Authors: Daniel Grant
‘Uh…I was, uh looking for the toilet,’ I say. The girl’s expression has now changed to one of unmitigated terror. She pulls the covers up to her eyes and then points towards the door. I interpret this to mean she wants me to leave. I nod slowly. You know what I do then? Really dumb. I put my index finger in front of my mouth and do a ‘shhh.’
‘MUM!!!!!!!!’ the girl screams. I open the door and run out into the corridor where, in my haste, I knock over someone who was just outside. We both fall to the floor.
‘Shit! Sorry,’ I say. The person I’ve floored is a woman, early forties wearing an apron. Girl’s mum perhaps? She looks like an older Nicola. Then Parker appears in the corridor with Nicola in tow. Parker’s hand slaps over his mouth as he tries to stop himself from bursting with laughter. My hands try to cover my erection but only draw more attention to it.
‘Oh, jeez,’ says the woman sitting up. I stand up quickly.
‘God,’ says Nicola, ‘Ollie, where are your clothes?’
‘I don’t know. I’m sorry…’ I start to say. It then dawns on me this must be Nicola’s mum’s house. Parker’s in fits. Nicola elbows him but he can’t stop himself. The laughter is unleashed, filling the hallway. I run back to the room I came from and slam the door. I pull the duvet off the bed and cover myself up. I hear Nicola talking to her mum.
‘Are you okay, mum?’
‘I think so. Who is that man?’
‘Parker’s friend. Hey, it’s not funny, stop it now!’ Parker’s laughter still fills the corridor. I hear someone walking towards my door and a soft knock.
‘You okay in there, Ollie?’ Nicola says.
‘Honestly, I’ve been better,’ I reply.
‘Can I come in? Are you, decent?’ she asks. I want to die. We all know what she’s referring to. I shake my head.
‘Yeah,’ I say. The door opens and Nicola walks in, carrying my clothes.
‘Here, found them. Probably should have got undressed in here,’ she says.
‘I’m so sorry Nicola. I don’t really remember anything.’
‘It’s fine. We all got quite drunk and ended up coming back here,’ she says.
‘Right,’ I say, trying to remember a semblance of anything from last night. ‘What about Ashley?’
‘She’s in the living room. Do you need the toilet?’ she asks, glancing down at my groin. I look down and see the faintest outline of my erection.
‘Yes. Please,’ I say. I want to die. She smiles.
‘This way, try not to scare the children,’ she says. I nod and follow her. She indicates the correct door this time and I walk inside.
‘Thanks.’
‘Take your time,’ she says.
Once I’ve been, thrown water on my face, crept back to my room, clothed myself and tidied the room as best I can, I head into the living room. Ashley sits on a chair reading a magazine. Nicola sits on Parker’s lap. The little girl I scared the crap out of is lying on her front on the floor, colouring a drawing with crayons. Probably practising for when the psychiatrist asks her if the picture is a butterfly or a cloud.
‘Ah, here he is, paedophile Ollie,’ Parker says. Nicola nudges him in the chest. The little girl looks up from her colouring. She stares at me. I force a smile. Floor swallow me now.
‘Hi,’ I say. I glance at Ashley who is smiling sympathetically.
‘Why are you all up so early?’ I ask.
‘It’s eleven-thirty, dude,’ Parker says. ‘We were waiting for you to get up so we can go home, I wanted to throw water on you but…I was voted down.’
‘Right,’ I say.
‘This is my younger sister, Joanne, my other sister, whose room you slept in is over at a friend’s,’ Nicola says. ‘Joanne, this is Ollie.’
‘They’ve already met,’ Ashley says. Everyone cracks up. I nod. Even Joanne laughs, although I’m not sure she knows why.
‘That’s just great,’ I say.
Thursday. Lauren and I have agreed to have dinner at hers tonight. Quite excited, haven’t seen her place yet. Bet it’s amazing. I start wondering what the bed looks like and whether we’ll end up using it for non-sleep purposes. However, all that is at least ten hours away. I’m running late and every train that comes into Clapham Junction is rammed. I hate queuing to get on a train when I’ve already paid an obscene amount just for the privilege of standing under some stranger’s armpit. London bloody transport.
