Six
The next morning, when I eventually manage to work up the courage to extract myself from under my duvet mountain (mostly because I’m in desperate need of coffee), I’m hoping that Adam will have headed off on an early treasure hunt for giggly Gen Z-ers (morning jogs are now as much a hunting ground as late-night wine bars). Alas not.
When I shuffle into the kitchen, he’s sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling the sports pages on his iPad and shaking his head while muttering unintelligible advice to various footballers. He glances up quickly and then stares very fixedly at the screen.
I bite the bullet. “Adam… I know he’s your friend, but so am I, and we’re family, so can I explain my side, please? Otherwise, this is going to make family Christmases incredibly awkward.”
“Look, it’s between him and you. But if you want to do the decent thing for someone you deserted, I’ve WhatsApped you his bank details. It’s ￡110. Seems like you have expensive tastes. Seems a bit Kardashian – ordering the most expensive thing on the menu and then flouncing out.”
Ouch, to both the price and the comment. “Adam, can I explain my side, please?”
He makes a big display of yawning and stretching and then, faux reluctantly, says, “Go on then…”
To be fair to him, as I recount the evening, his expression changes, and he looks suitably horrified.
“I never understood why Malcolm was single until now…”
“You never understood?! He is awful. I kept trying to tell you that.”
“I’m sorry. Forget about the money. I didn’t know the full story. Malcolm’s tale, as you can imagine, is pretty different. He said that he was the perfect gentleman but that you just were rude and abandoned him mid-meal – and called him vile and disgusting.”
“Well, I did call him vile and disgusting…”
“But only after…” Adam interrupted. “There’s no way you need to pay.”
“No,” I say. “I’m determined to transfer the money. I can’t stop Malcolm from lying about the evening, but he doesn’t get to say that I am cheap.”
“Seriously, you shouldn’t. Sorry, Alex, I thought he’d be a bit of a catch.”
“Forget about it. But seriously? You thought he was a catch? Yeah, fair enough, he’s not unattractive, but he sweats at room temperature. Sorry, that’s unkind. I’m just… frustrated.”
Adam, as usual, only picks up on the conversation’s relevance to himself, and he looks momentarily stunned. “I thought I was one of those metrosexual guys who could spot a great handsome guy a mile off.”
“Oh, you’re metrosexual, alright, but your good guydar is way off. I’m happy to give you a holiday from matchmaking and go back to Hinge. Definitely tell Malcolm he’s getting his money, though. I’m not a freeloader.”
I go and fill my coffee, head held high, but once I’m back in my room and have transferred the money, I feel sick. I’ve never been this far into my overdraft. I let myself have a few moments of unadulterated panic, and then I force myself to take ten deep breaths and focus. Currently, I can only afford one more month’s rent, and that’s taking the Ladditude money into account. I quickly fire up my laptop and get googling. Regardless of Ladditude , I have to find another job urgently.
As ever, the situation is pretty bleak. There are a couple of jobs that are way out of my league: politics editor for a broadsheet (I once got into a debate about proportional representation from the perspective of the media’s unhealthy obsession with oversized breasts and butts, but that probably won’t cut it) and senior copywriter for Musky Tobacco (hmm… salary is tempting… but who knew I had morals?). That’s it. There’s nothing else.
I turn off my computer and sit staring disconsolately at the wall when the doorbell rings.
I start to get up but then hear Adam talking to someone. Oddly, his voice seems to be unusually high-pitched.
“ALEX!” he summons me. I hesitantly walk towards the front door, and Adam is standing there with an indignant-looking Waitrose delivery man.
“Alex,” he starts. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you didn’t order ￡200 worth of fucking lobster?”
“I… I … I couldn’t honestly say for sure. I mean, I did. But then I thought I cancelled it.”
“For fuck’s sake Alex. Ten dressed lobsters?”
“It was that chardonnay. The other day.”
“The chardonnay ordered the lobster?”
“In a manner of speaking,” I confirm.
I look at him beseechingly, and he rolls his eyes and turns to the delivery man. “Sorry for not believing you, mate. Didn’t realise I was living with quite this level of lunacy.” He wanders into the kitchen, leaving me to sign for and carry to the fridge all of my lobster-ey cargo.
As I stumble into the kitchen under the weight of my load, he is already crafting a ‘hilarious’ Instagram story about my antics. “Adam!” I hiss through a lobster. “Make sure my mother doesn’t see that post!”
He’s falling about laughing while I’m sacrificing Vienetta to make room for a more precious consignment. “I think the only solution is to have a party. We’ll provide the lobster. Our friends can bring the booze.”
“Oh, so it’s ‘we’ now, is it?” I say, secretly glad that he’s finding this amusing rather than idiotic.
I finish unloading the lobsters and slump into a seat opposite him.
“Why so glum?” he asks. “Come on, it’s funny!”
“It’s just… I’m a mess. I’m totally broke, and I really thought I cancelled the lobsters. I’ve basically spent most of my rent this month on a dinner I didn’t eat and ten lobsters. This is not normal for a twenty-nine-year-old. I’m also behind on Ladditude correspondence already, and I now have to find a new job to pay for these fucking lobsters.”
“Right.” Adam is in problem-solving mode already. “You get to work on some Agony Uncle stuff, but make sure I see it before it goes out to, you know, laddify it. I, meanwhile, will find you a job.”
“A writing job,” I interject.
“Any job that pays the bills at this point.”
