tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73222106134864680272024-03-13T09:44:51.910+00:00Confessions of Hopeless Daters | UK Love, Dating and Lifestyle BlogFollow Ella Ivey and other characters in their wonderful world of dating.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-44421288405774714622013-09-01T21:42:00.002+01:002013-09-01T21:42:20.065+01:00Midsummer Night's Nightmare<div>
<em>Continuation of <a href="http://www.hopelessdaters.com/2012/11/the-scary-wives-of-windsor.html" target="_blank">The Scary Wives of Windsor</a></em><br />
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Why did I get so brave? Where on earth did that come from? I've never had enemies before and now the Queen Bee and her simple minded minions are staring at me like in some sort of Italian Mafia film. I bet they're planning on how best to get rid of me. A faint smile forms on my lips as I start to imagine their thought process. They'll probably strangle me with a neck chain made entirely of Swarovski crystals. Then dump the evidence because they can easily get ten other ones.<br />
I take another sip of champagne and try to look for Clara. She hasn't been seen since the dancing incident and now I'm worried that these Scary Wives of Windsor have got to her.<br />
And where the hell is Chloe? Shouldn't she be here by now? I've heard of fashionably late but it's almost midnight and this is her boyfriends' birthday party, for goodness sake. Not that I care what he's doing or how he's feeling at the moment. <br />
My eyes wander over to his direction. He's talking to an elderly gentleman who actually looks a lot like him. Probably his father. He does look good, doesn't he. Anthony I mean, not his ageing father. He looks so smart in black tie - like some sort of leader. And his hair. I love his hair. I want to touch his hair. </div>
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In that instant he looks in my direction, then averts his eyes quickly. Fine! Play games if you want to. See if I care. Urgh, this is stupid. What point am I making by being here? I'm standing like a lone moron against the wall with no one to talk to. My champagne is getting ever lower and I'm feeling too scared to even move. Clearly, I'm not cut out for this. They can play their Gossip Girl melodramas as much as they want, but I'm outta here! <br />
My concentration is broken by a sharp "Woooo!" and the grandest entrance Clara has ever made. With a can of beer in her hand she breaks through the patio doors with the chubby, short, balding guy holding on to her hips right behind her.</div>
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"Hello, Gorgeous!" she greets before landing a big, fat sloppy kiss on my cheek. <br />
"Where did you get that from?" I point to the Heineken held tightly in her hand.<br />
"We popped over to the corner shop,"<br />
"The corner shop? We're surrounded by fields!"<br />
"Yeah, but Geoffrey here," she pats the man's tummy, "was very kind and paid for a taxi to town," <br />
"I'm well and truly sloshed!" Geoffrey pipes in. Tall, willowy Clara is now leaning her arm on his head. "My wife is going to kill me when she finds out I'm drinking," he puts a finger up to his lips and spits everywhere as he tries to shush.<br />
"She'll probably kill you for a lot more than that," I say as I catch him grope Clara's bottom, and then her left breast.<br />
Clara is completely oblivious to it. Not even a flinch as he moves closer and starts sniffing her. Without thinking I pull a disgusted look and move away.<br />
Right, it's definitely time to get out of here. I place the glass down and make a dash for the door before anyone has a chance to spot me. But just as I reach the wondrous outside, I see Chloe strolling up the stairs with a beaming smile. Instinctively, I hide behind a flowerpot pulling in as much of my dress as I can. <br />
"As the doors open, I want you to introduce me at the top of the stairs, OK Uncle?"<br />
"Ok, my sweet," the man responds. I see them walk through the door straight past me. I breathe out a sigh of relief thinking I'm on the home stretch, but Chloe stops to inspect her dress. Her peachy skin illuminates in the iridescent light. She smiles again like in some cheesy toothpaste commercial. Her blonde hair has been twisted and curled into a high chignon, all finished off with luminous diamonds. Even her dress, which to anyone else who would wear it would be a simple baby pink, somehow has developed a pearlescent sheen. She's a real life Good Witch from the Wizard of Oz - you know, if the Good Witch was a complete crazy pyscho! That actually reminds me, I must get Jo to come and watch Wicked with me sometime soon.<br />
"Do you think tonight's the night?" She asks her uncle like a small child seeking reassurance. But reassurance is something Chloe is not short of. Without even saying a word, her uncles' nod is simply enough for her self confidence to be back in tact. "Do you really think he's going to propose?" Her words leave her mouth and hit me like bullets through my skin. Surely, I didn't hear that right? Chloe is barely nineteen, and Anthony, well, isn't he in his early twenties? Why would he propose? </div>
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Completely dumbfounded, I stand behind the flowerpot wondering what her words could really mean. She obviously means some other kind of proposal, like maybe a business proposal. Maybe Anthony is going to propose that she works for him. Or, another kind...like...like clothing. Maybe she's hoping that he'll propose a whole new wardrobe for himself and would really love Chloe to go fetch. Or...or...<br />
"Ladies and gentlemen, Chloe Deloris Oceana Wilson," the announcement chimes followed by the loudest applause I have ever heard. It sounds like Katy Perry just walked on stage, rather than a nobody teenage girl. But I still stand there behind this jade plant unable to move. <br />
"Ella, what are you doing?" Anthony. He looks mad, which I don't particularly care for, so I step out from behind the bushy plant and scowl at him. <br />
"What does it look like I'm doing?" But that's probably not the best response as it looks like I'm hiding behind a flowerpot.<br />
His hands are in his pocket and he steps closer, still mad. Why is he mad at me? What have I done now?<br />
"Don't you have somewhere to be, Anthony? Like clapping at your girlfriends spectacularly idiotic entrance?"<br />
"Oh, is she here?"<br />
I raise an eyebrow. "What did you think that noise was all about? The Duchess of Cambridge didn't just turn up to your birthday party!"<br />
"Stop being an idiot, Ella," He moves closer and leans on the window sill next to me.<br />
I don't even want to respond. I just want to go home. I want to get into my Minnie Mouse pyjamas and watch Hollyoaks whilst gorging myself on full fat cheese. Straight out of the packet.<br />
"Happy Birthday," I say and go to leave. I manage to make it to the bottom of the stairs, breathing the midsummer night air before I'm stopped.<br />
"Seriously, why won't anyone let me leave this place?" But my words are cut short with Anthony swooping in with one short, perfect kiss. "Umm, what are you doing?" I whisper trying to break free from his arms. Thoughts whirring inside my head - none of which manage to form a grammatically correct sentence.<br />
"Home. Must get home, " I say pulling myself away from his magnetising grip.<br />
"Please don't go. He pulls me into him again and I'm utterly lost for words, because despite everything I cannot seem to break away. He goes in for another kiss. Right, this time I'll let him. This time I have to let him. But the moment's stolen with an ear-piercing scream.<br />
We both look up to find that the thunderous noise came from Chloe. She screams again, although this time it isn't as ladylike. <br />
Oh god, this is bad. This is very very bad, because right by her side are all the other party guests.<br />
Chloe is stomping down the stairs pushing me away from Anthony and I stumble backwards, almost toppling over. <br />
"What are you doing?" She screams at Anthony, but he has nothing to say.<br />
Her attention then turns to me. "And you! What are you doing here! Who invited you, because I made damn sure I ripped up Anthony's invitation to you!"<br />
My eyes flick towards Jens, but he just looks away completely innocently.<br />
"Slut!" the Queen Bee shouts from her throne. The minions just nod in agreement.<br />
"She's not a slut!" Anthony steps in. "I tried to kiss her. She was pushing me away,"<br />
But silence fills the garden like I've never seen before. This is deeply embarrassing. I can just about make the faint murmuring of crickets somewhere in the distance. <br />
"I'm so sorry," I manage wanting to run home. I knew I should have never come. </div>
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"Maybe it is time everyone goes home. This misunderstanding can all be sorted tomorrow with a fresh perspective. We're all too merry and too tired to deal with this right now," The Anthony look-alike steps in.<br />
"No, dad its fine," Anthony responds. At least I was right about this being his father. <br />
Chloe's earlier radiance has now vanished. She represents more an infuriated Medusa than a gentle Aphrodite. Any second now she'll grow serpents out of her scalp and I'll be left as a startled stone statue, forever stuck in the most humiliating experience of my life.<br />
"Urgh!" She screams again. "Fucking hell, Anthony!"<br />
"Language, poppet," her uncle chimes in.<br />
"I thought you were going to propose tonight!"<br />
Anthony takes a massive step back. "Wait, what?" He asks confused. "Why did you think I would propose?"<br />
"Oh, I don't know!" She screams. "Perhaps because I was telling you a couple of weeks ago that my father proposed to my mother on his twenty fifth birthday and you said, 'that sounds good.'"<br />
But that explanation seems to have no effect on Anthony. Still completely perplexed, he edges slightly backward as if he wants to hide in the safe, dark covering of the garden.<br />
"I'm sorry," his apology a child's whisper in the midnight air and my heart completely goes out to him. If I had just stayed away, none of this would have happened. <br />
"I NEVER want to see your face again!" the Queen Bee spits from the top of the stairs. She's pointing at me like a Wicked Witch about to cast a spell. But her pathetic threat does nothing but irritate me.<br />
"It's alright, Sierra. She's nothing but a daughter of the Great Unwashed who works part time at a middle-of-the-range clothing store going nowhere in life," Chloe chimes in.<br />
To my complete surprise, it is not shouting or swearing that comes out of my mouth, but laughter. Loud chuckling that at this precise moment even I do not understand.<br />
"Firstly," I begin, "not a daughter of the Great Unwashed. My parent's are rich. Filthy rich in fact. Simon Cowell kind of rich!" OK, a massive exaggeration, but confidence starts booming through my veins and I'm not about to stop now. "And they certainly had more sense than to call me after a night club, Oceana!" she gasps. <br />
"Secondly, I don't<em> have</em> to work at Delilah Dales, I choose to. And if it's so 'middle-of-the-range', why are you and your Scary Wives of Windsor wearing dresses from there?" Someone repeats 'Scary wives of Windsor' in the crowd and all I hear is Jens' awkward laugh. I'm guessing he didn't want me to reveal his little pet name for them. <br />
"Thirdly, going nowhere? I'm at university studying Economics. The world's my oyster. But you." I walk towards her like I've seen in the movies a million time - the beaten down girl now the top of the pack having no mercy, "You, well, there are only so many years before the amount of antidepressants you take outnumber your clothes,"<br />
Chloe narrows her eyes about to bite back, but I desperately don't want to let her. " And lastly, your boyfriend seems to prefer a daughter of the Great Unwashed than the simple minded idiot of fake aristocracy," and that should just about seal the deal.<br />
I step back expecting wild applause, but nothing. There is nothing by eerie silence and the faces of strangers weighing down their disapproval on me. Even Anthony looks embarrassed. I'm now starting to regret every single word.<br />
Breaking the quiet night, the bushes behind Anthony start to rustle and suddenly all attention is torn away from me. Some grunts and groans emerge from the emerald leaves and two figures step into the light. <br />
Clara.<br />
Acting like her usual self, she straightens her dress and smiles at everyone. "Have you all met my new boyfriend?" she announces, kissing the short, old, chubby man from before as he starts tucking his shirt in, lipstick marks all around his mouth. <br />
"Splendid night, isn't it?" the man bellows and the crowd, completely in unison, look on in amazement, then whisper to one another like gossiping busy bees.<br />
"Daddy?" and then Chloe faints.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-30349686772646871222013-05-25T20:06:00.001+01:002013-06-11T19:44:50.995+01:00Lexi - The First Day<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Eve is awake. I know this because I don't think I have yet fallen asleep, and as I hear her shutting her bedroom door and heading for the kitchen, I hate my body for choosing to feel sleepy now that the alarm clock sound is imminent. Why couldn't it have realised this 6 hours ago? <br /> As I rub my sleepy eyes, I grab my phone like an excited child. I forgot to text John before going to bed so Whatsapp must be manic. But there's nothing. Nothing checking if I got home OK. Nothing telling me he'd wish I'd spent the night with him. No goodnight. No good morning. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> My heart sinks as my head gets into a wild panic; intrusive thoughts and flashbacks from 7 years ago. Oh no, it's happening again. He's probably leaving me to focus on his career. Or leaving me because he hates the blonde hair. I've scared him off with moving to London so suddenly. Oh, what have I done! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Just calm, Lexi. Everything's fine. He saw you last night at dinner - he doesn't need to text you every two seconds, I scold myself and instantly I relax taking in deep breaths like some sort of meditation therapy. I make a mental note to see if there are any yoga classes nearby. I could probably do with learning how to manage stress.<br /> I put John to the back of my head as I quickly choose clothes for the first day at my new job and head to the living room where Eve is scanning the wall with a black marker in her hand.<br /> "Morning," she beams when she sees me emerge cautiously. "I'm thinking one big arch from here...to here," she steps back and ponders her handy work. "What do you think?"<br /> "Umm," I look over the massive, black, uneven line that she has drawn over our living room wall and don't particularly know how to respond. "I don't know much about interior design but it seems fine. Will definitely make the kitchen bigger," I shrug as if I ooze optimism, which I don't. I have a horrible feeling some cowboy builder will come in and knock down the wall, charge us an absolute fortune, and we'll sit back, relax and watch the flat - no, the bulding, crumble on top of us.<br /> "Yup. I'll get someone to come take a look at this sometime today. Pretty soon it'll be like a brand new flat. Oooh, exciting!" she giggles as she grabs her bag to head for the door. "Oh, almost forgot. I'm meeting a few of my friends tonight after work if you want to join us?" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> I'm about to say no as I'm probably doing something with John, but I don't get the chance. "Please don't feel like you have to say yes but I thought since you're new to London it would be good to meet new people. I know you have your boyfriend, and obviously you and I are going to be the best of friends but it's nice to have variety," and with a genuine smile she says goodbye and leaves. She's a whole world away from Mand. For one, she doesn't demand that I only spend time with her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The route from the flat to Acton seemed no bother at all. In fact, I was surprised how quickly I found the building. But the inside of it seemed to be a convoluted maze with doors leading to even more doors. One minute I'd be on the second floor, the next the ground. In the end I had to pluck up the courage to ask what appeared to be a 14 year old, but actually turned out to be a twenty nine year old IT assistant. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />The morning in the office was great. Only slight hiccup being that my boss cannot seem to understand that my name is Lexi and not Alexandra. It's like she thinks Lexi is some fake, modern name suitable to a five year old who has a sibling called Saffron, and not for a woman in her mid twenties. Perhaps I should consider changing it to something people will take seriously. Maybe I should actually change it to Alexandra.<br /> "Lexus, we're having a catch up meeting in about 10 minutes if you'd like to join us. It'll be a good introduction into the role," <br /> "It's Lexi," I correct shyly for the fifth time that morning. <br /> "Oh, I'm so sorry," and with a huff she sits down at the desk opposite mine. "Things have been manic here. My Junior Buyer has been signed off sick for six weeks. Some sort of mental disorder. Depression or something, or so she says. I never quite trusted her," she reads an email, curses loudly then carries on. "So as you can imagine, you've joined us at s hectic time," she looks up at me from her screen suddenly worried. "The agency did tell you this would be temporary, right?"<br /> "Yes, don't worry," I smile.<br /> "Phew. We've had mistakes like that before," and as she goes back to her work, Melanie fits my exact description of what a successful woman is like. Click clacking heels, yummy mummy routine and a scary look when she doesn't get her way. She's about thirtyfive, slim, with medium brown hair tied up into a smart chignon. She's clearly one of those women who goes to the gym. And I suddenly have a brain wave. I can finally be one of those girls with a gym routine! Eve definitely mentioned about the building having a gym in the basement. When I worked at the restaurant the chef tried to convince me to gain weight to make his food look more appealing. Here, it appears eating is grossly discouraged.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The work day finishes in a flash and I have made no new friends. In fact, no one has even bothered to say hello to me. I sat next to this woman called Natasha during the meeting and all she said to me was, "Who are you?". No hint of a smile. No acknowlidgement when I told her who I was. Not a thing. Perhaps friendship is grossly discouraged here too. </span><br />
I say goodbuy to everyone but get nothing back as attempt to leave the office. I'm in high spirits until I'm faced with the maze again and my head starts to get into a real panic. The first few doors lead me nowhere - just to other offices, and as I'm about to walk down another set of stairs, I hear a voice. It startles me so much that I almost trip and fall down the metal, white stairs, but a set of arms catch me.<br />
"Are you alright?" the voice speaks again, close to my ear. As I gain back my equilibrium and stand on my own two feet, I turn around to be faced with a stranger; a tall guy with dark blonde, tidy hair wearing a stripy pink and white shirt and beige chinos. His arms are still out expecing me to fall again.<br />
"I'm fine," I smile, feeling utterly stupid and embarrassed. <br />
He moves back leaning against the wall but doesn't say anything. Just stands there looking at me with no readible expression on his face. It's now getting even more embarrassing as we stand there staring each other down on the stair case, blue eyes on blue. <br />
"You're new," he states breaking the silent war. I only nod, feeling a little like I'm seven again and the headmaster has told me off for running in the school corridors. <br />
"First day. Working at Goldpinns," I almost whisper.<br />
"Obviously," he says in a horribly sarcastic tone, which only makes me scunch up my face in surprise. But he says nothing more, and as quickly as he appeared, he has disappeared again.<br />
As I finally make my way of out of the building, I begin to wonder if everyone in London is as sour-faced as in the movies.<br />
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I've now entered the bar where Eve and her friends are at, but have still heard nothing from John. My phone has been buzz-free all day which is very unlike it. <br />
That's it. I've ruined it. This move to London was far too big for him to handle and now he's gone. He no longer loves me.<br />
"Lexi, over here," Eve's bright voice waves me over and as I see her and her glamorous friends, I force a smile. "Everyone, this is my new, gorgeous flatmate," she announces like I'm a prized piece at a fair. "Come and sit next to me," she orders and I do as I'm told.<br />
I'm surrounded by four pairs of eyes looking at me like they expect me to say something amazing and profound. "Hi," is all I manage.<br />
"Right," Eve starts before finishing off the last of her drink, "Lexi, this is Nick," her manicured finger points to a dark-haired man opposite me. He smiles and says that it's very nice to meet me whilst his arm is around another girl, "And the lady sitting next to him is Lullah. Lules is a teacher at my school. That's how we met and became the very best of friends," she smiles to which Lullah smiles back. <br />
"We've heard a lot about you this evening. Very pleased to finally meet you," she tells me.<br />
"Nick and Lullah are very much in love, you see," Eve continues. "They met about four years ago at university and have been together ever since. Very sweet story but I'll let them bore you with it,"<br />
I smile at the couple again and move my attention to the next person on the introduction list.<br />
"This is Finn. Biggest Man Whore of the whole of West London. No, whole of London. No, actually. Whole of England,"<br />
Finn rolls his eyes, adjust his jacket and hands out his hand, "Pleasure to meet you, Alexis,"<br />
"Oh, and he calls everyone by their full name. Highly annoying trait,"<br />
"Evangeline, you never seize to entertain me," he replies but Eve says nothing. I get the feeling the group ignore Finn a lot.<br />
"And last but not least, this is Davina," Eve says in a defeated tone. "She's new to our group,"<br />
As Davina stands up, I notice she has the longest legs in the world. I mean, I would look tiny compared to her Amazonian, model-esque stature. And I'm not exactly short. <br />
"Anyone want a drink?" she asks as she makes her way to the bar.<br />
I'm about to shake my head, but Eve answers for me, "Yes, get Lexi a drink, and another glass of wine for me, "<br />
"What drink would you like?"<br />
"Umm, a glass of white wine please. If that's OK?" I reply like a child.<br />
Davina throws a sickly, sweet smile and struts over to the bar.<br />
"Like I said, she's new to our group," Eve says when Davina is out of earshot.<br />
"She's like a model,"<br />
"Yes, everyone seems to think that," and I get the feeling that Eve isn't as impressed by Davina as everyone else seems to be. "I don't know," she continues, "she's just...so...so," she stops to think of the word, "blah!" To which we both laugh.<br />
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The evening is filled with wine and conversation and I cannot believe how easily I've fitted in with this group. I always thought it was harder to meet friends in your twenties and out of school or university, but nope. Here I am being a social butterfly. The complete opposite to my life in Winchester where the only socialising I did was with Mand. <br />
And John.<br />
Oh gosh, I almost forgot about John. Now that he's fully back in my mind I can't think of anything else.<br />
"You alright?" Lullah asks concerned. You can definitely tell she's a teacher. I can imagine her peering over a poorly little kid as they complain of a tummy ache and want their mother.<br />
"Yes, I reply unconvincingly.<br />
Lullah is about to ask something else but Davina interrupts her, " Eve, I thought Andrew was popping by,"<br />
"Err," Eve looks at her watch, then her phone. "No text from him so he's probably just working late again. You know what...oh look, here he is now," and as our eyes dash towards the door, a tall man with dark blonde hair enters the bar.<br />
Oh no.<br />
Trust this kind of thing to happen to me.<br />
It's the guy from the staircase. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-82780019274777443672013-05-18T20:25:00.001+01:002013-06-11T19:45:13.983+01:00A Case of Drunken Identity<div style="text-align: justify;">
Eyes open to reveal a blur of curtains and wallpaper. All flowers and stripes, I rub my eyes for clarity to make sense of what appears to be a 1970's bedsit. After a few more blinks, the scenery in front of me starts to reveal itself. I'm not in a 1970's bedsit at all. This is my room. The curtains turn out to be jeans draped over the shutters, and the flowery wallpaper is wine splodges. Wine splodges? No, that can't be right. How did they get there?</div>
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Head is pounding so much now that I'm up and I cannot make sense of any of my thoughts. Water. Definitely need water to wash away this horrific taste in my mouth. What is it? It's like vodka mixed with Listerine. Did I brush my teeth with vodka last night? I attempt to walk over to the door but stumble and fall over a pair of grey underpants. Umm, now I know those definitely aren't mine. Men's boxers? Oh no, who stayed here last night? Alert and awake I start to look under the covers and under the bed for any sign of another life form. Nothing in the wardrobe. Nothing in the laundry basket. Nothing anywhere. Phew! No one's here. That's good news. </div>
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The door screeches and screams as I attempt to open it. I have no idea what the time is and I'm fully aware I'm in my own house, but this still feels like the walk of shame. I tiptoe out hoping my flatmate isn't in, but as I approach the kitchen I hear voices. And not just her voice. Multiple voices mixed with laughter and 'Oh my gosh!'. Great. They're recounting tales of my drunken escapades meanwhile I'm locked away suffering in a room covered in wine. What has become of friendship!</div>
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It takes me 3 paces to the bathroom to realise that I'm actually only in my underwear. Like a startled deer, I dash back to my room in a desperate search for clothing. But I can't find anything appropriate. It's all organza dresses and glittery tops. What was I doing in here last night? A fashion show? Why are my espadrilles out? And why the bloody hell are those jeans on the shutters? Jeans will do. And so will this glittery yellow top I bought at a car boot sale seven years ago.</div>
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Right, second time to leave the room. Head still pounding. Breath still Listerine Vodka (perhaps a new marketing promotion for them?). Memories still non-existent. </div>
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"Good morning, trouble," Josie, the flatmate sings as I enter the room. She looks at my outfit up and down and smiles, "You didn't sleep in that, did you? I thought you were allergic?"</div>
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<em> What? To a yellow top?</em></div>
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"Umm, no," I reply unsure of what she could mean. She clearly misunderstood me. She must have been more drunk than I was. Silly Josie. She must feel like a complete idiot.</div>
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"How did you sleep?" she gets up from the table to put the kettle on.</div>
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"Water,"</div>
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"No coffee?"</div>
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"Water,"</div>
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After three gallons of the stuff, I'm starting to feel slightly better. Until the third voice rings behind me and I jolt spilling it everywhere.</div>
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"It's like last night all over again," the stranger speaks and I do nothing by stare at him with a blank expression. At least I hope it's blank. With my current state it could be anything from mild smile to tears streaming down face.</div>
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Who is this man? Where did he come from? Why is he in my kitchen? Why does his hair smell familiar?</div>
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"Ella, right? Or is it Desdemona?" </div>
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Desdemona? Oh god. Now I remember.</div>
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<strong>Last Night</strong></div>
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I'm always partial to a bit of drink. I'm English. It's how we've been raised. But as I sit in the living room sipping on Lemsip, surrounded by dirty tissues as I'm watching Downton Abbey in a onsie, the furthest thing from my mind is going out. I want to be warm. Warm, healthy and full of knowledge that Lady Mary and Matthew will definitely get married.</div>
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It is, therefore, completely unbeknownst to me how I ended up at Purple Mustard with Josie shoving another stinky Sambuca underneath my nose.</div>
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"Drink, and you shall be merry," she orders as she downs hers with a smile.</div>
