Chapter 5
Cian’s sitting outside his house, and upon seeing him, a feeling other than exhaustion kicks in; it’s not quite happiness, more giddiness and yes, I am embarrassed for myself.
He’s slightly hunched over with a paperback, which is held close to his face. I say hi too early so he lowers the book and watches me walk towards him.
‘Why are you out here?’ There’s a second wooden garden chair. I hadn’t expected him to have company.
‘Because,’ he starts gruffly, ‘the house is roasting, and the neighbours are in the back garden playing more Beyoncé than any sane person ever needs to hear.’ His eyes narrow. ‘You love Beyoncé, don’t you?’
‘Doesn’t everyone?’
‘No,’ he replies blankly. ‘Everyone does not love Beyoncé and her overly busy music.’
‘I’ve seen her live four times.’
He shuts the book and puts it on his lap. ‘I’m sorry you had to go through that.’
‘I once flew to Poland to watch her because I missed out on London tickets.’
‘No way.’
‘Best weekend of my life.’
‘That sounds like a terrible misuse of funds.’
‘You’re nicer on the phone.’ I go in my bag and hand him down the glasses, which he puts on with an appreciative noise. And while I’m openly checking him out, he stares up at me and says, ‘You want to stay for a drink?’
I don’t give it a second thought.
Cian shuffles a pack of beers my way with his good leg and glances down at my blue Crocs, which I know look horrendous with my light-pink summer dress and white socks.
‘No work drinks tonight?’ he asks. ‘I was under the impression you were the office party girl.’
‘Where did you get that from?’
‘Maybe it’s the thousands of photos of you in the online staff social groups.’
‘Why are you spending your time on staff social groups? Do you really miss everyone that much?’
‘I have nothing else to do.’
‘Don’t you have friends?’
‘Of course I have friends,’ he snaps in a sulky voice. ‘However, they’re getting bored coming here to watch films with me.’
Next door’s front door opens, and two older women, dressed in colourful maxi-dresses, file out. One flicks her hair over her shoulder and sends a wave to Cian. He lifts a hand back and I watch as they teeter into their cab, giggling in that girlish way women sometimes do with each other.
‘You’re not drinking?’ Cian asks. I hadn’t realised he was looking at me.
‘I’m having lunch with my family tomorrow. If there’s ever an occasion to not be hungover for, it’s that.’
‘They’re hard work?’
‘Not usually, no. At the moment, they’re—’ I stop.
I don’t want to explain the reason my mum, in particular, has become super overbearing, especially not while Cian’s looking at me like this.
Some people are bad at eye contact, and I get that, then there are other people who hold eye contact too intensely.
Cian is disconcerting because he seems to swing between the two.
‘They’re what?’ he asks.
‘Parents,’ I offer. ‘Where’s your dad?’
‘He goes to the gym after work. Or the pub. One or the other.’ Cian pushes at his hair, and it immediately springs back.
‘You two seem really close.’
He shrugs a shoulder as if I’ve said something that’s a given.
‘Though being at home with him like this is eye-opening. I’m convinced he has an undiagnosed hyperactivity disorder.
He’s also getting fed up spending his evenings stuck inside with me.
I made him watch Up last night. Bored him shitless. He didn’t even cry.’
‘Up is the most emotionally manipulative film ever made.’ Again, when I turn to Cian, he’s studying me, half a smile on his face.
‘Please have a drink,’ he says. ‘I don’t want to drink by myself.’
In my head the word ‘no’ goes round and round, yet the word ‘Sure,’ jumps from my mouth as I grab a bottle.
‘I wonder who’s going to take the party-girl crown from you,’ he says slyly, now looking out at the street, rather than at me.
‘Nicole’s out tonight.’
He takes his glasses off and gives them a wipe on his black T-shirt. ‘I went out drinking with Nicole once. Never again.’
‘It’s so funny you know her.’
‘She’s the only friendly person in your department.’
I mock gasp, offended. ‘We’re all friendly.’
‘You’ve never spoken to me before.’
‘That’s because I’ve never seen you before.’
His face contorts. ‘Are you kidding? We sit diagonally to each other.’
