How to Get a (Love) Life (8 page)

‘I remember being horrible to some of my teachers,’ I said, which was kind of a little white lie. The other, way cooler, kids in my class had been horrible to the teachers. I’d actually been the one at the front paying attention, making notes, keeping my head down and my grades up.

‘Yeah, usual kid’s stuff I suspect,’ Andrew chortled at me, cutting into his chicken. ‘The kids always know how to wind us up.’

‘What are the pupils like then? Any hideous beasts?’ I asked, realising I’d started to enjoy myself.

‘A few in year ten,’ he nodded, laughing a little at my question.

‘Year ten?’

‘Fourteen to fifteen year olds.’

‘Ah!’

‘Yeah, they can behave badly. Get up to all sorts of things …’

‘Like what?’

‘Oh, lots of things. It can be quite tiring!’

‘Like …’ I prompted in a teasing voice.

‘Just … their constant backchat,’ he said, the laughter dying on his lips. ‘They obviously think I’ve never heard the F-word before …’

Andrew wasn’t laughing any more. He had turned an impressive shade of pink.

My mushroom risotto wobbled precariously on my fork. ‘Oh.’

‘It can get a little tedious. Quite grating, really, constantly having to lecture them – don’t throw that, stop standing by the window, sit down, where’s your book, why did you leave it at home.’ He caught sight of my expression and tailed off. ‘Oh, sorry, Nicola.’

‘It’s fine,’ I said, waving my hand. ‘It’s clearly a bit stressful.’ I shrugged it off, not wanting to embarrass him any more. I sipped my wine. I took a spoonful of risotto. ‘Hmm …’ I said, pointing with my fork. ‘
Great
risotto.’

Andrew looked at me vacantly.

I repeated my observation. ‘Yummy,’ I said, showing him my fork.

He blinked and mumbled something so quietly that I had to lean forward to catch it. ‘Last week they brought in fart spray and the classroom still smells.’

‘Sorry?’ I said, straining to hear him.

‘Last week they brought in … fart spray,’ he whispered.

I leant back. ‘Oh.’

‘And one boy graffitied the desk saying
Mr Moore likes to wank
, which is both offensive, and untrue,’ he spluttered.

I began to feel a little uneasy.

Andrew became increasingly impassioned. ‘I have seen the Deputy Head about some of the things they’re saying, because though they are only children, Nicola, it can be very hurtful stuff. I mean, how would you like it if you read on a toilet wall that someone thought you were a “tosser”?’ He spat out the word and accompanied it with the appropriate hand gesture.

I choked on my mouthful. ‘Um. Well, I would … er …’

‘Indeed, Nicola. One time they left some deodorant on my desk. It can be very damaging to your self-confidence.’

My heart went out to this harmless man.

‘They are always saying, “Do you live near a sewage works? Were you a bin man before you were a teacher, Sir?” It can make any person worry. And the trouble is that the parents just spoil them rotten. When you tell them what you think of their little darlings they accuse YOU of being a bad teacher!’ He dabbed at his brow with the napkin. ‘It’s one of the reasons my doctor has put me on the pills. And it doesn’t
matter
if they are children, Nicola. Abuse is abuse. It can be very wearing. Sometimes I wonder how I’m still doing the job. I mean, I’m thirty-four and I’m losing my hair.’ He clutched his temple and pulled back his hairline to show me.

I nodded sympathetically. What had I begun?

‘
Mr Moore you’re such a bore
is their favourite little chant,’ he spat bitterly. ‘They know that it winds me up. But we’re powerless to stop them. Bring back corporal punishment, I say.’ He banged the table with his fork so that my plate jumped. ‘These kids have to learn.’

‘Er, quite. Well, what about the good eggs in the class?’ I asked, desperate to try and find the silver lining. ‘You know, the kids that are just caught up in the wrong crowd?’

He looked at me blankly. ‘The
good
ones?’ he repeated, as if it was a wholly original thought.

‘Er, yes. Surely there are a few you like?’ I gave him an encouraging smile.

Andrew was now deep in thought, tapping the fork on his mouth so that little specks of cheese sauce stuck to his upper lip.

‘I don’t mind Milly,’ he said finally.

‘Oh good,’ I replied, relieved. Well done, Milly.

‘Yes, she can be a joy when she isn’t calling the rest of her classmates “little fuckers”.’

‘Oh.’ My eyes watered. ‘More wine?’ I asked, pouring the majority of the bottle into my own glass and taking a large gulp.

