Dinner for Two (15 page)

‘Have you got to get back to work?’ she asks, as we stand up. ‘You must have loads of letters to read.’

‘Yeah, I have,’ I reply, as we tidy away our trays and rubbish.

Together we make our way up the stairs and out of the restaurant on to Oxford Street. Sitting in the bowels of the restaurant I’d been oblivious to the world outside and had focused all my attention on this one person. Now suddenly I’m in a different environment and the adjustment seems to be taking longer than usual. It is no longer raining and the traffic seems louder, the sky brighter, the people around us busier.

‘What are you going to do now?’ I ask.

She shrugs.

‘You could go back to school,’ I suggest.

‘I don’t think I will, if that’s all right,’ she says, looking down at her shoes. ‘I think I’ll just go to the library and look at some books.’

‘Have you got enough money to get home?’ I ask.

‘I’m fine, thanks. I bought a Travel Card.’

‘And you’ll be all right getting back to Wood Green?’

‘I’ve been to Oxford Street on my own loads of times,’ she tells me. ‘I’m usually with my friends, but I’ll be okay.’

‘Listen, how about I give you the money for a cab? I don’t want to spend the rest of the afternoon worrying about you.’

‘I’ll be okay.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I’m sure.’ She looks at her watch. ‘I’d better go.’

‘Okay, then. Well, it was really good to meet you.’ I think about shaking her hand but it doesn’t seem appropriate. ‘Your mum must be really proud of you.’

She half smiles in acknowledgement but avoids eye-contact. ‘It was good to meet you too . . . Oh, and thanks for the McDonald’s.’

Neither of us moves. A bus roars by and several taxis and cars exchange heated debate via their horns.

‘I’d better go,’ she says again, and begins to walk away.

She’s only taken a few steps before I call out her name. She stops immediately and turns round.

‘I know we haven’t had much time today,’ I tell her, ‘but how about meeting up again? If you want to, that is.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, really. When shall we say?’

‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘I’ll have to think about what I’m going to tell Mum. I don’t want to lie but . . .’

‘You can tell her you know about me if you want. I don’t think you should keep secrets from her.’

She stops and thinks. ‘I want to tell her but not yet. Do you mind?’

‘It’s up to you. I just want you to be okay.’

‘I am.’

‘Also, I think that today should be the first and last time you bunk off school and the last time you come into London on your own. Maybe when we meet again I’ll pick you up? Shall I call you and we’ll arrange something?’

She nods. ‘I’ll see you, then.’

‘Yeah, I’ll see you soon.’

She turns and walks away from me, and I watch her until she has disappeared into Tottenham Court Road tube station.

It’s just after three and Fran’s coming into the office with Ellie.

‘Good lunch?’ I ask her, as she sits down at her desk.

‘Great lunch,’ she replies. ‘Best lunch ever. Shouldn’t have had the last glass of wine, though. All I’m fit for is a long nap.’ She laughs. ‘How was your sandwich?’

‘Nothing to write home about.’

‘Made any decision about what to do about the thing?’ she asks quietly.

‘I’m not going to contact her,’ I say, and wonder why I’m not telling her about my meeting with Nicola. I suppose it’s because it feels too private, too recent. I need to get my head straight first. I need to decide what I’m going to do.

Fran gives me a half-smile as a show of solidarity but doesn’t say anything.

‘It’s for the best,’ I add, a touch guiltily. ‘It’s the right thing to do.’

‘If you need to talk—’ she says.

‘No, thanks,’ I interrupt, even though I do. ‘I’m okay,’ I add. ‘I’ll be all right.’

It’s seven o’clock in the evening and I’m standing at the entrance to Denim on St Martin’s Lane. I walk past the bouncer on the door and scan the room for Izzy. The bar is busy with after-work drinkers, and mellow dance music is playing in the background. All afternoon all I’ve done is think about Nicola, and now I’m going to have to put her to the back of my mind. I can’t afford to let Izzy detect the slightest trace of anxiety. I spot her and her impeccably dressed friends at a table to the rear of the bar, take a deep breath and prepare myself to have a good time on the outside even if inside I’m heading for chaos.

‘Dave!’ screams Izzy.