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And she's right, because I do become merry. It just takes me seven attempts at it. Next thing I know I'm feeling incredibly brave going up to every guy demanding that they call me Lady Ella, because I'm an heiress who is about to be swindled out of my fortunes by some distant cousin.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"And he's only a lawyer, you know" I jabber in utter self-confidence. Faces are looking blank around me - a few pitying smiles as randomers sip their drinks and walk away, but it doesn't dampen my spirits. In a mix of paracetamol, Strepsils and Sambuca, I truly am an English aristocrat living off my well-earned inheritance. Now where is my butler with that drink!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Confused as to why he is nowhere to be seen, I decide to make my own way to the bar, order a dirty martini and casually lean against the cool, metallic table top watching my minions. I take one sip of my drink and completely miss my mouth. It all pours across my chest and into my dress. Quite possibly my bra too. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Should you be doing that in public?" a stranger speaks and I turn but see no one. Perhaps I'm hearing things.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Seriously, should you be doing that in public?" Again? Where is this voice coming from? I turn again to be faced with blue eyes and wry smile. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I'm not doing anything," I reply. It's only when I see his eyes drop down to my chest, that I realise I appear to be fishing out an olive from my bra. I take my hand out immediately and scorn myself. This is not how a lady should be behaving. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"What's your name?" he asks.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Ummm....ummm..." I need a new identity. After this whole olive-bra incident I can no longer be Lady Ella. It will bring utter shame to my family. "Desdemona," I reach out my hand expecting him to kiss it, "Charmed to meet you,"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I hear you're a friend of Josie's," </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"...Yes. Why? What has she said?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He starts to laugh out loud. "She hasn't said anything. She pointed you out earlier and I thought I'd say hello. I'm Mark."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"She said, 'Over there is my friend, Desdemona?'" She knows me far too well if she said that. We're probably syncing our brains from living together for so long. It wouldn't surprise me after watching that really cool documentary about mind reading.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He looks confused. "No...she just pointed to you and said 'There's my friend!' Drink?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Yes,"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"What would you like?" </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ah. I have to have a think here. What would 'Desdemona' like?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I'll have a glass of Prosecco," I'm thinking Desdemona is new money.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Josie, Mark and I are now out of the bar, faced with a trail of cabs and drunk pedestrians. Gosh, all these women have no idea how to hold their drink. One of them has puke all down her. At least I had the decency to wait until I was over a toilet bowl. And I only got a little on the bottom of my tights.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"It's too far to walk," </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Oh, it's only ten minutes, Ell...I mean, Desdemona," Josie says. "Mark will give you a piggy back, right Mark?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Hop on," he instructs, to which I do. And fall asleep nuzzled up against his wavy hair.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm outside the flat now, with Josie trying to cram the key into the lock. "It won't fit!" she shouts but I only look on. I decide to take a break from helping out and sit against the wall thinking about my new life as Desdemona. God, it could really be great. People will call me Dessie for short. Or Mona. And maybe I'll get a dog. Dessie definitely sounds like she'd have a dog. And maybe-</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Come on, Missy," Mark helps me up and leads me inside. Excuse me, but it's actually Dessie.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The three of us are now sitting on the floor of my room looking at the pale, cream wallpaper. I can't quite recall how we got onto this conversation. The last thing I remember is Josie telling Mark that I'm single and that he should take me out. I may have told him he should. Actually, I may have demanded it. Unfortunately, I cannot recall his response, but he can't have said no. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"It could do with some colour,"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Mmm, and possibly some more paintings,"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"And curtains,"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The conversation carries on without me, with Mark occasionally asking if I'm OK. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Not if you keep insulting my room!" I reply in a grump. And then a wonderful idea comes to me. I'll decorate it right now. I mean, it can't be that difficult as all I need to do is get some paint pots and test out colours. They used to do it all the time on <em>Changing Rooms</em>. Except, I don't have any paint...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Jose, what do you think of wine coloured walls?" I ask her as I wander around the room inspecting the crisp wallpaper. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"It's my favourite colour!" she beams and hands me a glass of the stuff. And I throw it on the wall.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Ella, what the fuck are you doing?" Josie stands up in shock. Mark is in a fit of laughter.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I look down at both of them confused at the outbreak. "What? I'm seeing if this is a suitable colour to paint it," </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Josie walks out angrily, but I take no notice. She's probably just jealous that Mark finds me funny and not her. He's still laughing. He laughs a lot.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"You should get some curtains too," she inputs after he's done.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What an excellent idea. I like this Mark character. I think him and Desdemona shall be very happy together.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I open up the wardrobe and take out a pair of jeans, then drape them over the shutters. Wow. I am such a genius. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"That's pretty good," he rises from his place and looks on at my handy-work.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Josie walks back in with a bottle of vodka straight out of the freezer and a pair of mens boxers on her head. "I've decided I'm not drunk enough," and takes a big gulp. I congratulate her on her new hat and go to shut my wardrobe.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Wow, that's a very sparkly top," Mark says looking at a glittery, yellow top in the middle of my wardrobe.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I pull it out and look at it's gleaming glory in the light. "Yes, it's real diamonds," I tell him in utter seriousness. My godfather gave it to me as a present. He was disappointed he couldn't find a diamond encrusted pony for me,"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Those aren't diamonds!" Josie pipes up before another vodka sip.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"What?" I say in mock shock, "well, no wonder I never wear it. I'm allergic to fake diamonds," and start inspecting the rest of my clothes to add to the reality. I don't want Mark to think I'm a fraud. I need to play my part. Clothes are now being flung all over the room.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Josie has now fallen asleep hugging the grey underpants, and Mark and I are lying down on my bed talking about the squares on the ceiling. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I think they came with the house," I inform.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He rises slightly from the bed and rests his head on his hand. With a massive grin he's looking down at me like an impressive knight who has rescued his damsel. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"You're crazy," he says getting closer like he's about to kiss me. "You make me laugh so much," </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Our lips touch very faintly, and for a second I feel like I've been snapped out of my drunken state, but just before he kisses me I realise I've been sick tonight. And I haven't brushed my teeth. I cannot let this man kiss my vomit covered mouth. I rise from the bed and grab the vodka bottle that's now resting next to Josie's feet. I take a mouthful, gargle and spit it out in the bathroom sink.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"What the hell are you doing?" I see Mark's reflection in the bathroom mirror.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I'm brushing my teeth," </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"...where's your toothbrush?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Vodka's antibacterial,"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I still think you need a toothbrush,"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
God, he's completely right. I grab the pink, bristly brush from the pot and dip it into the bottle. With utter care, I start to brush my teeth.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ten minutes later, I'm done and walk back to my room with a beaming smile. "I'm ready," I announce, but Mark is fast asleep on my bed. A little disappointed, I take off my clothes down to my underwear and get under the covers on the space that's left. I'll kiss him in the morning.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Still impressed at my amazing interior designing skills, I take a quick look around my room before I turn off the lamp.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Night, Jose," I whisper.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Nnnn," is all the reply I get from the corner of the room.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-87919571792232753982013-02-10T17:19:00.000+00:002013-07-22T19:27:23.681+01:00A Case of Mistaken Identity<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I run for the taxi I can see in the distance. My legs skim across Leicester Square like never before, and a few steps behind me I can hear him screaming my name."</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> "Ella!" He yells for my attention, "Where are you going?"</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Away. I'm going away. Because if I'm right about this (and I probably am), I
need to be as far away from this man as I can possibly get.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> I reach the taxi to be greeted by a perplexed driver turning his double chin
towards me. I almost expect him to tell me to
get out and drive off with wheels spinning, and me left behind splattered with
mud.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> "Er...where to?" He asks, before lifting his double chin to the guy running
after the taxi. "Should I wait for your friend?”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> "No!" I shout, turning my head to see my dear date catching up. "Go! Please
drive!” I yell.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> "WHERE TO?" he says, exhasperated.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Well, there’s no need for that attitude. Honestly, some people are so
impatient. </span></div>
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> "Waterloo," and off we go.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As we drive away, I look behind me at my abandoned date and breathe a sigh of
relief. I see him finally stop to catch his breath, hands above his hips,
looking at me like I’ve gone insane.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">People need to stop looking at me like that.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s doing nothing for my self confidence.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> "I won't be associated with some sort of crime, will I?" The driver speaks
through the rear view mirror.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I see
is his double chin, which unfortunately has the same height as the rest of his
face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> "Umm, no," I responded rapidly reaching for my phone.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> "Because if I am, I'll be very angry," chin wiggles in the mirror.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Why does he keep talking to me? Can't he see I'm clearly in distress and, oh
no, where's my phone? Please tell me I didn't leave it at the restaurant.
Please please, oh here it is just past my hair spray and left over pre-date
Subway.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> I fumble around with my phone, forgetting which apps
lead to which programme, until I finally click on the right one where a list of names
pop up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mikey – where on earth is
Mikey?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And who are all these strange
people on my contacts list?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who’s
Elspeth?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
As I realise that my phone needs more of a detox
than Peaches Geldolf in her good ol’ days, I finally click on Mikey and wait
impatiently as the phone rings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Meanwhile,
taxi driver is muttering something under his breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh dear!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I hope I haven’t run from one mad man only to be throwing myself into
another one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Seriously,
are you in some sort of trouble?” he turns towards me, ignoring the road ahead.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Of
course not,” </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Then
what the bleedin’ ‘ell were you doing running like that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nineteen years of cab driving and I’ve never
seen anything like that before,” I’m about to stop him, but he continues, “and
I’ve seen all sorts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, the stories I
could tell…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Oh
please, don’t tell!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have much more
important things to do right now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mikey
doesn’t pick up, so I try again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m
about to give up all hope and reach his house without warning, but try one last
time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hurrah!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Success at last!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lazy bugger has picked up the phone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hello,”
he sings in a sleepy voice. “You’ve just woken me up,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Woken
you up?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mikey, it’s nine o’ clock!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh,
is it?” he says after a pause.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can
hear a yawn before he speaks again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I
must have napped,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Mikey,
I think I’m in trouble,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
knew it!” explodes the driver,to which I quickly roll my eyes.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
know the guy I was set up with tonight?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah.
Why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What have you done?”
Mikey bursts suddenly with an aggressive tone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I think he’s fully awake now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No,
it’s nothing like that,” I stare out of the window as I ignore the rants of the
driver, and recollect my memories of the evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m pretty sure he’s the wanted murderer!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I whisper down the phone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Er,
the what?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
“You
know!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The guy on Crimewatch last
night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mass serial killer who I said
was too attractive to be a madman,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
laughs, which makes me want to cry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m
not making this up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I promise you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s him!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mikey
huffs down the phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ok, Ella,” I can
hear him sit down with exhaustion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Just
because he looks like him, doesn’t mean it’s him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you honestly think that killer on
Crimewatch, who by the way, looked illiterate, would be moonlighting as an
accountant?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Oh,
he just doesn’t get it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mikey is so
naïve sometimes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s like he doesn’t
switch on the news at all and lives in some sort of lala land with pixies and
sunshine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Mikey!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe he is a trained accountant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And maybe he really does work in London.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And maybe he really did go to Thailand for
his gap year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And maybe he secretly
loves musicals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But none of these mean
that he’s not a murderer!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
car comes to a sudden stop as we hit a stand still.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The driver has gone awfully quiet and I’m not
sure if it’s a good or bad thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Traffic,
eh!” I try to joke, but he just nods his head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No chin wobble or anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
I put the phone back to my ear, Mikey is saying something.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sorry,
didn’t get a word of that,” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Tell
me more about what happened tonight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How
soon after meeting him did you realise he was an escaped prisoner?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Not
escaped, Mikey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He hasn’t yet been
caught,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes,
whatever,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It’s
all a bit strange.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought he looked
familiar immediately, but it’s the things he started doing that really drove it
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For one, he kept saying he’s had a
lot of business in Wiltshire,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“So?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What is the point of watching TV
if he’s never going to listen to a word of it! Especially something like
Crimewatch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His life could be in danger
and he’d be oblivious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lucky he has me
to warn him of all these dangers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s
where the crimes took place, Mikey,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Er, so what else?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“When
we sat down at the restaurant, he clutched at the knife,” I whisper, still
frightened at the thought of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Was
he about to enjoy a nice, juicy steak?” a laugh escapes him. He needs to be told that laughing at your own jokes negates any funnyness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Mikey,
you’re not listening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the way he
was holding it – like he wanted to jab it into something,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well,
if you were annoying him half as much as you annoy me, I wouldn’t blame him,”
another giggle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Oh,
charming! I really want to hang up now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve just experienced a traumatic event, have escaped from a wanted criminal by the skin of my teeth, and all my best friend wants to do is laugh at me? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He
had madmen eyes!” I almost shout making the driver clear his throat uncomfortably.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Traffic
still bad?” I ask the chin at the rear view mirror.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Been
like this all week,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
turn back to my conversation, annoyed that Mikey can’t understand the severity
of the situation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“So
you got out alive,” he continues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What
exactly is the problem?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now,
this is when I’m too scared to even admit it to myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I play around with the zip of my jacket as I look out at traffic London before responding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mikey, before it hit me that he was this
wanted murderer, I told him where I lived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He’s probably at my house already. Waiting.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Ella,
you do understand the likelihood of all this, don’t you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“But
– “<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Just
think about all this for a second, just really stop and think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would someone who is nationally well known as
a murderer, someone who is being hunted by police as we speak, be out in London
on a busy evening on a date?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“If
you think about it, it’s probably the perfect disguise,” I'm losing faith in my own words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Wouldn’t
he be planning his escape out of the country?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Wouldn’t he be hiding in some grotty bunker?" <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Even
criminals need some time out,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Do
you honestly think he has the time to be out dilly dallying with dating?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well,
I am adorable!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
can hear the fridge door being opened, bottles clinking and wrappers crinkling
on the other end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I instantly realise I’m
hungry, so dig out the remains of the three hour old Subway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“So
how exactly did you leave it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m
guessing you didn’t give him a kiss goodbye,” Mikey speaks before swigging on
what can only be chocolate milk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other
than his cat, this is his one and only weakness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
ran,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
sound of chocolate milk being spat out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m
sorry, what?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“…I
ran,” I say, less confident.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You just legged it out of the restaurant?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
tut, “No of course not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I waited until
we were out of the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then I ran,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Where
to?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And what did you do?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
take a bite out of the Subway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well,
luckily he stopped to open the restaurant door for someone as we were leaving,
so I seized my opportunity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I haven’t,
you’d most likely be seeing my face on the news right now!” I chew as quickly as
I can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I was a bit disorientated and
headed the wrong way at first, which didn’t help, but I luckily found a taxi
and got on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m still on it now,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What
did he do?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He
was resistant to drive me at first, but I think he’s warmed up to me now,” I
smile cheekily at the driver but am only ignored.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
meant your date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What did he do?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He chased after me,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
think I’m going to stop being your friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Goodnight,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Mikey,
wait!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>No
one of the other end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Typical!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Traffic is moving now, and within seconds I’m
at Waterloo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pay the driver very
generously and he drives off - this time wheels spinning, me almost splattered in
mud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it turns out, my date wasn’t the wanted
killer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Well, these are mistakes we all make.</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-45287436958607924882012-11-28T16:04:00.004+00:002012-11-28T16:22:45.164+00:00The Scary Wives of Windsor<div style="text-align: justify;">
<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">Continuation of </span></em><a href="http://www.hopelessdaters.com/2011/08/king-leer.html"><em><span style="color: #e10975; font-size: x-small;">King Leer</span></em></a><br />
<br />
I fan my face with the invitation when I leave the shop. What on earth do I do? Do I go and risk making a complete fool of myself? I mean, people are bound to ask who on earth I am, and what on earth am I doing there. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And how exactly would I respond? "Yes, I'm Ella. I'm the girl the birthday boy barely knows. Yes, that's right, I'm the sales adviser at <em>Delilah Dales</em>. You know, the girl he was besotted with, who then stomped on his heart. No, I can't get you half off on Winter coats. We only go up to size 14 anyway,"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Holding my handbag like a sack, I make my way back to the flat where Jo is nowhere to be seen. I look around the place for the rest of the housemates until I finally spot a note that says, '<i>Gone to Purple Mustard. Come join us after work, and for goodness sake, learn to look at your phone. xxx</i>'</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I shouldn't go to Anthony's party. I have no reason to go. After all, if you think about it, I really don't know him at all. My mind flickers back to the day at work and I think of Anthony's friend who handed me the invitation. John or something. Jeff? Jean?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Just read the name on the invitation, you trollop!</i> My mind finally comes to the rescue, and there, next to Anthony's name lies Jens. <i>Jens</i>? I would have never got that. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But despite all my protests, the truth is I really do want to go. I really <i>really </i>want to see Anthony so that I can speak to him properly. I need to ask him what he was trying to tell me last time.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
With a real reluctance, I send Clara a text asking if she'd like to come along tonight. Before I get a chance to blink, I get my 'yes' reply. Not that she sounds eager or anything.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've decided to wear the new raspberry dress I bought today at work, and I think I look really lovely, if I do say so myself. I've even curled my hair and pinned it up for a real glamour twist - something which I've never really mastered before.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's only when I reach the grand steps of the hotel where Clara is impatiently waiting for me, that I realise I should have tried harder.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"You're wearing the same dress you wear to work?" she sneers as she scans my outfit up and down.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I only bought this today. I haven't worn it to work yet!" I defend and wonder why I even asked her to come in the first place.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Come on, let's get inside," she orders. "I've been needing the loo for ages,"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Oh, lovely! <br />
<br />
Once inside, I'm absolutely in awe. This party is straight out of a fairy tale. Beautiful and elegant, I immediately want to hide, too embarrassed of the way I look. I should have tried harder. Much much harder. I feel like a teenager wearing her mother's clothing. Someone like me doesn't belong in a place like this with immaculate girls and their stary eyes. <br />
"God, I can't get pissed in here, can I?" Clara looks around disapproving of the scene in front of her. "Those girls over there are probably on the phone trying to get their daddies to kick us out,"<br />
"Tone down the toilet talk and I'm sure you'll fit right in,"<br />
"Oi!" she scowls at me. "I have loads of class, you know," to which I raise an eyebrow and that's enough for Clara to go on another rant. She's talking about how it's not all about Jaeger Bombs and that champagne is one of her favourite drinks, and that she has at least two (fake) Gucci dresses, and how her father could potentially be a famous rock star. <br />
That last bit did grab my attention, but I quickly dismissed it when the story started to unravel. I don't think this famous rock star has ever worked at the pub where her mum used to go drinking. <br />
<br />
As I look around me I cannot see Anthony anywhere and I'm starting to get very impatient. I knew it was pointless even coming here. It's a room full of strangers; strangers that I have no intention of ever becoming friends with.<br />