‘Your desk is on a mezzanine. I don’t spend all my time looking up.’
‘Maybe you’re the one who needs glasses.’
Again, I laugh and he says, ‘Can you keep it down? Someone’s going to call the council.’
‘You’re so rude. Have I not done you two favours? Also, I’m very friendly.’
‘Friendly-ish. Different to how I thought you’d be.’
‘How you judged me you mean? While seeking out photos of me online, dancing on a table with my arse out.’
‘I didn’t mean that. I’m not—’ he winces ‘—I’m not judgemental.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Of course, I am hugely judgemental about some things. Like when people swear at their kids in the supermarket or claim to enjoy Dubai. Or when people wear Crocs in a non-ironic way.’
‘I was waiting for you—’
He raises his hand and says over me, ‘I’d never judge someone on their drinking, partying, or whatever.’
‘I don’t party anymore, and I hardly drink.’
‘Except for when a random colleague offers you one.’ He puts down his empty bottle and reaches for another. With his eyes cast down I’m again distracted by his long, straight eyelashes, even behind the thick lenses. ‘A retired party girl.’
‘I prefer the term reformed.’
‘You don’t miss it, going out-out?’
I know I enjoyed it when I was in it, yet now I can only recall the uncomfortable parts: shivering in lines outside venues, waiting to get served at a bar, filthy club toilets, Uber surges and hangovers that sat at the back of my head for hours the next day. ‘No. I don’t miss it.’
‘Though you are,’ Cian says, ‘technically, out-out right now.’
I swallow so hard, it’s audible. ‘Exactly.’
He gives me one of his small left-side smiles.
‘Anyway,’ I say, with false brightness, ‘tell me about your dad. He was a body-builder?’
‘In his head, he still is.’
I laugh and Cian shakes his head at me. ‘My dad’s a debt adviser for Citizens Advice. The stories he comes home with are tough. No wonder he spends so much time at G-Force Gents.’
‘G-Force Gents,’ I repeat slowly.
‘It’s a muscle gym. Not on your radar?’
‘Funnily enough, no. And you, you also look like someone who wastes their life in the gym.’
He shifts away shyly.
‘When I can move around, yes. Not my dad’s gym.
His place is like men aged fifty-plus bench-pressing their egos and shit.
I miss my gym,’ Cian says, his rumbly voice suddenly whiney.
‘The timeline for my recovery is so vague. I could be stuck indoors for the next two months. Oww.’ He slaps his thigh.
‘I got bitten. Fuck.’ He rubs his leg and whimpers. ‘It hurts.’
‘Your low pain threshold is quite surprising.’
He puts his phone torch on.
‘Don’t shine the light,’ I say. ‘If it’s mosquitoes, you’ll attract them.’
‘Argh.’ He pulls up one leg of his shorts. ‘It’s already swelling. Can you see that?’
‘I prefer to ogle your thighs in my own time.’
‘I can’t believe you said that.’
‘I can’t believe Jimmy’s not forcing you into the office. He hates people working from home.’
‘I’m usually in the office five days a week. There’s nothing more depressing than sitting in my flat on a Zoom call.’ Cian switches off the torch and looks down at his leg. ‘Now I can’t make it to the little Tesco, never mind all the way to Soho. How long were you working from home?’
‘I wasn’t. I was signed off.’
‘Right. Sorry. I didn’t know that.’
‘No. Of course not.’
Why did I have to say that? It’s so unclear and surely just encourages him to make up his own mind – or worse, ask around and get other people’s interpretations of what happened.
‘You drink really slowly,’ he says.
‘I’m not a huge beer drinker.’
‘There’s always wine in my dad’s fridge. However, it’ll take me at least quarter of an hour to get there and back.’
‘No. I should get going.’ I put the bottle by my feet and as I do, I notice his book, The Loneliness Epidemic. ‘Do you need me to get you anything before I go?’
‘A sandwich would be great,’ he says, poker-faced. Then, ‘That was a joke.’
‘Was it?’
He purses his lips as he stares at me straight on.
