4. The Relationship-phobe
4
The Relationship-phobe
Omar
T he thumping against my wall is now constant.
“Jeff, yes, give it to me Jeff!”
Yes, Jeff, for fuck’s sake, give it to that guy so he shuts up. My housemate brought home what is the fourth date this week. I couldn’t care less how many guys he shags a week, but our walls are thin and there is such thing as too much information when it comes to your housemates.
I grab my headphones and pop them on. I try to focus on my book with the volume yanked up but the relentless beat from my favourite Audiomachine song is in complete contrast to the rather sombre topic of diplomatic negotiations in a conflict zone.
I finally give up and throw the E-reader on my bedside table. I cross my arms behind my head and stare up on the wall opposite my bed. I love the photo I took of the distant summit of Mount Everest framed by trees and prayer flags which hangs on that wall. Seeing Everest from that viewpoint is one of my favourite travel memories.
My family wasn’t too happy when I extended what was supposed to be a gap year into a decade long trip around the world. I’ve visited most countries in Asia and a fair few in Africa and South America. From shrimp fisher in Vietnam to washing safari jeeps in Kenya, I didn’t really care which odd jobs I did as long as it paid enough for me to carry on travelling.
I also spent a couple of years living in Lebanon with relatives of my mum. That had her approval at least, as she was proud that I was willing to learn about the culture she grew up in. I worked in my uncle’s hotel and picked up a few useful skills that I was able to utilise to take on seasonal jobs across Europe afterwards. First in Italy, where I combined enjoying the beach and sun with shifts in nightclubs and bars, then I moved on to Austria, where I bartended during ski seasons. Spending the day on the slopes and the evenings mixing J?gerbombs; I had a carefree life with a lot of fun, but no real roots.
Eventually there came a point when my nomad existence was just not enough anymore. There was no life altering event that made me change my attitude. I was just tired. And so I returned to the UK, determined to go back to uni. Most of my jobs abroad included board and accommodation so I actually managed to save some money, not much, but enough to make a start back in England.
I lucked out when Ben and Cooper hired me as a driver. There couldn’t be two more generous guys, especially considering they still haven't cancelled the contract even though they really don’t need me anymore. Both work part time and rarely late in the evening. However, I have a feeling my luck is running out. They are generous but not stupid, and it makes no sense to keep me on. It’s just bad business.
I’ve interviewed for a few government jobs recently and they’ve all told me that I’m exactly what they’ve been looking for, but I need to come back once I have my degree because it’s a requirement for the job. So really, I need the job with Ben and Coop for a bit longer. Maybe if I keep very quiet for two months I can fly under the radar and sit out the time until I get my degree. I’ve used up all my savings—living in London is expensive—and I need the income to pay for my room and potentially a move if a future job requires me to be in a different part of the country.
And I want to find my own place. I’m still house-sharing at thirty-nine and I can’t bear it anymore. My housemates are nice but they’re all students in their twenties so I don’t really have that much in common with them.
Ironically, I’m also the odd one out in my group of friends. Most of the lads are married with kids, living the grown-up life. Sometimes it feels I don’t fit in either world.
The music on my phone stops when the phone rings. I take the headphones from my ears and listen. Silence. The porn noises next door have stopped. I guess they’re done shagging.
“Hey,” I answer Russell’s call. He and I play five-a-side on weekends.
“Hey, AWOL.” I hate my nickname but I just can’t shake it. When I was younger I built a reputation that my numpty friends just can’t let go.
“Listen, Lou wants me to invite you over for dinner,” Russ says and there is an edge to his voice.
“Is that another matchmaking attempt by your lovely wife?” Somehow I’ve become the favourite target for my mates’ wives when they try to set up their single friends.
The fact that I don’t want a relationship is apparently not a good enough excuse.
“Sorry Omar. I tried to talk her out of it,” he sighs. I know the guys all live vicariously through me. They love their wives but listening to stories of my dating life has become their new hobby. They’re worse than a group of high school girls when it comes to gossip.
“Just tell her I have to work,” I chuckle.
“She won’t give up that easily,” he replies and I know he’s right.
“Mate, what can I do to make her stop?”
“Nothing. In her mind you’re only single because you haven’t met the right person.”
Russ might be happily married but I’ve no delusions about marriage. I’ve a number of mates who are already on their second or third marriage. A wedding ring does not guarantee a happily-ever-after. My parents are the best example.
I haven’t spoken to my father since he walked out on my mum. I was sixteen and the anger sat deep. My mum’s family wanted her to move back to Lebanon but she felt at home in the UK and all her friends were here. My brother Stu and I were settled in school and had our friends here too. Moving back was never an option for her.
But I’ve to give it to our family because they accepted her decision and supported her anyway. My dad never even gave her a penny in child maintenance, so my uncles supported my mum whilst she completed enough courses to find work in HR. Over the years she worked her way up the ladder and when she retired two years ago she’d saved enough alongside her pension to be able to explore the world. I guess I know where I got my travel bug from. Mum and her boyfriend Michael are currently on some cruise in the Caribbean.
Unsurprising my parent’s bitter divorce made me a bit of a relationship-phobe. I don’t mind dating a woman for a few weeks, but if she starts talking about something more serious I’m out of there. I always set expectations when I start dating them but quite a few have thought they could change my attitude. So as of late, I’ve stuck to one-night stands. Easier to handle when we both know it’s only for one night.
“I’m not interested, so thanks for the invite but I’ll pass.”
“Great. You know she’ll be nagging me all weekend,” he sighs dramatically.
“Sorry mate. Can’t help you there.”
I swing my legs off the bed and head towards the kitchen.
“You owe me a pint after the next game.”
“That I’ll be happy to provide,” I grin before saying goodbye. Crisis averted.
I pull my tie tight as I step out of the house. Luckily my shifts at M&W don’t start until the afternoon so when my housemate has late night company, like yesterday, I still have enough time to get a decent amount of sleep before I’ve to start work.
“Shoo,” I try to avoid Mrs Southgate’s ginger cat. That cat has got it in for me. Whenever it sees me it rubs up against my legs, leaving cat hair all over my uniform. “Shoo!” I try to scare it away again just as my phone rings. The bloody cat couldn’t care less that I don’t want to be its friend and purrs loudly as it bumps its head on my leg.
“Hello?” I answer my phone and wedge it between my ear and shoulder whilst digging some ham out of the sandwich in my bag. The moment the ham hits the pavement the cat is all over it. My diversion is a success and I hurry down the path towards the car provided by the chauffeuring service I work for. Sadly, I'm not directly employed by M&W but instead they have hired me and the car through a specialist company.
“Walter, it’s Paul.” Of course it’s Paul. My boss is the only one in the world who calls me Walter.
“Hey.”
“Listen, I want to give you a heads up. I don’t think M&W will renew the contract with us for a second driver.”
I lean back in the driver’s seat and take a deep breath. Although I had been expecting the news it still hits me hard.
“I’m afraid I’ve no other account at the moment for you so when they confirm that they only need one driver I’ll have to let you go.” Now I feel sick. This means I’ll have to look for a new job just for a few months. If I had my own car I could maybe be an Uber driver, but I don’t, nor do I have the savings to buy one.
“Are you sure there isn’t anything else? Isn’t there usually more demand before Christmas because of all the Christmas parties?” I suggest, although I’m not hopeful.
“Sorry. We’ve already taken on some temp drivers,” he dashes my hopes.
“Okay, thanks for the heads up.” There is no point in pleading, clearly he’s made up his mind.
“Sorry.” He says again before hanging up. Well shit. I guess I’ll spend the evening hunting for a job.