Chapter 12 #3
‘I was just thinking, William, I know we met up that time in the Cornerstone and . . . well, that was a bit of a mad night. We were both fairly well on . . . and I said I was terrified of extreme sports, but that was rubbish . . . really. I mean, I love trying new things.’ Dear God, what was this unmitigated shite coming out of her mouth?
But she was on a roll. ‘So I was wondering, would you like to meet up during the week and go . . . rock climbing or canoeing or something?’ Oh God, what madness. She had no clue how to do either.
He brightened immediately and sat up. ‘Would you like that?’
‘Absolutely. I’d love it.’
‘It’s too wet and slippery to go to the cliffs,’ he said without even cracking a smile at the childish double entendre. ‘But we could go to the climbing wall.’
Even the words felt terrifying, but there was an impulsive part of her that felt compelled to jump first, think later.
‘Now, I’m not very experienced . . .’
At least lower his expectations before she got herself killed.
‘Doesn’t matter. Neither am I.’
He totally was. He was an expert. That much was clear from stalking his Instagram for months.
One thing, though – she’d cracked the William code during the snog. He was the active type, not a hopeless romantic. You had to get to know him through doing something athletic, or at least active, and only then could you get to the romantic bit.
‘Grand, that’s just great,’ he said earnestly. ‘I’ll book us a time. Who knew we’d have so much in common?’
As soon as he’d vanished down the stairs, she scoffed a celebratory mint Aero and had a flick on her phone.
Obviously, it had been snooping on them the whole time and was now trying to flog her expensive sports gear, with weird tiny pockets for stashing God knows what, and super-elastic leggings that wouldn’t give you a baggy arse from taking big strides up hills.
The main thing, she deduced, was not to be seen in fashion items – apparently, the outdoorsy community would look down their noses at anything shiny.
If she was going to have a date with William, which she actually was (yay), then it was important not to make a holy show of them both.
Perhaps fate, in the form of the algorithm, was reaching out a helping hand to ease her into the next phase of her life.
She began looking at websites for wetsuits, because, once spring came, they were sure to be out canoeing and paddleboarding on slow-moving rivers, and generally triggering envy in passers-by as shining examples of really living life to the full.
It looked pretty sexy in the photo: very figure-hugging, waist-cinching and bum-minimising, like an all-body foundation garment.
The good ones were quite pricey but got fabulous reviews, and as Dad always said, buy cheap, buy twice.
Fantastic, the one in bright red had a twenty per cent reduction – sure, it practically chose itself, and of course, you had to buy the dotey little boots to go with it.
As soon as she started spending money, the algorithm was as happy as a clam and started spitting out all manner of suggestions.
By 10.45 p.m. she’d ordered a stylish pair of grey-blue hiking boots and matching fleece that would set off her eyes perfectly against a windblown sky.
She was doing great work here, especially as every time she bought something, the site warmly congratulated her.
Hang on! As usual, she was forgetting the most important thing: Will was taking her climbing this week.
Oh hell. All she had were chunky runners, work heels, wedge boots and fluffy slippers.
None of those were going to work. It appeared you needed a totally different sort of shoes for climbing, so she ordered a pair for €90 in what was her smallest size option, because apparently, they had to fit snugly.
All very exciting. The only problem was that by the time she added it all up, it came to €475.
That was more than her bills for the whole month and, with Christmas coming, it had left her bank account feeling like a squeezed lemon.
On the other hand, this was great. She and William were going to start off as friends.
Thinking long term, this wasn’t blowing money, it was an investment in the future.
Anyhow, she had this new receptionist job coming up, for which she was overqualified, so sooner or later she was bound to get promoted.
‘It’s all about getting in the door, so they get to recognise my experience and reliability,’ she informed Harry and Sally, who nosed against the glass.
‘I have to move ahead in my life. I know The Owl’s Nest is lovely, and Pete .
. .’ Suddenly, she felt the old ache again, and she instinctively pressed her hand against her chest to soothe the pain.
‘He’s dangerous. The way I feel about him is dangerous.
I could get lost in him and be left with nothing again.
I’m too old for that. I’m done with emotional risk.
William is the right kind of guy. He’s smart, he’s healthy, he’s social, he’s got no obvious baggage.
I fancy him . . . admittedly, not quite as much as Fantasy William, but enough. I mean, I’m not twenty.’
There was something about this last reason that made her heart sink just a little. But wasn’t that part of being a grown-up? As her grandma used to say, if you got most of what you wanted in life, wasn’t it well for you?
Harry and Sally gazed at her steadily. Were they staging a fishy intervention? Then she remembered she’d forgotten to feed them.
‘I am not fooling myself,’ she assured them. ‘I’m using my head instead of my heart for once.’
She finally dragged herself into bed by twelve thirty and fell into a deep sleep.
Suddenly, she woke with a jolt at 3.15 a.m. OhmyfuckingGod .
. . €475 – what in the name of Nellie was I thinking?
Maybe she could send the whole lot back, or maybe there was someone who’d like a pair of red wetsuit boots for Christmas.
In the stark truth of the middle of the night, she had to admit, this was all one big avoidance ploy, because she was going to have to face them in The Owl’s Nest tomorrow and she couldn’t deal with that.
She lay awake, going over the story in her mind.
It had been a series of coincidences that had brought her to the door of The Owl’s Nest on the day she’d been fired.
And then something drew her back, pushed her to jump up and help Dave behind the counter on that first day.
But that wasn’t real life. Not hers, anyway.
That was a fairytale. Nobody in her family lived fairytales – they lived solid, profitable, responsible lives, and if she hoped to be seen as an adult, and have a decent, stable future, then she’d better damn well do the same.