‘Are you hungry?’ I ask. ‘You are, aren’t you?’
‘I’m fine.’
I dump my bag on the chair as I stand up. ‘What do you want in your sandwich?’
‘It was a joke,’ he protests.
There’s no way I’m not making him one now. ‘If you don’t tell me, I’m going to use whatever I find.’
‘Zoe, no. Zoe? Where are you going?’
Once inside, I search around the unfamiliar kitchen to find bread, then explore the fridge, which is packed with containers of junky take-away food and super healthy stuff, including four heads of celery. Who likes celery this much? There’s also a bottle of wine, which I pull out.
The later I stay up now, the less likely I am to lie awake in bed having an existential crisis till 2 a.m. I pour half a glass, drink it, then refill.
How did I end up here, on a Friday night, making food for a man I barely know. And why is the idea of staying here, with him, so much more appealing than going back to my flat?
Cian almost tips himself off the chair when I come out and hand him the plate. ‘I can’t believe you made me one.’ He gazes up at me, all wide-eyed and grateful. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s just a sandwich,’ I retort, delighted by his reaction.
He takes a bite, then laughs into his hand.
‘What?’ I ask.
He waves a fist then gives me a thumbs up.
‘Cheese and hummus.’ I settle down with my wine, grateful he doesn’t draw attention to me not leaving like I said I would. ‘Underrated classic.’
‘You’re loose with the word classic.’
A sharp sting blooms at the side of my neck. ‘Ouch. How can something so small cause so much pain?’ While rubbing my neck I catch him staring.
‘On second thought,’ he says, as if snapping out of it, ‘I do need to get up.’ He takes another massive bite of the sandwich and puts the plate on the wall, then knocks over a bottle as he swings his leg off the chair and stands using a pair of crutches. ‘Shit.’
I reach down to pick up the bottle.
‘Too much beer,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back.’
While he’s gone, I try to focus on the burgeoning sting rather than the way he looked at me, or the way it made me feel. It’s obvious, he’s obvious. He already knew who I was, he’s been making excuses to message me and now this.
It’s too soon. There’s still so much going on, and I don’t have the energy or headspace to get involved with someone, no matter how casually.
When Cian returns, he lowers himself onto the chair, the exertion clear from the amount of noise he’s making. ‘My leg seizes up if I sit still for too long. Also, I’m not meant to drink while on medication.’ He takes a teaspoon from his pocket. ‘Ultimate cure for mosquito bites.’
As if reminded of its existence, I scratch my own.
‘Stop scratching.’ He angles himself towards me. ‘Move closer.’
‘For what?’ I ask tartly.
‘Trust me.’
I drag my chair closer to his and keep my knees together as he shuffles his chair in. The brace on his leg comes to a stop against me and he beckons for my neck.
‘What are you going to do?’ My voice sounds nervous. ‘Are you going to do something weird?’
As he lifts his hands, an overly floral smell surprises me. My shoulders shoot up as the teaspoon makes contact with the side of my neck. ‘It’s freezing,’ I get out.
‘That’s the idea. I put the metal spoons in the freezer.’
How can it be so challenging to concentrate on cold metal right now. ‘God, you’re throwing off a lot of heat.’
He wide-eyes me then says, ‘Toothpaste also works.’
‘What are we even talking about?’
‘Um.’ He’s still close enough for our legs to touch. ‘Mosquito bites?’
‘Really?’ Though honestly, I could not care less.
He hands me the spoon. ‘That sensation against your skin is—’
‘Is this your idea of foreplay?’
He exhales loudly. ‘You’re very flirtatious.’
‘Weren’t you the one making an excuse to touch me?’
‘I didn’t touch you,’ he says, slightly self-conscious yet almost smiling. ‘Do you do it when you’re nervous or something?’
I want to admit that yes, I am nervous, and yes, I am genuinely flirting.
Instead, I keep hold of the spoon and wish we were still in the moment.
He starts to say something then it’s like it gets caught in his mouth as his expression falters.
‘I can see my dad coming.’ He squints then adds, ‘And judging by his walk, he’s drunker than me. ’
And with that, Cian moves his chair away.