I smile and wave. As I reach the table she stands up and launches herself at me, wrapping her arms around me in a hug. She isn’t drunk but she’s getting there. ‘How are you, gorgeous?’ She looks right into my eyes when she says this with an intensity that feels like it could pierce my soul.

I laugh to cover my nervousness. ‘Okay, thanks. No need to ask how you are, is there?’

‘Don’t you worry about me.’ She smiles. ‘I can drink you under the table.’ She almost drags me over to meet the ‘girls’. ‘Everybody,’ she says, waving her hands to get her friends’ attention, ‘do you know that my Dave is the agony uncle on
Teen Scene
?’

At this everyone sitting at the table giggles, laughs, whoops and mock-gasps, clearly titillated at the thought of having Love Doctor Dave in their midst. I am this evening’s entertainment. And over the next half-hour I enter into an impromptu question-and-answer session as, one by one, Izzy’s drinking companions introduce themselves, if they aren’t known to me already, and then their love ailments, of which until now I’ve definitely been ignorant.

‘Let me go first,’ says a curly-haired girl of about twenty-five, who I’m told is freelancing in the
Femme
office. ‘Hi, Dave, I’m Davina. I’m a designer.’ I shake her hand. ‘My boyfriend Nick is a lawyer and he’s going to work in Hong Kong – for six months. How likely do you think it is that he’ll cheat on me?’

Izzy’s friends proceed to bang on the table rhythmically, chanting, ‘Love Doctor!’ at the top of their voices, clearly pleased with the fun they’re having at my expense. Getting into the spirit of the evening I hold up my hands to silence them.

‘Quiet please!’ says Izzy, getting into her role as mistress of ceremonies for the evening. ‘The Love Doctor speaks.’

‘I’m afraid the Love Doctor’s going to need more information,’ I tell Davina.

‘What like?’ she asks.

‘How long have you been with him?’

‘Eighteen months.’

‘And . . . well . . . this is a difficult question but has he . . . er . . . cheated on you before?’

‘Only once,’ says Davina, sheepishly. ‘It was ages ago when he went on holiday with some of his mates.’

‘And he told you?’

‘I found out from the girlfriend of one of his best friends.’

‘And you took him back?’

She nods.

‘And he hasn’t cheated on you since?’

‘Not as far as I know.’

‘So you think he might have cheated on you but you haven’t found out?’

‘Well, there was this girl in his office who kept calling him a while back but I couldn’t prove anything.’

‘What do you think, Love Doctor?’ asks Izzy.

‘I’m sorry, Davina, but I say, sack him. He sounds like a loser.’

The whole table erupts in a round of applause and whoops.

‘Me next!’ says an auburn-haired girl to my left. I recognise her. It’s Becca, one of
Femme
’s junior designers – I’ve met her before. ‘Okay, here’s my dilemma: I fancy this guy who’s a junior designer on one of the mags upstairs.’

‘It’s that boy Jake from
Download
,’ says Izzy, matter-of-factly.

‘How do you know?’ asks Becca, surprised.

‘Everyone knows,’ says Davina, in a tone that indicates she’s sulking about my solution to her love problem.

‘Okay, okay,’ says Becca, going crimson. ‘You’re right.’ She casts a withering glare in Izzy’s direction. ‘Anyway, my question, Love Doctor, is how do I find out if he likes me without letting on that I like him? I don’t want him to know if it’s not a mutual thing. But he does keep looking at me whenever we get into the lift together.’

‘You’ve probably just got toothpaste on your chin,’ says a blonde dreadlocked girl to whom I have yet to be introduced.

Everyone laughs, apart from Becca.

‘Why don’t you ask him out?’ I suggest.

‘Because that would make me look desperate,’ she tells me seriously. ‘And I’m not desperate.’

‘I take it you’ve been stuck in suspended animation since 1954 when that kind of attitude was all the rage.’

Becca laughs. ‘I just don’t ask men out, okay?’

‘What have you got to lose?’

‘My dignity.’

‘And will your dignity be taking you out on Friday night and showing you a good time?’

She doesn’t reply.

‘Thought not.’

‘What says the Love Doctor?’ says Izzy, still camping it up.

‘I say, next time you’re in the lift try talking to him. If that works, ask him if he wants to get lunch some time – because lunch won’t sound like a date. If he says yes and arranges a date, odds are you’re in. If he says he’s busy, move on to bigger and better pastures. Next!’

