Chapter Six Losing Her #2
‘But I think the worst part of being ill is all the advice people give you. Oh, my God, the endless, unsolicited advice! Especially from people who suddenly turn into herbal medicine experts, the moment they see you start to sniffle. Oh, have you tried ginger root with turmeric, echinacea and haloumi? they say. Have you heard of the healing power of crystals? If you insert a lapis lazuli up your bum, you’ll be right as rain in no time! ’
She wasn’t sure about the lapis lazuli gag. I don’t know why, it’s a killer. The laughter around me confirms that.
‘They’re only saying this stuff because they want to sound smart. Knowledgeable. Because they spent twenty minutes on Facebook the other day researching what things you can stick up your bum – and accidentally found out that lapis lazuli instantly cures the flu when inserted lengthways.’
Big laugh. Not surprising. Bum gags always get a big laugh. We’re a simple bunch, when you get right down to it.
Annie is really hitting her stride now. She once told me that the exact same joke can be met with a few titters or a massive wave of laughter, depending on when you deliver it. It’s all about the timing. We’re now far enough into the routine that even the jokes she’s not sure about still land.
Annie then takes on a thoughtful expression.
‘Although, thinking about it for a moment, one perk of getting sick is the excuse to cancel absolutely everything. You know, to legitimately cancel plans. It’s a guilty pleasure of mine.
I’ll ring whoever I’m meant to be seeing, coughing my lungs up.
’ Annie actually pulls out her iPhone at this point.
‘Oh, no, I’m so sorry, I can’t make it tonight.
I feel rotten, I couldn’t possibly come out, I say.
And then the second they hang up, I’m back in bed, in my pyjamas, the TV remote in hand and a cup of tea in hand, watching true crime stories on Netflix.
Do you know how soothing an unsolved multiple mass murder in Alabama can be when you have bronchitis? ’
Lots of Netflix watchers in the audience tonight, judging from the reaction to this.
‘I do text my mates for sympathy when I’m sick – despite everything I’ve said about how they react.
I’m a glutton for punishment. You get the absolute worst responses back when you’re trying to get sympathy.
I’ll send a message that says I’m really unwell and feel awful – and without fail, my friend Olivia just responds with a thumbs-up emoji.
A bloody thumbs-up emoji. I’m on death’s doorstep, and all she’s got is the pictorial equivalent of Good for you, babe! So proud of you!’
It’s the mindless look of encouragement Annie plasters across her face at this moment that makes this gag so funny.
‘It’s like no one knows how to be properly sympathetic anymore.
I blame social media. Mind you, I blame social media for most of the world’s problems these days.
It’s a knee-jerk reaction. We’ve all got the combined empathy of a potato.
It’s a little hard to be empathetic with other people, when you’re mainly worried about how your arse looks on Instagram. ’
She lets this joke sink in for a moment, revelling in the laughter. I can tell she’s enjoying herself.
‘Your brain turns into the worst possible roommate the second you’re stuck in bed,’ she says, having allowed the cadence of the audience’s laughter to subside a little.
‘Oh, are you planning on lying down for a nice rest? it’ll say. In that case, I’d like to remind you of every single embarrassing thing you did while you were at university. Or how about that time you called your new boyfriend, Charlie, “Dad”? That was great, wasn’t it?’
She did do that. She was absolutely horrified.
‘Speaking of my boyfriend – and I probably shouldn’t, to be honest, because he’s here in the audience tonight. But he knew what he was getting into when he met me. And frankly, he should have walked away when I called him “Dad” that time, so he’s only got himself to blame.’
I laugh at this – but a little uncomfortably. The idea of the routine being turned onto me is not something I relish.
‘My boyfriend, Charlie, bless his little cotton socks, refuses to believe he can ever get sick. Like, genuinely. The man could be coughing up an entire lung, and sounding like a deflating accordion, and he’ll still tell me he’s fine, and that it’s just a tickle in his throat.’
Okay. This stuff is all made up. I don’t think I’ve been sick around Annie once so far in our relationship. Certainly nothing that’s needed any medical—
Oh.
Oh, I see . . .
‘And I get it,’ Annie continues. ‘No one likes being ill, but he takes the whole “mind over matter” thing to near Olympic levels of insanity. He’s convinced that if he just denies he’s got anything wrong with him, his immune system will eventually comply with his wishes and go: Oh, sorry, mate!
