(Something I discovered courtesy of Duncan, obviously.)
I can almost see my question float in front of Priya’s face, before it fades away hopelessly. She doesn’t respond.
What is she even doing?
‘Pri?’ I nudge carefully.
Her head jerks up and I jump.
‘Look at this,’ she says roughly, shoving her phone under my nose.
I blink at her screen. It’s a photo of Josh.
I knew she was looking at his page earlier!
I look down at it blankly. He’s standing in a bar with another guy holding a beer. He’s smiling.
His beard is indescribable.
Priya glares at me expectantly and I suddenly realise I’m supposed to say something.
My eyes flit back towards her.
Oh God. What does she want me to say?
‘Err,’ I say, ‘goodness. Yeah. Look at him.’
Okay, that’s good. Keep it neutral. She can’t get mad if you say practically nothing.
I look down and clock the time, and I notice he uploaded the photo last night. Has she been looking at this all day?
‘Doesn’t he look really proud to you,’ Priya says bitterly, ‘and happy? Like, why is he so happy? And he’s out, in a bar. Like, what is he even doing there? Who is he?’
She looks at me as if she’s just announced that he’s at a foot fetish party.
‘He hates bars!’ she explodes. ‘He never goes to bars! And now he’s there, with the lads. He’s obviously going there to get with a load of girls.’
I look back down at the photo, trying to source the cryptic clues that Priya is obsessing over.
To me he just looks like a guy standing at a bar.
‘He’s such a dick,’ she mutters, pulling the phone away from me. She shoves it back in her bag aggressively and I feel a tug at my chest as she glugs down an enormous slurp of wine.
‘Pri,’ I say, ‘you don’t seem that good. How about we just cancel on these guys and have a fun night in?’
If she says yes then we can almost hop back on to the last items in my schedule. We’d only be twenty minutes behind.
I smile until she whips her head round to face me, her eyes flashing.
‘What?’ she spits. ‘No! We need to go on this date. I can’t sit at home watching TV while he’s out getting with loads of girls.’
I look back at her blankly.
‘You just don’t get it, Bea,’ she snaps, pushing her body away from me.
I feel a weight sink down my throat.
Great. Now she’s mad at me.
Priya slumps back against the sofa and stares at her phone screen. I open and close my mouth.
Okay. So that went well.
I stand up and turn to tell Priya where I’m going, but she hasn’t even noticed my movement. I make my way to my bedroom and shut the door behind me. I take a deep breath as the icy claws of panic grip me.
I put the glass of wine on my bedside table and sink down on to my bed.
It will be fine. It will be over soon. Everything will be fine.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and quickly find Mum’s number and hold the phone to my ear. As always, it goes to answerphone.
‘Hi, Mum,’ I say quietly, ‘it’s me. I just wanted to call for a chat. I’m not feeling great today, but don’t worry. I’ll be okay. Hopefully talk to you soon. Love you, bye.’
I click the phone off and run my fingers through my hair. I take in another deep breath, trying to stretch out my twitching muscles as my eyes land on the letter. I pick it up and turn it over between my fingers.
I’ve never received a letter before. Not a handwritten one.
I pull it out of the envelope and my eyes focus on the jittery handwriting. For some reason, I feel a tug of familiarity.
I wonder if he’s found his B.
‘Bea!’ Priya’s strained voice resounds down the hall and I quickly shove the letter under my pillow. ‘Where are you? They’re here!’
*
I perch on the very corner of our sofa, my back poker straight and my entire body tense as I glance over at Keith, who has cracked his moist feet out from his loafers and propped them on my armrest.
On my armrest.
He’d better not touch me with those horrible trotters or I’ll have to set myself on fire.
I mean, who does that? He took off his shoes the moment he got in and has been waving his feet around like he’s dancing a revolting Irish jig.
As for Tim, well, I can’t for the life of me work out why Priya was so desperate to go on a date with him.
