Chapter 10
Arthur
It had nearly been an hour since Sam finally stopped gushing about Poppy and left my room to get ready. I decided to take the evening off and make the most of the fact that it was only the first week of Semester 1, you know, before the mass of work started to pile up and come bombing after you like that scene in Indiana Jones where he’s legging it away from a boulder. With that in mind, I was the epitome of student health. I made a chicken pot noodle, grabbed a can of Coke and a bag of sweet n’ salty popcorn, put the shiny disc in the DVD player, and kicked back on the bed to watch my favourite film, Alien. I was manically shoving handful after handful of popcorn into my mouth as I got closer to the chest-buster scene, (if you know, you know), preparing myself for the adrenaline rush as you take your first look at the slimy xenomorph, when my excitement is abruptly crushed by a loud bang. My door swings open, and the intense smell of Lynx Africa intrudes my nostrils before I can even see Sam. I’m honestly surprised the man doesn’t have a cartoon odour cloud tracing after him.
“Seriously?” I say over a mouthful of popcorn, “You had to pick the chest-buster of all scenes to barge in on?”
Sam flickers his eyes towards the screen, “Never seen it. Anyway, I need to ask you so-”
I interrupt him in shock, “How have you never seen Alien?”
He shrugs, “I figured it was like ET so I just never bothered.”
ET…ET.
I glare at him in horror, “Just because they both involve Aliens? Sam, I don’t even know what to say to you right now.” As much as I’d love to go on a rant as to why ET and Alien couldn’t be any more different, I decide to let it slide because it genuinely looks like he’ll spontaneously combust if he doesn’t tell me what he really busted in here to say.
“Poppy’s just messaged to tell me she’d be more comfortable if she brings her friend along,” he says with a grimace.
I reluctantly pause the TV and turn my attention towards him. “Oh, how come?”
He looks pale now, “I think she’s getting cold feet,” he starts manically pacing my room, “or worse, she’s getting her friend to scope me out, checking I’m not some sort of sex pest.”
“Well, that’s kind of sensible I guess,” I add.
Sam darts his eyes towards me, a deep frown etched on his forehead, “I’m obviously not a pervert though.”
I hold up my hands in defence, “I know that, and you know that. But for all she knows, you could have ulterior motives. I mean, she did only meet you today.” I know Sam wouldn’t dare hurt anyone, but I can definitely see it from her point of view. When Libby is old enough to start dating, I’d feel a lot more at ease knowing that she brought her friend with her initially, you can never be too careful these days. I can imagine the wave of ‘not all men’ comments I’d receive for saying this, but unfortunately, the proof has been in the pudding an uncomfortable amount of times in recent years. It’s not all men, of course not. But it’s certainly too many.
Sam’s phone light’s up with a text which immediately steals his attention.
“You know, I do feel kind of bad for her friend though, having to third wheel with you guys,” I say, popping another piece of popcorn into my mouth.
It’s after I say this that the corner of Sam’s mouth twitches.
“…I don’t think you need to feel too bad,” he replies with a devious smirk.
Why does he look like he’s plotting someone’s murder?
“Poppy has just asked if I can bring a friend with me,” he says, eyes boring into mine.
After a moment of blissful ignorance, I put two and two together.
No. Oh god, please no.
Sam can obviously spot the colour drain from my face.
“Come on Arthur, please. It won’t be for long. I just want to see how this goes,” he insists.
I try to quench the panic rising through my chest, “is there no one else you can take? I mean, you’ve seen my track record with socialising.”
“I can hardly take George, can I?,” he laughs.
Taking your stoner flatmate on a date does sound like something from a sitcom.
He fixes his eyes on me, and a look of empathy washes over his face. “Seriously, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important to me mate. It might not even come to anything and that’s fine, but I won’t know unless I try.” He swallowed, “If you’re 100% sure that you don’t want to, I understand. I’m not going to put you in a situation that makes you feel shitty, but you never know, you might actually enjoy it. Just a casual opportunity to meet new people you know? No pressure or strings attached for you.”
I crack my knuckles one by one and take a deep breath.
Could this be a good thing for me?
