Low Expectations (19 page)

‘True. But I was thinking more along the lines of a bohemian, thirties Henry Miller, Anaïs Nin and his wife June open relationship I guess. Where I'm Henry.'

‘I've seen that film and though I can't remember the ending, I'm pretty sure it wasn't idyllic. Plus, what you're proposing seems unlikely to sit well with Henry or Alistair. But hey, you're not married, you don't have kids; sometimes these things happen and you obviously haven't made a choice one way or another, so you just need to do that. Don't make any hasty decisions and whatever you do, don't tell Henry if
you suddenly get the guilts. There's no point hurting him unduly over this. Ending it would break his heart as it is, I think.'

‘Ha. Getting the guilts, I like that, like getting the shits. If only guilt could be prevented with Imodium. The pharma corporations should get on that, it would sell like hot cakes, besides being the obvious progression from Viagra. But no, I won't tell him anything, I couldn't bear to see the look in his eyes.'

There is a pause, as we both think of poor cuckolded Henry.

‘Do you believe in karma? Or reincarnation, that sort of thing?' Her hand shooting out to grab my wrist as she leans over the table, Sarah holds my gaze with a sudden intensity. Never having previously shown an iota of interest in the afterlife, maybe the double life she's been leading for the past month has got to her more than she's been letting on.

‘Well, I haven't seen a hell of a lot of evidence for it. Although I guess many people find the thought comforting, seeing as there isn't a hell of a lot of natural justice playing out within our lifetimes,' I say as an afterthought.

‘I'm afraid I'm going to have some sort of cosmic, karmic comeuppance. Like being reincarnated as one of those abused donkeys in the aid appeals on telly.'

‘Seriously? You're joking. The first time I saw that advert I thought it was satire, something to show up the difference between what the RSPCA and Childline make from donations.
What a fucking waste of money that could go towards actual people in need. Christ. I know exactly what to do with the bloody donkeys. Skin them, tin them and send them to the needy! I should throw my hat into the political ring. Vote for me and I promise to wear revealing tops during Prime Minister's Questions and do my level best to shag Boris Johnson.'

Sarah is laughing and shaking her head at me, torn between hilarity and horror. This is a frequent reaction to what I think of as eminently practical schemes to better our prospects on God's Good Earth. I do love animals, by the way, whether they are at the end of my lead or the end of my fork. I just don't feel that love and hunger need be mutually exclusive.

‘If you're that concerned why not do something to offset the karmic balance? Volunteer for Save The Donkeys since you fear they're your future brethren. Get involved with some charity.'

‘Oh please, I'm not that scared.'

Confession made, penance ignored, Sarah gets out her phone and scrolls through her messages for a moment, before remembering me:

‘So, what's your news?'

‘I thought you would never ask! Well, I told you I had an unexpectedly easy Christmas, right? Not quite easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy but close enough, considering how dreadful the last few were. Vitoria didn't come, we all got on quite well
and it was perfectly civil and everything. I didn't check my emails until after Boxing Day and it turns out Vitoria sent me a message Christmas Eve, asking me to look after Dad as they've broken up!'

It is Sarah's turn to squeal, ‘Whaat?'

‘Yes! So out of the blue! Basically, he didn't mention it at the time and I don't really know how to bring it up now, considering he clearly doesn't want to talk about it. But she chucked him! I don't even know if she's coming back to the UK. For all I know she's gone back to Brazil for good.'

Why does it seem that everyone's relationships are falling apart? Maybe it's just that time of year; people are casting off their better halves with a seasonal shrug, like a snake sheds its skin.

‘You're joking! What a bitch! Not that I can talk. Though I do feel that if you are self-aware enough to know you're a bitch, the sin is mitigated somewhat. Why did she do it?'

