Chapter 1 #4
I wasn’t sure I’d ever be interested, at least not in the way most people were.
I’d realised in my early twenties that I wasn’t wired for relationships the same way others were.
It wasn’t something I needed to feel complete, not like Megan, who fell head over heels for Alex – her first boyfriend, now husband – and seemed to decide on day one that he was the one.
Maybe one day I’d feel something similar; I always thought it would happen after a friendship developed or possibly if lightning struck.
It was something that I had started to think about more as I approached my thirtieth birthday, the stupid biological clock I had done a good job ignoring so far was ticking louder.
More and more I started reacting like Captain Hook hearing the crocodile every time I got my period and realised I was edging closer to having less of them ahead of me than the ones behind.
I wasn’t suddenly desiring to become a mother but I did wonder, if I didn’t start dating properly soon, would I miss the boat to settle down in time to become one, should I so choose?
I knew from watching Denise and Bob growing up what a real happy marriage and relationship looked like.
But for years my life hadn’t seemed to be missing anything I couldn’t live without, and staying unattached had felt simpler than wanting more than I was ready to give.
Now I was back in the UK, though, surrounded by loved ones who were all loved up, I did wonder if maybe there was a feeling of loneliness inside me that I was plugging with work.
But I didn’t need the added pressure from Josh and Megan to do what I was already doing, and I didn’t want to have to explain myself when for so many years I had played the ‘happy singleton’, authentically I might add.
My priorities were shifting, I recognised that, but I wasn’t entirely comfortable with admitting it out loud.
Trying to sound less defensive and move the topic on to something I did feel comfortable discussing five drinks deep, I smiled. ‘Okay, anything else doable on this list?’
Megan cleared her throat, reviewing the list and smiling with sudden glee that unnerved me. ‘Drum roll, please.’ Josh and I dutifully rattled our hands across the sticky table. ‘You must take part in the Great Christmas Pudding Race.’
‘Oh, no!’ A grin spread across my face, betraying my eagerness.
‘Oh, yes!’ Josh and Megan shouted in pantomime-like unison.
The Pudding Race had been on my bucket list since university: a ridiculous relay race in Covent Garden, where people in often hilarious Christmas costumes raced while carrying Christmas puddings to raise money for charity.
Disorganisation and a particularly virulent year of norovirus during our final year of university had thwarted our attempts to join before, but this year it would finally happen.
‘I’ve already roped Alex in to be our fourth,’ Megan said, passing the Filofax back to Josh. There was the smallest flicker of hesitation in her voice when she said her husband’s name, though she quickly covered it by busying herself with her coat. I squinted at her, but she avoided my eye.
‘And I’ve booked our slot. I had a feeling you’d be back for Christmas this year,’ Josh added excitedly.
‘You did not!’ I nudged him with my shoulder. ‘You just booked in blind hope.’
‘And my Christmas wish came true,’ he said, fluttering his eyelashes. I slung an arm around him.
‘I love you guys.’
‘And we love you.’ Megan winked. ‘Now hurry up and finish those drinks so I can take us somewhere modern.’
‘Ooh, Heaven?’ Josh suggested hopefully.
‘No.’ Megan shot back instantly.
‘You’re no fun,’ he replied, tossing back his drink.
‘Don’t forget, I’ve got to get Pim to her tech rehearsal at the Southbank Centre by ten tomorrow.
’ The other reason Pim was back in town with me in tow was for her to do a one-night-only event to celebrate the fortieth anniversary of her iconic performance in Wuthering Heights.
A show that both of us had been surprised to find had been in demand – especially as it was taking place on Christmas Eve.
Turns out the LGBT+ community still loved her, years after her decline in the eyes of the mainstream, and if it was a choice between watching Meet Me in St Louis (for the hundredth time) or hearing Pim Hardcastle speak at the Southbank, they’d choose the latter.
‘Oh, pish! Stop worrying about work,’ Megan said, slipping off her stool and pulling her Burberry coat around her shoulders.
‘Says the consultant who’s always on the clock.’
Megan smiled, adjusting her wedding ring absent-mindedly before quipping, ‘I own my business, which means I also own my clock.’ And striding out of the pub as quickly as possible.
Josh stared after her, eyes squinting as if deep in thought. ‘If she owns the clock but takes a work call while she’s with us, does that mean she doesn’t want to be with us in that moment?’
‘Yes, Josh,’ I laughed. ‘I think it does.’
‘How rude!’ he gasped, clutching his imaginary pearls. ‘I love it.’