I mean, he’s not terrible. He’s no Keith. But he did put his beer down without a coaster and then laughed when I flapped about trying to find him one.
‘And do you remember,’ Tim guffaws to Priya, ‘what Stacey did, with the nurses’ station photocopier?’
Priya titters, uttering a string of unnatural giggles, and I flinch slightly as Keith looks over at me hopefully, as if I too know all about funny Stacey and the photocopier.
You keep those feet away from me, Keith.
I scowl in Priya’s direction as she lightly taps Tim’s shoulder.
Priya knows I can’t make small talk with strangers. She does the talking and I laugh along, that’s our set-up. That’s how we always did it at uni.
I glance over at Keith again who is scrolling through his phone.
Right, come on, Bea. Small talk. Talk that is small. You can do this. You’ve watched enough episodes of First Dates.
I feel my heart race as I angle my body towards him.
‘So, Keith,’ I say, ‘what do you do?’
I try to force my face into a relaxed smile. Keith doesn’t look up from his phone.
‘What?’ he grunts.
I blink, slightly affronted. Gosh, that was an aggressive response. How can someone sound so annoyed by that question?
I take a deep breath, using all of my energy to keep my smile from slipping off my face. ‘Err,’ I start again, ‘what do you do? For a job?’
I wait for his answer.
Who knows? Maybe he’s some form of writer too.
Although not of something weird. Like porn.
Do porn films have writers? Is that a thing?
Maybe I’ll google it later.
Actually, no, I definitely won’t do that. Christ.
Keith places his hands around the neck of his beer.
‘I’m a surgeon,’ he says.
‘Oh!’ I cry, genuinely impressed.
I never would have thought he was a surgeon.
Well, I guess that’s why he’s so comfortable with his feet, isn’t it? They’re just body parts to him, after all. Nothing he hasn’t seen plenty of before. I’m sure he’s seen hundreds of feet and I am just too uptight and ignorant to appreciate that they are simply functional.
Wow, I really feel like I have been taught a serious lesson here. It was surely meant to be. That Keith, the surgeon—
‘Tree,’ he adds, and I feel my smile twitch.
What?
‘Pardon?’ I say.
‘Of trees,’ he repeats, ‘like, a tree surgeon. I’m a tree surgeon.’
Of trees? What does that mean? He administers twig replacements and open bark surgery?
Actually, that’s quite funny. I should say that out loud.
‘So,’ I grin, ‘do you do open bark—’
‘Yeah, it’s my dad’s business,’ Keith continues, and I stifle my brilliant joke back inside of me.
Damn it. That would have been a great joke. I’ll have to somehow say it later.
Or maybe I’ll tweet it.
‘I’ve done it for years,’ he adds, nodding his large head.
‘Cool,’ I say lamely, taking another gulp of my wine.
What am I supposed to say back to that? I can’t think of a single question to ask about tree surgery. I wish Priya was involved, she’d ask something witty and insightful.
I could ask him if he h
as a lot of experience with wood.
I open my mouth again and then clamp it firmly shut.
No, no, no. Do not say that. Don’t you dare.
He could ask me a question, there’s a shocking idea. He could ask me what I do for a job, or my opinions on rogue feet, or where I bought my lovely painting from, and yes I did paint it myself, and aren’t I so talented, how do I even find the time?
I glance back over at Keith and as we make eye contact I feel my mouth stretch into an awkward smile.
Anything would be better than this terrible silence.
I raise my eyebrows at him and feel the thought bubble into my mind.
Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
‘So, you must have a lot of experience with wood, then?’
Argh! No! Why would you say that?
Keith stares back at me blankly.
What is wrong with you?
‘Bea?’
I look round as Priya gestures me into the kitchen.
Did she hear the wood joke? Is she about to give me a stern word?
I follow her in anxiously and she clicks the door shut behind us.
Maybe she’s about to confess that she’s having a terrible time and we can send these guys home. That would be great.