‘It's quite sad really, I kind of feel for her. In a strange way, I even respect that she ended it. I've always thought she was lacking in gumption. Though you must have a degree of that to get with a married man in the first place. Basically it came down to the age difference. His health scare put her off; she doesn't want to be caring for some old, decrepit man for the rest of her life. She wants kids, a real family life of her own, not this half-life they've been living pretending all is well to justify some initial passion – ugh – or loneliness or whatever
it was that brought them together. I mean, she didn't say any of that, but I read between the lines. “We want different things, your father doesn't feel he could look after young children again”, that sort of thing. But he didn't say a word about it!'

‘It would be rather humiliating to admit to your mum, I guess. Being left is always hard, especially if you've thrown someone over for that person. It smacks of failure.' I can tell from the scrunched lines on Sarah's forehead that she is considering the potential parallels to her own situation.

‘Yeah, Mum's not very good at hiding the gloat, either. Still, I have a feeling from little things he said that he thinks she'll come round. I definitely didn't get that impression from her email, though. I think she made the decision a while ago but his infected testicle spot was what gave her the push to move on.'

‘Amen, sister. An oozy ballsack is enough to give any woman pause for thought.'

We share a cackle. I hope no one ever speaks of my future health problems in this way, but there you go.

‘You don't think your mum would take him back, do you?'

‘I dunno, man. She's got a lot of pride. It's probably what drove them apart in the first place. I kind of hope not, as she seems like she's been happier recently and I'm afraid it might send her into a tailspin. I think too much has happened between them, but God knows. Whoo can saay?' I enunciate
oddly in a very poor impression of Bubble from
Absolutely Fabulous
.

‘Christ. Well, I hope your Dad's all right. It must be rough being dumped like that. Quite emasculating, really.'

‘Yeah. I feel bad for him, I do, but my pity only extends so far. The reasons Vitoria has given for ending it are pretty damn sound. I respect that she knows what she wants and that it isn't him, you know? To be honest, I think once he gets over it he'll be relieved. Novelty and soft flesh only goes so far once you're past a certain age. Surely you want someone with some shared history, or at least some sort of generational understanding of your references as you bitch about the quality of the news while reading the
Sunday Times
in tweed slippers.'

Reaching the dregs of my drink, I swivel my chair towards the bar to find that Craig, a recent addition to the bar staff, has been replaced by Joy.

‘Oh fuck, it's Joy. I haven't seen her in a few weeks; the last time we spoke I promised to set her up with Beardy's bandmate – you know, Tim? You were salivating over him at the gig. I haven't seen her since and have made no efforts whatsoever so I fear our
entente cordiale
may come to a swift end.'

‘What the hell is an
entente cordiale
?'

‘Oh, like, the intention of cordiality. Basically it was a Franco-English agreement not to keep infringing on each
other's territory back in the day. Don't ask me what century, whenever Bonaparte was living, I assume.'

I stopped taking History after GCSE and as a result my general knowledge of the subject is a patchy reconstruction from literature, ranting friends, snippets gleaned from book reviews and half-forgotten HBO miniseries. I may not be able to tell you the exact year or date of just about anything important that happened ever, but I could quote from B-films at a competitive level. The problem with this skill is that unless your conversational partner ‘gets it' you just sounds unhinged. Also, the moment you decide to say in a slightly-louder-than-normal voice, ‘I have a problem with pussy!' I guarantee the entire room will fall silent.

‘Well, she's giving some serious bitch-face in this direction, so I think you may be right.' Sarah peeps over her shoulder before looking back at me with a grimace. ‘She is quite intimidating. I don't say that about a lot of people, being a scary bitch myself.'

‘I'll sort out our drinks and have a chat with her. Wine time? I thought so. How do I bring this up? I'm not really sure how to go about these delicate matters. I also have no idea if Tim would be interested. What do you think of her?'

‘She looks terrifying but she has great tits. Who can say?' She mimics my previous impression as I head to the bar, feigning enthusiasm.

‘Joy! All right? Have you had a merry crimbo and all that jazz?'

My fear of her makes me express myself with an unnaturally jovial edge. I try to keep the wince off my face as she stares at me blankly and then shrugs in reply.

‘Right … can I have a bottle of Sauvignon? Please?'