‘And Josh has actually begun to work, but only because his parents are going to buy him an air rifle if he passes the year.’

‘It’s a start,’ I said, horribly enthusiastically.

‘I suppose,’ he relented. His face softened a fraction. ‘Then there’s Adam. He’s a nice guy.’

‘Really?’ I encouraged, swallowing the last mouthful of my risotto.

‘Yes, he reminds me of me when I was that age,’ he said wistfully.

I didn’t dare ask what Andrew had been like in his youth. I certainly didn’t expect ‘popular, confident, go-getting’ to make it into the description.

‘Yes, Adam isn’t appreciated by the other students, but one day they’ll realise Adam has a lot to offer the world.’

‘Absolutely, I’m sure
Adam
will,’ I smiled, almost with a wink. These positive thoughts of Adam had, I think, managed to bring Andrew back from the Dark Side, and he returned to the pleasant version of himself I’d met at the start of the date. I straightened in my chair, pleased to have been some help to Andrew. It felt good.

The coffee passed without further mishap. Andrew seemed … alright. But my stomach was hardly flipping at the thought of seeing him again any time soon. In fact, at ten o’clock, I was keen to get home to my book and a hot-water bottle. The fact that Andrew seemed less of an appealing option than a hot-water bottle solidified the notion that he probably wasn’t
The One
. It was with these thoughts whirling through my mind that I found myself outside the door to my apartment block with Andrew looking a little nervous by my side. I gave him a slightly awkward smile and indicated my door.

‘So! This is me.’

‘I’ve had a lovely evening,’ he smiled.

‘Yes. Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.’

‘It was,’ he said. ‘And it was excellent to meet you, Nicola. You are a very special lady.’

‘Well, thank you.’ I offered my hand for him to shake. It instantly felt wrong. He took it and we did an odd sort of limp shake. Damn. I should have given him a kiss on the cheek. But would that have given him the wrong idea? I was so out of practice.

‘We’ll have to do it again sometime,’ Andrew said cheerily.

‘Yes, yes. I
am
quite busy with work at the moment.’ His face fell. I felt bad. ‘But um, well, a film might be … um …’ I shrugged awkwardly.

‘There’s a new Coen Brothers film coming out next week if you’re interested? Maybe we could go to that?’

‘That might be possible,’ I said, searching my handbag for the door key.

‘That would be
wonderful
,’ he gushed.

‘Possibly. Right, well,’ I indicated my door again. ‘Long day tomorrow and all that.’

Andrew moved determinedly towards me. I backed away, jabbering. ‘ Lots to do, sleep. I need some sleep! Okay, so I best …’

Andrew was leaning in so closely that my entire field of vision was taken up by his head. The flecks of cheese remained on his top lip.

‘Goodnight,’ I yelped, whipping round like a ninja, plunging my key into the lock and throwing myself over the threshold. I shut the door firmly behind me, catching a last glance of Andrew standing in the dark of the street. Another date? I didn’t think so. I’d have to think of a nice, encouraging, non self-esteem-destroying way to dissuade him. I sighed and headed upstairs to my flat. I plonked down into the sofa. That hadn’t been an
enormous
disaster, but it hadn’t got me any closer to finding true love with a capital T, capital L either. Obviously, I hadn’t expected to strike gold and be whisked off my feet on the first date with a total stranger, but it would have made this whole thing way easier if Andrew had been
The One
.

I turned on the lights in the flat, kicked off my heels and flung my feet over the side of the chair. Picking up yesterday’s newspaper, I idly flicked through the articles. A headline caught my attention. ‘Puppy Love’, it announced in bold capitals. The piece was accompanied by a soft-focus picture of a woman and her dog. It was one of those tiny poodle-type dogs, all fluffy tight curls and spindly legs. She was holding it up to one cheek. I read on.

‘
I’d given up on finding love but then love found me
,’ the woman was quoted as saying. Below, was another photo – a passport-sized picture of a reasonably normal- looking, smiley-faced man.

‘
I met Peter out walking our dogs and we just clicked. Our love of our pets brought us closer together
…’

Maybe that was it, I mused. Andrew and I lacked a shared passion to bring us together. Perhaps I’d meet someone more suited to me if I searched for a man who enjoyed the same things I did. I
sort
of enjoyed dogs. Perhaps I could meet someone while out dog-walking? That might work. I yawned, hand over my mouth, noting as I did so that I didn’t actually have a dog.

