Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
“ Y ou used my name?!” Finn snapped across the breakfast table the next morning.
“Yeah, but I was innocent,” I said, stuffing my phone charger into my empty man-bag.
“True, but if any of my lot hear about this, they’ll think I live with a sex addict.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell them that you're a sex addict too.”
“What do you mean?” asked Finn with a squint.
“Nothing,” I said, casting my mind back to last night when I found his phone unlocked on an NSA Dating message box.
He warily went back to his honey-nut Cheerios, locking his phone in the process.
As I walked out into the hallway, I noticed a hand-written letter on the doormat.
One didn’t come across many items of that kind anymore, so I was quite wary, and immediately thought that it was a complaint from an irate neighbour.
I couldn’t fathom what anyone would be complaining about, though.
Neither of us spent enough time in the flat to cause even the quietest of disturbances.
The most noise that was ever made in there was when Finn vacuums, which was once in a blue moon anyway.
It turned out that it was a letter from the landlady.
She was in a bit of financial trouble, so had to put the flat on the market, which meant that we’d have to start looking for somewhere else to live.
How dreadfully annoying. Still, the landlady said that she’d be happy to give us both ￡500 for the inconvenience, which was incredibly civil of her.
I left the flat in the foulest of moods. Finn had agreed to kick off the flat hunting as he was on night shifts that week and was pottering around the flat all day.
I rushed along the road to the tube station at double pace. I had taken the morning off to accompany Mum to her chemo session, so was on my way to hers. My car was knackered, so I was going to drive her to the hospital in her Land Rover instead.
As I passed the coffee shop by the station, I noticed a familiar face through the window. It was Harry, the very man who had set me off on this path to the dark side.
He was talking to an extremely boring-looking man dressed in a grey faux-leather jacket. His look was topped off with a monk-like haircut and a goatee that was about a centimetre too bushy and pubey for my taste.
Harry caught a glimpse of me as I walked past. He smiled, then raised his eyebrows as if to say, ‘Save me.’
Aha. He must have been on a breakfast-date. An awful one as well. That brow-raise was some kind of bat-signal. Got it.
I burst into the coffee shop and swaggered up to the till, ordering an oat milk flat-white to bide my time until I figured out how I was going to steamroller this date.
I’d never actually had a flat-white, or oat milk.
It just seemed like the right thing to do. Turned out it was actually quite nice.
Looking over, I had almost forgotten how spectacular Harry was in every single way. I’ve always been a firm believer in fate, so was going to perform this rescue and win back the heart of my best online date thus far.
I spent the next few minutes trying to work out rescue scenarios. I thought about going over and making out that I was either his drug dealer, husband or pimp. Or better still, all three.
I spent so long chugging over the various scenarios, that the boring-looking chap got up to leave. Then Harry beckoned me over.
“Shit, I totally thought you were gonna come over and pretend to be my dealer, husband or pimp. Or all three,” said Harry.
“Funny you should say that,” I replied.
“Crap job interview, in case you’re wondering,” said Harry.
“Ah, well, phew. So um, anyway… how are you? Still seeing that fella? Mister ‘three dates’?” I said, mentally crossing my fingers in the hope that he wasn’t.
“Ooh, you remembered—you’re such a sweetie.
He binned me off. Well, I kept catching him online, the shitbag.
So, alas, I’m still on the market. Havin’ a lot of fun as usual!
Haven’t found a suitable replacement as yet.
There’s always something wrong with these folk, isn’t there?
Present company excepted, of course. Now, how about yourself? ”
“If you insist,” I said, mentally uncrossing my fingers and grabbing the chair opposite Harry as Harry stood up and shouldered his man bag.
I quickly pretended I was just dusting the chair rather than suavely taking a seat .
“No, I meant have you found anyone?” said Harry.
“Oh. Um... well, you know what they say… it’s complicated,” I replied, not even knowing myself what that meant. I kept doing that, didn’t I?
“What’s that beeping sound?” asked Harry.
“Oh shit, it’s my earbuds. Forgot to turn ‘em off.”
“What are you listening to? A bit of techno?”
“Oh, no. I’m learning Japanese, actually.”
“Oh, yeah? Very exotic.”
“Yeah, I went to Tokyo a few months ago. Blew me away.”
“Cool. So, are you going back there, then?”
“Probably not,” I replied.
Harry laughed. “So, why are you learning Japanese, then, you div?”
“I genuinely have no idea,” I said, feeling my brain melt.
