CHAPTER 8
Jeremy was having one of the best dates of his entire life.
The guy sitting across from him, currently on his fifth glass of red wine, had been objectively handsome, if not quite Jeremy’s type, in his dating-app photos – strong, manly jaw, huge shoulders, the kind of puff of chest hair from a straining shirt that seventies porn stars dreamt of.
He was still handsome, but the slick black hair in his photos had turned salt and pepper and thinned towards the back, and the moustache had wilted.
Deep lines crinkled his eyes and the powerful body had gone to seed.
Jeremy honestly wouldn’t have minded – he was a sexy older man – but he also clearly wasn’t forty-two like his profile claimed.
All the photos he’d used were from about twenty years ago.
Help, accidental grandpa , Jeremy texted Sam underneath the table. I have been catfished.
Jeremy had considered leaving immediately – after all, he had been lied to. When Roger had sat down, he’d chuckled sheepishly and spread his hands wide. ‘Hope you don’t mind that I fudged my age a little bit.’
Jeremy had bitten his tongue, thinking of several cruel things to say – and he’d have been in the right to do so.
But he also had Sam’s advice running through his head: ‘Remember, you’re not trying to fall in love here; you’re just trying to trick impressive someone into dating you so Miles thinks you’re cool. ’
So, Jeremy had shaken his head and said, ‘Of course not, you look exactly the same,’ which had made Roger stutter in delight. It had also made Jeremy feel kind and open-hearted, like a good person who looked past little things like an age gap. He liked that feeling.
By the second glass of wine, Roger was crying and walking Jeremy through the ins and outs of his divorce.
‘Did I neglect Dirk towards the end? Yes. But did I feel neglected too? Also yes. It takes two to tango, I always say that. That’s the way that the cookie crumbles, you know?’
Jeremy was furiously updating Sam under the table: Dirk – ex-husband – fireman? Suspicious behaviour before divorce (cheating?). Turns out his MOTHER who didn’t approve of Roger was DYING
Sam was sending back a steady stream of omg and what and HOW?
A lot of people thought that nice people like Sam didn’t like gossip, but they were wrong. Sam was eating up every revelation with a spoon.
Problematic opinion , wrote back Sam, but I’m on Dirk’s side for this. Sure, they both did the wrong thing, but Roger should never have taken the dog.
Six glasses in, and Roger was telling stories about Oxford Street in the eighties and nineties. ‘You couldn’t take a single step without Kylie Minogue … she was everywhere …’
‘Her music?’ asked Jeremy, confused. Roger laughed as if he’d made a hilarious joke.
A short time later, Roger was talking about custody battles and the family court.
Jeremy couldn’t help noticing he hadn’t asked a single question and was essentially monologuing.
It didn’t matter – he was having an amazing time.
Every new detail necessitated another hurried message to Sam, who didn’t fail to respond with an exclamation or a question or theory.
What’s he doing now? came another text, and Jeremy looked up to see Roger blinking sleepily.
Falling asleep I think , Jeremy replied. ‘Excuse me,’ he said aloud to Roger, ‘I just have to pop to the toilet.’
Roger nodded blearily.
Okay, as fun as this has been, he is not The One (weapon of my revenge) , Jeremy texted Sam from the cubicle. How do I get out of this?
Do you want me to call and pretend that there’s been an emergency … a celebrity died and you must write about it? Sam replied.
Could you call in a bomb threat? That way I don’t have to pretend my job is serious enough to warrant an emergency.
Sure thing , Sam wrote back.
Jeremy decided to pee, instead of just standing there smiling and texting Sam like a weirdo. When he was finished, and he’d washed his hands, he reluctantly made his way back to the table – only to discover Roger had gone.
He’s disappeared! Jeremy immediately and gleefully texted Sam. What a shame, and it’s only 8pm too. I guess I’ll HAVE to go home and watch Gilmore Girls, he wrote, including a spree of sad-face emojis.
Omg , wrote back Sam. The night is young (unlike Roger).
Jeremy threw back his head and laughed. Then, as he grabbed his coat and went to leave, he realised Roger had skipped out without paying for the two litres of wine he’d drunk. This dating business was expensive.
Since embarking on the new revenge campaign, Jeremy had been on dates almost every night for the past few weeks, the majority of them ranging from bland to chaos.
He’d had thesis topics explained to him so often that he’d perfected an ‘interested and intrigued’ face to mask the fact that he had no idea what nucleonic chromosome theory was.
