How to Get a (Love) Life (13 page)

After slinging his wet coat over the back of a chair, Lewis proceeded to blow his nose with one of the paper napkins close to hand. Then, noticing I was already halfway through my wine, he went off to the bar and bought himself a drink, not bothering to ask me whether I might care for a top-up. He left the paper napkin screwed up on the surface of the table and I spent an uncomfortable couple of minutes trying to distract myself from thoughts of what lay inside its folds.

He finally joined me, downed most of his beer in one go and, leaning back in his chair, took a good long hard look at me, as if I were a horse at an auction. I took the opportunity to get a better look at him. He was tall, with dark brown hair. All of his features were in the right place (although his nose had been broken at some point), and he didn’t appear to have a dire dress sense. I was marginally concerned that it wasn’t just the rain that was making his hair glisten under the lights, but, relatively speaking, he was passable.

We swapped small talk about our lives, our houses, the city, our jobs. From what I could gather, Lewis worked in a call centre. Dressing up his title as ‘Sales Executive’ really didn’t make it any more glamorous, but I didn’t want to be snobby about it.

‘So, what are your hobbies?’ I asked, taking a quick sip of my drink and hoping to find something we might have in common. ‘What do you like to do?’

‘Oh, this and that, Nicky, this and that,’ he replied helpfully.

My shoulders dropped.

‘Among other things, I MC at gigs,’ he continued.

‘MC?’ I queried, trying to work out the acronym in my head. Mexican Cookery? Model Cardigans? Make Cakes?

‘
MC
. You know, DJ, MC, like rap.’

‘Rap! What, you’re a rapper?’ I exclaimed, astonishment clearly apparent on my face.

‘No, it’s a bit different, Nicky. Rappers plan the words they’re going to rap. I freestyle on the spot. I make it up
literally
ON THE SPOT,’ he stressed.

‘So, you don’t learn it beforehand?’ I asked, but only to piss him off as I’d already worked out that he made it up ON THE SPOT.

‘The words just come straight out of my mouth when the DJ plays the music,’ he pointed at his mouth as he said this, which made me like him less.

‘What do you MC about?’ I asked.

‘Oh, everything. The world around me, Nicky,’ he opened his arms out wide to demonstrate the world around him.

‘Like what? The room, where you are, or the world outside?’ I asked.

‘I can do it about anything.’ He shrugged, trying to look modest, and failing.

‘Cool,’ I nodded. My shoulders slumped and, twiddling with my straw, I awkwardly looked around the room.

Then Lewis piped up. ‘I’m just going to the bar to get a drink and then we’ll have a think.’ He stood up and clicked his fingers at me.

‘Sorry, what?’ I replied.

‘Yeah, yeah, Nicky. I’m, like, going over there, but feel free to fix your hair, yeah.’

Oh my God. Was Lewis MCing for me?

‘I’m MCing for you, Nicky, I’m not taking the mickey,’ he said, sauntering to the bar, a renewed swagger in his gait.

I was left mouthing silent questions. Questions like: ‘Oh my God, why are you doing that?’ and ‘What have I done to deserve this?’

I didn’t have the guts to leave. I just sat there patting my hair at the back, nervously, and thinking of the
Doc Martin
repeat I could be watching right now. And I was not even an avid fan of
Doc Martin
. Frankly, an entire series of
Splash
seemed a more attractive prospect than this.

Lewis strutted back over and I spotted the triumphant look in his eye from twelve paces. ‘Here you go, I’ve got a voucher so this one is free. Yeah, Nicky, that’s right, that drink’s on me. Word.’

My mouth fell open.

‘Er, thanks. That’s kind,’ I said, pulling myself together just enough to take the drink from his hand. He had a voucher for this bar. And he was still rhyming. And we both had full drinks, so this wasn’t ending any time soon. I felt an overwhelming urge to cry.

‘Thanks,’ I whispered again, huddled over the tall table.

He nodded. Was he disappointed? Should I have rhymed? Oh God, he was beginning to squirm in his chair. I took a breath and straightened up. ‘Um, that’s really kind. You’ve a nice, er, mind?’ I finished uncertainly, feeling fucking stupid.

Lewis looked delightedly at me. I’d clearly given him the green light. ‘So, like, I’m going to sit with you and chat and we’ll get on like that.’ He clicked his hand as he said ‘that’.

‘Good,’ I said as enthusiastically as I could muster to a man who seemed to think we were in some kind of Eminem film.

‘So, you got me here, to drink a beer, so let me ask you about your …’ Then he stopped. His eyes widened and he panicked. Deer, fear, mere, peer, tier, queer, I could see him rushing frantically through the alphabet, knowing he had lost his rhythm. A vein throbbed in his neck. I suddenly felt a surge of sympathy for him.