“Oh, hey, I saw you on Lovestuck––amongst many others I may add! Have you seen they’ve started doing those weird parties again?
They’re having it in a normal bar and it’s not like a real singles party, so it’s about 10% less sad.
Apparently, you only know that someone’s from the app if you put a red straw in your drink.
Otherwise, you're totally incognito,” Harry explained with a wink.
“What if you're drinking a lager?” I asked.
“Well then you just look like a twat with a straw in a beer,” he replied. “Actually, I’d probably go for someone like that, come to think of it.”
Ooh. That had gotta be a come-on? Surely. He was basically inviting me out on a date.
“So, why don’t you come?” he asked. “It’ll be fun. We can both bring some mates and increase our chances, eh?”
Oh. Maybe not then.
I was getting mixed signals from Harry as he was being extremely flirty with his body language.
Was he just covering his arse by inviting other friends, or was he genuinely not interested in me in the slightest?
Whatever it was, I decided that I definitely wasn't going to miss out on seeing him again.
“Sounds bonzer to me,” I said.
"Bonzer?" Harry picked up on the ridiculous word and quite rightly berated me for it.
“Let me take your number anyway,” I said.
“You mean you’ve deleted it? Wanker!”
“Oh. No. Shit. I mean, I must still have it somewhere.”
I fumbled through my contacts and was horrified when I saw a squadron of Harrys with various dating app abbreviations after them. I simply had to make a guess as to which one was him.
“Don't worry, I’m only joking, tiger. I deleted you ages ago. I am such a bitch, aren’t I?” he said, making the sound of a feral cat, or a leopard or something.
“So, what are you up to now? Off to work?” I continued.
“Nah, I’ve gotta go and visit my um… Dad.”
“Oh, right. Where does he live?”
“Wandsworth.”
“No way. I used to live in Wandsworth. Which bit?”
“His Majesty’s Prison.”
“Ooh.”
“Uh-huh.”
I laughed nervously. “Oh. You’re not joking, are you?”
“Nope. My Dad’s a bit of a wild card. His latest thing is that he’s converted to Islam. Can you believe that?”
I smirked knowingly.
Of course I could believe that, I thought, with a metaphorical look towards the camera .
“Right, anyway. Must dash and all that,” said Harry, doing up the belt on his expensive-looking coat.
He popped a chewing gum in his mouth to mask his coffee breath, and offered one to me with a forward nod that said, ‘You really should,’ in a half-jokey manner (I hoped).
We kissed each other goodbye, and I inhaled that exquisite cocktail of coconut hair and Paco Rabanne Ultraviolet that I had forgotten smelt so good.
We both walked in the same direction and realised that we were both heading towards the same Underground station.
“Bit awkward,” squealed Harry.
“Nah, just means you get another goodbye kiss,” I said, realising too late that I sounded phenomenally creepy.
“No way. Fist bumps only from now on,” said Harry.
We were actually both heading in more or less the same direction, so boarded the same train and sat awkwardly opposite each other.
“So, the dating’s going okay then?” Harry asked.
“Never better. In fact, I had a belter last night. Oiirish fella. Moi second favourite,” I said, in an absolutely pathetic attempt at an Irish accent, which I gave up on mid-sentence, drifting back into English as I lost confidence in myself.
As the train pulled into the next station, a flock of commuters alighted and a heavily pregnant lady boarded the train. Oh, bloody hell. Giving up my seat would mean I’d have to sacrifice attempting to flirt with Harry. Ah, well, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.
“Would you like to sit here?” offered Harry.
Shit .
“No, no. Have this one,” I countered, expertly hiding my lack of will.
“It’s fine, really,” said Harry, pole-dancing his way out of the seat and into the aisle.
Great, now I look like a right prick.
“Would you like my seat?” hollered a smarmy voice opposite.
A slick-looking man with ‘superhero’ good-looks curled a smile on the left-side of his mouth. Before I could say ‘Baby on Board’, he smoothly swapped places with Harry, slithering in front of me and completely blocking my view of him. What a bloody pro.
As they started laughing at each other’s jokes, the pregnant woman looked at me knowingly.
“I’m not even pregnant, ha ha,” she chuckled.
“Unbelievable. Right, this is my stop. Good to see you again and I‘ll call you about that thing,” I said to Harry, eyeballing the slick bastard chatting him up, before storming off the train two stops before the one I needed.
I received a semi-dismissive wave and watched as he continued guffawing at the shameless cheese that Slick Rick was undoubtedly pasteurising.