‘Okay, here’s a tricky one,’ says the blonde dread-locked girl. ‘I’m Olivia,
Femme
’s art director and here’s my question: I’ve been friends with this guy since college—’

‘Is this Jeremy?’ says a glamorous-looking redhead I recognise as Milly,
Femme
’s assistant fashion editor. ‘You guys are perfect for each other!’

Olivia shrugs. ‘I’m not so sure.’

‘What’s the background?’ I ask.

‘We’ve known each other since college, best mates and all that, seen each other through a lot of hard times, but nothing’s ever happened between us until last Saturday when we—’

‘You didn’t tell me any of this when I asked you how your weekend was!’ says Izzy. ‘You said it was okay. I’m meant to be one of your best mates at work! And I’m pretty sure you getting off with the bloke that you’ve been best friends with since college is a bit more than okay. It’s front-page news.’

Olivia laughs. ‘We just kissed.’

‘So what’s the problem?’ I ask.

‘I don’t know . . . I suppose I want to know if we should take it further.’

‘Do you fancy him?’

‘He’s cute, and plenty of girls fancy him, but I’m not sure.’

‘That doesn’t sound good,’ said Becca.

‘So you’re not sure if you fancy him?’

She takes a sip of her drink. ‘I feel comfortable with him, and I love him to bits.’

‘What does he think?’

‘He really wants to go for it.’

‘He would,’ says Milly. ‘
He’s a man
.’

‘He’s not afraid of jeopardising the friendship?’

‘He says if it doesn’t work out we can go back to how we were before. But I’m not sure we’ll be able to.’

Izzy looks at me. ‘What says the Love Doctor?’ she asks, even though she knows exactly what I’m going to say because Olivia’s situation is how ours was when we first got together.

‘It all depends on how brave you are,’ I say, holding Izzy’s gaze. ‘It will always be easier just to cool off and let things go back to normal. And, yeah, it might be that things go wrong and you could fall out for good, in which case you’ll lose a good friend. But if you get it right, if you take your time and don’t rush into things, you might get more than you ever dreamed of. You might get someone who will always be on your side, someone you never tire of looking at, someone who’s your perfect soul-mate.’

I get a standing ovation.

On a high I get in a round of drinks, and when I return some more girls from
Femme
have arrived and insist on being ‘Love Doctored’. This is nothing like my nights out with Trevor and Lee or any of my male friends. This is fun. I’m suddenly ‘one of the girls’, listening to all the gossip, the bitching about boyfriends and, for the first time today, I forget how complicated my life is and instead just dish out advice, left, right and centre. To Katie,
Femme
’s senior writer, I explain that her problem is that she’s a thrill-seeker who likes the fact that her boyfriend Sol cheated on her because that makes him slightly more interesting. I warn Jessica,
Femme
’s production manager, that any ambiguity in her attempt to dump Jonathan, the trainee architect, would result in him following her around like a dog for the rest of her life; and to Debbie, one of
Femme
’s freelance writers who has a list of grievances about her boyfriend as long as her arm, I say: ‘He never pays you enough attention, he rarely says anything nice to you, you say you’re not even sure you fancy him any more and that there’s a strong chance he’s been seeing someone else. What are you doing? You’re beautiful, intelligent, and you’re wasting yourself on this guy who doesn’t deserve even a minute of your time.’

I get my second standing ovation.

Izzy puts her arms round me and whispers a simple but heartfelt, ‘I love you, Love Doctor.’

I return her kiss. ‘I love you too.’ And then I remember Nicola, and how heavy this secret weighs on my heart and I’m almost on the verge of telling her everything. But then I pull back and regain control.

I can’t tell her. I can’t tell her because I’m sure it will destroy her.

It’s nine forty-five in the morning and I’ve just stepped out of Goodge Street Tube and I’m heading up the road towards work. I turn on my mobile. I have one message: ‘Hello, Dave, it’s me, Nicola O’Connell . . . er . . . and the time is eight forty-five. I’ve been thinking . . . I . . . I . . . I don’t think I’m going to be able to see you again. It’s nothing to do with you, honest. It’s just that . . . that . . . I think it’s for the best. It was a mistake. I should never have got in touch with you like that. You’ve got your own life. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. I’m really sorry. ‘Bye.’