Those girls that Clara pointed out earlier are making their way towards me, and I'm looking around desperate to find my escape route. <br />
"We're Chloe's friends," the Queen Bee states as she places one skinny arm on her hip. Her loose curls are flicking to and fro as she does her very best attempt at pouting and looking moody. It's not working that well. I don't feel that threatened.<br />
"Well, she seems very nice," I say and try to head for the door. <br />
"Who invited you?" another minion pipes up from the back. <br />
I want to say that Anthony invited me to really annoy them, but unfortunately I'm not that kind of girl. "Jens," I quickly reply and attempt the escape. But to no avail. One of the quieter girls has stepped out from behind the Queen Bee to block my way.<br />
"Chloe has told us all about you. You need to keep away from Anthony," I'm faced with the pout again. It resembles an orange camel trying to chew.<br />
"Anthony and I are just friends. Believe me, if I wanted him, I could have him," I say without thinking and not sure whether I want to smile or shout at the bitch within me.<br />
The Queen Bee is left with nothing else to say, and like a group of snobbish kittens, the girls walk back to the corner of the room with their tail between their legs, looking for their next victim.<br />
Shaking my head at what I've just said, I make a run for the door, but Jens stands in my way.<br />
"You can't leave yet," he says without even looking at me, and with one quick swoop, my arm is intertwined with his and he's led me to the dance floor - the complete opposite to what I wanted. I have no time to think, so just stand there speechless in his arms dancing slowly to the love song.<br />
"Umm, what are you doing?" I ask once I've mustered the few remaining brain cells.<br />
"Just keep quiet and look like you're enjoying my company,"<br />
"...What?"<br />
"You want to make Anthony jealous, don't you?" he asks looking down at me like I'm stupid.<br />
"No!" I snap, and before I can say anything else, he's already pushed me to the other side of the room in full view of the Mean Girls. <br />
"Look, Anthony is miserable with Chloe, but he's lost his head at the moment. You see those girls over there?" I glance over at the direction of the mean girls, to which the Queen Bee gives us her most mesmerising smile. "Anthony and I call them the Scary Wives of Windsor. They hate one another, but for some reason, are completely inseparable. It's really weird. And scary," he does a mock shiver and I can't help but smile. "There's a bunch of them that grew up and went to school in Windsor. They're simple creatures. Marry rich, ruin your husband's life, get divorced, move on to the next victim. The problem is that once they set their sights on you, heaven help you,"<br />
"What do you mean?" I ask, a little freaked out.<br />
"Chloe is incredibly malicious. You see that woman over there?" I follow the direction of his gaze to a short, blonde woman, most likely in her fifties, dressed like she's in her twenties. She's in the midst of three men and her laugh is louder than the music. "That's Chloe's mother. That's the kind of woman all these girls become. The ultimate goal is to marry rich and gain social status. Chloe's been chasing Anthony for a good few years,"<br />
"I thought this stuff only happened in Gossip Girl?"<br />
"Nope, very much happens. Anyway, he was dodging her very well until you came along,"<br />
"What? How is this my fault?" I look at him alarmed.<br />
"You turned him down, and in his depressed state, he gave in to Chloe,"<br />
"Well, never mind. I don't really see how I can help. If he's stupid enough to fall for her, he should face the consequences," and I make yet another attempt to leave the party. But Jens holds on to my arm.<br />
"If you tell him you like him, he'd leave Chloe in an instant," <br />
"I don't want him to leave Chloe," I say, appalled that he would suggest I play these games.<br />
"Ella, he really likes you. He'd do anything for you," and right then, as if his ears are burning, I see Anthony staring straight at us, a miserable scowl on his face. I look over at Jens to ask why Anthony seems so angry.<br />
"He thinks we're together," he replies. "See, it's already working,"<br />
I glance away from Anthony and try to find Clara. I spot her plum dress swaying as she dances like this is a nightclub. Oh great, this is just what I need. Her long, tanned legs are now wrapped around an elderly gentleman and there's a Snake Bite in her hand. Where on earth did she get that from?<br />
"Ella, come join us," she yells my way and I immediately shake my head. She yells out "Yeehaaa!" and starts to get even more ferocious with her dancing. The old man seems to like it.<br />
The Scary Wives of Windsor are smirking and making their way towards me once again. <br />
"Chloe will be here soon so you better leave," the Queen Bee informs.<br />
"Really?" I say, sipping from my champagne glass and glancing quickly at Anthony. "In that case, I'm not going anywhere,"</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-42298755637679929272012-09-02T20:58:00.000+01:002012-09-02T20:58:51.438+01:00The Bunny Boiler - Chapter 11<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You know when you're young listening to music
about heartbreak, or watching movies about a girl
crying over a cheating boyfriend and singing All By Myself? And you know how you never truly understand
it properly until something like that happens to you? Well, welcome to my very
first break-up. Except I'm doing none of the above. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I tried taking Sofia's
advise to watch <em>Bridget Jones' Diary</em>, but it didn't really help. Colin Firth
reminded me of Jamie with his curly, dark hair so I switched off at the first sight
of the reindeer jumper. I even tried eating ice cream and cookie dough
like they do in American films, but managed to get a brain freeze within the
first 30 seconds so promptly gave up on that too.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My entire morning was spent listening to
Christina Aguilera's <em>You Lost Me</em>, hugging my pillow and refusing to do
anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It only changed because Mikey
barged through the front door, past my mum and literally dragged me out of
bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Put some clothes on now!” he
demands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why have you been ignoring my
texts?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look up at his angry face
through my teary, blurred vision and almost kick him to leave me alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But even lying on the floor with him tugging
at my leg is still too much energy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All
I want to do is go to sleep and forget about everything.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why are you ignoring texts?” he demands
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hear my mum knock gently on the
door, checking if everything is OK.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
then loses her temper and shouts, “Turn that music off!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That thing’s been playing on loop for three
hours!" and she’s gone again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Bye Mum! Don't mind your broken daughter!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mikey
makes a swift move for the iPod and takes it off the dock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Christina’s voice is cut off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A small yelp escapes me as I think of how
different things now sound without that as my background track.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re being pathetic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Get up and put some clothes on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And your top is too big for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can see your boobs,”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look down to be greeted by them also.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m relieved Mikey is gay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So
what?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So why haven’t you been replying
to texts?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve all been worried,”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I adjust my top, rub my eyes and stand
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Haven’t done that in a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You
also skipped college yesterday,”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I slump
my shoulders wondering why he’s being so insensitive about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Doesn’t he know the world of pain I’m
in?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walk around the room as if testing
my legs out for the first time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I resemble Bambi on ice, but with bushier hair. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t
want to look at my phone,” I admit weakly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“I don’t want to see if Jamie has contacted me, and at the same time I don’t
want to see that he hasn’t,” I look up at Mikey who has gained some
understanding in his eyes, “D…did you see him yesterday?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But I saw Kate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looked very
happy,”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well, of course she did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She got what she wanted,”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You cannot let this get to you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be the bigger person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rise above it and let him see what he
lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you can’t do that with
pyjamas, unbrushed hair and what I can only imagine is several days’ worth of
morning breath,”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I suppose,”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He’s always right, dammit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I’m
dressed pretty quickly, but I refuse to brush my hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually Mikey realises it is a losing
battle when I wrestle the Tangle Teezer out of his hands and throw it at the
other side of the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have now
ventured into town in the hope of getting my mind off my failed
relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mum has given me her
credit card out of pity and all I’m thinking is how much of a shame it is that
she chooses to do so now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the day
where my mind will be on everything apart from spending.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Let’s buy you some new make-up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You like make-up,” and I’m quickly rushed
into Debenhams faced with the Benefit counter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t want make-up,” I grunt. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Mikey analyses my face. </span>“No,
but you need it,”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">We're now in Starbucks after what I can only describe as an uneventful shopping session. I honestly don't know why Mikey thought this would help. I've been walking around like a zombie in my back to front jumper and my tangled hair. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Mikey plonks the cappuccino in front of me and in a surly tone asks, "So what exactly is the problem?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> What? How can he even ask that?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I don't reply. Only throw him a stern look which makes him spill his tea. That was pretty cool, actually. I wonder if I have special powers. Maybe I can make Kate disappear.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "Jamie is stupid. Like, really stupid. Anyone with half a brain can see that Kate is a psycho. Why would you want to be with someone <em>that </em>stupid?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I mope into my cappuccino as I say, "Because I love him. And because he smells great," and just like that I want to start crying all over again while listening to Christina Aguilera. I get flashbacks of our time together, smiling, happy and get an overwhelming feeling of anger. How did this happen? How did my boyfriend lose faith in me? What have I done wrong?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "Mikey?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "Yes?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "Am I chaotic?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "Yes,"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "Why?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "What?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "Well, what makes me chaotic? What do I do that gives that impression?" I look at him like a child asking their parent a difficult question.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "It's hard to describe. You just...are,"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I sit back in my chair and look out of the window. I don't mean to be so dramatic. It just happens. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "I'm sure you'll grow out of it," Mikey announces and I scowl at him.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "So I'm not even chaotic in a cute way?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "What? Why are you asking?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I take in a deep breath before speaking. "Well, that's how Jamie described me. He said I get myself into these crazy situations and that I wouldn't be happy without them. He said all his friends warned him about me,"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "OK, firstly, don't listen to what his crew of morons say. They're just jealous. Have you not seen the way they stare at you? And secondly, yes, you get yourself into crazy situations, and sometimes it really does feel like it follows you around more than the average person. Much more, in fact. But, there's nothing wrong with it," he gives me a sympathetic smile and slurps his tea. That's as much affection as I'm ever going to get out of him.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "Am I chaotic in the same way Kate is chaotic?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "Definitely not! Kate is a massive hurricane that creeps up and ruins your life. You're a gentle landslide, occasionally displacing the odd mountain bear here or there,"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "Are you the mountain bear?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "Yes, I bloody am, Ella. And it really can be a nightmare with you sometimes. All this mountain bear wants to do is sleep in his cave, but no, he's never allowed. He has to go spy on people and buy boats," </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I can't help but burst out laughing, which is great because I haven't done so in a while. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> We pause and stare out of the window watching the world go about its day.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "I'm sure Jamie will come round. And if he doesn't, well, why would you want to be with someone as fickle as that anyway?" Mikey consoles.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I nod because I know he's absolutely right. But it still doesn't mean the pain is any less severe than a few minutes ago.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "I just want him to see what she's really like. It hurts that he doesn't believe me,"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "I know. He will eventually. I don't know how she's managed it but she's blinded him and he can't see. He doesn't have the Bunny Boiler Richter Scale technology that we have,"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I smile.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "Things will get better. You just need to stay out of their way so that Jamie sees you're not out to cause trouble, but that the trouble has been Kate all along. Just be patient,"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "I don't think patience is my thing," I stare out of the window as my brain starts to plot something.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "Ella? What are you thinking?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I smile mischievously as I sip my cappuccino. "Hang on tightly, little bear. There's a landslide coming," </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> To which Mikey practically has a heart attack.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-39560962330041992372012-07-28T14:31:00.001+01:002012-07-28T14:33:16.116+01:00The Zoo Date<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I don't want to watch the penguins!"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I'm sorry, what?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I just don't, OK?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
No! Not OK! What sort of human being doesn't want to watch penguins?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Don't you like them?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"They're alright," he shrugs casually and turns away from me. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Behind me I can hear a sea of people clapping as they watch some amazing penguin display. I immediately feel like a child cast away from a birthday party. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Why don't you want to see them?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I just don't want to,"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<em>But why???</em></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He starts to walk away and I stand there frozen in motion watching him in annoyance. Another round of claps echoes through from the penguin enclosure.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I know I sound ridiculous, but this entire day has been a nightmare. I haven't seen anything! Not a single animal. Not a single insect. Not a single bird. Well, apart from those fluffy chickens that seem to run around by the cafes.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Just walking.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lots and lots of walking.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It hasn't even been the interesting kind with funny stories and romantic embraces. It has been dull and boring. Actually, no. Wrong words to use. Dull and boring should be describing someone who says things you have no interest in. Steve says nothing.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"The butterflies?" I ask hopefully. "There's always one eating a banana,"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"No,"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<em>Thank you. No, thank you!</em> Whatever happened to manners?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Imagine if I introduced this guy to my family! My mum would think I've lost my mind. I'm a talker. I need to meet my conversational equal. This man is clearly the opposite of me. The anti-Ella, if you will.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I follow on two steps behind him as he walks around pointlessly. I attempt to ask him something else, but it seems futile. I'm only going to get a brief 'no' in return and carry on walking.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I dig out my phone from my handbag to quickly glace at the time. It's three in the afternoon. Four whole hours gone - just like that. I could have done so much in those four hours. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He seems so glum, as if something terribly bad has happened but he isn't willing to share. I have an overwhelmed urge to pry, but I refrain. It's none of my business, after all. After this dreadful day is done I'm hoping to never see him again. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I don't remember him being like this at the party last week. When my friend, Lisa, introduced us he seemed perfectly lively. And now, he's an empty shell. He greeted me at the tube with a casual 'hi' and has made no conversation since.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have to do it. I have to pry. I have to ask.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Is something wrong?" I run a couple of steps so I'm side by side.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Not really," he says - the same sombre tone he's adopted for the day. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Surely there's something. You've been like this all day," I smile at him, trying my hardest to make him feel alright to open up. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Look, you're very nice and all that, but let's face it, not my type. So, let's just get this day out of they way and move on with our lives!" He moves away from me again and marches ahead. I'm left there standing like a moron, unsure of what to say. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"You asked for my number. You called me, remember?" I run after him, not wanting to walk away without having the last word. "If you knew immediately I wasn't your type, why even bother?" but he pretends not to listen to me. I can see he's trying to figure out the exit among the mazes of paths, but is failing miserably.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I mean, what the heck is wrong with men??? So temperamental and unsure of what they actually want. Once minute you think they're in love with you, the next you have no idea what went wrong. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I follow him a bit further down another (wrong) path as he furiously tries to get away, but I'm persistent. It's my best and worst trait.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Am I not allowed an explanation?" I ask after him. We've found ourselves near the monkeys. Their loud screechings and mating calls surround us as Steve and I stare each other out. He's finally managed to turn around, probably having figured out that I'm his only saving grace if he wants to get out of here. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He takes in a couple of deep breaths before starting, "Look," he pauses again and turns to face the monkeys. One of them hissses at him and I almost feel like Steve will hiss back. "I'm just a bit overwhelmed with stuff, that's all," </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<em>Overwhelmed???</em></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"But if you didn't want to be here, why bother?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He shrugs his shoulders and turns away again. That's it. That's all the explanation I get. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The monkeys have all gathered around our corner, clinging on to the cage tightly as they watch our tragic date. I feel like I'm the one in a zoo, not them. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"The exit is that way," I tell Steve and watch on as he moves away briskly. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-18112205424333907562012-07-01T11:21:00.001+01:002012-07-01T11:21:29.674+01:00Lexi - The Panic<h4>
<span>(Continuation of </span><a href="http://www.hopelessdaters.com/2012/01/lexi-decision.html"><span>Lexi - The Decision</span></a><span>)</span></h4>
<br />
OK, just relax, Lexi. You're having a slight panic attack but there's nothing to worry about. Just breathe deeply, calm yourself and ring the buzzer. Just think of it as a fancy door bell...a talking fancy door bell. <br />
My hands scramble inside the bag for the address just to make sure I have the right flat number. Flat 33. Now, you knew that! Why did you have to get in such a flipping panic over it? Stop being such a dweeb and press the buzzer. <br />
<br />
If I could remove one thing from my personality, it would be my nervousness. I worry over the slightest of things. Like that time I went to see some baby animals with my niece at the local farm and kept thinking a billy goat was staring at me. It might not seem like such a big deal, but I was so convinced by it that I told Natalia (my niece) that we had to run away really fast or the goat would get us. She's five now, and my sister still says she refuses to eat feta cheese.<br />
"Cup of tea?"<br />
"Huh?"<br />
"Tea,"<br />
"Oh, no thank you," I smile as Eve disappears into the kitchen and let out a huge sigh of relief. Now, this isn't so bad, I tell myself. I've managed to knock on the door, get the lift, and say hello. And guess what, I did spontaneously combust in the process.<br />
I catch a glimpse of myself in the majestic mirror to my right and almost jump in shock. I must get used to the fact that I'm now blonde.<br />
I wonder what John would say about it. Oh no! What if he doesn't like it? What if blondes just aren't for him and he dumps me on the spot, and here I am looking like a muppet having made such a big move for him. <br />
That would be an utter disaster! Living in London, miles away from my friends and family, and now I've been dumped!<br />
Okay - you're getting too ahead of yourself, Lexi. Stop with all this panicking. It's doing no good at all. And let's face it. Who doesn't like blondes?<br />
"So, how'd you like the house?" Eve's voice calls out from the kitchen as I hear a few pots and pans clinking together. <br />
"Umm, it's really lovely," I respond taking a good look at my surrounding.<br />
To be honest, I didn't take in a single detail when she was doing the tour. Now that I'm concentraiting, this place really is lovely. The ceilings are much higher than my Winchester flat and the furniture is incredibly modern, but Eve is quite clearly a homey girl. All chrome shelves are filled with mis-matched picture frames, half read books in a random order stacked on top of each other, and cushions. Lots of clashing cushions. Everywhere. I don't think I've owned a cushion in my life.<br />
Eve enters the living room once more, slumping on the sofa with force. Feet immediately up on the coffee table.<br />
"I might knock a hole through that wall,"<br />
"I'm sorry, what?"<br />
"Well, the kitchen is so small. I'm just wondering it would be so much easier to make this place more open plan. Especially now there are two people here," she sips at her tea and stares straight ahead at the said wall, tilts her head to one side and ponders, "Yes, it would be an immense improvement,"<br />
"Are you allowed?" I carefully ask. <br />
"Oh, of course. My parents have set foot in here once, and even then I'm pretty sure they were glued to their Blackberries. They'll be fine," she then turns to me with a wide smile. Her mouth is rather big, and her green eyes are looking at me with some form of hunger. I almost move away. All the way to Winchester. Maybe Mand was right. Maybe she is a psycho.<br />
"So," she begins, crossing her legs on the sofa, "Tell me everything about your boyfriend,"<br />
Ah.<br />
This must be what a girly chat is like. I once attempted that at university but became convinced one of my flatmates was coming on to me. I'm 98% sure that's not the case here.<br />
"He's lovely," I say like a shy teenager. "We've known each other for so long. He was my first love but it just never worked out back when we were in school. About a month ago we bumped into each other again. He'd moved back to Winchester after working in London, and walked into the restaurant I work at. Worked at. Well, we both knew it was worth another try,"<br />
"Aww! It sounds so sweet. You never forget your first love,"<br />
"That's what I hear," and I belive it's true. I'd never fully got John out of my head. Yes, I'd had relationships with other guys, but there was always this part of me - this niggling feeling at the back of my head that always wondered what he was doing. Why it never worked out. If I would ever see him again. <br />
"Where's he taking you tonight?"<br />
I pause and think, "I'm not sure. We only agreed on dinner, not location," and then start to get another panic as I think about how I'm going to find my way around London. <br />
"Where does he live?"<br />
"Chelsea,"<br />
"That's not far. If you need help getting there, just let me know. I've become a complete geek with London now,"<br />
Wow, she's so nice. I instantly feel calmer.<br />
Eve's attention goes back to the wall. "I might ring around tomorrow and see if anyone can come and knock it down before the weekend," and with that she has left the room.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure John believes I've actually moved to London. I half expect him to not turn up at the restaurant as his texts back to me seem to be mocking ones, as if I'm kidding about meeting up in London.<br />
Nevertheless, I'm almost at the restaurant. I've googled, binged and yahooed the venue (you know, just to make sure). Overall, pretty straight forward. <br />
Eve let me borrow her Oyster card, and as of tomorrow, I shall have my own. I probably sound mad - like someone who has never heard of London, but the truth is, I've just never been adventurous. For me, it's always been about home comforts, who you know and what you know.<br />
I see John getting out of a taxi in a dark suit. "Babe!" he calls out and embraces me tightly, "What are you doing? Have you gone crazy?"<br />
OK. I'm getting a little tired of people saying that. <br />
"I give you a week," he escorts me into the restaurant.<br />
"A week for what?"<br />
"Until you give up and go back to Winch,"<br />
"I'm not going to give up," I insist. "I've moved here for good,"<br />
He lets out a short laugh. Wow! He really doesn't believe in me, does he? I want to stop this conversation before I start getting upset?<br />
"So...," I begin, "What do you think of the hair"<br />
He turns to look at me just after catching the waiter's attention. With deep eyes he looks at my hair, then ruffles his. "Is it a bit lighter?"<br />
<em>A bit???</em><br />
"It's about 7 shades lighter," I say, quickly losing my optimism. Damn it! I knew he wouldn't like it.<br />
"You've always been blonde," he retorts. The waiter leads us to a candlet lit table for two by the window.<br />
"John, my hair is brown,"<br />
"Are you sure?"<br />
"Certain," I want to go home. I really just want to go home.<br />
"But in the sunshine...your hair is blonde in sunlight...that's all I mean," he tries to recover. <br />
"So how was work?" I ask, wanting to move on from another conversation. <br />