I transfer onto the Northern Line at Waterloo and again, have to stand. My iPod is about the only thing that keeps me sane on these sorts of days. I stand against the Perspex and glance down at the woman sitting next to where I stand. She’s thumbing through her diary but quickly comes to rest on a page. I look at the entries.
14th September - cut hedge row.
15th September – take John to rugby. Boring. Then another entry grabs my attention.
16th September - nothing written.
17th September – Ken’s birthday – blow job. I blink then immediately smile. I glance at the woman, she’s no looker for sure but Ken is about to get very lucky. The train pulls into Goodge Street and I step off, my mood much improved by the possibilities for Ken’s birthday.
As soon as I get in Paul asks me to try and find an address for a radical Islamic preacher who has just managed to get bail. He’s thought to be living somewhere in South London.
‘Can you see if you can track him down? There’s a crew for you when you’re ready,’ Paul says.
‘Sure,’ I reply. I log in and get to work. Using the various funky programs and ultra-modern tools we have, I manage to find out shit all. In the end, I ask Paul if I can just go out with the camera crew and chance it. Sometimes you get lucky. Me and a cameraman called Rooney start searching South London for a radical preacher located in a safe house somewhere. Not an impossible task but I think lowering expectations in such a quest is advisable. We drive around endless residential streets looking for any sign of police protective detail or two constipated guys sitting in a car outside a house with a flask of coffee and a box of doughnuts. Unfortunately we spot nothing even close.
Two hours later, we’ve reached the end of the road and the end of my shift. I decide to call it a day. I call Paul to tell him we’ve had no luck. He’s disappointed but says he isn’t surprised. Thanking me, he lets me go home. I jump on the tube and change onto the Victoria line. Pimlico only takes ten minutes and before I know it I’m walking down Lauren’s street. She lives in a posh neighbourhood.
Her place is a white Georgian terrace. Large bay windows jut out next to the front door. I walk up the steps and knock. I hear movement, the door opens and there she is. She’s gone all out, wearing a beautiful long red dress, shoulders exposed. Her hair is straight and she wears just the right amount of makeup, subtle and restrained.
‘Hi,’ I say, breathing in as I take in the sight. She smiles.
‘Hi, nice to see you,’ she replies.
‘You look beautiful.’
‘Thanks, come in,’ she says, turning away from me and heading up the stairs. I close the door and follow her up. I hear the mellow tones of Birdy in the background. Her flat is nicely decked out. Neutral colours, high ceilings and a good finish. The kitchen is modern and looks expensive. The lounge has plenty of light coming through those big windows and there are two tall bookshelves on either side of a grand fireplace. Vases of flowers are dotted about the place and she’s lit some candles.
‘Champagne?’ she asks, turning to face me with a bottle of Don Perignon in her hand.
‘Sure,’ I say. Blimey, I could get used to going out with a rich girl.
‘Can you do the honours? I’ll just check on the food,’ she says.
‘Yep,’ I reply, taking the bottle from her. I unwrap the cork and pop it open, pouring the Champagne into two long-stemmed glasses. I nearly screw it up by pouring too fast, a little spills over the top. I really do need more practice doing this. I guess, if Lauren and I are going to be a permanent item it’s something I’ll get better at with time. I check to see if she’s still in the kitchen and wait for the bubbles to go down. She walks back in and takes the glass I offer her.
‘Cheers,’ I say.
‘Cheers,’ she replies. We clink glasses and take a sip. It tastes like liquid money.
‘So what are we celebrating? Apart from you being with me, of course,’ I say, a vague attempt at humour. She smiles then assumes a serious face quickly.
‘Well, uh…shall we sit down?’ she says, gesturing to the sofa.
‘Yeah.’
We relocate to the sofa and place our glasses on the table in front of us. Not sure why but I feel like something is wrong. I look at her, she isn’t saying anything and looks uncomfortable. Would she offer me Champagne then dump me? Pretty cold.
‘Ollie, we need to talk about something,’ she says. Holy crap, she is dumping me. Who the hell does that? Who opens a bottle of Don Perignon and then tells her boyfriend/shag to get lost? That is so twisted I might have to-
‘Right,’ I say, interrupting my thought process. I’m nervous now, anxious at what she will say.