Priya swings her glass in her left hand and I wince slightly as wine splashes on the kitchen floor.
She locks her inky eyes on to my face and leans in.
‘I need you to do me a favour,’ she says.
I look back at her.
‘I need you to suggest taking some pictures tonight of me and Tim.’
I wait for her to smile, and then realise that she’s being serious.
Take some pictures?
‘What?’ I say. ‘What do you mean?’
Priya furrows her brow in concentration.
‘I need you to take some pictures of me and Tim and put them on your Instagram. Some of us posing, and some of us laughing. Oh,’ she points her glass at me, sloshing her wine around dangerously, ‘and definitely one of us touching or something.’
‘Touching?’ I repeat in alarm.
‘Yeah!’ Priya cries, curling her free hand around my reluctant arm. ‘Okay?’
She tries to drag me out of the kitchen but I feel like my feet are rooted to the spot.
Priya looks back at me. ‘What?’
‘Can’t we call it a night?’ I say quietly. ‘I want to go to bed and I just feel—’
‘No!’ Priya’s eyes flash at me. ‘Don’t do this. You’re not going to bed, you can’t.’
‘But I—’
‘Just try to have fun, Bea,’ Priya whines, ‘just for another hour, then they’ll go. Look,’ her eyes flick down to my empty glass and she grabs another bottle of wine, ‘drink more,’ she says firmly, ‘then you’ll feel better. It will help you relax.’
I watch as Priya tips the wine into my glass. She notices my expression and raises her eyebrows.
‘Drink it,’ she says firmly, ‘right now. Down it. You’re too uptight.’
I look back at her as I feel the creature sink its nails into my stomach. Before my thoughts catch up, my arm tips the wine towards my mouth and I tilt the warm wine down. It hits the back of my throat and I try not to gag as the acidic taste swirls around my mouth.
Priya grins at me and grabs my hand.
‘Okay,’ she says, pulling me back out of the kitchen, ‘let’s go.’
I follow her out nervously and sit back down on the sofa. To my alarm, Keith has crept over slightly in my absence and his feet are now loitering close to mine.
I feel my body tense as the alcohol swirls around, pulling at my snapping muscles.
Okay, right. Some photos. Maybe if I take a good enough picture quickly, then we can go to bed.
*
Thirty-five pictures and four glasses of wine down, and I feel like going back in time and aggressively laughing at my optimistic self. I should have known better, Priya used to make Josh take photos of her every time they went out. I never realised how exhausting it was.
I snap a photo listlessly with my wilting fingers and slug another gulp of my drink. My eyes slide over to Keith, who has been steadily creeping closer like a pestering sloth.
He gestures to my phone. ‘You should take a picture of us two.’
I look back at him and try to fight the look of horror that spreads across my face.
A photo of us? Why? So I can stick it on our first Christmas card? Or send it to the police to use as evidence when I murder you for skimming your crusty feet all over my freshly hoovered carpet?
I flash him a half-smile and go back to my phone as Priya throws her head back and laughs, flashing me her best ‘Look at me, aren’t I having such a great time?’ smile.
‘How old are you?’
Oh, a question. Finally.
I pull my tired eyes away from the phone and look at Keith.
‘Twenty-four,’ I answer. ‘You?’
Keith nods. ‘Thirty-one.’
‘Cool.’
Great. Look at us. We’ve both been alive for a period of time.
I shoot him another half-smile to accompany my lame response.
Keith has a tuft of brown hair that quiffs at the top of his forehead and a jagged beard that sticks out of his chin like the bristles of a used toothbrush.
He’s not bad-looking, and I’m sure for a female with a foot fetish he’d be the man of her dreams.
‘So,’ Keith starts again, crossing one leg over the other, ‘how long have you been single for?’
I feel a hot flash of anxiety sweep over me.