"Same old shit. Just a different town this time,"<br />
I smile politely and peruse the menu, but really don't feel like eating. Another panic feeling creeps up within me which I'm finding harder and harder to repress. <br />
This really was a mistake, wasn't it. I mean, who the hell am I kidding? This sort of thing isn't for me. I need routine and right now I've been thrown completely off course. <br />
"What did they say when you left work?" he asks, not raising his head from the menu.<br />
"I don't think they were too bothered. Apart from Mand, of course,"<br />
John snorts with laughter and closes his menu, "Ah, the lesbian,"<br />
"She's not a lesbian!"<br />
"Lex, she's mean, manless and mad. The triple M, meaning she's a lesbian. Plus she follows you around everywhere and speaks to you like you're her wife," he laughs again and calls back the waiter. <br />
I watch him as he scrunches his face when the waiter tells him he'll be with us in a moment. Even doing that he seems God-like. Immaculate and groomed to perfection, John is as handsome as they come. His dark brown hair is styled and swept in all different directions, but somehow it looks amazing. With deep, brown eyes he glances at me, smiles, and throws them in the direction of the wondering waiter. He then swears loudly when the waiter sees to another table. Normally I'd be appalled, especially since John's potty mouth has grasped the attention of a few people, but I really don't care. I could watch him forever.<br />
"How many times have you heard from her today?"<br />
"From Mand? Umm...only one or two," The correct answer is actually closer to fifteen. She's been wanting to know exactly where I am and what I'm doing, and why haven't I called her? I haven't responded to them all because it would only lead to more.<br />
"I don't believe that for a second. I remember how she used to be with you back in school. No one was allowed to get near you. Fuck knows how I managed it,"<br />
"She's a motherly person, John. She's like that with all her friends," which could be true. If she had other friends.<br />
Wow! This really wasn't the way I imagined this dinner to go. In my head I had an ideal, romantic picture of John and me holding hands across a candlelit dinner table. He'd be extatic that I moved up here to be with him, he'd love my new hair, and most importantly he'd say he loved me. But no. We're sitting here talking about how my best friend in a lesbian. <br />
<br />
It's almost eleven when I eventually get back to the flat. The apartment is in darkness so Eve has clearly gone to bed. As quietly as I can muster, I make my way to my new bedroom, move a few unpacked boxes out of the way, and land on the bed with force. <br />
Finally.<br />
Comfort.<br />
And then I remember it's my first day at the new job in the morning and I'm not prepared at all. Another wave of panic rises up again and I try my best to forget about it. But I can't. I just lie there on the bed too nervous to sleep, too tired to get up.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-156231409761348212012-04-07T21:24:00.000+01:002012-04-07T21:25:53.652+01:00If You're The Only One Who Knows The Truth, You'll Wish You Didn't<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em>(Continuation of </em></span><a href="http://www.hopelessdaters.com/2011/05/if-you-want-promotion-dont-play-pokemon.html"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em><span style="color: #e10975;">If You Want A Promotion, Don't Play Pokemon</span></em></span></a><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em>)</em></span><br />
<br />
The weekend is almost over and I could not be more overjoyed about it. I don't think I've ever worked this hard since I joined the company. It's actually going to be very strange going back to the office and resuming every day tasks that don't last until twenty-one minutes past nine in the evening. Or to not be treated to parties and lavish dinners every single night, for that matter.<br />
Today Hannah and I have managed to convince Luke to join us down at the beach before we head back to London, but all he's done since he got here is fiddle about with his Blackberry. At least he made the effort though. Everyone else rushed off home as soon as they were allowed.<br />
Hannah's acting like a playful child. She's splashed me with water twice and has threatened to throw me in several times. Her clothes are completely soaked from when she attempted to run away from an on-coming wave and slipped, but it still doesn't seem to dampen her spirits (pardon the pun). If I didn't know better, I'd say she was high.<br />
"Where are you going?" I shout after her as she starts running towards the deep orange horizon.<br />
"I might swim home," she shouts back, knee deep in Bournemouth sea. <br />
"Well, you're going the wrong way, unless you've moved to France!"<br />
But she isn't listening. I watch on as I see her attempt to dance along with the waves, do a few jumps, then swim.<br />
What on earth is she doing? Hannah's the sort of girl who refuses to go outside in the lightest of rain without an umbrella because she doesn't want to ruin her slick, trademark black bob. Why is she voluntarily throwing herself in the English Channel?<br />
It crosses my mind that perhaps this has something to do with her affair, which since Friday I've been trying to block from my memory. She's been on edge the entire weekend and now it's as if she's finally been set free. Something's changed. Something which to her is obviously good, but I have the worst feeling that for Luke it means something truly bad.<br />
"What the fuck is she doing out there?" Luke starts stomping towards me, one hand above his eyes blocking the blazing sun. Like a protector, he grabs one of the beach towels and stands as close to the water as he can holding it out. "Han, come back!" he shouts before turning to me and saying, "Seriously, what the fuck is she doing out there?"<br />
Well, how should I know? I've been standing here wondering the same thing!<br />
"Hannah!" he bellowes, shaking the towel like the matador to a bull, "Get out of the fucking water!"<br />
"Less of the swearing please," I say to him when I notice a disapproving mother glare at us. "Sorry," I mouthe to her, but she's clearly not in the forgiving mood. With one quick sweep, she's collected all her belongings and set up camp further down the beach.<br />
"HANNAH!" Luke yells again, knowing full well it's of no use. "Can you please come out?"<br />
But she isn't listening. This reminds me a lot like that scene in <i>Bridget Jones' Diary: The Edge of Reason</i> where Bridget has accidentally eaten magic mushrooms and is cluelessly in the sea. <br />
"Do you think she's taken magic mushrooms?" I ask Luke.<br />
He quickly turns around to look at me, eyebrows furrowed and questioning. "What?"<br />
"Like in <i>Bridget Jones' Diary</i> where Bridget is pretty much doing the same thing,"<br />
Luke's expression isn't telling me anything. He's just looking at me quizzically.<br />
"You know, when she's gone to Thailand?"<br />
Still nothing.<br />
"When Daniel is there too and he finds her? And then she gets arrested and has to go to a Thai prison and they all sing Like A Virgin?"<br />
His look is now completely blank.<br />
"And she's wearing that purple-"<br />
"Ella, stop. I've never seen the bloody thing!"<br />
Well, you could have stopped me before!<br />
I look over at Hannah who finally looks to be returning, a smile from ear to ear.<br />
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Luke says, wrapping a towel around her as her teeth start to chatter.<br />
"I'm enjoying the seaside," she replies like his question was utterly idiotic.<br />
"Fully dressed?"<br />
But she doesn't even respond to him. Longingly, she's watching the sea again. I almost attempt to hold her back so she doesn't run in, but then I remember she's completely drenched in dirty sea water, and I'm wearing a Marni top. <br />
With my index finger I try to push her away from the sea and towards the car. "I think we should head home now," to which Luke nods his head.<br />
<br />
If this two hour car journey has taught me anything is that I am not the maternal type. And that Luke is. <br />
He ordered me to sit in the back with Hannah to make sure she keeps the blanket around her, and all I did was read Glamour magazine. He then kept turning around every couple of minutes to ask if she's gone to sleep yet, but again all I did was read Glamour magazine straight after a faint, "Yeah, I think so," Luke seems to think Hannah has heat stroke. I, on the other hand, think it's just a plain old stroke.<br />
Now Hannah has actually gone to sleep so I ask Luke to turn the radio up. Well, I actually mean on. Luke is in one of his pensive thoughts mood and isn't being very chatty, so I need some form of entertainment before I'm dropped off home. <br />
"Are you OK?" I ask him.<br />
He only sighs.<br />
"Luke?"<br />
He sighs again before responding, "She's been acting differently all weekend," he's about to say something else but stops.<br />
I slump back in my seat and look out of the window feeling a sharp pang of guilt as I think back to that scene from the balcony. It's not my place to say anything. But it's probably not my place to keep it hidden either. <br />
"Has she said anything to you?" his head tilts slightly towards the back seat as if awaiting an answer urgently. <br />
"Nope," I say, which technically isn't a lie. Hannah hasn't mentioned anything to me at all. My knowledge was attained purely accidentally. <br />
I turn my head towards her as she lies there sleeping soundly, head tucked against the top of the seatbelt. She looks peaceful and happy and I almost get the urge to wake her up and demand that she comes clean about the affair. <br />
"How has she been acting differently?" I ask, purely selfish, wanting to know more details.<br />
The car takes a sharp left before he answers, and I move back to my seat adjusting my hair. Second thing I've learnt on this journey is that Luke is a terrible driver.<br />
"She's constantly on the move. Constantly busy. I find it difficult to spend any time with her at all," he stops at a zebra crossing and lets two boys with a football cross. "I don't feel like I have a girlfriend anymore. I mean, what's the fucking point?" and the car accelerates with force down the road.<br />
"It could just be work," <br />
"Perhaps," but the way he says it makes me think he doesn't believe it is. "But I think there's more to it than that. You know what Hannah's like. She's loud and outgoing, and never hides how she feels. But all she's been doing of late is hiding. It's like she's-"<br />
I'm listening to Luke intently, waiting for him to say the word "affair", but Hannah moves in her sleep and he stops. <br />
"I'm probably just being paranoid," he finally finishes.<br />
"Yes, I'm sure it's nothing. She just needs a nice warm shower and a good night's sleep. She'll be back to normal tomorrow,"<br />
"Oh, before I forget," he says, his voice suddenly uplifted. "The guys at the top have given us all tomorrow off for all the hard work this weekend,"<br />
"And you're only just telling me this? Luke, I could have arranged all sorts of things!"<br />
He laughs. "I'm sure you can still buy your tickets for London Zoo, don't worry,"<br />
"London Zoo?" I protest, but now that I think about it, it's not a bad idea. <br />
"A day out shopping then?"<br />
What? I'm actually offended now. He seems to think I'm some childish shopaholic. For all he knows I could be out doing charity work, or visiting museums. Or planting rainforests.<br />
"Well, if I'd known I had tomorrow off sooner I might have planned something. Something incredibly interesting,"<br />
Our eyes meet as I glance at the rear view mirror and notice he has a full blown smile. "Relax," he says. "I'm only teasing. I know what you do in your spare time. I've read your CV, remember?"<br />
<em>Fuck! What did I put under interests in my CV?</em> Undoubtedly all lies I'd imagine.<br />
"And if you fail to make any plans, there's always Pokemon,"<br />
<em>Bastard!</em><br />
We pull up outside Hannah's flat and I'm surprised I haven't been dropped off first.<br />
"Aren't you staying with her?" I ask, a bit beweildered. <br />
He turns to look at me with a hurt smile, then at Hannah, "No. She doesn't like it when I stay over unplanned. With the way things are at the moment, I really don't want to be making things worse," he opens his door and walks round to open Hannah's.<br />
I gently shake her arm and she awakens as if from a deep hibernation. "Han, we're home," I say.<br />
She rubs her eyes and looks around, a stranger to her surroundings. "I'm too tired," she mumbles before closing her eyes again. <br />
I look at Luke who's watching over her like a concerned doctor. <br />
"I'll stay with her tonight," I tell him, trying to reassure that at least someone's with her.<br />
"Really?" he says, brightening slightly.<br />
"Yes, just to make sure she doesn't run off to be near water again. We don't want her diving in the Thames,"<br />
"Ok, thanks,"<br />
"Not a problem. Get the bags inside, will you," I joke, but am now wondering whether I've over-stepped the mark. <br />
"Yes, Sir!" he mocks.<br />
I turn to Hannah and attempt to wake her again. "We're home," I say. "Han, we need to get you inside,"<br />
She looks straight at me, rustles about, then closes her eyes again. "Can't I just sleep here? I'm far too tired,"<br />
"No, you need to get inside. Come on,"<br />
She moves around again, scrunching her face in annoyance, "I don't see why I can't sleep here,"<br />
"Because we're in Luke's car. We need to get you into bed," Now losing my patience, I'm seconds away from shoving her out of the car. Yup, I'm definitely not the maternal type. <br />
After some more fidgeting, she emerges still in a sleepy daze. I'm not enjoying the fact that I have to hold her up though.<br />
Luke is at the top of the steps by the front door, fumbling around with Hannah's keys.<br />
"You OK?"<br />
"Yes" he replies impatinetly just before the door is opened.<br />
"Hannah, you need to get up the stairs, OK?" <br />
"Yes. OK, Rog," she responds, and I pray to God that Luke hasn't heard.<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-82483201084469328222012-03-11T09:54:00.000+00:002012-03-18T10:39:51.952+00:00Minutes "Can I ask you a question?"<br />
"...OK,"<br />
"And promise me you'll tell me the honest answer?"<br />
He hesitates before he answers again, "...OK," he finally manages and wraps his arm around me as we walk along the footpath of the rippling Thames.<br />
"I know you've said no to this question before, so I don't really know why I'm asking,"<br />
"...Right...OK,"<br />
"But that night last September when you left early with Lisa, did you sleep with her?"<br />
And the question's out there and I can never get it back. The next minute before any sound comes out of his mouth is the longest minute I've ever experienced. I stand there, my eyes glued as I watch his face change, and it tells me more than words ever could. A faint "yes" emerges from his lips.<br />
My entire body goes numb as his grip on me tightens and pulls me closer, but all I want to do is get away.<br />
He laughs nervously and tries again to hold on. "Come here," he attempts and fails, his hand grazing against my back as I walk away. But his touch doesn't feel right anymore. It's not the same. It was claimed by another for a few minutes before me and it was probably never meant to be mine in the first place.<br />
"Can we at least talk about this?"<br />
<i>I wouldn't know what to say.</i><br />
"Ella, please can we talk about this?"<br />
"You should have told me," I raise my voice, looking ahead trying desperately to show that I'm not hurt by it, because all I want to do is go home and cry. But I have no right to cry.<br />
This happened before me.<br />
Before.<br />
Before.<br />
Before.<br />
And yet it doesn't matter how many times I tell myself this, I can't shift the tight knot that's formed itself in the pit of my stomach taunting me and telling me, "I told you so!"<br />
"I'm sorry. Are you OK?"<br />
<i>Turn your head, look at him, smile slightly and nod. Just pretend like you don't care. </i><br />
"I'll be fine in a minute," I lie and then wonder whether I'm over-reacting with this whole thing. Should I even be getting angry? Do I even have a right to get angry?<br />
I hear his footsteps fall heavily as he strides towards me trying once again to envelop his arms around me. "I was really drunk! Like, really drunk!" he keeps repeating, "For a minute it just seemed like a good idea!" I don't hear his words because my brain has turned into my own enemy and is teasing me with unwanted questions. <i>Does he love her? Would he rather be with her right now? Am I second choice? </i><br />
My whole judgement's blurred and my head is rushing through memories, aimlessly analysing every word he's ever said, every minute of our time together. But memories which I thought were the making of us are now tainted and tarnished with news I should have known a long time ago. My entire world has shifted when only a few minutes ago everything was perfect.<br />
"I work with her every single day!" I blurt out. "I see her every day! You didn't think it would be fair for me to know that you slept with someone I'm friends with?" I look away again shaking my head. "It's weird, Nick. It's really weird!"<br />
"Maybe," he shrugs his shoulders.<br />
"Maybe? There's no <i>maybe</i> about it! You don't think it's weird that there's a girl in the office who knows something your girlfriend doesn't? What would you have done if she'd told me?" he looks to the floor. "It's horrible that you would even put me in that situation,"<br />
"It was before you. I was so different then. I didn't even think I had a chance with you!"<br />
I sit down on the edge of the river bank and try to calm down, because getting in an argument won't help anything. I start to play with a lonely daffodil in its early bloom and get reminded of all my teenage dreams of love and how none of this ever crossed my mind.<br />
Surely it's meant to be simple?<br />
Surely you meet someone and that's it, right?<br />
Why are there always other people involved? Why can't your Prince Charming ever be <i>your</i> Prince Charming?<br />
"You should have still told me. I asked you so many times if something had happened and you always said no! It would have taken a minute back when we were just friends to tell the truth," I say, suddenly irritated and annoyed and not wanting to stop the argument after all.<br />
He's about to speak but I don't let him. "I spent a good 50 minutes talking to my best friend about you and telling her how amazing our relationship is, and how being friends for so long is a good thing because I know everything about you. There'd be no nasty surprises along the way. I said that you'd never lie to me," I stop for breath, eyes filling up with salty tears, "and I hate that I had you all wrong," I push the daffodil away like an unwanted toy and stare out at the river needing desperately to stop crying.<br />
"I didn't tell you the truth because I was scared of losing you. If you knew, nothing would have ever happened between us,"<br />
"Of course it would!" I shout. "I can't blame you for having a one night stand two months before you and me! But I can blame you for not telling me," I feel tired and exhausted. As if I have too much to say but my point isn't being made and he's not listening to it. "Nick, it's not like you slept with someone who I don't know and who you'll never see again. You slept with someone who we both see and speak to every single day! You should have told me!"<br />
I need to take a breather. Just a minute to sit down and be silent.<br />
And to stop fucking crying! <br />
I hear him take a deep breath before he says, "I love you. For me, nothing's changed,"<br />
I want to yell.<br />
I want to punch him in the face and remind him that he's the one with the revelation, not me. But all I do is stare out onto the great Thames and cry even more.<br />
"For me everything's changed," I manage through spells of tears. "When you meet someone you gradually build a picture of them. Of your relationship. One by one I've been making the puzzle pieces fit and thinking I had all of them, but you've thrown another one at me and I don't know where it goes. My entire image is wrong. I don't know how to make this fit,"<br />
"So just throw that piece away," he sits down next to me and kisses my cheek, "It shouldn't go anywhere. It's not part of anything. It's insignificant!"<br />
I feel like I should be pushing him away... but I don't want him to go anywhere.<br />
"I should have told you, and I really am sorry. But nothing's different to a few minutes ago. We're still exactly the same," he pulls me closer, resting his head on my shoulder before leaning in for another kiss.<br />
For a minute everything's back to normal as we sit there together. That knot in my stomach unties itself and things feel fine. Back to normal. Safe.<br />
But the minute gets replaced by the next and I'm back to square one again, thinking thoughts I never thought I'd have in my head. I can't stop picturing the two of them together and it kills me, absolutely kills me that someone else I know knows my boyfriend in a way only I should. I want to tell him that if it were the other way around, there is no way he'd be fine. But he would never understand. Not really. Not unless it actually happens to him.<br />
I think about breaking it off completely. I've been telling myself that it'll take time to get used to this new information. That eventually I'll be fine with it.<br />
But why should I?<br />
Why should I have to? Why get used to something you don't particularly want to get used to? Wouldn't I rather have a boyfriend who hasn't slept with someone I work with? Can't I just get <i>another</i> boyfriend?<br />
It's at that moment that I get an image of me at about 40 years of age sitting in a bar on my own with <i>'The Man That Got Away'</i> playing in the background, twirling my unwanted wedding ring given to me by a guy I never loved, sipping on a G n'T and wishing I could turn back the minutes and come back to this spot right here. It's this which makes me realise why I haven't run away yet.<br />
Love.<br />
I wipe away the last tear from my cheek and turn to look at him. His blue eyes blaze into me in anticipation of what I'm going to say, but he speaks first,<br />
"She was a mistake," <br />
I don't respond.<br />
"I just wanted to forget about it. The two of us wanted to pretend like it never happened,"<br />
<i>'The two of us'</i> - that really hits me hard. Like they're together. Like they're part of something together. I want to say, "Well, she was your mistake, you're mine!"and get up and walk away.<br />
But I don't because I know I wouldn't mean it and because I really don't want to leave. <br />
"I know this happened back in September, but you have to understand that because I've only found out, it feels to me like it's happening right now," I tell him. "And this may sound crazy but I keep thinking about every single time you've brought her up in conversation saying how she's annoying you, and I keep asking myself whether you mentioned her because she actually was annoying you, or because you were thinking about her,"<br />
He laughs at that.<br />
I want to hit him.<br />
"Ella, if I ever talk about her, it will always be because she's annoying me,"<br />
We sit in silence again, minutes flying by like pages off calendars and I know that soon things will get better again. In a minute I'll get past this. In a minute it'll be forgotten. In a minute it'll be something we laugh about. <br />
"Please tell me we're OK," he looks intently at me, his left arm embracing me tightly.<br />
I force a faint smile and kiss him on the lips. <i>No, things aren't fine</i> - I want to say. But they will be.<br />
Any minute now.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-45630118642286110702012-01-29T21:40:00.001+00:002012-01-29T21:42:27.904+00:00Lexi - The Decision "Lexi, can you please repeat that because I think my hearing's going. Did you say you're moving to London?"<br />
I tilt my head to lock my phone against my shoulder as I furiously dump more clothing into my suitcase. There will come a use for bikinis. Especially that frilly pink one I bought at the age of nineteen and have never worn.<br />
Amanda is still saying words on the other end, none of which I'm listening to. All I'm concerned about is shifting the contents of this dingy, small bedroom and somehow getting it 64 miles north to London. By tonight. The moving van said they'll only accept a minimum of three boxes for such a journey, so I'm spreading all my possessions out and hoping they won't notice. Especially since box number three now only contains that frilly, pink bikini.<br />
"Lexi, just stop what you're doing and think about this for a second. You can't drop everything you have here and leave. Let me finish my shift and I'll be straight over. We can discuss this properly, OK?" I can hear a few dishes clinking together in the background and a sudden pang of guilt rises up within me. I'm skipping work right now for this. "I mean, Lexi, where the hell are you going to go?"<br />
I throw the last bit of clothing to accompany the bikini and sit down on the bare mattress. "Mand, I've been thinking about this since John first said he was moving back to Chelsea, and the only thing I can think of that makes sense is moving up there with him," my attention is caught by the familiar view outside the window and for a split second I wonder whether I'm actually making the right decision. This sort of thing just isn't me. I don't make spontaneous decisions. I barely make decisions!<br />
"You've been with him for a month!" I hear her shout down my ear.<br />
"Well, it obviously sounds bad when you put it like that. This isn't some stranger I barely know. This is my first boyfriend. The first guy I ever fell in love with and now he's back in my life and I don't want to let go of it again. I don't want to be sitting in this same room in a few years time and regretting not getting off my arse and doing something about it,"<br />
I hear her let out a deep breath just before a door is opened and the bellowing voice of our boss echoes, "If that's Lexi on the phone tell her that if she doesn't show for her shift tomorrow, she's fired,"<br />
"You have permission to tell him I've quit, by the way,"<br />
Amanda adopts a motherly tone and begins again, "Look, what's the plan then?"<br />
"I've found a flat in Chiswick. The pictures of it look amazing and the girl I'll be sharing with sounds really nice. She said her parents bought it for her but it has an extra bedroom and she's getting bored of living on her own,"<br />
"She sounds like a psycho,"<br />
"She's not a psycho, Mand. I think we're going to get along really well. She did a degree in English Literature too just like me, and now she's a teacher,"<br />
"And how are you going to pay rent? Chiswick isn't cheap,"<br />
"I've managed to get myself an Assistant Buyer job in Acton. It seems to only be temporary for now as they needed someone urgently, but the woman on the phone said it will almost certainly lead to something permanent. I think they want to see what I'm like before they commit,"<br />
I can practically hear Amanda's doubt but I don't let her dampen my spirits. She's been like this since we were in secondary school. Always trying to be the voice of reason.<br />
"I don't like the sound of this,"<br />
"I know you don't!" I snap without realising. "But I'm 24 and I'm only a waitress-"<br />
"Only a waitress? What, so this job suddenly isn't good enough for you? I'm only a waitress too, Lexi. You don't see me being such a snob about it,"<br />
"That's not what I meant. And I'm not a snob. This just isn't where I thought I would be at 24. I want a career, Mand,"<br />
"This is a career,"<br />
"No, this is <i>your</i> career. You've always known that this is what you wanted to do. I wish things were that straight forward with me. I went to university and did nothing with my degree. I've done nothing for the last three years and I hate it. John walking into the restaurant a month ago was a wake-up call. I'm tired of everything being so mundane," I pause for breath and hope that she hasn't taken any of this personally.<br />
"He broke your heart once. I was there when he ditched you and walked away the first time round and he'll do it again!" I think back to when I was 17 when John called me and said having a girlfriend was too much of a distraction. Next thing I know he'd moved schools for the final year and I never saw him again. Until now. Suddenly that unfinished ending could finally have a completion.<br />
"I know full well that this could all go horribly wrong, but Mand, I'd really kick myself if I didn't go for it," I can hear she understands but doesn't really want to. "So please be my friend and support me through this,"<br />
"Fine," she mouths unconvincingly. "Let me know when you get there, OK?"<br />
"Yeah, I will,"<br />
And without a goodbye, the phone has clicked shut. <br />
I look around at my messy, half empty room just in case there's anything vital I'm about to leave behind. I do a double take when I notice my neon blue bedside lamp, but considering that nasty thing almost gives me a seizure every time it's flicked on, leaving it behind is probably best. I can buy something nice once I'm settled.<br />
The moving van will be here in half an hour and my train ticket is booked. I can't believe this is happening. Who knew I was capable of making such massive, life changing decisions. I mean, I've been buying the same porridge for years because I'm scared I won't like the taste of others, and here I am, finally taking a leap and buying that other porridge. Or so to speak.<br />
I get up off the mattress and look longingly around the room. I keep expecting a deep, nostalgic feel to kick in anytime now, but all I seem to be doing is smiling. Proper smiling. Teeth showing and everything.<br />
Wow! I feel invincible, as if anything I want can be done. I've dreamt of moving away for so long but have been too timid to even try. And here I am, bags packed and about to hit the road, just like in the movies.<br />
My mind than grows ambitious as I think about what else I've always wanted to do but have never tried, and then as if a lightbulb hovering above my head pings in brightness illuminated by my thought process, I quickly run to my flatmates room.<br />
Half an hour later I pick up my phone and text John. <i>- Let's meet in London for dinner tonight. I'll call you as soon as I get there. By the way, I'm now blonde - </i><br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-56000508424924357742012-01-03T22:50:00.000+00:002012-09-02T13:01:27.760+01:00The Bunny Boiler - Chapter 10There are certain situations I never imagined I would find myself
in. Stranded in the middle of the Thames with one of my best friends?