‘I’ve got a new job,’ she says. I blink, that’s not what I was expecting. She isn’t dumping me, that’s definitely a positive. I breathe out, realising I’d barely been breathing at all.
‘Oh right, that’s great. Congratul-’
‘It’s in New York.’ Ah.
‘Oh.’ Silence. I glance at her, she stares at me for a reaction. I blink, trying to process all the implications of this bombshell. She touches my hand.
‘I know this isn’t what you want to hear and to be honest I don’t really want to go but it’s quite a big promotion and it will only be for a couple of years-’
‘A couple of years?’ I repeat, still trying to take it in.
‘I know you’re not going to be happy about it.’
‘Why would I be happy? I mean, I’m glad you’ve got a new job and all that but, I dunno. I thought we were going somewhere.’
‘We were. But, we haven’t exactly been going out for that long,’ she says. I note her use of the past tense there.
‘Right.’
‘Look, I’m disappointed too. But I can’t pass this up. United is huge over there, I would be just below board level. It’s a massive opportunity.’
‘Okay. So, we’re breaking up then?’
‘Hang on. I don’t go until October, still plenty of time to see each other,’ she says. I nod, miserable. ‘Also I was thinking, and don’t freak out when I say this…you could, maybe…come with me?’
‘What? To New York?’
‘Yeah. You could get a job at one of the American TV networks, we could find a big apartment to live in. Even if you had trouble finding a job, you could still stay with me. I earn a fair bit and you could come out, see how it goes? I know it’s fast and I haven’t thought through all the implications but…sorry, what do you think?’ Live in New York? With a girl I barely know. I thought this was just another date, now it’s turned into this, whatever you call this. ‘It doesn’t have to be the end, Ollie.’ She stares at me, scanning for any reaction. I feel numb and strangely more upset than I would have expected. I thought we had something here. I know I’ve been a bit all over the place with Svetla but I thought Lauren would be the one to pull me out of that. I thought we’d end up together. Even if I never phrased it like that in my head, that’s sort of where I figured we were heading. And now she hits me with this. ‘Talk to me,’ she says.
‘I don’t know. What do you want me to say?’ I reply.
‘Just be honest, tell me what you think.’
‘This is…I don’t know. I like you. A lot. Maybe more than I was even admitting to myself but I can’t go to New York. My friends are here. My life is here.’
‘It’s a five hour plane journey. You can come back whenever you want, on me,’ she replies. I sigh and stand up, walking over to the window. The sun is setting, its orange light glows everywhere. Magic hour, beautiful.
‘I don’t know if I want to rely on you for money,’ I say.
‘I understand. Okay, don’t go anywhere, I just need to check on the food,’ she replies. I nod slowly and watch her leave. I turn back to the window and stare out. What the hell? I’ve been quite relaxed about Lauren until now. I don’t want her to leave. Why can’t she just stay here? Could I live in New York? My immediate reaction is absolutely not. Can’t up sticks and leave everything I’ve worked for. I’m fairly young, I guess I could do it for a couple of years. As she says, New York is only five hours away. But what about my flat, all that saving up to finally buy my own place and I’d…what, sell it? Rent it out? I don’t know what to do. I down the rest of the Champagne and pour myself another glass. Lauren appears at the door and walks over to stand behind me. She puts her arms around my chest, holding me tight.
‘I’m sorry. I know this sucks. But do you understand at least why I’m doing it?’
‘I do,’ I reply. I want to say more but I can’t slot the words into the right order.
‘Like I said, it’s not until October, we’ve got a couple of months,’ she says. I nod slowly. She releases me and walks around me, rubbing my back as she goes. We face each other. I can barely look her in the eye. I feel let down, disappointed. Fucked. She smiles at me. Her beautiful smile. I’m suddenly overcome with emotion. What the hell is the matter with me? This was supposed to be just an intermediary thing, until The One came along. Don’t tell me all this time, Lauren was The One and I missed it completely. That would be just like me. She was right under my nose and I was too busy looking at Svetla to notice. Exactly as Martina said in South Africa. ‘Hey. This is a celebration even if it is bittersweet. So, let’s celebrate.’