Chapter 4 #2
‘You know we can leave, right?’ I say.
I know, I went to all this trouble to get her here, but I’m looking for an excuse to ditch now.
She looks at me, then at the room, then back at me.
‘No, no,’ she says. ‘That’s okay. We’re here now, aren’t we?’
Ugh. We are. I’ll just have to stick it out a little longer.
‘This feels like musical chairs.’ I kick off my conversation with the next man.
‘Steady on, girl, I don’t think you have to sit on anyone, but I can’t say I’m not game,’ the man who is old enough to be my dad replies.
He’s got to be at least sixty. He’s wearing tweed, giving country manor vibes – I suppose I should be flattered, that he spoke to me like I was a horse. He probably loves them.
I’m so, so relieved when the bell to move on sounds almost right away.
There’s another man. Then another. We do the same dance each time – name, job, sometimes age, general pleasantries.
It feels easier, once we get into a rhythm, like work.
When tasks are predictable I find them more manageable.
Yes, I love the problem-solving side of my job, getting creative, putting out fires, but there’s a lot to be said for comfortable, predictable, easy-to-knock-off-the-list jobs. This will be over before I know it.
The bell sounds again and another man turns up.
‘You’re not over fifty.’
He doesn’t say it in an accusatory way. He doesn’t sound particularly surprised either. He’s simply stating a fact.
I look at him.
‘Neither are you,’ I reply.
He looks about my age. Early thirties – mid-thirties tops. Dark hair, smouldering eyes peering out from under the heaviness of his brows. There’s something about the way he looks at me, I don’t know, like he’s weighing me up, assessing the situation, trying to work out what I’m doing here.
‘I’m glad someone has finally noticed,’ he says.
He’s a good-looking bloke. He’s nailing the tall, dark and handsome brief. He’s got broad shoulders on top of a body that you can just tell is in great shape. Exactly the kind of guy who you know your mum would be happy to see you bring home – so I bet he’s going down a treat here.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asks me.
‘What are you doing here?’ I reply.
‘I asked you first…’
I hesitate for a second. A slow grin spreads across his face.
‘You’re into older men, eh?’
‘No!’ I say quickly. ‘My gosh, no.’
‘Well, that’s not very nice,’ he teases.
‘What? I didn’t mean it like that, I just mean, no, I’m not here because I fancy older men,’ I insist.
‘Are you’ – he leans in, lowering his voice – ‘looking for a sugar daddy?’
I don’t know if he’s just a dick or he’s actively enjoying teasing me but I’m not here for it. Well, two can play at that game.
‘So you’re here looking for a wealthy older woman to take care of you?’ I reply. ‘Have you never thought of, you know, getting a job instead?’
‘Do I look unemployed to you?’ he replies.
He’s wearing a pair of black trousers and a white shirt with the top few buttons undone. Truthfully? No. However…
‘Yes,’ I say simply, without missing a beat.
‘Well, it’s a night out, not work, so I’m dressed for the occasion. You look like you’re dressed for work… unless you are working?’
My jaw drops, betraying me.
I think my red dress looks great. Not too formal, not too night out-ish. Whatever reason he’s here, sparring with me is clearly the highlight for him. Annoyingly, it might be for me too.
‘I’m here with my dad,’ he tells me.
‘I’m here with my mum,’ I reply.
He laughs.
‘At least come up with your own excuse.’
‘So yours is an excuse?’ I check. ‘Good to know. I am, in fact, telling the truth, because that’s my mum over there, with that letchy old man touching her arm.’
‘Well, I am, in fact, telling the truth too,’ he says, copying my words, and attempting to mimic my voice. ‘And that letchy old man is my dad.’
Shit.
‘I didn’t mean… It’s just… he’s touching her arm and… I didn’t mean old, like old, I meant older, I…’
‘Your arms must be shattered from all that digging,’ he points out, trying but struggling to contain his smile. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell him what you said. They actually look like they’re getting on really well.’
Now that I’m actually looking, he’s right, they do look like they’re getting along.
His dad looks friendly, chatty, confident – and my mum, honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her light up in front of a man like this.
I’m too young to remember what she was like with my dad, but my stepdad never made her smile beam and her eyes sparkle.
I edge closer to them. The man – the son – follows me.
‘Mum?’ I say. ‘You okay?’
‘Oh, Sammie, darling, yes,’ she replies. ‘This is Hank. Hank, this is my daughter, Sammie.’
‘Nice to meet you, Sammie,’ Hank says, offering me his hand to shake.
‘And who is this?’ Mum asks, nodding towards Hank’s son.
I open my mouth to speak – but I don’t actually know who he is.
‘That’s my lad,’ Hank tells her. ‘Nico.’
The news doesn’t really have time to land before our host’s voice booms through the speakers again.