Granted, the most of me wants to run to the toilet and bring up the contents of my stomach at the sheer thought of it. Yet another part of me wants to take the plunge and just see. As Sam said, it’s not a real date after all, no strings attached. Plus, I don’t want to let him down to be honest, especially after the incident.
Before I can change my mind, I manage to mumble an “okay.”
Sam’s eyes light up, “yeah?!”
I nod.
He quite literally beams, “Honestly Arthur, thanks mate, I really appreciate it. Drinks on me!”
I give him a brief smile. For someone who doesn’t drink all that often, I think I’m going to need a few tonight…
◆◆◆
Whose god-awful idea was it for me to tag along on a double date?
After Sam somehow convinced me to come with him tonight, he informed me I only had about 15 minutes to get ready. Just enough time to get dressed, not nearly enough time to mentally hype myself up for the evening.
I stood in front of the mirror and managed to squeeze in a few deep breaths, inhale, exhale. I’d opted for dark skinny jeans, a burgundy sweater, combat boots, and my aviator jacket that I managed to miraculously salvage in the wash. I didn’t know if I’d ‘dressed up’ enough, but it was all I could throw together. I reminded myself though that this wasn’t a date. Just a casual evening, casual.
Almost as if hearing my thoughts, Sam appears at the door and says, “You look great, come on,” smiling and ushering me out of my room.
We make our way out through the front door and head towards Charlton Court ready to meet Poppy and the mystery girl. The sky is dusk, the path is dimly lit by streetlights and the air is absolutely bitter, I instantly regret leaving my beanie and gloves back at the flat. As we draw closer, I find myself hopelessly trying to regulate my nerves by taking extra sharp breaths, but the crisp air burns my throat with every inhale. Sam gives me a reassuring nudge as we reach the main entrance of the building. I glance nervously around the area, no girls to be seen. I obviously don’t want Sam to get stood up, but the impulsive thoughts creep in and in that moment, I hope Poppy turns up without her friend so I can turn back around and immerse myself in my bubble of comfort, aka, my bedroom. A good 5 minutes pass and I genuinely think I’m starting to lose all sensation in my fingers as they turn a deep plum shade.
“I wish they’d bloody let us wait inside,” Sam says, blowing into his cupped palms. For obvious security reasons, you can only get into the building if you have a key fob, but you’d honestly think the guy in there was guarding the chamber of secrets judging by the death stare he’s currently giving me and Sam through the window. It’s like he can smell that we’re not from this accommodation. I mean, at least he’s doing his job. That’s more that can be said for the guy who’s supposed to man the reception at Twerton. Sam and I were coming back from a food shop a few days ago when a notification pinged on my phone to tell me that I had a parcel waiting in reception. The main reception was empty when we arrived, with nothing but an empty chair and a half-drunk mug of coffee. It wasn’t until we gave up and started walking back across the courtyard towards our block that Sam jabbed me in the stomach with his elbow, whisper-shouting “Look!” I peered across the other side of the courtyard, and it was then that I spotted the man who was supposed to be our main security guard, the person who would deter any potential trespassers, thieves, or murderers, snorting some kind of substance that let’s just say…doesn’t look a whole lot dissimilar to flour.
The more time that passes, the more uneasy I feel. It’s like that feeling of anticipation you get when you’ve got an appointment towards the end of the day. It doesn’t matter if it’s 1 hour or 6 hours away, it feels physically impossible to do anything until you’ve had the appointment.
Sam looks extremely impatient now, “She’s 15 minutes late now, do you think she’s tapped out? We’ve already missed the bus that we were going to get.” As uncomfortable as I feel right now, I’m starting to feel a little sad for Sam. Surely, she’s going to show?
“Maybe she’s just running late. Call her,” I add.
With shaking hands, he grabs his phone from his pocket and dials Poppy. I can hear the sequence of repetitive rings and then a perky Irish voice says, “Hi you’ve reached Poppy! I can’t come to the phone right now but please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” Shit.
“Right, well.,” Sam says through a dry cough, “guess that’s that then.” I give him a sympathetic smile and then turn to follow him as he begins to walk away.
We only make it a few steps down the road before I hear a high-pitched, “WAIT!”
Sam and I both dart around in unison to see a dark silhouette in the distance clopping after us, followed by another silhouette sheepishly traipsing behind.