Joy says nothing, giving me a look as if to say, ‘That's why I'm behind the bar, you twat.' She is very articulate in her mute dismissal. She should consider an alternative career as an angry mime. Her silence makes me nervous and impels me to do something I am sure to regret.

‘You know, I'm sorry about that whole Tim thing, I should have made more of an effort but you know, I lose track of things around the holidays … but Be— Leo's band is playing New Year's Eve down the road, you should come along! The after party will be here afterwards, Alice has organized a lock-in.'

‘I know. Scott wants me there. That's £16.'

‘Right. Well, great! If we don't share a shift beforehand, I'll see you then.'

‘You'll see me in thirty minutes when you want another bottle.'

Laughing nervously in agreement, I hand her the money. I do not remind her that I should have a discount as I am too cowed by her unblinking stare. It's like she has two eyes of Sauron. What is wrong with me? I need to grow some balls.
And possibly start going to AA. All you need is the desire to stop drinking, after all, not the wherewithal to actually do it.

‘Well, I'm pretty sure she still hates me but I did get a sentence out of her so it wasn't all in vain. I mentioned Beardy's thing and the after party but it turns out Scott already invited her. I don't get it – she's such a cow! I mean, not to him, I think she fancies him. She sort of brightens when there's a hot man around. Like a two-faced light bulb. I would have thought Scott would be wise to her ways but maybe not.'

I say all this fretfully, as I pour Sarah a very large glass of vino before filling my own, stopping about five millimetres higher. I feel that roller's rights should be extended to all shared recreational substances, illegal or not. This includes cake. I am greedy.

‘Maybe she just wants to keep her job? There are plenty of people like that where I work, they act like complete tossers to anyone slightly below them and rim the big bosses, and it is totally repulsive. Me, I may be upfront – okay, possibly even a bit rude – but at least I'm consistent. If you're confident in yourself and your worth there's no need to suck balls. Generally the higher a position someone holds, the more genuine they are.'

‘Nah, man, it's more than that. Gary's the manager and she doesn't bother with him. The limited reservoir of her charm is just for the men she has an eye on. It annoys me that no
one seems to cotton on to it. I mean, she even said he wanted her there, not that he invited her. What does that mean? He wants her? I refuse to believe that.'

‘Look at you; you're like a petulant child! Why is this upsetting you? Do you fancy Scott or something?'

‘What? No.'

Sarah looks at me shrewdly, before poking me in the chest with her long tapered manicure.

‘You lurrrve him—'

‘Oh, fuck off! Why would you even say that?'

‘I don't know, why wouldn't you? I totally would. I mean, I know you have Beardy and all but Scott seems more your style. Less hirsute but also less of a prick.'

‘Scott is my boss. We are friendly, I like and respect him and I admit that he is not monstrous to look at. However. That would cross the line into Shitting—'

‘Yes, yes; you don't shit where you eat, I know.'

‘I was going to say shitting on my own doorstep, but yes, same principle.'

‘You do know that means you exclude everyone vetted by friends and family as decent human beings before you even start looking for a dude? Ideally you should have at least two positive recommendations before you let someone into your bed.'

‘There should be an app for that.'

‘Definitely! Rose told me a bit about Beardy and that
sticking it in business, I'm starting to think he is a massive weirdo.'

I cringe into my wine glass. I knew I would regret mentioning this, as my initial indifference towards Beardy has shifted dramatically. I would say now that I am mildly (completely) obsessed with him. Maybe it is because what little free time I have between uni and The Newt, I spend with him, but the tables seemed to switch alarmingly fast. One day he was the one insisting that we must meet, the next I would be fantasizing about him all morning while pattern cutting. Fashion is dangerous for ill-advised daydreaming, as there are many time-consuming tasks to be completed that only require half your attention.

It's easy to develop disproportionate feelings for someone when everything else in your life is a constant, thrumming source of stress. I have begun analysing all our interactions based on who has retained the most power, which I know is unhealthy. Ultimately, no matter how Rico fucking Sauve I've been, the winner is automatically him as I doubt he is making the same mental calculations. The ‘sticking it in business' she's talking about, though, is another story.