Chapter 2 #2
I don’t answer that either. In a roundabout way, it’s got me here. Standing in a bar I don’t particularly like, with a man who is trying very hard to make me be his wingman.
‘Look,’ he says, softening slightly. ‘I’m not saying you have to love it. Just… try.’
‘Okay, okay,’ I say. ‘Let me see if I can spot anyone who might want to talk to us.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ he replies.
We don’t move immediately. There’s a moment where we both stand there, glancing around, looking for someone who won’t be offended by our presence.
I notice two women, maybe around the forty mark, the two of them standing at a table, facing out into the bar, their eyes scanning the room as they talk.
‘These two look like they might be open to chat,’ I say reluctantly. ‘On the left.’
‘What time?’ he asks.
‘What?’
‘What time?’
‘What ti—? Oh, for fuck’s sake. Ten o’clock.’
‘Those two?’ he says, like he was expecting something else.
‘Do you want me to talk to them or not?’ I check.
‘Go on then, show me how it’s done,’ he replies. ‘Go over there on your own, work your magic, and I’ll catch up.’
‘D—’ He shoves me before I can finish what I’m saying. ‘Hank. Come on.’
‘No, go on, if you’re so good at this, and I’m the reason we’re not pulling, then go ahead, prove it.’
Pulling. Ugh. I hate the thought of the two of us being out on the pull together. I want to help him, really, I do, but participating in… this, whatever this is (I’m not calling it pulling) feels wrong.
‘Fine – I’m actually quite good at this,’ I remind him.
‘You are, eh?’
‘I am, because I know that the first rule of approaching people is the same as the first rule of comedy,’ I point out.
‘What’s tha—?’
‘Timing,’ I interrupt him with a smug smile. ‘Watch how it’s done.’
I take a deep breath, not because I’m nervous, more because my patience for the evening’s events has run out.
‘Hi,’ I say, catching their attention without interrupting their conversation. ‘Sorry – quick question. Is this place always this loud, or have I come on a special night?’
They both look at me, then at each other, then back to me.
‘It’s always like this,’ the brunette says, smiling.
‘I thought it looked like a place for a quiet drink but I guess I misjudged the place,’ I say.
‘You definitely have,’ the other one – the redhead – adds. ‘It’s chaos in here.’
‘I don’t mind a little chaos,’ I reply – because usually I don’t. ‘Look at my hair.’
I point at my messy hair. Short on the sides, purposefully messy on top.
That gets a laugh. A real one, not just a polite one.
‘First time here?’ the brunette asks.
I nod.
‘Your last?’ the redhead jokes.
‘We’ll have to see,’ I reply. ‘What about you? Regulars?’
‘Hell no,’ she says quickly. ‘A friend dragged us here.’
I smile. Hank is going to be fuming. He thought I was going to be some pumped-up chunk of eye candy – his words, not mine – a ‘bit of beef’ to attract the women in his direction. It goes to show, talking to the right people, in the right way – things just click.
‘Same,’ I say, with a small nod back towards Hank, who is hovering far enough away to pretend he’s not waiting for an opening.
Hank takes this as his cue to wander over.
‘Evening, ladies,’ Hank says.
I don’t know why, but his use of ‘ladies’ makes me cringe for them. I don’t know why, they are ladies, it’s more the way he said it.
‘Hi,’ the brunette says again, polite but now slightly more guarded.
‘This one boring your ears off?’ Hanks checks.
‘Not at all,’ the redhead replies.
‘What do you ladies do?’ he asks, then, before they have a chance to answer, ‘I’ve got my own construction company. He sells video games.’
I sigh. I big him up, he plays me down.
‘Erm, I’m a gymnastics teacher,’ the redhead tells us.
‘I’m an A & E nurse,’ the other adds.
‘Wow, do you have a referral scheme?’ I joke.
They laugh.
‘She was on shift once, when I sprained my ankle,’ the redhead says. ‘Couldn’t have been in safer hands.’
‘I’d love to find out,’ Hank says.
I turn to look at him, unable to stop my eyebrows from shooting up, because what does he mean? Look at his face, I don’t even think he knows what he meant, I think he just thought that it sounded good.
‘You want to end up in A & E?’ the brunette checks in disbelief.
‘He’s going the right way about it, isn’t he?’ I joke.
They laugh, but I can tell that we’re losing them.
‘How do you two know each other?’ the redhead asks, glancing between us.
‘We live together,’ Hank tells her.
It’s funny, I’ve spent most of the evening wishing he would say less, now I want him to say more.
‘Oh – not like that,’ he quickly adds. ‘It’s been years since we slept in the same bed – decades even.’
I blow every drop of air from my lungs.
