Chapter Forty-Six
That evening, Dylan phoned.
‘Hey,’ I said, lowering the volume on the television.
‘How’s you?’ he asked.
‘Oh, you know.’ I found myself doing a see-saw motion with one hand, even though Dylan couldn’t see. ‘Muddling along.’
‘The Golden Oldies?’
‘Yes, although I’m thinking about changing that name to the BOBs.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Bad-tempered Old Buggers.’ I chuckled into the handset.
‘Ah, yes. I remember when my parents behaved in an unpleasant way. I privately called them the GOGs – Grumpy Old Gits.’
I laughed.
‘I mustn’t complain. Better to have them here than not.’
‘Exactly,’ Dylan agreed. He paused. A regrouping gesture. ‘I’ve booked tomorrow off work. I thought I’d tag Friday onto Saturday and Sunday and enjoy a long weekend. Are you available tomorrow for lunch? I know a lovely pub that is dog-friendly. We can take Bess and Charlie along.’
‘Oh,’ I said, my disappointment evident. ‘That would have been wonderful. However, I’ve promised to take my parents out for lunch tomorrow.’
‘Ah, okay. That’s a shame. It will keep.’
There was something about Dylan’s tone that caught my attention.
‘What will keep?’
There was a pause at the other end of the line. Suddenly I had a bad vibe.
‘I wanted to have… a chat,’ he said carefully.
My heart skipped a beat.
‘That sounds rather ominous,’ I said, trying to ignore the chill that had settled around my heart. ‘Why don’t you chat to me now, instead?’ I said lightly.
‘No, I’d rather do it face-to-face.’
Do what?
Well, isn’t it obvious, Maggie? said my inner voice. This sounds like the bullet to me.
Oh God. Was it? Or… wait. Maybe it was more to do with the intimacy thing. Or rather, the lack of it. Perhaps Dylan wanted to have a face-to-face about why our ‘relationship’ had yet to get off the ground.
I cleared my throat.
‘Er, I think I know what you want to talk about, Dylan,’ I said carefully.
There was pause before he spoke.
‘You do?’ He sounded nervous.
‘Yeah…’ I trailed off. How to word this? ‘Have you thought about…’
Should I mention the medication word?
Hey, Dylan, there’s a new opium-based medicine on the market. It’s called Poppycock.
Should I offer to buy it for him? I felt sure it could be bought over the counter.
‘Do you think I should see someone?’ Dylan asked.
‘Only if you’re worried.’
‘To be honest, I am worried. It’s been going on for too long. It started not long after I met you.’
Wow. Well, they said honesty was the best policy. Although I felt a bit rocked to hear not long after I met you. Hopefully that was an unfortunate coincidence, and that my sagging jawline hadn’t been a major turn off.
‘Well, as I said, if you’re worried, it’s best to talk to a professional.’
‘It’s not that I’m worried,’ he said carefully. ‘It’s more a case of not knowing where to start. I mean, I’ve gone down the reasoning path. Addressed the situation. Had a conversation, as they say.’
I had a sudden mental picture of Dylan, in his bed, trying to reason with his penis.
C’mon, old fella. Don’t do this to me. Maggie is a nice lady. I’m sure you’ll like her when you meet her.
I shook away the mental image.
‘Do you think a counsellor would help?’ asked Dylan.
Another unexpected vision popped into my head. Dylan on a therapist’s couch. Trousers down. Therapist addressing said penis.
‘Now then, Mr Willy. I appreciate this is difficult for you. After all, the subject isn’t one that can be raised easily.’
Oh God, stop it, Maggie.
‘I’m sure a counsellor is a good starting point,’ I assured.
‘Perhaps the counsellor could then potentially speak to a doctor on my behalf.’
‘Can’t you see the doctor yourself? I mean, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. No biggie.’ Oops. An unfortunate choice of words there, Maggie. ‘I mean, why don’t you tell the doctor yourself,’ I said hastily. I adopted a silly voice to lighten the mood. ‘Hey, doc! I need some medication to put a twinkle in my wrinkle.’ Best to joke about it. Keep the topic light.
From the other end of the line came a stunned silence.
‘Er, I think we may be at cross purposes, Maggie.’
Eh? Now it was my turn to go silent. Had I got the wrong end of the stick?
More puns, Maggie?
Oh dear. This was nothing to do with impotency and everything to do with my first worry. Dylan didn’t want to see me anymore. Unlike a coward, he didn’t want to send a dump text, preferring to do it face-to-face.
‘The problem I have, Maggie’ – Dylan continued – ‘is to do with my sister-in-law.’
Ah, Jill. The woman who’d given me dark looks at Terry’s wedding.
‘What about her?’ I asked in a small voice.
Dylan didn’t miss a beat.
‘She’s living with me.’