Didn’t mean to inconvenience you. I’ll just fight off this virus without you even noticing!
You get back to whatever it is you’re trying to do . . . probably wanking.’
I sink in my seat a little bit. Nobody here knows me, but I sink anyway.
‘Honestly, his confidence would be admirable if it wasn’t so bloody delusional. I remember once when he had a fever. He wasn’t sweating buckets. They were bloody barrels. I’m pretty sure I could have fried an entire full English on his forehead, that’s how hot he was.
‘I tell him that I think he might have a bit of a fever. He just scoffs – and gives me a look like I’ve accused him of some grave and hideous offence.
He says he’s fine, and that he’s just running a bit hot today .
. . as if he’s some sort of racing car on the forty-third lap of the Monaco Grand Prix – instead of what he actually is, which is a soaking-wet idiot with glowing red eyeballs. ’
This must all come from a previous relationship, because none of this is about me.
While, of course, at the exact same time, it is absolutely all about me.
‘So, naturally, I go to check his temperature with one of those fancy forehead thermometers. I press it to his head, wait for the little beep, and it comes back at thirty-nine degrees. That’s Celsius, by the way – for any Americans in the audience – which is roughly one degree away from spontaneous human combustion.
But he just brushes it off like it’s nothing!
Oh, come on, those things are never accurate.
You should do it the old-fashioned way.’
The impression of me is eerily spot on, even if those words have never come out of my mouth.
‘Old-fashioned way? What do you want me to do? Break out a bloody cauldron? Find some eye of newt? Maybe sacrifice a goat to the great lord of darkness and glean what afflicts you from its entrails? What is it with men and acting like modern medicine is too New Age for them?’
This is all very funny – for the audience, that is. But I can detect a distinct amount of frustration in Annie’s voice that’s seeping over into the performance.
‘He’ll just power through the problem. Or try to, anyway. He’ll insist on carrying on regardless by going to work – like he’s some sort of martyr. I’ll tell him he’s practically delirious, but he’ll insist on going out, as if he’s desperately needed by someone, somewhere . . .
‘Oh, are you? Are you needed by people to breathe pathogens all over them? Are there people in this world that require being covered in a warm, fresh layer of spittle? . . . Actually, I don’t think I want to know the answer to that question.
There are some weird buggers floating about, so I wouldn’t it past someone to get their rocks off at being sneezed over.
’ Annie makes a hideous face. ‘Ugh. Can you imagine sneeze porn? It’d be the first time in porn history that Kleenex would be used for its primary intended purpose. ’
This gets a massive laugh. One that I don’t join in with, because I’m too busy reading in between all the lines Annie is throwing at me.
And, just in case it wasn’t clear what’s really going on here, the next thing she says is a lot more blatant.
‘Of course, my boyfriend absolutely refuses to go and see a doctor. For anything. No matter how serious it is. It’s like he thinks the GP will tell him off for wasting their time.’
She doesn’t look at me once while she’s saying this.
‘This is hilarious to me, because when I’m sick, he’s the first one to ask if I want to see a doctor.
When it’s me who’s hacking up the lung, it’s a totally different story from when it’s him.
I’ll sneeze once – and he’s already googling my symptoms, got multiple windows open to medical websites and is convinced I’ve got dengue fever. ’
I wish this part wasn’t true, but God help me, it is. I was literally on Google yesterday trying to find things to help her with her hay fever.
‘But he’s not this bad when he’s just got something like a cold.
Oh no. It can be anything wrong with him.
Physical or mental. He could be walking around with his arm hanging off, and several voices talking to him from beyond the ether, telling him he needs to start the killing again – and he’d still just take a couple of ibuprofen and tell me not to worry about it so much. ’
Now her gaze does rest on me. And I really wish it hadn’t.
‘I’m looking at him right now,’ she says, with an expression I find to be quite unreadable.
‘I can see him squirming around in his seat like a landed trout. Stand-up comedy is fine when it’s all made up, but when it skirts a bit too close to home, he gets uncomfortable, bless him.
I called you “Dad” on our third date, Charlie.
This is all entirely a hell of your own making. ’
Her eyes linger on me for just a split second, before moving to somewhere else in the crowd.
I thought I’d come here to see a stand-up routine, but I think I might be having an argument. A very one-sided argument, but an argument nonetheless. Annie is not happy.