and bites her crumpet, and I blow on my coffee and explain about our parents living close to each other and how he responded to my Christmas text and it went from there.
‘Fate,’ she coos.
‘I don’t believe in that,’ I say, dismissively.
‘Well maybe you should,’ she says. ‘What did you talk about?’
‘Christmas. Our families. My break-up.’
‘What did he say about that? He asked me about Lucas once, you know?’
I did not know. And I’m not sure how I feel about that.
‘Oh, what did you tell him?’
‘Not much, because it wasn’t long after you guys started, so I didn’t know much. In fact, it was at The Whippet, that first week. He mentioned the flowers he sent you, but then said Lucas wasn’t how he thought he’d be.’
‘What does that mean? And why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because I thought it was an odd conversation to have. After you left that night Mickey and I went and sat with them all, and when Lou went to ladies’, he asked me what I thought of Lucas. He was giving off some serious negative energy. I’ll be honest, Fran, I was narked.’
‘This is quite a lot of information to hit me with fifteen minutes into our first day back. Why were you narked?’
‘Because it became painfully obvious he was into you. And if he was into you, he’d never be into me. And back then I quite liked him. And you didn’t. It felt unfair.’
‘He’d never mess Lou around,’ I say, quietly. ‘He’s said that to me. So I really don’t think anything would ever happen. I don’t think he’d instigate anything. I’m sorry you were narked, but the whole thing is moot.’
‘Oh it’s fine,’ she says, and she instantly brightens. ‘I’m absolutely over my minute crush on Ollie Taylor.’ She leans back against the kitchen unit and clutches her coffee mug and looks around the room, dreamily.
‘Oh. You’ve got news,’ I say.
‘Maybe.’ She looks coy and flushed. ‘I have had lots of very lovely sex over the last couple of weeks. So much so, in fact, that…’ she opens her bag again and fishes out a cardboard box of cystitis relief sachets and shakes it at me.
‘Oh, lovely,’ I say.
‘Well, no, it’s not,’ she says, and grimaces. ‘But a small price to pay for all the lovely sex.’
‘Is this a Christmas fling, or your ex again, or…?’
‘Hell no, not my ex. He’s well out of the picture. I don’t know what it is right now, to be honest. It’s sort of complicated because—’
The door to the kitchen opens and Maxine strolls in. Carlina instantly stops talking and finishes up her crumpet. She opens the dishwasher and stacks her dirty plate. Her second crumpet hangs out of her mouth.
‘Good Christmas?’ Maxine asks and Carlina and I both nod. ‘Excellent,’ she says, and shoves her mug under the coffee machine. ‘Oh, Fran, would it be possible to have a little catch-up at eleven?’
‘Course,’ I say, all smiles, but inside I am reeling and all morning I am nervous, because meetings with your manager are always terrifying, especially ones labelled as broadly as a catch-up, and even more so when you’re not sure what they could possibly want to catch up about.
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