I nod sadly, and he gets to googling. I can’t quite understand how all this has happened to me. When I left university, I was full of hopes and dreams, as well as actual writing talent. I was ambitious and motivated, and I felt like the world was my oyster. But rejection after rejection has eroded my confidence to such a level that even when I do find a remotely suitable job, I self-reject before they can even reject me. I mean, I still apply, but I don’t even have a sliver of excitement or anticipation left when I hit the “apply” button anymore. When my cohort graduated, so many of us had the same dream, and slowly, everyone started taking temporary office jobs to supplement their income… then the temporary fell away. The next thing they knew, they were applying for promotions at Santander customer service. I was so proud that I was resolutely holding onto my dreams, even if I was writing about reptiles on occasion. And now I’m wondering how much more balanced my life might be if I’d chosen the office job route.
Adam brings me over a cup of tea and places it on the table in front of me, breaking my reverie. I log onto my Ladditude account and choose a letter.
Dear Alex,
This is a first for me. I’ve never written to any sort of Agony Uncle type thing before. I feel like a bit of a loser if I’m honest, but I was reading the sports pages and saw the advice column on the sidebar, so I thought I’d give it a read, and here we are.
Anyway, there’s this girl at work who I really like. She’s really friendly, and I think she’s flirting with me, but I’m a terrible judge, so I just can’t be sure. She’s quite quiet generally, but she always seems a bit more animated when I’m around. I’m not sure if I’m sounding massively egotistical here.
The other day, we were talking in the kitchen, and she said we should have lunch sometime. I don’t know if it’s a friendly colleague thing or if she might actually like me. I am not experienced at asking people out in real life – I have mostly met previous partners on dating apps and sort of fallen into relationships. I really think this girl and I could have a thing here, but she’s a colleague, so the potential for awkwardness is high if she says no.
Thanks for your help,
Ryan
I think he is so adorable, as I read his letter. He’s definitely new to the world of Agony Uncles. He didn’t even know he was supposed to come up with the standard sign-off like Confused from Hartlepool or something. I immediately start drafting a reply.
Dear Ryan,
Thanks for your letter. I understand how challenging dating apps can be. And I know how awkward a workplace romance can be, too. But, provided your HR policy allows, I think you’re going to have to take a bit of a risk if you want to find out. After all, while in theory, the expectation is not always on you to take the initiative and do the asking out, in practice, it still often tends to be the case, I’m afraid.
I think it sounds like this woman likes you, but as you say, it’s always hard to be sure. I’d suggest you take her up on the offer of lunch. You’ll quickly determine whether or not she’s interested, as she’ll want you all to herself, or she’ll open the invitation to other colleagues.
You seem like a guy who’s happy to take things slowly, so I’d suggest only slightly pushing the boundaries of your comfort zone. Chug along at a pace comfortable to you, and it will soon become apparent how she feels. Maybe you’re just the type that falls into relationships, and that’s OK. Perhaps you’ll fall into this one!
Fingers crossed for you.
Yours,
Alex
I prod Adam and get him to look at my latest.
He shakes his head dismissively and, once again, sits down to completely change my masterpiece.
Dear Ryan,
I feel your pain, man, but come on. A woman likes a man who can take charge in all areas of life. This girl clearly likes you. She’s asked you to have lunch, for God’s sake! If you don’t pull yourself together, you’re in danger of being masculated by her. She’ll lose attraction quickly if she has to keep asking you out.
Follow up on that lunch invitation, and if things seem positive, make a move! Maybe you can turn lunch into dinner…
Yours,
Alex
Before I can stop him, he’s hit send, uploading the response to the system. “Adam! I don’t think that’s good advice. Not everyone is like you! Also, I think you mean emasculated.”
He rolls his eyes, “Whatever. Needs to grow a pair.”
“Adam!”
“Anyway, I’ve found you a job. Look at this.”
My anger at his hideous advice dissipates, and I start reading over his shoulder.
Ghostwriter required by a small publishing agency to support a retired parliamentarian wishing to write about his life. Contract fees are limited, but free accommodation and subsistence are provided for the duration of the project. Looking for a talented writer to bring parliamentarian memories to life. CVs invited.
I look at Adam, uncertain. “It doesn’t sound like it will pay well.”
“Alex… I think we might have got to the point where we have to be honest with ourselves.”
“What do you mean?” I say, slightly shrill.
“You either need to park the writing dream for a while and get a job, any job, that will pay the bills. Or you need to move in with this autobiography guy and at least have free rent so that anything you make from Ladditude , etc., is profit. You can’t live off pot noodles bought with change found down the back of the sofa. Probably my change, by the way.”
I stare at him glumly, and the fact that he is thinking along the same lines as my earlier thinking is depressing…it makes it more real, somehow.
“Move out though?”
“Temporarily,” Adam says gently. “Look – rent in this place isn’t easy even for me – super duper personal trainer to the stars. Well… that woman off Eastenders . And for you, it’s a nightmare. This could work until things pick back up again.”
“What if he’s a weirdo?”
“Then you don’t take the job, obviously. But that’s the only thing I’ve found, so if it doesn’t work out with this one, then you need to work in a bar or something. This situation isn’t sustainable. But look at it this way: if you end up getting the job and moving out, at least we’ll be throwing you one hell of a lobster-themed goodbye party.”
“You’re right,” I mutter, defeated. “I’ll call the publisher now.”