‘We should probably get back to our friends,’ the brunette tells us. ‘They’re waiting for us on the dance floor.’
‘I’ll keep an eye on your drinks,’ Hank calls after them. ‘I’ll watch them like a hawk.’
There’s no way they’re coming back for those drinks. I’d be surprised if they even came to the bar again.
He turns to me.
‘I made that a bit weird, didn’t I?’ he says.
‘Just a bit,’ I tell him. ‘Don’t tell people that we live together.’
‘But we do,’ he reminds me.
Believe me, I know, and I’m not enjoying it at all.
‘Then maybe don’t mention that I slept in your bed when I was a kid,’ I point out. ‘Not without the one crucial piece of information that stops it being weird: you’re my dad!’
‘Keep your voice down,’ he tells me. ‘If people know I’m your dad, they’ll know how old I am.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’ I reply.
‘I’ll remind you that you said that when you’re in your fifties,’ he replies, keeping his voice as low as he can.
Hank – Dad – exhales, long and slow.
‘Well, we might not be having much luck, but it’s nice to spend time together, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘Another beer?’
‘I’ll get them,’ I reply. ‘Stay here – try not to get in trouble.’
‘No promises,’ he says with a laugh.
It would be nice to spend time with my dad, under more normal circumstances, but finding myself living with him again was never part of my plan, and I’m sure it wasn’t part of his either, even if he is relatively newly single.
He’s taking our temporary circumstances as a sign that we should help each other out.
Spend as much time together as we can. I love him – he’s my dad, and he’s always been a great one – but this new dynamic is too weird.
We’re not bros who go out drinking together, we’re father and son.
But I don’t think he’s going to settle until he finds someone – and he seems hell-bent on finding someone for me too, but I was doing just fine without his help.
I spot the answer to his prayers, and mine, behind the bar. It’s not a person, it’s a poster.
I tip my head slightly to read the details, thanks to the wonky angle it’s been stuck to the wall at.
There’s an over-fifties singles night, here, tomorrow night. A fun, casual event with drinks and mingling. No pressure. It actually says that – little does it know that the pressure is on, because I need this to work. I need to get my life back.
‘I thought I’d stand with you, I feel like a creep, over there on my own,’ he says as he joins me.
I don’t say anything. My eyes are still fixed on the poster, like it’s the key to everything.
‘What?’ Hank says, following my line of sight, not realising what I’m looking at. ‘Has someone slipped something in your drink?’
‘No, no, I’m fine,’ I reply. ‘I was just thinking, maybe this isn’t your scene.’
‘This place?’ he checks.
‘This crowd,’ I reply.
He looks at me.
‘Oh, but it’s yours, I suppose?’ he asks. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’
‘No,’ I say quickly – hell no. ‘Which is why I’m thinking we might need a different approach.’
He raises an eyebrow.
‘Go on…’
I nod vaguely towards the poster.
‘Something more… targeted.’
He turns, squinting slightly to read it.
‘Over-fifties?’ he says. ‘You’re joking.’
‘I’m not,’ I reply.
‘That’s not me,’ he says.
‘It’s quite literally you,’ I remind him.
He huffs. I don’t say anything for a moment. I give the idea a chance to sink in.
‘You’re closer to fifty than you are to this,’ I point out.
‘You’re not that far off either,’ he replies.
I’m thirty-four – young enough to be (and actually be) his son.
He studies the poster again.
‘No pressure,’ he reads aloud. ‘That sounds like we’re all desperate.’
Is he not? I know I’m desperate for him to find someone.
We stand there for a moment, both looking at it.
‘You really think I should go to that?’ he asks.
‘I think,’ I say carefully, ‘that it might be more your pace.’
‘My pace,’ he repeats.
‘People in the same stage of life,’ I say. ‘People who are expecting you. No more pretending to be my mate instead of my dad.’
He looks at me.
‘You’re both – but it’s not coming across that way when you talk to people.’
‘Fair,’ he replies. ‘Will you come with me?’
‘If that’s what it takes to get you there,’ I say. ‘Why not?’
He glances at me, something amused flickering across his face.
‘You’re serious.’
‘I am,’ I reply. ‘Hopefully the music will be quieter.’
‘And you say I’m old,’ he says with a laugh. ‘Come on then, you’ve been a good lad, I’ll buy you a McDonald’s on the way home.’
I laugh too.
‘Best dad ever,’ I joke.
Do I want to attend an over-fifties dating night? No. But do I want to come back here? Also no. I do want to get my life back, though, and that’s not going to happen until Dad finds one of his own. The sooner I help him, the sooner I won’t have to do things like this.
I can handle being his wingman for just one more night. Right…?