Roger was probably the most chaotic, followed by the giraffe-scientist guy: a strange fellow named Geoffrey who never made eye contact and had the smile of a plastic doll.
He took Jeremy to a fancy Italian restaurant and then informed him that he ‘didn’t personally eat’ but was ‘happy to watch’.
Jeremy had assumed this was a bid towards bottoming from Geoffrey, which he had to respect, but when he brought it up, Geoffrey also informed him he was saving himself for marriage.
It was an odd date. Geoffrey was one of the more handsome people he’d ever met in his life: a ridiculous concoction of cheekbones, a sharp jawline, thick lashes, and a curl of black hair that fell effortlessly across his wide brow.
But he was also incapable of talking about anything unrelated to giraffes, visibly losing interest and looking around him when the conversation shifted.
At one point, he just got up from the restaurant table wordlessly and walked outside.
Jeremy wasn’t sure why he came back inside, but when he did, it was to talk about how giraffes urinated on each other during sex.
Outside the bar, Sam texted again: I need to hear about your date with grandpa in more detail. Where are you now?
Jeremy stopped abruptly in the street. I just left a bar called Grapes, but I can’t go back because they watched me get ghosted by a man almost old enough to be a ghost , he texted back.
That’s right near my house! Come around and have a cup of tea. My housemates are watching a movie. The address quickly followed.
Jeremy stood hesitantly in the street, slightly nervous about going to Sam’s house without quite knowing why. He wasn’t getting serial-killer vibes, and he’d already been trapped in an elevator with the guy, so a house could scarcely be worse.
Okay! he texted back brightly.
When he turned up to the house, Sam was standing in the open doorway, haloed by warm light from further inside.
He was wearing a soft pink T-shirt and grey tracksuit pants, an outfit that worked impossibly well on him.
As Jeremy walked up the steps, he was taken with the breadth of Sam’s shoulders, the soft fur on his forearms and the tumble of his glorious hair.
‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t the most eligible bachelor in the retirement home,’ teased Sam, sweeping Jeremy up in an effortless hug.
It was weird how someone shorter still made him feel completely overpowered, but in a comforting, warm way.
He tensed up and pulled away, afraid he was leaning into the hug a little too much.
‘I’m starting to think I’ll never find a boyfriend in time for the reunion,’ mourned Jeremy. ‘Or even one who will live long enough to come with me …’
Sam chuckled and ushered him inside and down a long hallway with white wooden doors on either side.
It was a classic inner-city share house.
Down the other end of the house, the sound of a movie blared – judging from the music, it was Notting Hill , which Jeremy was ashamed he recognised immediately.
In the kitchen, Sam started making tea, asking all the usual tea-making questions.
‘I live with a couple, Ruth and Henry. They’re absolute sweethearts, but they’ve asked if they can have the living room tonight – it’s date night,’ explained Sam.
‘In a share house?’ Jeremy said. ‘That’s a bit … presumptuous?’
‘It’s fine. I don’t mind at all – it’s hard to get a bit of space for yourself. Anyway, we’ll have to hang out in my room so we don’t disturb them.’
Jeremy blinked a few times but refrained from pushing his point.
As someone who had lived in share houses for his entire twenties and would probably still be in them in his thirties, he had a lot of thoughts about share-house etiquette.
He also knew share-house couples were usually a problem, forming a power bloc that was often hard to fight.
‘No, babe, I didn’t mean it like that!’ came a protestation over the sound of Hugh Grant’s polite bumbling. ‘You’re twisting my words!’
‘Also, they’ve been fighting for about three hours now,’ Sam said with a laugh, ‘so it’s incredibly awkward.’
‘Do they know they can break up?’ Jeremy asked. ‘Couples who regularly fight drive me insane. It’s okay to just be single.’
Sam nodded, looking pensive. ‘I think it’s about hope. We all want to be happy and to be in love, and I think the hope that it could still happen keeps people in unhappy situations for longer than they should be. Hope can be dangerous, I reckon.’
Jeremy nodded. ‘Simply give up is my advice,’ he intoned.
Sam smiled, but a bit sadly. ‘I think that’s smarter, but I kinda love people who aren’t smart like that, who follow their hearts even when it’s painful.’
Jeremy shook his head. ‘Nah, I have no patience for it – it’s not romantic, it’s just self-flagellating.’
‘No, babe, please. I promise, you are just as pretty as Julia Roberts,’ rang out another whine.
‘You may be right,’ mused Sam.
Tea in hand, they wandered out of the kitchen and back down the hallway, where Sam opened one of the many white doors.