‘Okay, boys and girls, now it’s time to grab the person you hit it off with the most, pull them for a chat somewhere private, and let the magic happen,’ he announces.
I hate almost everything about that.
‘Shall we get a drink?’ I hear my mum say.
I turn to her and realise she isn’t talking to me – she’s talking to Hank. Well, that’s unexpected.
‘I’d love to,’ he replies. ‘But I’m buying.’
As everyone else pairs off it becomes clear that Nico and I are going to be the only two left without ‘a chair’. So we may as well sit with each other.
I watch Mum and Hank grab their drinks and then drift off towards a quieter corner, to a booth where they can talk, just the two of them.
They sit down and I notice that they’re already leaning in towards each other in that unmistakable way people do when they have decided, either consciously or not, that they want to keep talking and see where it goes.
And I’m stuck here with Nico.
He glances after them, then back at me.
‘Come on then, I’ll get you one,’ Nico tells me.
‘Wow, thanks,’ I say sarcastically, because he makes it sound like he’s doing me a favour.
‘I don’t have to, if you don’t want,’ he points out. ‘We can sit together or we can sit alone. No one here wants the two under-fifties milling around ruining the atmosphere. We’ve been grouped by default.’
‘Oh, well, if it’s by default, then I guess I don’t have a choice,’ I reply – also sarcastic. ‘But I can get my own drink.’
‘Suit yourself,’ he replies.
‘What can I get you, mate?’ the barman asks him.
‘A Hugo Spritz, please,’ he replies.
Nico notices me staring at him.
‘What?’ he says. ‘A man can like a cocktail.’
‘It’s not that,’ I reply.
‘What can I get you?’ the barman asks me.
‘A Hugo Spritz, please,’ I reply. I turn to Nico. ‘It’s my favourite.’
He smiles.
We both wait for our drinks and then take them to one of the tall tables with stools around them. It’s quieter over this side of the room.
‘So, trying to find your mum a boyfriend, eh?’ Nico asks.
‘Yes, well, sort of,’ I reply. ‘She’s been alone since my stepdad died, and I’m not sure she knows what she wants to do next. She decided to downsize, so she sold her house, and while she’s figuring out what she wants to do next, she’s living with me.’
‘Ah,’ he says simply. ‘Say no more. Living with my dad again isn’t working out for me either.’
There aren’t many people my age who understand what an odd situation this is to be in.
‘It’s not that I don’t love her, or love having her around,’ I insist.
‘It’s just that having your parent around, 24/7…’ he continues.
‘It’s like being watched all the time,’ I say, finishing the thought. ‘And no matter how old you are, or how grown-up, they still see you as a kid.’
‘A kid who needs advice,’ he replies. ‘I get it. But, ironically, it’s my dad who needs the help. Hence tonight.’
I look over at them again. They do seem to be getting on well – too well, perhaps. I mean, what do we even know about this guy?
‘So, does your dad meet many women this way?’ I ask.
Nico frowns.
‘No – does your mum?’
‘No. She didn’t know she was coming. I had to trick her here.’
‘It’s my dad’s first time too – but I didn’t trick him. That’s not very nice,’ he points out.
‘Well, my mum is a nice lady, she’s not used to picking people up in bars.’
I don’t mean to suggest his dad is the type, but it does sound that way, just a little, if you want it to.
‘But… you are? So that’s why you brought her?’ he replies.
Okay, so he’s chosen to take it the wrong way.
‘I do just fine without picking people up in bars,’ I say confidently.
‘Popular, eh?’
His cheeky smile makes me want to punch him.
‘You can cut that out,’ I insist.
‘What?’ he replies innocently.
‘That neggy flirting. It might work for lads in their twenties, but I was never a fan, and you might be the youngest man here, but you’re too old for that nonsense.’
He laughs at me.
‘What?’
‘You think I’m flirting with you?’ he asks. He waits a few seconds for the embarrassment to start to take hold of me. ‘I’m not flirting with you.’
Shit. I didn’t mean that I thought he was into me, just that his charm offensive was, well, offensive.
I need to try to regain some cool, to walk it back, to make sure he knows that I didn’t think he was interested in me, because I worry that somehow he might misinterpret it to think I’m interested in him, because I’m not, I’m really not.
I’d sooner shag the guy who thought I was a ‘lady plumber’.
I glance over at my mum again, hoping to find her subtly giving me a signal that she wants to leave, but she’s far too engrossed in Hank.
‘Give them some privacy,’ Nico tells me.
‘I’m just checking on her,’ I reply. ‘Don’t you worry about your dad?’
‘Not when he’s talking to people, no, obviously not,’ he says. ‘He likes talking to people. He’s one of those blokes who can strike up a conversation in a queue and somehow leave with someone’s life story and an invitation to their kid’s wedding.’