Yes, I almost certainly knew something like that would happen. Tripping
up when finally getting back on land and making a fool of myself? Of
course! It would be weird if that didn't happen.<br />
But
hearing my heart crack and crumble into a tiny million pieces as I watch
the guy I love stand in front of me side by side with a girl who has
made these last few months a living hell? No. I could never see this
coming. This, to me, is a foreign feeling.<br />
After all, I'm the
girl whose essay answer back in Year 11 to 'How do you think Miss
Havisham dealt with the heartbreak in Great Expectations? How would you
have reacted in this situation?' started with 'I'd kick his head in
before he broke my heart!' <br />
I feel prickling tears try to
break away from my eyes, but I refuse to let them, because despite the
fact that I'd completely let my guard down around Jamie, there is no way
I would do so when he's so close to Kate.<br />
"What brings you this way, Jamie?" Tia asks, crossing her arms and glancing once at Kate. "You don't live near here,"<br />
"I was going to call you but Kate thinks it's best I do this in person," he turns to look at me. "Can we talk?"<br />
<i>Not particularly. </i><br />
"I think I said everything I needed to say to you at the restaurant. And plus, I have a really busy afternoon planned,"<br />
"Ella, I've found you in the middle of the Thames. What exactly had
you planned for the afternoon?" I'm about to answer but he carries on.
"And why the hell have you got a boat?"<br />
"I've been planning on getting a boat for ages. You know I have,"<br />
He puts his hands on his waist and turns away from me, shaking his head
as he looks at the ground. "The first I heard about this boat idea was
a few days ago when you started going loopy at the restaurant!" he
snaps, but must have noticed my startled expression because he
immediately calms down and says, "Look, can we just walk along a bit and
talk privately? Please."<br />
My head screams no. I know exactly
what he's here to do. We broke up at the restaurant but I suppose it
never felt official enough. And now he's here to make sure I know it's
over, so that he feels no guilt when he starts seeing Kate again. I
know this. I know this is exactly what he's going to say because sadly,
I've been rehearsing this conversation since we parted ways. <br />
I start to walk ahead along the Thames footpath. He tries to catch up with me, but I only speed up.<br />
"Ella, take this seriously!" he shouts.<br />
But I don't listen.<br />
I don't have to listen.<br />
He's the one who's not taking this seriously. He's the one who's given up. <i>He's</i> the one who refuses to see what Kate is doing.<br />
"Ella," he says, running a little to catch up with me. When he finally
does, he grabs my right arm and stops me in my tracks. His eyebrows
furrow as his eyes melt into sadness. "I don't want this to end," he
whispers.<br />
And I almost believe him.<br />
Until I catch a glimpse of Kate in the distance talking to Tia.<br />
I snatch my arm away from him. "Why are you here with her?"<br />
"Oh Ella, there's no need to be jealous. She's been a good friend
since she heard about you and me. She's not as bad as you think. In
fact, she told me she doesn't think you and I should break up,"<br />
"Jamie, how can you be this dumb? She's playing a game. Anyone can
see that. Have you completely forgotten about everything she did?"<br />
"I know," he begins, sweeping a hand through his hair as if he's exhausted.<br />
But I continue, "How well did our first date go? Remember the
unexpected visitor we had? What sane person has a tantrum in the middle
of a restaurant? Who cries loudly in front of everyone because their
ex is having dinner with someone else? Come on, Jamie!"<br />
"You
can't blame her for that. Her and I had just broken up and she still
loved me. We didn't have to flaunt this in her face,"<br />
"What? We didn't flaunt anything. In fact, we kept it a secret for ages so that we didn't upset her,"<br />
He doesn't respond.<br />
I take off my jacket. The sun, mixed with the rage seems to have
caused an inferno in me. If I don't walk away, I will burn. I start to
move away from him, letting the cool wind fly against my skin. I
should keep walking. I really should keep walking.<br />
But I don't.<br />
"You've forgotten about the baby incident,"<br />
He looks up confused. "The what?"<br />
"When Kate pretended to be pregnant with your child. Remember when she
told her parents and came to see you at your house?" I look into his
eyes, and for a split second I start to think he's back on my side. But
the second gets blown away with the wind and I'm left fighting on my
own.<br />
"She phoned me later that evening and apologised about everything," he tells me quietly.<br />
"You talked to her? You never told me this," I walk towards him, needing to know more information.<br />
"Am I supposed to tell you everything?" he retorts.<br />
"No," I say calmly, far too hurt at his response. "But I thought you would have told me that,"<br />
And suddenly everything makes sense. It now makes perfect sense why
Kate never gave up on Jamie and why she persisted so much. If they were
having forgiving conversations every time she did something wrong, then
no wonder she kept fighting back with more. <br />
"Why are you crying?" he asks. <br />
Crying? I hadn't even noticed. I wipe away the uncontrollable tears from my face, and try to regain myself.<br />
"Why are you crying?" Jamie asks again, as if the answer is such a mystery.<br />
"Because my boyfriend has been having private conversations with his
psycho ex and I've had no idea about them," my attempt to control the
tears has backfired, because as soon as I try to hold them back, a flood
gate opens. And I can't seem to stop.<br />
"Please, don't cry,"
he says, wrapping me up in his arms. I let him, but then push him away
with force. The tears finally stop when I see him lying there on the
dusty path, lifting himself up and brushing away the dirt from his
jeans. I didn't realise I had so much strength. <br />
"You have no idea how difficult it's been for me!" I shout. "She has made it unbearable,"<br />
"Oh please!" he retaliates, "Don't tell you haven't loved every bit of
it. You wouldn't have been happy if there wasn't some drama involved!"
he pauses, looks ahead into the water and then back at me. "My friends
warned me to stay away from you,"<br />
Whatever I said earlier about my heart breaking wasn't real, because that pain was nothing compared to this.<br />
"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask like a scolded child who just wants to go home.<br />
"You're a complete drama queen, Ella. You create crazy situations for yourself. You're too chaotic to handle sometimes,"<br />
"Name one crazy situation I've got myself into?" I stubbornly (and stupidly) ask.<br />
Jamie points to the river. "Do I need to remind you that I've just rescued you from the middle of the Thames?"<br />
I look away, knowing too well I shouldn't have asked the question.<br />
"A week ago you chased a dog through the park trying to catch him and return him back to the owner,"<br />
"I was trying to be helpful,"<br />
"Ella. The dog was running away from you!"<br />
<i>I don't see how that matters.</i><br />
"And anyway," he pauses again and looks behind at Kate. "I've been
meaning to mention this for ages. You can't keep throwing up the
pregnancy thing because if I remember correctly didn't you and Mikey
start the whole thing?"<br />
"What? How?"<br />
"You turned up at her house pretending you were a nurse from the local clinic, and then told her family she had chlamydia!"<br />
"Gonorrhoea," I correct quietly. "And anyway, that wasn't part of
the plan. Mikey and I got startled because her sister opened the front
door. It made more sense to pretend we were nurses than to lie down on
the grass like we had been,"<br />
"See? This is what I'm talking about! Normal people don't hang around houses!"<br />
"And normal people don't pretend they're pregnant!"<br />
But despite it all, he still doesn't see. I have no idea what's
happened to make him revolt against me, but I know that I'm fighting a
losing battle. Kate has stuck her bunny boiler paws right into him and
there's nothing I can do to reverse it.<br />
He lets out a sigh. "Let's just go back to mine and forget about everything. OK?"<br />
But I can't forget. "Jamie, you've just been telling me how I'm crazy
and chaotic and how your friends warned you about me. You've had
nothing nice to say, and yet all you've been doing is defending Kate.
You don't know!!! You really don't know that she's a manipulative bitch
who used and abused Giles to make you jealous!"<br />
He sneers at
my words and quickly dismisses them. "Kate came to me crying when Giles
broke up with her. So there's some news for you, Ella!"<br />
I could scream! I could grab him, shake him furiously, smack him around the head a couple of times, and scream!<br />
"Giles didn't break up with her! She broke up with him! Mikey and I
witnessed the whole thing. You're never going to believe this but I saw
the two of them when I was looking for a boat in Brighton. Giles
wanted to book a cruise for them, and she stomped on his heart by
telling him she was only with him to make you jealous," I pause to look
at Jamie's reaction, but so far, his face is blank. "I don't know what
sort of spell she's cast over you, but snap out of it," I cross my arms
and turn around staring straight ahead at the river's southern route.
The breeze has calmed down, but the April sun still blazes.<br />
"I
don't believe you. Even if that is true, how do you expect me to
believe that Kate would have blurted that out in front of you?"<br />
Damn! I don't want to answer because I know exactly where this is leading.<br />
"She didn't know we were there," I quietly respond.<br />
"And why's that?" he moves closer, quizzing me. I'm too shy to look up.<br />
"Because we were spying on them," and before I even get the chance to
finish the sentence, Jamie's gone. He's already started walking away
with heavy strides along the path. "Where are you going?" I yell after
him, almost tripping trying to catch up.<br />
He abruptly turns
around which makes me knock into him. "You really have no idea how much
I love you, Ella. But you've really proved to be the crazy one here,
not Kate,"<br />
He strides away again.<br />
I don't follow this time. Just stay back staring with sorrowed eyes as I watch him take Kate by the hand and walk away.<br />
Nope. Never saw this coming.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-83777261913132715492011-10-31T22:49:00.000+00:002012-01-03T22:50:26.687+00:00Part Three: Honeysuckle "Shouldn't you be preparing your presentation for that job interview?"<br />
"I am!" I quickly defend, trying my best to cover the laptop screen with my hand as Mikey walks past and sits down on the sofa next to me.<br />
"You're on Facebook!"<br />
"Recent studies have shown that Facebook happens to be incredibly informative!"<br />
"Yes. About people. Not about marketing,"<br />
"The presentation is almost done anyway. I'm taking a break from it,"<br />
Mikey leans over to get a better look at the screen. I instinctively go to hide the screen again, but he's too quick. So instead, I shut my eyes with a grimace and wait for him to shout at me.<br />
"ELLA!" I told you he would. "Are you Facebook stalking Alex?"<br />
OK, so I've been found out. But what's the big deal anyway? Everyone does it nowadays! Facebook is the one-stop-shop for checking someone out before you date them, and if you have the potential to do it, why not???<br />
Yes, it took a while to find the right Alex. Yes, I've looked through all his photos. Yes, I've checked out every girl he's photographed with to see if they're prettier than me. And yes, I've read every single word on his profile over and over again, despite the fact that all I can see are his name, interests and activities. His favourite TV show is Top Gear. I'm going to have to change that!<br />
"I'm not Facebook stalking him!" I lie. "I'm simply reminding myself of what he looks like before I see him tonight,"<br />
"And what about your presentation? Ella, this is serious! You have the opportunity to get your dream job. This interview is incredibly important-" He's about to go on rambling but my phone has interrupted him. "And who's that?"<br />
Honestly, he's just like my mother!<br />
"It's probably Alex!" I go over to my phone and smile at the text, which is strange because all it says is <i>'How's your day going?'</i><br />
"I can't let you see him tonight," Mikey rises from the sofa, crosses his arms and starts tapping his foot. "He's clearly too much of a distraction and you have a very important interview tomorrow,"<br />
I feel like a young teenager all over again - like I'm wearing glittery lipgloss I got free in Bliss magazine and standing at the bottom of the stairs whilst my parents tell me I can't go to the party. <br />
"That's highly unfair!" I snap. "You can't tell me what to do!"<br />
"Fine! You can only go if you finish that presentation and rehearse it once with me,"<br />
"Fine!" I respond through gritted teeth. There's no point arguing otherwise he'll wrestle me to the floor until I've given in. He's done it in the middle of Topshop to stop me from buying a dress two sizes too big - I'm pretty sure he'll do it in his own home.<br />
<br />
I never thought I'd say this but the presentation is all done and rehearsed. I'm still at Mikey's house getting ready, and for some strange, unknown reason I'm almost done. I started getting ready 15 minutes ago. Either I've abruptly become naturally beautiful, or I've stopped caring about my appearance. <br />
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I look in the mirror one last time. For 15 minutes worth of a make over, I actually look rather good. Impressed with myself, I reach for the perfume and spritz liberally all over my neck and wrists.<br />
And then I smell it.<br />
Oh bugger! I've sprayed myself with Mikey's aftershave! Quick, where's the Febreeze?!<br />
<br />
After a small war in the bathroom trying to de-smell myself, I enter the living area where Mikey is watching TV.<br />
"You look amazing!" he says. "Loving the 'Tickle Me Pink' colour of your top. Much better than the black,"<br />
I look down at the satin, pink top and smooth out a couple of creases before I argue back.<br />
"This isn't Tickle Me Pink. This is Honeysuckle. Tickle Me Pink is a Crayola colour,"<br />
"And how would you know?"<br />
"Oh, I know my crayons, Mikey. I know my crayons," and with that, I leave.<br />
<br />
"Wow! You're actually on time," is how Alex greets me just before he buzzes me in through the intercom. In a strange way I'm quite flattered that I've already exceeded his expectations without even properly starting our first date. Even if it is about punctuality.<br />
The door to his flat is already open when I reach his floor, so cautiously I walk in, knocking once.<br />
He emerges in full view with a tea towel, and looks like he's been wrestling with a bear. "I'll be two minutes. Make yourself at home," and he disappears again.<br />
So I take the opportunity to snoop. His flat is 'boy' - that's the only word to describe it. He has all the furniture he needs to have with some ad-hoc ornaments displayed haphazardly around. Clearly gifts from people and he's never known what to do with them. His bookshelf contains only hardbacks; an array of non-fictions that are meant for perusing and not reading, and the second shelf displays one wooden photo frame, with a picture of him and his family on his graduation day. I take it from the shelf and wipe off the thin layer of dust to get a better look at his face. It was only taken a year ago but to me he immediately looks younger - as if these last few months of being a doctor and saving lives have been very difficult on him. <br />
That was taken when I graduated from High School in the States," he says.<br />
Oh. I guess he looks younger because he was photographed about 9 years ago. Maybe being a doctor isn't as hard as I thought it was three seconds ago.<br />
"You all look really happy," I smile at the photograph before I place it back on the shelf.<br />
"Yeah, it was a proud moment for them. I had only just found out I'd been accepted to college over here,"<br />
"University," I correct him without even thinking and immediately want to slap myself.<br />
"You're pedantic," he smiles.<br />
"I'm correct,"<br />
We stare at each other from across the room with guilty smiles. I half expect him to charge towards me, take me into his arms and kiss me.<br />
But he doesn't.<br />
Wishful thinking, I guess.<br />
"I tried to make you dinner but I burnt it. You won't believe me now but I'm usually a very good cook. Would you like some wine?" he walks over to the coffee table and pours red wine into two glasses without waiting for my response.<br />
"Actually, I'd prefer some beer," I tell him as he hands over the glass.<br />
"You'll drink it and you'll like it," he starts walking towards the double doors that lead out into the balcony. Once he opens the door, he turns around, "You're supposed to follow me. It's so much less romantic if I'm out there admiring the evening view, and you're in here looking through my photos,"<br />
"It was only one photo! You don't have any others,"<br />
"You argue about everything. Just get out here,"<br />
I do as I'm told and look out at the familiar view of my hometown. His flat is perfectly placed to overlook every important aspect of the town centre. You can see goings-on in the Sainsbury's car park to the left. You can overhear conversations happening down below, and you can even see into other peoples' windows. If I lived in this flat, the balcony would be where I'd spend most of my time. Either the balcony or the lift, because that too was pretty impressive. Each button you pressed had a different jingle.<br />
"Are you cold?" he asks.<br />
"Nope, it's warm tonight. It's been very hot weather for April, don't you think?"<br />
He chortles before he sips his wine. "We're not going to stand here and talk about weather,"<br />
"What? Why not?"<br />
"It's too British. Too formal,"<br />
"Well, I am British. And it's not too formal. Everybody does it,"<br />
"Yes, but not us,"<br />
If I couldn't see his faint smile as he looks ahead, I'd think he was having a go at me. But I can tell he's only playing. It's strange, but this feels nothing like a first date. Unlike the usual nerves that overpower any other emotion when you first go out with someone, tonight I'm completely calm and collected. Absolutely relaxed.<br />
And this worries me.<br />
"Are you nervous?" I ask him. "I mean, did you feel nervous about seeing me?" I know. It's the absolute wrong question to ask on a first date. It's right up there with 'So, are we going on a second date?' and 'Do you want to meet my cat?' But I don't feel wrong for asking it.<br />
"No," he responds straight away. "You being here feels normal,"<br />
Without even realising, I'm smiling and edging closer.<br />
"Although your perfume is putting me off a little. I'm sure I used to have something that smelt similar. Smells masculine,"<br />
"Well, it's because I was with another man before I came to see you," OK, I clearly need to add that to my list of things not to say on a first date, because his face has gone completely serious.<br />
"I'm obviously joking. I'm staying with my friend, Mikey, who by the way is incredibly gay, and I accidentally sprayed myself with his aftershave instead of mine. But usually I smell absolutely divine,"<br />
He starts to laugh. "Oh, divine? Is that so?"<br />
"Yeah!" I say as if it's absolute gospel truth. I've moved even closer now. Our arms are touching and I know that if I turn my head to look at him, he'd kiss me. <br />
He takes the glass of wine off my hand, and along with his, puts them both down on the round, steel table. His hands cup my face before moving down to my neck, and then taking my hands into his. It's a teasing couple of seconds which feel like a couple of hours. But then his lips touch mine, and I have no idea what to think. Because nothing has ever felt like this before. <br />
He pulls his lips away and rests his forehead on mine before kissing me one last time.<br />
"Do you think we're better off as friends?" I realise I'm saying. I didn't even know my mouth had a mind of it's own because I certainly didn't order it to say this. I wait in agony at his response, certain that I've ruined everything. <br />
"You know what," he begins. I take in a deep breath to prepare for the disappointed look. "I think we get on too well to be anything else. Maybe we should hang out and see how things go,"<br />
He kisses me on the cheek and steps back into the flat, "I'll order a pizza. I've recorded 24 if you want to stay and watch it,"<br />
"Yeah, that would be really good," I respond as he leaves me out in the warm darkness.<br />
I smile as I watch on.<br />
This is good.<br />
This is all really good.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-51936649291385421322011-08-29T21:07:00.001+01:002011-08-29T21:09:06.800+01:00King Leer<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span><em>(Continuation of </em></span><a href="http://www.hopelessdaters.com/2011/04/anthony-and-chloe-patra.html"><span><em>Anthony and Chloe-patra</em></span></a><span><em>)</em></span> </span><br />
<br />
I must sort out my life. As of today I shall be a completely different person with real goals and actual aspirations, because somehow I don't think starring in a Haribo TV advert will ever work out for me. <br />
And this whole clumsy thing needs to stop. I suppose it was quite cute when I was 17, but I'm 19 now. People need to start taking me seriously. I can't keep tripping up in the middle of the store, take down a whole clothes rail with me and then blame it on an earthquake. It's getting embarrassing and frankly, no one believes me.<br />
Oh, and of course there's Anthony. Well that obsession obviously needs to end, because<br />
a) I ruined the entire thing and he doesn't want me anymore, and<br />
2) he's with Chloe now who's very lovely and beautiful, and from my last encounter with her a little unhinged, so Anthony probably has enough on his plate.<br />
I put my pen down when I finish writing the list and rise from the bed, walking over to the mirror in the en suite. <br />
"Urgh, why can't I stop looking rough?" I say to myself as I scan my reflection. My eyes have horrid dark circles underneath, and my skin is so pale at the moment it's practically transluscent. I blame Mel for this. She's put my name down on the work rota for every day this week and despite my protests, I haven't been able to get away from it.<br />
"But Clara's only just got back to work. She's been very ill and can't cope on her own," was Mel's excuse.<br />
<i>Oh please!!</i> I saw Clara doing shots at Purple Mustard last weekend. She was so out of it a guy asked for her number and she took her top off.<br />
But what can you do. And let's face it, it's not like I'll be revising anyway. I opened up my Maths for Economics textbook, saw the word 'Derivatives' and shut it immediately. I'm hoping in this instance ignorance really is bliss.<br />
<br />
"You look nice," Jo wolf whistles as I emerge in the kitchen. She's sitting cross legged on the floor with a Tort Law book opened up in front of her. I don't think she's doing much reading though because the Hollyoaks omnibus has started. Which instantly makes me feel better about the fact that exams are looming ever so closer and I've barely read anything. Except for this month's edition of Marie Claire. Which doesn't count.<br />
"Your face looks nice. That dress doesn't," she looks at my ancient work dress and throws me her best pity face.<br />
I choose to ignore her latter comment.<br />
"Well, I'm glad you've noticed," I say, pouting my lips to show that I'm wearing Syrup by Mac. "It's the new me,"<br />
"The new you? I'm very impressed," she says, rising from the floor and making her way to the sofa. "And what does the 'new you' include?"<br />
"A few things, but to summarise, it includes expensive perfume and a new man,"<br />
"I'm liking the new you already. Especially because your perfume has neutralised the stench of Rex's stir-fry,"<br />
I don't think that's a compliment, but I'm going to take it as one anyway.<br />
"I'm off to work," I say walking out of the kitchen.<br />
"But it's midday!"<br />
"Half day,"<br />