‘Career?’ I offered.

‘Yeah, career, yeah. No fear,’ he rapped, the relief palpable as the tension eased from his neck.

‘Um … well …’ I muttered, desperate to not prompt any more. ‘I um, I work in town for an agency. We represent actors, models, promotional staff, that sort of thing,’ I explained.

‘Musicians?’ Lewis queried, suddenly looking even keener.

‘Er, no. No musicians,’ I replied.

His shoulders sagged, but then he brought his hand to his face and started making a sort of ‘Boom, boom, wicka, wicka’ noise repeatedly. I looked around me. Other couples were engrossed in their own conversations; a hen party was concentrating on consuming as much tequila as was humanly possible in a few short minutes. No one appeared to notice as Lewis continued to ‘Boom, boom, wicka, wicka’, his hands moving at his lips as he started up once more. ‘Because, Nicky, rapping is an art form, rapping is a skill. It’s music to your ears, right, so call it what you will.’ Then he finished with another ‘Boom, boom, wicka, wicka’.

I couldn’t pretend any more. I just looked at him aghast.

‘I, I, um … I have to be somewhere,’ I gabbled, downing my drink and looking around for my jacket.

‘But, Nicky, we’re just getting started. Don’t leave, baby, you’ll regret it if you …’ Then his eyes widened once more. I couldn’t bear it. I didn’t even suggest ‘departed’. I just looked at him, pity in my eyes. He was still struggling to finish the sentence, and then his head drooped forward and he reached for his coat.

‘Let’s call it a night,’ I said gently. ‘Alright?’

He nodded once, eyes cast down.

We both left the bar and, without a backwards glance, I hailed a passing taxi.

‘It was good to meet you, Lewis,’ I said, as I clambered into the back of the cab. I didn’t bother to make up another lie about where I had to be, why I had to leave so soon. He knew.

‘Never again, Mark,’ I said, the moment he answered his phone.

‘But—’ he began.

‘—No, no, no, no, no,’ I chanted, refusing to be interrupted. ‘No more setting me up. I’m doing this on my own, if I’m doing it at all. Frankly, after the disaster of a date I’ve just had, I am seriously questioning ever agreeing to meet anyone of the opposite sex ever again.’

‘Nic, you’re being a bit extreme,’ Mark protested.

‘Never,’ I said indignantly, and then, suddenly, completely out of nowhere, I started laughing hysterically.

Mark was stuck in a baffled silence on the other end as I continued to laugh, then hiccough and then giggle again.

‘Er. Nic,’ he said, between hiccoughs. ‘Nic, are you okay?’

I collapsed onto my sofa, gave one last little snort and then sighed. ‘Actually, I think I am,’ I said, dropping my head back onto the cushions. ‘Just no more disastrous dates this week, please, brother dear.’

‘Fine. I promise. By the way, when are you going home for Christmas?’

‘Oh, lordy, is it that time of year again?’ I said, stretching out my legs and wiggling my toes in front of me.

‘Be nice, Nicola,’ Mark warned.

‘She provokes me,’ I protested.

‘I know, but you’re younger and prettier, so it’s your duty to be nice to her.’

‘No, she’s older and wiser,’ I corrected him. ‘And my
mother
.’

‘I’ll be there to get you through the dark times,’ he said teasingly.

‘I know you will. What do you want for Christmas?’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. Apparently it’s traditional to exchange gifts at Christmas.’

‘Well, now that you mention it, I have been thinking about getting a chinchilla or my own domestic fruit bat.’

I groaned at this announcement. ‘Can’t I just get you a book, or a DVD?’

‘Fine, sis, fine.’ He sounded disappointed and I felt guilty. Maybe I could stretch to a rodent for his home. I made a mental note to research this possibility. I could call Roger at the pet shop.

‘So, I’ll see you at home then,’ I said, about to hang up.

‘Can you come over tomorrow night?’

‘Tomorrow?’ I shrugged. ‘I suppose I could after work.’

‘Awesome. I have something to show you,’ he said, excitement creeping into his voice.

‘It’s not another moped helmet, is it?’

‘
Motorbike
. And no.’

‘Alright, I’ll be there. Oh and Mark,’ I said. ‘At Christmas – please don’t bring any random friends home with you. I can assure you now that they are NOT my type.’

Chapter Seventeen

‘Dating is officially dreadful,’ I announced as I arrived at work the next day. We were now into the last week before Christmas, but even that thought hadn’t been able to cheer me.