But I could work around that.

Chapter Eleven

Single girl WLTM nice man with a good smile and no deeply disturbing emotional problems.

Contact: Box No. 1583

Caroline jumped on me the moment I arrived at the office the next day. I couldn’t resist a smile.

‘You are incorrigible,’ I said, as she wandered over under the guise of watering the solitary plant on my desk.

‘What? I’m not doing anything!’ she insisted, her face the picture of innocence. ‘Sooooo … Fun night?’

‘Yes, thank you, Caroline.’

‘Enjoy dinner?’

‘Yes, thank you, Caroline,’ I said again, trying to concentrate on my email inbox. I’d had about eight from that wretched dating website Caroline had signed me up to. Apparently someone called Geoff had winked at me. Delete.

‘So, how is Andrew?’ she asked, changing tack.

Ah, clever. I couldn’t avoid this one.

‘He’s very well. Busy teaching, obviously, but well.’

‘Teaching?’ Caroline repeated, wrinkling her nose. ‘I didn’t know he was a teacher.’

‘He said he’s been a teacher for a long time. Caroline, how well do you know Andrew?’ I frowned.

‘Oh, he’s an old friend,’ she said airily. ‘He seems awfully sensitive to be a teacher, though. He’s the only man I know who cried when we watched
Titanic
.’

‘Oh great,’ I muttered. ‘Something you could have mentioned before.’

‘What? Why? Men can cry,’ she argued, crossing her arms over her bosom. ‘Ben cries all the time!’

‘Caroline, Ben is six years old,’ I pointed out.

James popped his head out of his office. ‘Nicola, can you bring me the info on that Channel 5 docu-drama?’

‘Men can cry, can’t they, James?’ cooed Caroline.

‘Sorry?’ James said from the doorway.

‘You don’t think less of a man if he cries do you, James?’ she repeated.

‘Er, where are they crying?’ he asked.

‘Oh, you know, around, just in general. Do you think less of a man if he cries?’

‘I don’t mind men crying when someone dies,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘So I suppose, no, I don’t mind men crying.’

‘Thought so,’ Caroline sing-songed.

‘Glad to have cleared that up,’ he said, returning to his office with a puzzled look on his face.

Caroline turned back to me with a wistful expression. ‘Yes, Andrew was always a tiny bit on the sensitive side.’

James re-emerged. ‘I bloody hate it when people cry when they lose the football, though, so it
does
depend on the circumstances.’

‘Hmmm, you have a point.’ Caroline nodded in agreement.

I watched this exchange in amazement.

‘What do you think, Nicola? Men crying or not crying?’ asked James.

‘Oh, um,’ I blushed at being put on the spot. ‘Not crying, I think.’

‘Yes,’ he said decisively, ‘men should be men.’

And with that he slammed his office door so hard the glass almost smashed. It was very
manly
.

‘Andrew is definitely the crying type.’ Caroline nodded.

‘Yes, I think the kids at school make him cry.’

‘Oh, how awful,’ she said, a very brief look of concern flitting across her face. ‘So, any other dates lined up? You’ve got to see who else is
out there
, Nicola.’

James popped his head back through his door. ‘Um, Nicola, have you got the Channel 5 stuff?’

‘Of course, of course, sorry,’ I spluttered and, throwing a look at Caroline for distracting me, raced to his door.

Wandering aimlessly down town at lunchtime, I enjoyed the bright winter sun and tried hard not to brood. Valentine’s Day was not that far away. The red circle on the calendar was a permanent reminder that I had a task to do. Without realising which direction I’d been walking in, I ground to a halt outside the entrance to a small dusty-looking shop with a green façade.

I’d never noticed the pet shop before. The newspaper article about the dog walkers destined for love immediately sprang to mind, and before I could really think about what I was doing, I pushed open the door.

The smell of sawdust and animal hit me instantly. A wall of cages held scurrying rodents. Brightly coloured fish gaped at me from large tanks. A parrot in a cage called out to me. I was surrounded by hay and feed and cat toys and fake bones. I turned to leave. But before I could, an enthusiastic-looking, round-faced pet shop assistant dressed in a lilac aertex T-shirt appeared by my side. I glanced at his name badge. Roger.

‘Can I help you?’

Flustered, I stuttered a quick, ‘Oh no. I’m just looking.’

‘Are you sure?’ Roger asked, with a kind smile on his round face.