"Aren't you lucky! Was Mel having a generous moment?"<br />
"No, I managed to convince her that we've already talked about me having a half day today, but she'd just forgotten,"<br />
"Clever girl,"<br />
"All part of the new me. See you later," I say at the other end of the corridor.<br />
<br />
"You want to buy new uniform?" Mel is looking at me like I've just shot her favourite puppy and then asked to borrow some sugar.<br />
"Yes. I've had this same dress for a few months now. We don't even have it on the shop floor anymore," but Mel's just tapping her foot with her arms crossed.<br />
This is just typical! What's the point of working in a trendy, high-end High Street store when you're not allowed to wear any of the clothes? I'm about to recite an entire monologue of how it says in our contract that we should buy new uniform with our 75% off as soon as the current one leaves the shop floor, but to my surprise Mel says, "OK, fine. Go and pick something," and then walks away<br />
I'm left there in absolute awe, so much so, that I'm about to question it. But the new me steps in before the old me spoils it. And I go shopping at work.<br />
<br />
"Well, I suppose you look OK," Mel sticks her nose up at me after she's invited herself inside the fitting room. She's lucky she stepped in 3 seconds after I stopped adusting my tights, otherwise I'd never have been able to look her in the eyes again. <br />
I turn back to the mirror after she's pulled the heavy fitting room door behind her. She's wrong because I look more than just 'OK'. I look fabulous! The dress is a deep raspberry which really brings out my brown eyes, and my recently dyed medium brown hair, hangs perfectly against the sheer, short sleeves. I'm swishing my dress in the mirror when I hear a voice from the other side of the door.<br />
"Is Ella working today?" It's Anthony's voice.<br />
"Yes, she's here but she's very busy at the moment," Clara replies in her usual nonchalant style.<br />
There's a pause before Anthony answers. "Just tell her I came by to see her, and I'll try to pop in later,"<br />
I undress as quickly as I can and put back the normal work dress in hope to catch him before he disappears out into the High Street, but as I emerge from the fitting rooms, I'm too late. It's only Clara on the shop floor. Her head is tilted to one side as she stares out of the windows. Even with her back to me I can tell her face looks miserable. <br />
"Did I hear someone ask for me?" I say as I approach her.<br />
She turns to focus on me. It's the same look I imagine a vampire would give their victim. "No," she manages.<br />
<i>What???</i><br />
"Are you sure? Because I thought I heard Anthony's voice," I probe.<br />
She huffs and looks at me again like she's already fed up of me pestering. "OK, fine. Yes, he came by and asked if you were working today. He said he'd come by later. There was another guy with him. A rather dishy one," she smiles to herself and then moves away before I get to find out anything else.<br />
He was with a guy? Why wasn't he with Chloe? Have they broken up? Did they break up because he's madly in love with me?<br />
Oh, stop it Ella! The new you, remember? The new you who doesn't care about Anthony.<br />
I turn around to help a customer but catch my reflection in the mirror. The new you who has her dress tucked into her tights.<br />
<br />
It's already 4pm and he still hasn't turned up. I've purposely changed the rota so that I'm on front cover all day, guarding the door in the hope that he'll turn up and I won't miss him.<br />
And whilst being here I've learnt that there is such a thing as being overly keen at work. I'm showing such interest with every customer who comes in, that they're engaging in a full conversation with me. The trouble is that I don't think any of them want a conversation. A man had to literally pull his wife away from me and say, "Come on dear, our dog's very sick,"<br />
I almost want to say, "I don't actually find you interesting. I'm only talking to you so that my boss sees I'm good with customers and keeps me by the door for the rest of the day!" <br />
I peer out of the shop to look at the clock towering over the street. It's two minutes past four. And Anthony's still not here. I cross my arms in agitation and avert my eyes inside the store. I notice Clara marching towards me like she's on a mission. Oh no, she's found out I accidentally ate her chocolate bar!<br />
"That's the guy," she says when she comes near me, but instead of looking at a particular person, she's looking at the floor.<br />
"What guy?"<br />
"DON'T look around and make it look obvious!" she shouts.<br />
"Make what look obvious? I have no idea what you're talking about,"<br />
She rolls her eyes at me, "There's a guy standing next to the new burnt sienna suit. See him?" I nod when I notice him. His eyes are glued to me. "He's the guy who was with Adam earlier,"<br />
"Anthony,"<br />
"I don't actually care. Anyway, he's been staring at you for the last ten minutes. Do you know him?"<br />
I glance at him again trying to see if I've met him. "No," I say with utter confusion. "Is Anthony here?"<br />
"Nope," and Clara disappears into the sea of customers.<br />
My eyes flick towards the stranger and I see him coming over. I'm instantly tense and for some reason start looking at my nails like there's something wrong with them.<br />
"Hi," he says awkwardly.<br />
"Hello," I smile. "Do you need my help with choosing anything?"<br />
He coughs and starts adjusting his jacket as if he's nervous. "Umm...no. I came here to see you," his brown eyes intensify as he looks at me. "I'm friends with Ant," he clarifies. <br />
"Oh, ok..."<br />
"We came by to see if you were here but he had to go and meet up with his girlfriend,"<br />
My stomach loops into a tight ball and I feel like I'm in severe pain. Looks like they're still together.<br />
"Anyway, he came by to invite you to a party we're having tonight. He explained that the two of you are good friends?"<br />
"Umm, yes, we're good friends," only a half lie I suppose.<br />
"It's a joint birthday party," he smiles. Clara was right. He really is dishy! "I'd love you to be there. I mean, Anthony would love you to be there" <br />
"I will try my best then," I smile at him, accept the crisp white invitation and fidget with it as it remains in my hands. He should really leave now, but he hasn't and it's getting difficult to know what to talk about.<br />
"So, I shall be there tonight at 8," I say, trying to get him out of the door.<br />
"See you later. Oh, I'm Jens by the way" he says, and backs himself outside, still looking at me until he's a good distance away.<br />
"I think he likes you. He's been leering like a right perv," Clara has somehow appeared out of nowhere. I jump in fright at the sound of her voice. <br />
I look down at the invitation. My thumb starts to gently move across Anthony's name. Clara notices and snatches it from my hand. "Are we going to a party?"<br />
"No!" I snap, taking it away from her paws again. "I'm going to a party. I don't know where you're going,"<br />
"You're no fun sometimes," and she goes away again in a strop. <br />
I gaze out into the High Street somehow thinking that Anthony will appear out of nowhere, but then remind my brain of the new me.<br />
A woman approaches me with one of our coats in her hand. I'd say she's in her mid-fifties with a blonde perm, and bad make-up. She's about to ask if we sell that coat in a larger size, but before she even gets the chance to speak, I announce,<br />
"I do not like Anthony,"<br />
"OK, dear," she replies, puts the coat down and probably tells herself that this store isn't for her on the way out. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-20103462036988722282011-07-24T21:48:00.001+01:002011-12-31T14:40:06.764+00:00Float Like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Bee "I like you,"<br />
I'm in line at the restaurant queue. It's lunchtime and I only popped out because today's menu had roast dinner. And I have a thing for Yorkshire puddings. But here I am unexpectedly hearing words I never thought I'd hear. <br />
"A lot," he continues whilst pouring gravy on his plate.<br />
I don't know how to respond.<br />
"Yorkshire pudding, madam?"<br />
"No," I whisper without thinking.<br />
<i>I mean yes. YES!! I want a Yorkshire pudding!</i> Oh, too late. We've already moved on to the sprouts. And no one wants those.<br />
Should I play dumb and pretend that I haven't understood what he actually means?<br />
"One date?" he asks holding his tray like at trophy. "Just one date, and if you don't like what you see, I'll stop bothering you like I have been,"<br />
What? He's been bothering me? I hadn't even noticed.<br />
I really should be saying something. 'No' springs to mind. But 'yes' pops out of my mouth.<br />
<br />
We're at The Natural History Museum in London. Now, normally this is a happy place for me - fond memories of a school trip in Year 5 spring to mind - but today it's as if all possible fun has been sucked out. <br />
Because we've been staring at dried out insects for an hour.<br />
"Am I allowed to tell you that you look as beautiful as this butterfly?" he drawls.<br />
No, you're not. Because a) my make-up is completely ruined after that woman got startled by the moving dinosaur and threw her water all over me, and b) because this butterfly is all dried out! I've seen slugs more appealing to the eye than this!<br />
I smile and sway my yellow summer dress to imply that I'm flattered. <br />
"Butterflies are probably the most interesting insects out there. Apart from bees, obviously,"<br />
<i>Obviously!</i><br />
"They taste with their feet to find out whether the leaf they're on is good enough for laying eggs,"<br />
"Wow," my enthusiasm lacking slightly.<br />
"They're strong too. Like all insects they can carry about 50 times their own body weight. It would be like me carrying two heavy cars full of people," he laughs aloud at his own words. I don't even bother to pretend to find him funny.<br />
"And caterpillars are wondrous creatures too. You know, an old wives tale states that when the black bands of a Woolybear caterpillar are wide, a cold Winter is coming,"<br />
"Do the black bands tend to be wide around November time, say just when the weather's getting really cold?"<br />
He's in a fit of laughter again, "You're hilarious!"<br />
<i>Yes. And you're not.</i><br />
"Butterflies need the warmth of the sun to help them fly. Oh, and here's another interesting fact," he really needs to re-learn the meaning of the word 'interesting', "none have been found in Antarctica," <br />
"Well, I suppose that does make sense if they need the warmth of the sun to fly," I say. He looks at me full of wonder. I feel like I've said something horribly wrong, but to my surprise, his face creases into a broad smile. "You really are a butterfly, aren't you,"<br />
<i>What does that even mean?</i><br />
<i> </i>"You always look so graceful," he continues.<br />
"Then looks are incredibly deceiving," <br />
He laughs again. It's getting highly annoying. <br />
"Do you like butterflies?"<br />
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"I like the Butterfly Ball lipstick collection by Lipstick Queen," </div>
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And he's laughing yet again. <i>What was so funny about that???</i></div>
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"It comes in five colours," I continue, not understanding why he isn't taking me seriously. "Today I'm wearing 'Trance',"<br />
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He finally stops and looks at me with intense eyes, "Butterflies are rare," his expression begins to soften as his eyes burn into me. I half expect him to burst into song declaring his undying love for me. Or butterflies. "Habitats are changing, so there are fewer numbers than before,"<br />
"Really? I saw about 15 on the way here,"<br />
But he's stopped listening to me. "We desperately need them as they're the second largest group of pollinators. Bees being the first," he sighs as he continues to look at the dried out insects behind the glass. "And bees are disappearing too,"<br />
"Like in Doctor Who,"<br />
"What?"<br />
"Never mind,"<br />
"Bees can recognise individual human faces,"<br />
"I knew it!" I declare, "I told Tia that the same bee was buzzing around me that entire week!" and I'm really not joking. It followed me to two bars!<br />
"They have nasty stings,"<br />
I nod my head trying to remember a time I've been stung. It's only happened once when I was very little. I was out buying a watermelon with my grandad and a bee sat on my thumb. <br />
"Bees are just a form of specially adapted wasps. So they may look beautiful and friendly, but deep down they can really hurt you,"<br />
I begin to walk ahead, trying to entrance him towards the gemstone section. Hopefully he'll have less to say over there. He follows weakly, his hands gracing my waist when he catches up with me. In an instant, he's pulled me towards him, his arms cocooned around me so there's no escape.<br />
"Can we do this again?" he asks me with an whisper, his eyes longingly scanning every contour of my face.<br />
I was really hoping to avoid this situation. I was hoping he'd realise I'm not the girl for him, we'd go our separate ways and revert to occasionally bumping into each other at the restaurant queue. Him drowning his plate with gravy, and me stealing all the Yorkshire puds. <br />
"Umm, I should really head home now," I tell him, pushing his arms away from me. <br />
"Oh," he says deflated and hurt. And there it was. I'd stung him, then floated away. <br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-593950780713042572011-07-16T16:33:00.003+01:002011-07-17T19:21:48.242+01:00The Bunny Boiler - Chapter 9<em>...Just a little bit more and I've got it...and...there!</em><br />
I pull the tiny rowing boat back towards the river bank with all my might and breathe a huge sigh of relief. Apparently, there is a reason why you're supposed to tie them up and not leave them loose on the river.<br />
"Got it back. It's ready," I shout over at Tia who is lazily sitting on the grass, sunbathing. "Thanks for all your help!" I input.<br />
She pulls up her sunglasses so they sit above her eyes and looks at me nonplussed. "You go on it and I'll take pictures," she says, letting the sunglasses fall back on her nose.<br />
For a second I actually think that her idea is rather a good one. I always go on about how we should photograph our adventures more, but one look at my tiny red and white boat, a glance at the heavy paddles, and a gaze at the mass of water, and I go back to my original idea.<br />
"Tia! I can't do this on my own. Please, get in the boat and steer!"<br />
"Steer what?"<br />
Well, she's got me there. "The river?" I attempt defeated. She looks at me with confusion before getting up from her spot. <br />
"Are you going to hold on to that rope all day?"<br />
"I don't want it drifting off again,"<br />
In a huff she takes off her shoes and starts to roll up her trousers. "Why did you buy a boat anyway? Are you having a Quarter Life Crisis?"<br />
"No, I don't plan on having one till I'm at least 22," I respond. She looks up at me mid trousers roll-up with yet another confused look.<br />
Honestly, like buying a boat is so strange! People do it all the time. Like in that episode of Friends where Joey buys a boat and Rachel tries to help him learn, but she ends up shouting and realises that she's turned out like her father. I wonder what my realisation will be on my boat. I hope it's a good one. You know, not too life changing like realising I'm a lesbian. But also not too mediocre like realising I've left the GHD's on.<br />
Actually, did I leave my GHD's plugged in?<br />
"Ella?"<br />
"Yes?"<br />
"How are we getting on it?"<br />
Oh, I hadn't really thought of that. I was hoping we'd be able to simply walk on it, but the way the boat is bobbing up and down the river I don't think we can. <br />
"I'll hold on to the rope, you get in. Then I'll let go of the rope and jump in also," I say, full of optimism.<br />
Tia puts both hands on her hips to tell me that there's no way she's doing that.<br />
"Fine! I'll go in first," I say, handing over the rope. "I don't know why you're so frightened. This'll be easy," and I immediately regret my words. <br />
Because in actual fact I have no idea how I'm going to do this. The boat refuses to stay in one place, and the moment I think I have the perfect distance to get on, it moves. But I have to do this. It's vitally important that I get on this boat. I have to show Jamie that I'm a very serious person, and I have to show Kate that she cannot win no matter how severe her Bunny Boiler tantrums are. I don't know how this will do that, but I'm positive it's a start. <br />
Right. 3... 2... 1...GO! Nope, still not on the boat. OK, this time I will definitely jump in. 3... 2.... 1... 1 and a half... 1 and a quarter... 1 and...<br />
Damn! I wish I was better at fractions!<br />
.... 1 and 20%... 1 and 15%... 1 and...<br />
"Get on the boat!"<br />
One foot drops in followed by the other one, and with a heavy fall as both feet refuse to balance, and a loud 'Ouch', I'm in the boat. Yay! I made it!<br />
A second later, Tia's in there with me. I look at her in annoyance. "Why was that so easy for you?"<br />
"Oh, we go on boats all the time when we're down in Chichester," she says sitting down opposite me.<br />
"So, you could have helped?"<br />
"I could have. But it does mean I wouldn't have been able to get these amazing photos," she brings out her phone whilst giggling.<br />
Oh thanks a bloody bunch! <br />
I grab the phone off her. Actually, some of these photos are incredibly flattering. I think the April sun does wonders for my complexion. Oh, hang on. This one's not so great. It must have been taken when I was trying to do fractions. <br />
I hand the phone back. "Right," I say with a beaming smile, looking ahead at the grand river, "where shall we go?"<br />
"Chertsey,"<br />
"What? No! We're not going to another town! I was thinking more a choice between The Swan or The Weir,"<br />
"We can't go to either pub. We're seventeen,"<br />
"We're not going to go inside! I'm using them as locations,"<br />
"Oh. Let's go to The Swan then," she jolts her head about in both directions, "there seem to be less swans over there. Ironically,"<br />
"To The Swan it is," the current has already taken us quite a way from the river bank. At this rate, perhaps we'll end up in Chertsey after all. <br />
I'm about to grab a paddle and start our journey, and then I realise both paddles are still on the grass.<br />
Shit!<br />
This is really bad. And also not the sort of realisation I was hoping for.<br />
<br />
"Move the water away from you a bit faster, Tia. We're never going to make it back with you using only your fingers!" I say as I dip my hands in the water again to make the boat move. This theory worked for a little bit. But then we got tired, and now we're pretty much just sitting there trying to keep the sun from our faces. I feel lost at sea. <br />
"I knew I should have said no to helping you. There clearly was a reason Mikey was conveniently busy. He knows you far too well by now,"<br />
I roll my eyes. "Mikey's in Oxford at a uni induction day. He would have killed for the chance to be here,"<br />
"You're very testy today," Tia's looking at me like a mother pitying a child who writes S instead of 2. I almost feel like she'll say, "Don't worry, pet. You'll get it eventually,"<br />
But she doesn't. Instead she says, "If you want Jamie, you have to call him. You can't carry on being this stubborn,"<br />
"I'm not stubborn!" I say, crossing my arms and looking away into the distance. "And anyway, I texted him a couple of days ago telling him I have a boat. He didn't reply," I look down at my feet, far too scared that if I make eye contact with Tia, I'll cry. We sit there in silence, but it's as if I can hear her thoughts. Because I know for a fact we're both thinking the same thing - I've lost him. <br />
"Oh well," I say and force a smile.<br />
"Ella, you don't have to pretend that it's all fine,"<br />
"But it is fine. It's not as if I'm married to him and we're about to have a messy divorce, and kids are involved, and we have to decide who gets the good coffee machine. I'm 17. I think I'll manage," I laugh a little and hope to God that I'm right. "Now paddle, please!"<br />
We're about to start all over again, but I hear something. "Is someone saying my name?" I ask, looking around but not spotting anything. We stop splashing and have a listen.<br />
"Ella!" <br />
"Did you hear that?" I say to Tia, looking around furiously. And then I spot him. My heart flutters as I see him standing by the river smiling at me. And then it sinks completely. Because standing next to him, is Kate.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-25045203660329260682011-07-09T23:47:00.004+01:002013-03-13T19:46:37.702+00:00Part Two: Orange "I'm going to get such a bad reputation for myself in this place,"<br />
"Why?" my friend Charlie asks as he tells the waiter we require a table for two.<br />
"Because these last couple of months, every time I've been in here it has been with a different guy,"<br />
He chuckles, "Oh, it doesn't matter. I'm sure they won't even remember you," he says, dismissing my comment with a wave of his hand.<br />
"So, how are you?" the waiter turns and asks me as he leads us to the table. He's greeting me with a wide smile as if I'm a dear friend of his. I whisper a faint 'OK' and sit down.<br />
"Who have you been coming here with?" Charlie asks, unable to wipe the grin off his face.<br />
"Well, I used to come here with my ex about a month ago. I was here with Mikey this morning, I met up with a friend from school I haven't seen in ages, had brunch with an ex a couple of days ago, and now I'm here with you. Seriously, my reputation will be in tatters,"<br />
"I think it's too late to worry about that," he smiles at me as I sharply kick his leg. "Ouch! I was only joking!"<br />
"That waiter especially," I continue, ignoring that Charlie is wincing in pain, "he has been my waiter every time. And I mean, every single time,"<br />
Charlie turns to look at the tall waiter who must be about 20 and his eye light up playfully. "Want to play a game?" he turns his head towards me with a mischievous smile. <br />
<em>Oh no!!</em><br />
What's happening in his brain? Am I going to have to pretend I'm a recovering druggie that he's convinced to become clean again so that he can look like an upstanding local politician?<br />
"I don't think I'm happy with where this is going,"<br />
"Just follow my lead. I promise you it'll be fun," he winks at me. I attempt to wink back but somehow it doesn't have the same effect. I look like a bug has flown into my eye. <br />
The waiter happily walks over at a raise of Charlie's finger. "Ready to order?" he asks cheerfully. <br />
<em>Oh you poor, unsuspecting fool,</em> I think. <br />
"Yes, we are...I think," Charlie scans the menu again. Meanwhile, I'm looking at him agog wondering what's about to happen. "Have you decided, darling?"<br />
<em>Darling?</em><br />
Oh, that's me!<br />
"Umm, not yet. I just can't decide between the burger or the flatbread pizza," I look up and down the menu, deep in pensive, food thought. Honestly, I should be given a BAFTA or something for this performance. "I'm really not sure...honey," I say, eyes briefly glancing at Charlie. I really hope he knows what he's doing because I certainly don't. <br />
But his face doesn't seem to give anything away. Deep in concentration, he's not about to let a single of his facial features break this deal. Like a true, dishonest politician. Now I understand why so many of his girlfriends have never worked out that he's insanely undatable.<br />
"I bet you had no problem choosing a meal when you used to go out with James," he says dryly.<br />
<em>James? Who's James? That guy I went on one date with? What???</em><br />
"I'm sorry?" I respond, still fully in character of course.<br />
"Just saying that I bet you weren't this indecisive when you and James were together," the menu is put down angrily on the table and he crosses his arms. His demeanour perfectly fitting that of a stroppy child.<br />
I think I've caught on to what's going on here. I quickly look up at the waiter before I reply. He looks so awkward attempting his best to hide behind his mini notebook.<br />
"Oh, don't start this again!" I reply, my tone raised a little.<br />
