Chapter 15 Toby’s not the messiah, he’s just a supervisor
Toby’s not the messiah, he’s just a supervisor
Sashka is a big fan of Japanese cuisine, except for kakigori—a shaved ice dessert—that she says sounds like kaka gorye which means poop sorrow. So when Dad hands her some curry udon, she inhales it, stopping for brief sniffles.
‘Do you want anything to drink?’ I ask, stroking her head.
‘Omwy if itf ancobol.’ Sniffle.
‘What?’ I ask.
She chews on the noodles and swallows loudly. ‘Only if it’s alcohol.’
I walk to the stairs and shout, ‘Dad, do we have any sake?’
‘There is cooking sherry in the cupboard.’ His head pops up on the landing.
It’ll have to do. Where is Leon’s stash when you need it?
‘What happened?’ I ask tentatively, shuffling backwards and forwards on my chair.
‘So, here I am waiting for him at the opera. Looking great, by the way.’
‘Of course, always.’
‘He texted earlier to say he might be late because he was stuck in the lift.’
‘There was a blackout for about fifteen minutes.’ I avoid mentioning that I was in there with him. I don’t know why, but I have a feeling this information might make it worse.
‘So, he shows up, shirt in hand, but wearing a T-shirt. I sorta laugh because he looked a bit frazzled, and it was cute. I try to lead him in, and he doesn’t move.’
I notice that I am physically on the edge of my seat and shuffle back as Sashka drinks the sherry.
‘And then I remember that he doesn’t like the opera, so maybe after a hard day at work, like, his shirt was off... It probably was an awful day at work.’
Ouch. Ignore the pain pang, Fuko.
‘So, I say, Let’s ditch the opera. It’s probably not even that understandable. It’s Hungarian, for fuck’s sake. And he is not really moving, he just gives me this pathetic smile, and I know immediately what he is going to say.’
‘What does he say?’
‘It’s not going to work out.’ She sniffles again and finishes the wine.
I pour her another one. ‘That’s it?’ I pry.
‘Well, I ask, What do you mean it’s not going to work out? and he says, I think you’re amazing, Alexandra, uses my real name—Alexandra.’
‘Fucker.’
‘Innit?! You’re amazing, Alexandra. I just don’t think this feels right.’
‘What the fuck?’ I grimace at his comment. Why? Why did it happen? ‘What did you say?’
‘I was very mature about it.’
‘Did you shout at him?’
‘Oh yeah, that first. Well, I say shouted... begged him to not leave me, cried. That worked on a couple of guys before.’
‘Did it this time?’
‘No, he just said sorry and walked away.’
‘That’s so fucked up! Did he just leave you there crying?’
‘He did!’
‘Fuck him, Sashka. Who does he think he is? You are smart, funny, and way too pretty for him, by the way. Like, his name and surname are two first names. He has nothing going on for him.’
‘He did go to Oxford.’
‘So did Boris Johnson. That’s not the feat that people think it is.’
‘He is tall and handsome.’
‘Oh please, we can go to Clapham and get you any of those invasive Australians. They are worse than Japanese knotweed.’
‘But he was just so calm and consistent. He updated me about his day and called me in the evenings. I felt like I was finally at peace with him.’ She said it very quietly, her biggest fear coming to the surface.
I noticed a while back that Sashka doesn’t seem to mind being unlucky. That’s not what brings her distress. Uncertainty, confusion, chaos—those are the things that are the most significant to her. Having someone bring her stability is what peace is for her. That matters more than any great fortune.
‘Fuck him, Sashka, honestly. He is just not worth it. I don’t know what he could bring into anyone’s life but turmoil.
Like even at work, he actively makes people’s lives more difficult for a joke.
He keeps sending IT team phishing e-mails that send them to the cyber security training page.
He uses his LinkedIn to review restaurants but writes the reviews in the same format those grindset hustlers use talk about their achievements. He is an agent of havoc.’
Sashka finally cracks a smile. ‘And you are right. He does have two names instead of a surname.’
She finishes another glass of sherry and leaves it to the side.
‘I’m such a shit friend.’ Sashka groans as she wipes the black streaks off her face.
‘What? Why?’
‘I thought that maybe Toby started fancying you or something.’
‘What?’ I ask with a snicker, feeling my guts twist.
‘When you were dancing... I don’t know. Ignore me. Obviously, it was doomed if I started thinking something was happening between the two of you.’
‘Never.’ I hope she didn’t notice the ever-so-slight break in my voice.
‘Who needs fuckass boys when I have my Fuko?’ Sashka lays her head on my shoulder.
Sashka might not have the best of luck with men, but over my dead body will she ever think that she doesn’t have the best luck when it comes to friends.