‘Oh dear, not another dud?’ Caroline asked, bringing me a tea and perching on my desk with a look of a concern. She held a chocolate Hobnob aloft, on the off-chance I was tempted to stray from the routine. Where was the harm? I ate the biscuit.

‘Tight, tedious and into rapping,’ I stated, rattling off the characteristics on each finger.

‘Into napping?’ she asked, brow wrinkling.

‘Rapp.. oh never mind. It was dreadful,’ I wailed.

‘That bad?’ she grabbed the full packet of Hobnobs (it was an emergency after all). I noticed Caroline staring at me as I scarfed down two in quick succession.

‘
That
bad,’ I confirmed, one hand over my mouth so as not to spray crumbs around. I swallowed. ‘Honestly, never again. It was just awful,’ I said, reaching for a third biscuit. ‘Totally embarrassing.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘No more dates for me. No more, no more,’ I repeated. ‘I just can’t face it.’

‘But you must, Nic,’ insisted Caroline. ‘Look, this is a setback, but the right person
is
out there.’ She said it with such confidence that even I believed her, for a split second.

Then I shook my head again. ‘Nope. The dare is off. I can’t do it. I don’t want toooo.’

‘You
can
do it,’ Caroline urged. ‘Maybe you’ve been trying too hard. Maybe that isn’t the way forward. Maybe you need to relinquish control,’ she mused thoughtfully. ‘Let fate lead you to the right path.’

‘Fate?’ I repeated sceptically. ‘What path might that be, Caroline? The path that leads to where the
decent
men hang out?’

‘Exactly!’ she said triumphantly.

I groaned, putting my head in my hands. ‘No, I need to give up,’ I said. ‘It’s horrible, humiliating and simply not getting me anywhere.’

‘Rubbish,’ Caroline grumped. ‘We just need a new approach. Honestly, Nicola. I know you’ve had a couple of, er, less-than-wonderful dates …’

I scoffed at this massive understatement.

‘… But you do need to keep going. You need to see what life has in store for you. And at least you’re
living
life now, not hiding away in that cold flat of yours—’

‘—
Cold?
’ I interrupted, looking up with a frown.

‘Oh, well, no, it’s lovely, of course,’ Caroline immediately gushed. ‘All those fresh, clean lines and that er, white decor. All I meant was that it’s quite sterile. Well, not
sterile
but …’

I broke into a smile and held up my hand. ‘It’s fine, Caroline, I’m not offended,’ I promised.

She seemed visibly relieved. Before she could put her other foot in it, James appeared in the doorway, startling us both. ‘Nicola, help,’ he started, waving his right hand at me, while his left waved a bunch of papers.

I raised an eyebrow at Caroline and turned to James, ‘Er, sure.’

He had already run back into his office. I got up to go and investigate the source of his dilemma.

I found him rummaging in the filing cabinet, a concerned look etched on his face, hair mussed up in crazed spikes.

‘How can I help?’ I asked in a gentle voice.

‘Nicola, where do we keep the contracts that have expired?’ he asked over his shoulder, still rifling through a drawer that I knew contained CVs and headshots only.

‘Not there,’ I stated firmly, joining him at the filing cabinet.

He stopped mid-rummage, blinking like a frightened rabbit in the headlights.

‘What exactly do you want? I asked, trying to avoid noticing how close to me he was standing.

‘A contract for that Channel 5 series Chris did,’ he explained.

‘Chris as in …’ I asked, knowing the answer already.

‘Chris Sheldon-Wade,’ he confirmed.

‘Right, that’s fine.’ I sunk to my knees and opened up a drawer near James’ feet.

‘Apparently they’re repeating it, and Chris wants to know if he’s entitled to repeat fees,’ James said from above my head.

‘Ah, okay,’ I replied, flicking quickly to the ‘S’ section.

‘And I can’t remember whether we wrote it into the contract. I mean, I’m sure we would have, wouldn’t we? Otherwise it’s just money we’ll never see, but I just can’t seem to remem—’

‘—Er, James,’ I craned my neck up. ‘Don’t panic,’ I gave him a calming smile and, getting up from my feet, felt heat flood my cheeks as I bumped into him slightly. ‘Um … here you go,’ I said, handing the contract over.

‘Great,’ he took it and quickly scanned its contents. His shoulders relaxed. ‘He does, we do, thank God.’ He looked at me with a relieved expression and leant against the cabinet. ‘Thanks, Nicola. Right, I have to go out for the rest of the afternoon, around,’ he checked his watch, ‘ten minutes ago, actually.’ He laughed nervously. ‘So if Chris phones, give him my mobile number. No, actually, tell him I’ll call him back. Actually, no, maybe just tell him—’ he’d started to jabber again.