"Don't start this again? I'll stop when you tell me the truth!" Charlie is now shouting. The waiter has taken a massive step back and I immediately feel bad. He gave me five balloons when I asked for only one once. And gave me free ice-cream when he accidentally included bacon in my burger.<br />
But I've started this now. And a true thespian commits to the stage. Or restaurant in the middle of Walton on Thames. "There is nothing going on with James! I have told you this a million times!"<br />
"Well, I have it under good authority that there is. Everyone knows" I bet even <em>he</em> knows" Charlie is now pointing at the waiter who takes another leap back and starts shaking his head as if defending himself for a crime he did not commit. "Has she been here with other men?" Charlie asks him.<br />
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The waiter 'umms' and 'arrrrs' a little, but refuses to answer.<br />
What a good boy! If I ever do have an affair at least I know which restaurant will keep it discrete.<br />
"You are so insecure!!" I stand up with force and attempt to slap my paper napkin on the table for added effect. It floats softly before falling on the floor. "I will not sit here and be accused of cheating by someone who has slept with over 150 women!" and I stomp my feet in anger as I walk through the restaurant to the exit. A few orange balloons attempt to stand in my way, but they're no match for me. With 10% grace, I make my way past them. <br />
<br />
I can't believe I've done this. Sod the BAFTA! I deserve a bloody Oscar!<br />
Maybe I should go home and prepare a really heartfelt and tearful speech about my life from rags to riches. Well, rag-ish to rich-ish. And buy a dress. Although really, I should probably star in a film first. An I've heard it isn't easy to get auditions. You always hear about struggling actors, don't you. <br />
I'm now getting angry that my mother had no childhood, acting aspirations for me. I mean, didn't she want me to be a successful Hollywood icon? I could have been in The Bill like Keira Knightley and be world famous by now. <em>I</em> could have been in Atonement! <br />
But no. I had to be normal and go to university. And look at me! A few months out of it and I'm still unemployed. Well done, mother. You've surpassed yourself.<br />
I snap out of my daydream and realise that I've walked all the way to the entrance of Sainsbury's. And I really have no idea what the rest of my plan is. I wish I'd thought this through.<br />
I instantly reach for my bag to grab my Blackberry but realise that I've left everything at the restaurant. <br />
Oh bugger!<br />
"Ella?"<br />
I swing round at he direction of the voice to be greeted with a face I recognise but cannot place straight away. And then it hits me.<br />
It's Alex.<br />
American Doctor Alex from the train station a few days ago.<br />
"Hi," I reply in surprise, "Didn't expect to see you,"<br />
"Well, I didn't expect to see you either. I was on my way home," he points to the luxury flats above the shopping centre, then crosses his arms, "are you OK? I saw you storm out of that restaurant as I walked around the block,"<br />
"Did I look convincing?"<br />
"What?"<br />
"When I stormed out. Did I look angry but at the same time very hurt?"<br />
"Umm," he starts to look around. I bet he's wishing he'd walked straight past me instead of stopping to talk. "Yes, you did..."<br />
I smile.<br />
I'm definitely going to shout at my mum the next time I see her. I've had this talent all this time and she's been doing nothing about it.<br />
Alex is looking at me puzzled, so I decide it's best to clarify. "My friend and I were being incredibly immature and decided to have a fake argument. I may have taken it a step too far by storming out,"<br />
"Right," he says, looking amused.<br />
Maybe I should have lied to him. Perhaps told him that I moonlight as a restaurant inspector and I was shocked with the tiramisu.<br />
"I thought that maybe you and your boyfriend had an argument, you know, because of our conversation at the train station," he starts to look around nervously.<br />
"We broke up," I say quickly. "Last Thursday actually. The day we met," I briefly smile at him, hoping I don't sound like I want him to ask me out. <br />
Because I don't.<br />
It would be weird if I jump from one relationship straight to the next. I mean, it's only been 5 days...<br />
<em>5 days?!?</em><br />
<em>Is that it???</em><br />
Why does it feel like it's been months and months? Shouldn't I be locking myself in my room, refusing to get dressed or wear make-up and stuff my face with ice-cream, probably crying whilst listening to Adele?<br />
My goodness, I've recovered quickly. <br />
"Ella?"<br />
"Yes?"<br />
"Are you alright? You're smiling to yourself,"<br />
"Oh. Yes, I'm great. So yes, I broke up with him,"<br />
"Good," he responds, but realises how it sounds and attempts to recover his comment, "I don't mean 'good'. I only said it because you weren't happy. At least, you didn't seem happy,"<br />
I laugh, "Relax. I know what you mean,"<br />
We stare at each other for a couple of seconds before he breaks the gaze, "How did the job interview go?"<br />
For a moment I can't think what on earth he's talking about. I'm too busy admiring him. Gosh, I'm pathetic!<br />
"Really well. They've called me back for a presentation this Friday,"<br />
"Well done! I knew you'd do well,"<br />
"Don't speak too soon. I haven't got it yet,"<br />
"No. But you will," he smiles at me again and I want to hug him and say 'Oh you! Thanks for believing in me'. <br />
But I don't because I see Charlie walking toward us, my bag in his left hand. He's hanging on to it like a fish he's caught for tonight's supper.<br />
"My friend's here. I better go," I tell Alex and start to move away, despite not wanting to.<br />
"Number,"<br />
"Huh?"<br />
"Your phone number," his right hand ruffles his dark hair whilst his left stays firmly in his pocket.<br />
"Hand over your phone then," I say it as if it's such an inconvenience that he'll now have my number. Quickly, I type in the information. "See you soon," I say as I make my way towards Charlie. Alex leaves us to it.<br />
"Who's he?" asks Charlie, passing me my bag with a throw. I follow his gaze and watch Alex disappear around the corner. A bubble of excitement builds up within me and for an instant I get a flash forward of this next year. I instantly smile.<br />
"I think he may be my future husband,"Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-51312461220128734322011-06-12T18:32:00.000+01:002011-06-12T18:32:12.610+01:00Repeat After Me "IT'S A NICE PLACE, ISN'T IT," <br />
"WHAT?"<br />
He shuffles a little closer along the seat until his lips are practically touching my left ear. Attempting to overpower the music, he repeats again, "I SAID, IT'S A NICE PLACE," and now he's smiling to no one in particular and nodding along to the music. <br />
Yes, it's a very nice place if you're still at uni and looking to drink yourself into oblivion until the horrific memory of that Maths exam is completely out of your head. <i>Not</i> a very nice place if you left work an hour ago, have to prepare for a presentation the next morning and were looking forward to a quiet dinner with perfectly charming second date guy, who right this second is doing some weird shoulder dance. <br />
Attractive.<br />
<br />
"FANCY A DRINK?"<br />
"WHAT?"<br />
"FANCY ANOTHER DRINK?" he motions his hand to his mouth to mime a glass.<br />
"YES, I'D LOVE ONE, THANKS,"<br />
"SAME COCKTAIL?"<br />
"WHAT?"<br />
He starts pointing to my empty glass as he stands up, "DO YOU WANT THE SAME COCKTAIL?"<br />
"OH. YES," I nod vigorously, hoping I won't have to repeat myself. So he smiles at me and drifts through the crowd to the bar. I say drifts - it's more a 'one step forward, two shoves back' route as he gets blocked by drunken dancers who are looking like losers but thinking they're cool.<br />
OK, I know I sound old, but I'm not old. I'm just tired. <br />
<br />
I'm not too sure what to do with myself as I sit there on my own, so I do what we all seem to do these days when faced with an uncomfortable situation. I take out my Blackberry and I start texting/tweeting/emailing - whatever I can to not look a loner.<br />
"ON YOUR OWN?" a guy in his late teens has plonked himself down next to me. He's wearing a bright yellow flannel shirt and is sipping his Bulmers through a straw. <br />
I instinctively grab hold of my Blackberry as if this guy is about to take it, which is silly because he's only a few years younger than me. <br />
I smile at him and shake my head. It's good to keep the conversation as brief as possible in these sorts of situations. Guys in clubs are like stray cats - once you acknowledge them, they'll never leave you alone. <br />
"I LOVE THIS SONG," he informs me as J-LO starts playing. "COME AND DANCE," he stands up from the seat and takes my hand in his, pulling me up.<br />
"No, it's really fine," I tell him, trying to get my hand back, meanwhile keeping an eye out for my date. Surely he should be back by now. <br />
"Oh, come on. I bet you're a great dancer," he says with a smile, "you NEED to dance,"<br />
<i> I NEED to go home and sleep</i>.<br />
This is like the final year of uni all over again. I'm trying to be responsible, but other forces are saying otherwise. So I stand up.<br />
And then immediately sit back down when I notice date coming my way again, cocktails in hand. <br />
Yellow Flannel Guy looks over at the direction my eyes have flown towards, and then straight back at me. "Oh," he mouths. "I'll catch you later, yeah," <br />
"IT'S A REALLY NICE PLACE, ISN'T IT," date says again as soon as he sits down.<br />
<i>Yes, you've mentioned that. Twenty times</i>.<br />
"HAVING FUN?"<br />
"WHAT?"<br />
"ARE YOU HAVING FUN?"<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2hm7xB1PJVLqakMTVVsjM806zL4aUsn1PjemjMZVyrrSp6vOwA2_8W4ZHCip7bgKBD327I7e6bzV9rKCkvjrHh89n7WEmiZWVg7xcm-kz6bJj9DHTNegGQBVRxHPOU-52wxuUDqwb6Q4Q/s1600/speaker.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2hm7xB1PJVLqakMTVVsjM806zL4aUsn1PjemjMZVyrrSp6vOwA2_8W4ZHCip7bgKBD327I7e6bzV9rKCkvjrHh89n7WEmiZWVg7xcm-kz6bJj9DHTNegGQBVRxHPOU-52wxuUDqwb6Q4Q/s200/speaker.png" width="200" /></a> My eyes dart over to Yellow Flannel Guy who's laughing along with Red Skinny Jeans Guy and Side Ponytail Girl. And for some strange reason, I get a real longing to join them. <br />
I'm on a date in a club and I'm sitting down. Surely that's not right? <br />
"I'M NOT REALLY ENJOYING MYSELF WITH YOU," I say, and immediately regret my words.<br />
"WHAT?"<br />
<i>Thank goodness for that</i>!<br />
"I'M HAVING A GREAT TIME,"<br />
He smiles.<br />
And I want to leave. <br />
Actually, no. I don't want to leave. I want to dance. <br />
"SO HOW WAS WORK?"<br />
"WHAT?"<br />
"WORK. HOW WAS IT?"<br />
"OH," I drink a little of my drink before I answer. I feel my throat needs the replenishment. "IT WAS TIRING. THERE'S A LOT TO DO BEFORE TOMORROW,"<br />
"SORRY?"<br />
<i>Oh, for goodness sake!!!</i><br />
"TOO MUCH WORK. VERY TIRING," I unhappily repeat. He says something back but I don't hear it, so I laugh for no reason. Let's hope it was funny.<br />
My eyes are drifting longingly around the room. Yes, these people look crazy drink-dancing (which I think should be make just as illegal as drink driving). Yes, there's the occasional lonely guy trying to casually dance with every girl. And yes, there are a few cougars parading the premises. But all these people are having fun, and that's what I want to do. <br />
But instead I'm still sitting.<br />
Sitting and not dancing. <br />
"ANOTHER DRINK?" <br />
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU,"<br />
"ANOTHER DRINK?"<br />
"HUH?"<br />
"I SAID, WOULD YOU LIKE ANOTHER DRINK?" I finally understand, but I stop him just as he's about to stand up.<br />
"I'M GOING TO HEAD HOME. I'M REALLY TIRED," I throw in a fake yawn just for added emphasis, apologise a million times and slip out of the club. Because if you want to talk to your date you take them somewhere quiet, right? You don't chaperone them to a busy club and expect a life changing conversation. <br />
So I was right to leave, I've decided.<br />
End of.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-27503751139862930792011-06-05T16:14:00.002+01:002013-03-13T19:45:17.253+00:00Part One: Sky BlueEver since I can remember I've always switched on my iPod (CD player when I was younger), pressed the 'Random' button and told myself that whichever song comes on is relevant to my life at the moment. Sometimes, this theory of mine never works out, e.g. when you're stressed out from university exams and <i>First Date</i> by <i>Blink 182</i> pops up - the link there is very difficult to find, but other times it could not have been more right. Scarily right, in fact.<br />
<br />
I'm at the station platform waiting for a train to take me to Guildford. It's a boiling day and I have a job interview, which means I'm wearing a very tight, high-waisted pencil skirt that was not meant for this unexpected but welcomed change to the British weather. But I'm 20 minutes early so I find a bench in the shade and take out my iPod as I wait for the train.<br />
Earphones go in ears, and without thinking, I do what I always do - I click 'shuffle' when it presents me my entire music playlist. And the song that starts bursting its melodic lyrics at me could not be more symbolic.<br />
<i>Breaking Up</i> by <i>Rilo Kiley</i>.<br />
My boyfriend and I are having problems. Huge problems, that have only been made worse by the fact that he's chosen to ignore them, and for a while now, ending the relationship has been the main carnivorous thought that's been circling all others for a while.<br />
But the abruptness of such an appropriate song only makes me laugh. Four hours later when I think back to that moment, it makes me laugh even more. My boyfriend and I have just broken up.<br />
<br />
Anyway.<br />
I digress because this story is not about him.<br />
<br />
So I'm at the station platform, trying desperately to ignore the nervous butterflies that seem to be flying around with daggers in my stomach, when I see someone run up the steps to the platform, curse loudly thinking they've missed the train, and then attempt to kick air.<br />
I take my earphones out. "Umm, the train hasn't arrived yet," I say cautiously.<br />
The guy swings round facing me with a puzzled look. "It hasn't?" he asks.<br />
Oh. He's American. Or Irish. One of the two.<br />
"It should get here in about 15 minutes," I smile and put my earphones back in. He's pacing up and down the platform in front of me. I sense he's nervous because he's walking so fast back and forth, he's practically becoming a blur.<br />
"Are you OK?" I ask.<br />
He turns towards me swiftly. "Huh? Oh. Yes. I'm fine. Thanks though,"<br />
He's definitely American.<br />
My earphones go back in, but I'm interrupted.<br />
"Actually, would you mind if I sat down?"<br />
I look at the empty space of bench next to me, and I'm almost surprised that he'd even ask. "Of course," I reply.<br />
I don't put my earphones back in. With someone that you've exchanged words with sitting next to you it almost feels rude to block one of your senses. <br />
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you when I ran here," he says.<br />
I have to laugh at his apology. "You didn't startle me. I didn't really know what was happening though,"<br />
"I'm meant to be meeting a friend in Guildford but I'm already half an hour late. He's going to kill me. I've never been good with public transport," he tells me. I smile, and then ask a question that I wish I could take back.<br />
"Are you a tourist?"<br />
He looks at me with amused eyes. They're a sky blue - exactly the same blue you'd see when you look up on a sunny day.<br />
A bit like today.<br />
"No. I've lived here since I was 18. Since I started university," he clarifies.<br />
And I feel like an idiot.<br />
"Sorry. It's just because, you know, your accent," I look down at my hands like a scolded child.<br />
"Don't worry, I get that a lot. Strangely, the longer I've lived here, the more people have asked if I'm visiting,"<br />
I look at him and smile. "Sorry," I say again.<br />
"It's really OK," he beams a smile. "I'm Alex,"<br />
"Ella,"<br />
"It's nice to meet you,"<br />
"You too,"<br />
And we both stare straight ahead at the giant billboard that seems to be ordering us to get a mortgage.<br />
"So where are you going to today?" he asks me.<br />
"To Guildford. I have a job interview. Well, actually, the job interview is tomorrow, but today I have to meet with the recruitment agency," I pull an annoyed look, "You know how irritating they can be,"<br />
He laughs, "A lot of people keep saying that. I'm starting to feel lucky I've never dealt with them,"<br />
"Well, then you're very lucky," but I desperately want to ask him what he does for a living. He's far too well dressed to be unemployed, but far too young to be self-employed.<br />
"What do you do?" I finally ask after a few seconds have escaped us.<br />
"I'm a doctor,"<br />
<i>Oh.</i><br />
<i> Well.</i><br />
<i> Didn't expect that. </i><br />
"Which sort?"<br />
"The general kind," he says with a smile.<br />
"A GP?" I ask nonchalantly. I bet he gets girls swooning over him all the time when he mentions that. I don't want him to think I'm one of them.<br />
"A GP," he confirms.<br />
For a couple more seconds we sit in silence.<br />
"Where?" I ask, again trying not to seem impressed.<br />
"At a hospital," his smile is now so wide, I almost smile back.<br />
"Yes, but which one?" I say impatiently.<br />
He laughs now. A full, manly laugh that leaves me confused. <i>Surely what I asked was a normal question? </i><br />
"What's wrong?"<br />
In between laughter he says, "Were you about to lose your temper with me?"<br />
"No!" I quickly defend myself.<br />
"Oh, I think you were,"<br />
"I was not!!"<br />
"You know, you are allowed to be impressed that I'm a doctor. People seem to go about it in one of two ways; either they're so in awe over it they let it show completely, or they do what you did, Ella. They pretend they don't care,"<br />
"Well, I don't care. It's not like I haven't met a doctor before. My doctor's a doctor!"<br />
"Your doctor's a doctor? Well, I'll be damned! There was me thinking I was the only one. I always knew I should have listened to my parents and become a lawyer,"<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb9W6kJ8e1fR6gnO2JaaK3WiRcMdSjNjRPrTmVrmFQzeUctQpr04lPrYRG8eKhy78o4ZyDrdLkijhy4A0JWN8YRHC8GpSHZq6_mQmA2dIqaR6m8fX2RWzQB3DG4pKJTZi1zdde_N6ex2SP/s1600/10-Pantone-Sky-Blue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb9W6kJ8e1fR6gnO2JaaK3WiRcMdSjNjRPrTmVrmFQzeUctQpr04lPrYRG8eKhy78o4ZyDrdLkijhy4A0JWN8YRHC8GpSHZq6_mQmA2dIqaR6m8fX2RWzQB3DG4pKJTZi1zdde_N6ex2SP/s400/10-Pantone-Sky-Blue.jpg" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sky Blue</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
"It's not like you can either be a doctor or a lawyer to be deemed successful, you know!" I reply.<br />
"That's not what I meant at all," the laughter has suddenly stopped because he's sensed that I'm rather annoyed. "And what did you study at uni?"<br />
"Economics,"<br />
"Well, that's not much better. That's pretty much on the same level. Had you read a subject a little more interesting, I might have understood your anger towards my statement,"<br />
"I'm not angry," I say quietly.<br />
"Just annoyed?"<br />
"Just annoyed,"<br />
"Somehow, I get the feeling there are other things worrying you at the moment that are causing this. Not just my pride towards my job title. Although, as oddly satisfying as it would be to annoy a perfect stranger before 2pm, I don't think I'm the reason you're so tense,"<br />
I turn to him in surprise and smile. It's like that moment when you're a small child and you fall over and graze your knee. You don't want to cry, but you need to, and the moment someone comes towards you with a worried look asking what's happened, you can't control it. Floods of tears escape.<br />
It's just like that.<br />
Except I don't cry.<br />
Instead I say, "I've wasted the last four months being with a guy who isn't worth being with. He makes me mad. He makes me upset, and yet, I seem to be too stubborn to get away from it,"<br />
He nods as he's listening to me and I can tell he's genuinely worried.<br />
"Why can't you walk away?" he asks.<br />
I take in a deep breath. "Because nothing's stable," I begin, "Since I graduated from uni, nothing seems to have lasted past 2 months. This time two months ago I had just left my job and was in the middle of a new relationship. Two months before then I had just started a new job and had just met my now boyfriend. Two months before that I was unemployed and with my long-term boyfriend from uni. Two months before that I was still a student. There's too much chaos. Is it wrong to <i>not</i> want things to change just because you want to sort out other parts of your life first?"<br />
"That's not wrong at all," he says. A gentle smile sweeps over his lips. He pauses for a second, then begins again, "When my last girlfriend broke up with me, she said she couldn't sort out her career unless she was single. I didn't understand it at the time, but now it makes perfect sense. If there's something in your life that's distracting you from something that should be a priority, you need to cut them loose,"<br />
"Weren't you mad at her for breaking up with you over such a stupid reason?"<br />
He laughs again. "I was at the time. But if you think about it, at least she was honest with me,"<br />
"It's still a stupid reason," I say, but he only laughs.<br />
<br />
The train pulls up at the station, so I rise from my seat.<br />
"Get up," I playfully nudge his leg with my foot, "you don't want to miss it. Goodness knows what you'll kick this time,"<br />
"I'm not getting on it," he says, looking at the train as if he's finally figured something out. "I lied to you earlier. I wasn't going to Guildford to meet my friend. My ex wanted to meet up so we could talk about getting back together, but you know what, I really don't want to," he laughs at his realisation.<br />
"Oh," I don't know what else to say. "Are you sure?"<br />
"Positive,"<br />
"Umm, I hope I wasn't the reason to cause this?"<br />
He smiles at me as he stands up. "Oh Ella, more than you know. Good luck with your job interview,"<br />
"Thank you," I say as I get on the train, dazed from the situation.<br />
"Maybe I'll bump into you again sometime,"<br />
"Maybe,"<br />
The train doors click shut and I'm on my way, but the nerves of tomorrow's interview have alerted me of their presence again. <br />
<i>Right, you annoying butterflies</i>, I say in my head. <i>It's just you and me now, so let's go get that bloody job!</i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-23033903878480627852011-05-14T12:05:00.003+01:002011-05-15T15:02:04.619+01:00If You Want a Promotion, Don't Play Pokemon<span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>(Continuation of </em></span><a href="http://www.hopelessdaters.com/2011/03/if-you-see-something-say-nothing.html"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>If You See Something, Say Nothing</em></span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>)</em></span><br />
<br />
I've been up since 6am and have found myself a quiet spot in the hotel lobby to finalise the presentation for the morning meeting. After the events of the evening, it is safe to say that I have not slept. Thankfully, I managed to pack my Nintendo DS, as well as a game of Pokemon which kept me amused for most of the night. <br />
<br />
It's time to take a little break from this presentation, so I minimise the screen of PowerPoint and open up Explorer. There, at the top of the toolbar I type 'How to climb walls in Pokemon SoulSilver' in the Google search-box and scan the promising results. We all have our guilty pleasures. <br />
"There you are!" I hear Luke say as he smoothly runs down the stairs. "I've been knocking on your door for ages,"<br />
"Sorry, I thought I'd be able to work better here," I tell him, quickly getting rid of the Pokemon page that I was actually finding incredibly interesting.<br />
"How long have you been down here?"<br />
I look at the clock just behind the reception desk, "Only an hour or so," I lie.<br />