After faffing around waiting for another tube, I eventually got to Mum’s house. She was ready to go and looking splendid in her funky headscarf and designer pantsuit. Bit much for hospital, but that was Mum.
We arrived at the hospital, and Mum was set up with all her chemo gear by a gorgeous nurse called Jack. She parked up in her chair, while Jack made her comfortable.
“I recognise you,” said Jack.
“Probably from all the photos she carries around of me,” I chuckled, in a flirty manner.
“Oh. This is my son Danny. Danny, this is Jack. He’s my favourite. Actually, you’re single, aren't you, Jack?”
“Mum!” I snapped.
“Um… kind of seeing someone actually.” Jack smiled, still eyeballing me.
Shit, that was a shame. He seemed nice and actually quite familiar as well.
Jack finished settling Mum in and left to go and tend to some business with the other nurses.
“Why can’t you get yourself a fella like that?
Look at him. Lovely figure and nice big thighs.
And you like redheads, don't you? Not so sure about his tattoos, I’ve never liked those things really.
Hey, he looks a bit like your father, God rest his soul,” said Mum, flicking apart her Vanity Fair magazine.
“Urgh, don't be weird.”
“Well, I think he’s lovely—so caring as well.
The trouble is with you kids is you don't like the nice ones. It’s always the ones with a bit of drama.
Bertie from the shop is the same. He’s always complaining about these arseholes he goes out with, then he just ends up with another one.
Actually, he’s about your age as well. Probably a bit scruffy for you, though, wears a bit too much jewellery as well. ”
“Look, I’ll be fine,” I said. “Someone’ll turn up one day.”
“Just when you least expect it.”
“I knew you were gonna say that.”
“Well, it's true. I know you think your mother’s a mad old bint, but I’m always right. Anyway, they’re having a right old time over there, aren't they, bless ‘em?” said Mum.
She pointed over to Jack and the other nurses who were having a chuckle about something.
I could have been a bit paranoid, but every time I looked up, Jack and his cronies stopped laughing.
Every time I looked away, I was sure I could see their shoulders shaking with uncontrollable laughter out of the corner of my eye.
Three hours passed and the chemo had flooded Mum’s veins. Let’s hope it started doing its bloody job. We got up and I helped her to the car.
“Bye, darling. Thanks for being so wonderful again,” Mum said to Jack.
“That’s all right, Chrissy. I’d say ‘hope to see you soon’, but we all want that muck out of you. Well, you know what I mean.”
“Ah, I know what you mean, Lovely. Well, hopefully won't see you soon either, my darling,” said Mum, kissing him on the cheek.
“Nice to meet you,” I told Jack.
“Huh? Oh yeah. You too,” he said, jovially.
I was almost sure the other nurses behind us all started to suppress laughter, but maybe I was just being paranoid after all. Hospitals always made me a bit jittery.
“Were they laughing at me? Have I got something on my face? A bogey or something?” I asked Mum.
“No. You're just being paranoid. They’re lovely people. As if they’d be laughing at anyone visiting a bloody cancer ward.”
“Hmm,” I said, unconvinced.
I dropped Mum off at hers and walked her into the lounge. “Okay, anything you need, give me or Finn a ring. I’ve gotta go into work now, but call me if you’re feeling rubbish.”
“I’ll be fine, Lovely. Thank you. I’m just gonna have a little doze.”
I left her, and as soon as I stepped off of the driveway, I received an ominous and quite frankly frightening text from my landlady .
‘YOU CAN FORGET THAT ￡500!!!! I’VE JUST SPOKEN TO THE ESTATE AGENT.’
What? It was usually hard to tell whether or not she was angry, because she was old and always typed everything with caps-lock on. This time, though, I could tell that she was paralytic with rage.
I tried to decipher what was going on. I’d received a text from the estate agent an hour or so ago saying that they were going to do a last-minute viewing.
I had agreed to deal with the agents as Finn always felt like resorting to violence whenever he dealt with their kind.
As he was close to being promoted to detective, Finn thought it best to distance himself from such temptations.
Something was amiss here though. I was pretty sure that the flat was in an acceptable state when I left it this morning. Maybe Finn had knocked out the estate agent? I’d totally forgotten to warn him that there was one coming over.
I frantically dialled my brother, but to no avail.
I left a message strongly advising Finn to call back as I was too scared to reply to our seemingly furious landlady.
It was one of my life rules to never engage in a text conversation that involved capital letters. It inevitably always led to trouble.
Why wasn't my brother answering his phone? I feared the worst.