The girl is audibly out of breath, her words amalgamating into one as she draws closer to us, “I’m so sorry it was all my fault that we’re late! I was wearing one dress and then I bent down to put my heels on and then it ripped right down the crotch along with my knickers and I thought I CANNOT show up like that, so I put on another dress, and then I was hungry so I went and quickly wolfed down some leftover chow Mein from the fridge and then I spilled that all down the front of that dress, so I had to get changed AGAIN and so yeah”, she finally takes a breath, “it wasn’t Poppy’s fault”. I can just about make out what they look like as they stop to stand in front of us, the streetlight illuminating them.
Wait, what?
She’s engulfed in an oversized black fur coat that practically swallows her up. Her golden-flecked eyes are smoked and lined unusually; she almost looks like a siren. Her hair is a mass of wild Brown curls shoved into a top knot on her head and her heels are also huge, one wrong move and she could easily break her neck. She’s pretty, in a manic pixie kind of way…and she makes me want to bolt down the road.
Ember.
Sam’s date is Ember’s flatmate. The universe is having me on I swear.
“Hey Sam, so sorry we’re late,” the girl wearing a sparkly teal jumpsuit and platform boots says apologetically as she steps into the light. I’m presuming she’s Poppy, considering her Irish voice perfectly matches the accent we heard in the voicemail earlier.
“It’s all good, sounds like you had a bit of a mad evening then,” Sam chuckles, but I can see the relief on his face.
Poppy raises her eyebrows and nods in agreement as if communicating a ‘you think?’ face. She raises an arm around her friend now, and cheerily says, “Sam, this absolute delight here is my flatmate Ember, and who is your friend-?,” her eyes go wide in a sudden realisation just as Ember turns and locks eyes with me, her mouth in a wide O Shape.
By the look of horror on Poppy’s face, she obviously recognises me, which only means one thing, she must have been there that night too.
I feel sick.
I didn’t recognise her from the night, she must have been facing the other way round when it happened or I missed her whilst I was, you know, darting for the toilets in sheer embarrassment.
Sam flickers his eyes from me to Poppy, to Ember, and then back to me. “Hold on, am I missing something? Do you guys know each other?”
You could say that.
It takes a good few seconds, but I can see the cogs beginning to turn in Sam’s brain as the name ‘Ember’ clearly registers from all the rants I’ve had over the past 2 weeks.
“Wait- aren’t you two on the same course?,” Sam asks, wagging his finger between Ember and me.
We both nod in unison.
“Oh, what a funny coincidence!” Poppy chirps manically, evidently trying to lighten the situation. “It’s nice to meet you Arthur,” she shakes my hand.
I realised that neither Sam nor I told her my name, which means Ember’s spoken about me. I begin to wonder what she said, but I can make an educated guess. Probably how much of an asshole I was in that seminar.
Sam flashes me a knowing look. A look that says, ‘You can leave if you want, I understand.’
It’s so difficult. My fight or flight is on absolute overdrive right now. I want to do what’s within my usual basic instincts. I want to run, I want to hide, I want comfort. The thing about anxiety is that’s all we ever truly want, comfort. We don’t want to be a burden and we certainly don’t mean to be. We don’t want to sound like a broken record, we just want people to understand, support us, and tell us that everything will be okay. Reality is though, we know things aren’t always going to be that way. You just have to push through the challenging times as best as you can and reap the benefits of the small rewards. I can wish for the most perfect and easy-breezy life that I want, but in actual fact, I guess what I’m wishing for is a succession of ‘happy’ moments. I want a soft bed, popcorn, and a kick-ass sci-fi movie, I want to step into a warm shower after the bitterness of being outside in the winter, I want to piss myself laughing with friends over the most stupid stuff, I want the little comforts, even if they’re fleeting. I don’t want to feel the way I do now, fearful. It’s not even the concept of Ember being here and simply existing that is causing me grief, it’s who I become when I’m around her, a complete deer in the headlights.
Not to sound like one of Sam’s philosophy lecturers, but could this be the universe giving me a second chance to stop making a mess of things? Maybe I’m being stupid, maybe it’s pure coincidence, but I can’t turn my back this time, I just can’t, I won’t.