I hate this question. It’s a trick question. Every answer you say back is met with a pity smile, and some dreadful line like ‘He’s out there somewhere’, or ‘Good for you’. Or, the worst one, ‘You’ve got plenty of time’ like I’m a saggy old hen on the verge of squawking my last cluck.
‘About a year,’ I mumble, glancing over to Priya to check she’s not listening to my lie.
She’s not. She’s pretending to tell Tim’s fortune.
‘I’ve been single about two years now, but it doesn’t really matter,’ Keith says, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘It’s different, though, isn’t it?’
I force myself to look at Keith. He’s swinging his bottle of beer between two fingers, his back arched over.
‘Different for who?’ I say.
‘Girls,’ Keith says matter-of-factly, ‘women.’ He glances at me. ‘Chicks. Girls want to settle down and have kids earlier, they need to get married. Not need,’ he says quickly, swigging his beer, ‘they like it. Every girl wants to get married. My ex was gagging for it.’
I stare down at my phone, Keith’s words sinking through my body like a stone.
‘Girls need someone,’ he says, pulling out his phone.
I nod, my mouth dry.
I don’t need someone.
I look at Priya, who is laughing at Tim.
I don’t have someone to need.
*
I feel my body twitch as my eyes stare out into the darkness. Anxiety has me paralysed now, as if it has stretched its claws into each of my limbs and pinned me down on to the bed. The only thing I can move is my eyes, which are slowly burning as liquid seeps out of the corners.
I knew I’d hate tonight. I knew it the moment Priya suggested it. Priya should have known too. Maybe she did and didn’t care.
I move my hand over to my phone and turn it over.
No missed calls from Mum. No messages from anyone. The time blinks back at me.
1.57.
I scrunch up my face. Anxiety feeds on my insomnia. It sucks every inch of exhaustion from my body like a sponge and leaves me in my own personal hell, with nowhere to go. Nobody is awake at this time. Why would they be? It’s just me, alone.
Keith and Tim left shortly after his take on male and female goals. I could barely speak. After Keith had finished giving me his pearls of wisdom, he swiftly pulled out his phon
e and proceeded to ignore me for the rest of the evening. At one point he even put his shoes on, which triggered the alarming realisation that the display of his feet was just for me.
Priya seemed to get the photo she was after. She then ignored Tim and spent the rest of the evening glued to her phone until they both got the message and left. Priya swept upstairs as soon as the front door clicked shut behind them. I pottered around the house as anxiety popped inside my body like squares of bubble wrap.
I roll on to my back now and stare up at the ceiling.
I’ve always hated dating. It was different at school. You met boys in English class, fancied them a bit, got your friend to send them a note during Shakespeare and then, poof, you’ve got yourself a boyfriend.
Even university was better. Me, Priya and Emma would go out together on nights out and be flooded with attention. I never had any problems talking to guys, I didn’t really have to think about it.
But I was different then. Everything was.
I take a deep breath in an attempt to relax the creature’s harsh grip on my body.
I bloody hope Priya has learnt her lesson from tonight. She kept pretending to laugh at Tim’s terrible jokes about the nurses’ station printer but I know she can’t really have had a good time.
I curl my hands into small fists and push them against my swollen eyes in frustration.
For God’s sake, why can’t I sleep? What’s wrong with me? It’s almost two a.m. Everyone should be asleep right now.
I roll back on to my side and exhale.
My eyes open and automatically search for Nathan’s letter, which is stashed on my bedside table. I pull it towards me and unfold it.
I’ve never had anyone write me a letter before.
My eyes scan his jittery handwriting and, somehow, the creature’s grip around my heart loosens as a new feeling snakes through my body.
I wonder how long it took him to write this letter. Was it impulsive? Or did he spend weeks thinking about it?
As I read the final line, it’s like a magnetic force has gripped my eyeballs, forcing them to read the last line again. And then again.
I’ll always love you, B. You’re the other half of me.
I pull myself up to sitting as the creature is drowned by a new, powerful feeling.
The Accidental Love Letter Page 6