"Oh. Well, I just wanted to ask if you could get some print-screen website shots for the presentation. I think the big bosses want proof of prices and we desperately don't want to disappoint them,"<br />
"No problem," I say, and he disappears. I get to work.<br />
<br />
I'm so proud of this presentation, and I sit in the meeting excited for Luke to present it. Everybody who's somebody in the company has attended this (including Sam) - in fact, I'm probably the only 'nobody' here. But I'm hoping that after they see all the hard work I've put into this, it'll be <em>'Hello Promotion'</em> and therefore, <em>'Hello new Diane von Furstenberg jacket that I've had my eye on for a while'</em>, as well as <em>'Goodbye cranky landlady, goodbye messy housemate (who secretly I'll miss), goodbye curtains with spiders inside'</em>. So overall, I'm having a wonderful morning (obviously, aside from memories of last night which seem to come screaming back to me every now and again). <br />
"I wanted to wish you good luck," Hannah crashes into the room and drapes her arms around Luke. She's acting like she's madly in love, and I can't help but hate her for all this. Lies. I'm staring at the biggest lie I have ever seen and there's nothing to be done about it.<br />
My eyes dart to the CEO who is happily sitting at the head of the table, watching Hannah kiss Luke. I notice his thick eyebrows furrow a little at her actions and he immediately says, "OK, whatever your name is, leave us be. This is a very important meeting,"<br />
"I'm so sorry, Roger," Luke replies.<br />
"I'm just showing my boyfriend how much I love him," Hannah beams a smile at the CEO, and all others in the room gasp as her response. Including Luke. But she's being brave because she knows she can't be fired. For the first time in my life I feel like I'm watching a movie unravel it's unpleasant plot right in front of me, and I'm the only one who knows exactly what's going on. Perhaps I'm a 'somebody' after all. <br />
<br />
Luke is amazing. I can't help but stare at him in awe as he's up there doing the presentation. He's so confident and determined - blue eyes sparkling with knowledge as he dictates the SWOT analysis and says big words like 'eurosecurities' and 'forfaiting'. I make a note in my notebook to look those words up later in my <em>Oxford Dictionary of Finance and Banking</em>. If anyone ever asks me about this presentation I wrote, I should at least know the meaning of the words I've used. <br />
And I can't believe how well it's all going. Everyone is listening intently, and I instantly think, <em>Diane von Furstenberg jacket - here I come</em>.<br />
But then something catches my eyes.<br />
We are now on the last few slides that are proudly displaying those print-screen shots of websites that Luke wanted me to include, and there, at the very top in the Google search-box it reads 'How to climb walls in Pokemon SoulSilver'.<br />
The air has been sucked out of my lungs and I'm 99% sure that my face has turned completely red. How could I have been so stupid not to notice that? <br />
I look around to see if anyone else has spotted it, but overall people's faces seem to look dazed. Apart from Nick from Finance who seems to be hiding a smirk. Bloody Nick. Never liked him anyway.<br />
I glance at Sam, but his expression is completely blank - just staring straight ahead, nodding at Luke's words. <br />
Perhaps I've got away with this. Nick's dull anyway, so this isn't a story he's likely to repeat to his equally enthusiastic team mates. <br />
Luke's stopped speaking and everyone's clapping. Phew. It's all fine.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2b4B4O1KD2tGC5WZR_nagDNdolVy3nSsIlhiJWkMiLAb5OFa6OHuHL4MLtQHWbyMxCOG-GN8NNLdv93biR2JhQcwg6lSuTRn5Bc975Lz4qpkvQCa7XFPFGzxjkOE8D6kUCGcK4rviDv-m/s1600/Google+pokemon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="52px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2b4B4O1KD2tGC5WZR_nagDNdolVy3nSsIlhiJWkMiLAb5OFa6OHuHL4MLtQHWbyMxCOG-GN8NNLdv93biR2JhQcwg6lSuTRn5Bc975Lz4qpkvQCa7XFPFGzxjkOE8D6kUCGcK4rviDv-m/s640/Google+pokemon.jpg" width="640px" /></a></div><br />
"How did it go?" Hannah's legendary tight claw has grabbed my arm as soon as I walk out of the meeting room.<br />
"Umm...all good, I think," I tell her, trying desperately to save my arm from getting bruised. I've only just recovered from her last ones. She's about to say something else, but quickly stops herself when Luke appears by my side.<br />
"Nice presentation," he says with a smile, "Although, next time try to leave Pokemon out of it,"<br />
<em> Oopsie Daisy!</em><br />
"I think this is something you need to fill me in on," Hannah says, ordering me to follow her to the hotel restaurant. "I've barely talked to you properly since we got here,"<br />
<br />
Jam is being splattered everywhere as Hannah has greedily taken the entire platter of croissants from the buffet, and as I watch her use a whole pot of strawberry jam for each one, I wonder whether I should bring up what I saw last night. But my heart doesn't want to, my head is confused, and my mouth doesn't know where to begin. So I stick to, "Did you enjoy the party last night?"<br />
She nods vigurously through mouthfulls of 80% jam, 20% croissant. "You did a great job with the room," she says after her mouth wrestles with the mouthfull. <br />
"I didn't really do that much," I say modistly. <br />
"Oh, don't be so silly. There's no way any of use could have done all that,"<br />
<em> That's actually very true.</em><br />
"Anyway, how did it go with Sam? I didn't really see you for the rest of the evening,"<br />
<em>That's because you were too busy cheating on your perfect boyfriend with the 58 year old CEO</em>. And I immediately hate myself for even thinking such a thought about my best friend.<br />
"We've swapped numbers. I think he wants to see me when he's in London next month," I say.<br />
"You don't sound very enthusiastic about it. Sam's gorgeous,"<br />
"I know he is," a bit of jam lands on my white top.<br />
"Sorry," Hannah says between mouthfulls of croissant.<br />
"It's just that I don't get that <em>feeling</em> when I talk to him," I try to rub the jam out but I know it's futile.<br />
"Urgh, you're such a hopeless romantic," she sneers at her words and bites another croissant. <br />
"I'm 22. I can afford to be,"<br />
"Sometimes feelings have nothing to do with it. You don't always need to be madly in love - you just need to enjoy eachother's company,"<br />
I think about this for a second, but it doesn't matter how much I try to agree with Hannah, something's telling me that she's completely wrong. "Then what's the point? If you only enjoy spending time with that person, why not just be friends?"<br />
"Oh, you're getting far too deep for me, Elita Ivey. We're young. Let's just enjoy ourselves," she beams a smile - jam all over her teeth. Lovely.<br />
"Do you love Luke?" I ask her, rather determined for an answer.<br />
Her blue eyes wonder about the room as she thinks, "Well, I must do," and picks up another croissant from the platter. <br />
<em>Do you love the CEO?</em> I want to ask, but don't. <br />
<br />
"I bet you're thinking of what dress to wear tonight?" My daydreaming has been interrupted by Sam, who has sat down next to me in the hotel restaurant. Hannah left a while ago, so I've been sitting here gathering my thoughts. <br />
"Nope. I already know what to wear tonight. Try again,"<br />
"Hmm," he pauses, "then you must be thinking how proud you are of yourself for that presentation this morning,"<br />
"It could have been better," I quietly say.<br />
"It could have been worse," <br />
We sit there staring at each other for a bit and I realise that he's talking about the Pokemon incident. My face turns scarlet once more.<br />
"I was hoping no one had noticed,"<br />
He starts laughing - even his laugh has a mancunian accent. "The presentation was pretty much all font size 80 when presented on that big screen. Trust me, I doubt there were many who didn't see that,"<br />
I can't help but giggle along with him. "It's from sleep deprivation," I tell him<br />
"Up all night playing Pokemon?"<br />
I know he means that jokingly, but I'm not sure he realises just how true that is.<br />
"A few things on my mind, that's all," I smile at him. He leans in a bit closer as if wanting to whisper something in my ear.<br />
"Well, if you ever need to talk, I'm an amazing listener," and he lifts himself up from the seat and leaves the room. "See you tonight," he shouts when at the door.<br />
"See you," I whisper to myself.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-89875629487837445012011-04-30T15:55:00.002+01:002011-05-01T12:09:10.313+01:00The Bunny Boiler - Chapter 8I wipe the thick cream off my nose with my thumb as I put down the cappuccino. Mikey looks at me across the small, round, mahogany table and asks, "Plan of action?"<br />
Well, there isn't one. But I don't want to tell him this. I have a feeling he'll walk out of the cafe dramatically and get the next train back to Surrey, probably mouthing, "Why do I let her drag me into these situations?"<br />
"My plan is to buy a boat," I announce. I hear him huff, settle down his tea and cast his eyes towards me angrily. <br />
"You can't buy a boat!"<br />
"Why not?"<br />
"You're 17. You don't know how to operate one. You have nowhere to keep it..."<br />
I'm about to bring up the whole <em>'I live near the Thames. I can see a bit of the river from my bedroom window'</em> argument again, but I know it'll only fall on deaf ears.<br />
"...you can barely look after yourself. I mean, you thought an umpire was the plural of empire..."<br />
Anyone would have made that mistake.<br />
"...you get bored easily and by next week the boat will be forgotten and you'll want your own theme park or something..."<br />
I mentally make a note of the theme park idea. I did always have expansion plans for Thorpe Park.<br />
"....you have exams coming up and need to concentrate on those - not learn to drive a bloody boat. By September you're moving to Guildford..."<br />
There's a river there too, you know.<br />
"...you're only doing this to prove something to Jamie because the two of you broke up last night. You're hurt and you're not thinking straight..."<br />
My heart sinks a little as I think of Jamie.<br />
"...and most importantly, boats are expensive. You don't have a job. You don't have any money. Your purse contains £3.62 and a chocolate button!"<br />
I look up at him awkwardly, "Actually, I ate the chocolate button,"<br />
He shakes his head and I immediately feel like this is a scene from Will and Grace. "Why am I not surprised!" he drinks his tea.<br />
"Well, there's no harm in looking at the Marina," I tell him. "We came all the way to Brighton. We can't spend the entire day in Starbucks,"<br />
"Fine," he says drinking the rest of his tea. "Maybe we'll get lucky and find a boat for under £3.62,"<br />
<br />
It's raining. Heavily. The large chunks of water droplets are propelling themselves towards us with maximum force, and as we make the short walk from the cafe to the boats, we are completely soaked. We might as well have jumped in the sea and hijacked a boat from there. That way, at least I saved my £3.62.<br />
<br />
"I'm concerned," Mikey says as he uses his jacket as an umbrella to protect his perfectly styled, blond hair.<br />
"What concerns you, my lovely?"<br />
"Number one, your mental health, obviously,"<br />
"Obviously,"<br />
"But number two, isn't that Giles over there?"<br />
My head darts in the direction that Mikey's finger is pointing to. There, on the other end of the marina stands Giles.<br />
"What's he doing here?" I whisper, despite the fact that he's completely out of earshot.<br />
"I have no idea, but he can't see me here. He'll only tell my mum that I'm in Brighton. And let's face it, she'll take one look at my CD collection, put 2 and 2 together and be upset that I haven't come out to her yet,"<br />
"You're over-reacting. He's only a distant cousin anyway,"<br />
"His mother and my mother are sisters!"<br />
"Ah,"<br />
"My mum's going to think I'm gay!" He starts rubbing his temples as the rain ruins his hair.<br />
"I'm sure she's guessed by now. I mean, she has met you,"<br />
"Do you think you're helping?"<br />
"No?"<br />
"No. No, you're not!" and the jacket is thrown back over his head.<br />
<br />
Giles on his own would have been fine, but it was the appearance of Kate a few minutes later that really jolted us. She was wearing a white summer dress, despite the awful weather, and was making her way to the little boat shop that Giles had now entered. <br />
"Let's go in," I tell Mikey making a move for the entrance. But he grabs my jacket and pulls me back.<br />
"Why?"<br />
"To find out what they're doing here,"<br />
He starts shaking his head as if unable to comprehend," Why??" he says again.<br />
"Aren't you at all curious why they're in Brighton? Mikey, this is Kate, Jamie's psycho ex. We have to know what her and Giles are up to,"<br />
Mikey appears to be understanding me a little more now. <br />
"It's very strange," I continue, "who comes to Brighton unexpectedly?"<br />
He eyes me up and down and I can tell he's seconds away from going on another rant of how I've gone insane, how I'm such a child, blah blah blah. <br />
"Our situation is different," I tell him before he gets the chance to start shouting, "We are here to buy a boat,"<br />
"They'll see us if we go in there. That place looks tiny,"<br />
"Not if we're very careful,"<br />
"But -," I sometimes have no idea why Mikey argues back so much. He knows this is happening whether he likes it or not. You'd have thought he's learnt his lesson by now.<br />
He huffs and stomps his feet as he follows me towards the shop.<br />
<br />
Kate and Giles are at the till talking to an old, weather-beaten man who looks ridiculously like Captain Birdseye. So Mikey and I head to the other end just behind a pillar, where posters of cruise ship holidays have been scattered messily all over the wall. Luckily, we can hear every word.<br />
"I've been thinking of taking my girlfriend on a long holiday this summer," I hear Giles explain. <br />
<em>Yes, please take her. Take her far, far away. And lose her. Please, try your best to get her kidnapped by pirates. She's nothing special so the ransom request won't be very much</em>.<br />
"Maybe Antigua. A lovely sailing holiday around there would be splendid," Captain Birdseye suggests. I hear Kate giggle at the thought like a child. "When are you two lovebirds thinking of leaving?"<br />
"Beginning of July," Giles responds.<br />
"But we'll definitely have to come back late September for university," Kate puts in. <br />
I'm reminded of Jamie again and how he'll be at Edinburgh with Kate in Autumn. My heart sinks a little more. <br />
"I'm really looking forward to uni, you know," she tells Giles excitedly, and I don't know how - perhaps because I've learnt Kate's mental thought process so well these last few months - but I know she's only suddenly excited because Jamie will now be there too. <br />
"I'll come and visit you all the time," Giles says.<br />
"Yes," she says straight away, lacking enthusiasm. <br />
There's deep silence for a few minutes as Captain Birdseye hands out a few leaflets and brochures about upcoming sailing holidays. We hear a few "Ooo, that looks lovely" and "How about this one, babe?" but nothing interesting is really happening. I'm beginning to regret following them in here. I could have bought my boat by now. And this wall is getting dull. I've read "<em>Cruise through four seasons in four weeks for just £99</em>" thirteen times now. <br />
"I'll leave you to read those through. I'll just be in there if you need me," Captain Birdseye tells them before entering a hidden away room at the back.<br />
"I love the look of this one. We should go for it," Giles confirms to Kate. We hear him waving a brochure about.<br />
"Oh, but that's until mid October," <br />
"I know, but term doesn't start properly until then, so you'll only miss Fresher's Week,"<br />
"No, no! I don't want to miss anything. I want to get to Edinburgh as soon as I can!" she snaps. Uh oh, I can feel the Bunny Boiler Richter Scale starting to increase a little.<br />
"I know, babe, but this is a great deal and it would be a shame to miss it,"<br />
"I'm going to Edinburgh when I'm supposed to, not when it suits you!! Do you understand?" she shouts at him. Loudly. Captain Birdseye emerges from his retreat. <br />
"A problem?" he asks.<br />
"Oh, nothing. Sorry about that," Giles smiles and apologises, so he hides back in his room. He turns to Kate in a soothing tone, "At least think about it, babe,"<br />
"I don't need to think about it!! This relationship won't last until then anyway!!!" she screams. "Erggh! I can't even believe it's lasted this long!"<br />
"Umm...what?" Giles sounds hurt.<br />
"I only got with you to make Jamie jealous. I expected him to come crawling back to me weeks ago, but he's still with that bitch!"<br />
I'm about to go and strangle her, but Mikey holds on to me. "Stay calm," he whispers.<br />
"But now that Jamie's going to Edinburgh as well, Ella won't be around and it will be so much easier to make him mine again," she says this like she's so proud with herself. <br />
"Oh," he's practically whispering. <br />
"So I probably won't go on this holiday anyway. Now that I think about it, it's just time wasted in not trying to win Jamie back,"<br />
<em>Die! </em><br />
<em> Die Die Die!</em><br />
Seconds later we hear the bell above the front door jingle. Giles has stormed out. Kate sets down the brochures and walks out calmly into the heavy rain.<br />
"Bloody hell," I say to Mikey.<br />
"I can't believe that," he responds, his mouth wide open from the shock. "I honestly thought she'd caught the bait properly when we set her up with Giles,"<br />
I look around the shop again wondering what my next step should be. Do I tell Jamie about this? Will he even believe me? He'll just think it's some sort of way of getting him to stay in Surrey rather than move to Scotland. <br />
"What are you going to do now?" Mikey asks me, but there's no time to reply because Captain Birdseye has emerged again and is smiling at us.<br />
"Can I help you with anything?" he asks.<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFpBCA9J76XFICX9i48HUU6fniMUjY1cGo4WL-XGA1s9MCky4hkrpyrHopKVrjX8RVW0ddH4wXavXQO-Eg6PRSLzyUQPqQ6LykBtvLFEJLG_u49DAqWb7pM2pwzf9CXPzMe52TnEQB_iCk/s1600/Rowing+Boat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFpBCA9J76XFICX9i48HUU6fniMUjY1cGo4WL-XGA1s9MCky4hkrpyrHopKVrjX8RVW0ddH4wXavXQO-Eg6PRSLzyUQPqQ6LykBtvLFEJLG_u49DAqWb7pM2pwzf9CXPzMe52TnEQB_iCk/s320/Rowing+Boat.jpg" width="320px" /></a> "Do you sell boats?" I reply without even thinking.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "We do,"</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "Roughly how much is your average one?"</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "Well, they range from a few thousands to a few hundred. Our cheapest rowing boat is £150,"</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "I'll take it,"</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> Queue gasp from Mikey.</div> "It's a little more costly if we have to deliver it,"<br />
"That's not a problem. I still want it,"<br />
"Wonderful,"<br />
I can sense Mikey wants to shout at me so I walk a little bit away from him and get out my phone. Before I have a chance to change my mind, I start typing: '<em>I told you I was going to buy a boat!'</em> and off the message flies to Jamie.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-89372720537594201062011-04-25T10:55:00.002+01:002011-07-16T17:35:40.002+01:00A Lecture on Love from a Stranger in LoveI'm sitting in the park on an absolutely splendid Summer's day. I managed to pack myself a little picnic, have laid out a red blanket on the dry glass, and have fashionably furnitured my face with Chanel sunglasses. <br />
I'm reading <i>Minx</i> by Julia Quinn - it's a memorable section- Henry (a girl who parades in men's clothing) and Dunford (a boy who is prettier than a girl) have just met, and I'm dreamily thinking how much I'd want an unexpected romance; a lovely fairy-tale where boy meets girl and girl actually likes boy. <br />
I can feel the sun blazing against my pale skin, so I pause my reading and fidget around to find a more comfortable spot. I scan my surrounding, but there isn't a patch in this Surrey park that hasn't been taken by someone. <br />
So I stay where I am and resume reading my book.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHylj3iUNQuOy0RBigV6w-0b79E6mUfj1sWo9wtcIVaGgVU0ikvNKgPdn5BW-nw0jW98ioESzUNIYBGoRSX_8NSNZPc3LjVp21dRCUy6sVpOXiAmwPeOcRrZJwUBTh1oNzv8JYIbQ_tY4L/s1600/CIMG7696.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHylj3iUNQuOy0RBigV6w-0b79E6mUfj1sWo9wtcIVaGgVU0ikvNKgPdn5BW-nw0jW98ioESzUNIYBGoRSX_8NSNZPc3LjVp21dRCUy6sVpOXiAmwPeOcRrZJwUBTh1oNzv8JYIbQ_tY4L/s400/CIMG7696.JPG" width="400px" /></a></div><br />
"Heads up!" I hear, seconds before some bouncy object has collided with my head.<br />
"Ouch," is all I manage as I spot the orange basketball roll off next to me.<br />
"Sorry. You alright?" a male voice speaks, but my brain can't register anything. So I sit there rubbing my head. <br />
"Are you OK?" he asks again, now coming into view.<br />
"Umm...I think so," I mouth, squinting as I look up at him - my sunglasses lying next to me on the red blanket. <br />
"Sorry. I think I over-analysed where the hoop was," the dark-haired stranger informs.<br />
I look behind me at the lonely basketball court. "By a mile?" I snap back.<br />
He's about to apologise yet again, but doesn't. "I'm not very good. I haven't been playing for long." he says instead.<br />
"Evidently,"<br />
He purses his lips at me and moves to the other side of the blanket. I can now see him so much better without the July sun limiting my view. His skin is tanned, his hair a chestnut brown which every couple of seconds he runs his fingers through. He's wearing a white t-shirt absolutely soaked in sweat, and I've noticed that his trainers are brand new - so white they'd glow in the dark. He wasn't lying when he said he hasn't played for long. <br />
"I'll go and get you water," he announces and immediately walks towards the ice-cream van at the other end of the vivid, green stretch. I have no strength to argue, so I sit there, still rubbing my throbbing head as I watch him stride through the park.<br />
<em> He's incredibly good looking</em>, I think to myself. <em>Perhaps I should re-apply my lipstick before he comes back.</em> <br />
So I dig into my handbag and pull out a lipstick called 'Heroine'. A dark, golden colour which stands out beautifully in this heat, and as I finish pouting in the mirror, I glance quickly at the stranger who is now making his way towards me. <br />
"Consider yourself lucky," he tells me. "This was their last bottle,"<br />
"Yes, <em>Luck</em> really is the word to describe me today, isn't it," I say in a sarcastic tone. I can tell he doesn't appreciate this because, let's face it, he's really trying to be nice. "Thanks," I say, noticing how I must be coming across. A bitter, twenty-something girl, spending a beautiful day off work on her own. <br />
I expect him to say, "Well, I hope you feel better. Sorry again," and leave. But to my surprise, he sits down with his legs crossed on my blanket, helps himself to a strawberry and looks at me intently. <br />
His eyes are hazel. That's all the new information I have for now.<br />
"Please, help yourself" I tell him, feeling a little angry that not only has he practically assaulted me, but is now stealing my food.<br />
"You've been here for an hour and haven't touched them yet," he answers back. "I bet you anything you were going to throw them away on your way home,"<br />
I open my mouth to argue back, but notice that he's absolutely right. I'm not the biggest fan of strawberries. It's just something that people take to picnics, isn't it. <br />
"See," he's practically gloating.<br />
"They were half price at Waitrose," I defend myself, instantly flicking my head away towards the tennis courts. <br />
"What are you reading?" he asks, his fingers gracing the cover of <i>Minx</i>. <br />
"A book," I say, snatching it away from his touch.<br />
"A good read?"<br />
"Yes, thanks,"<br />
"What's it about?"<br />
"People,"<br />
"What's happening to these people?"<br />
"Situations,"<br />
"How exciting,"<br />
I look down at my book as if it's a child I'm defending from harm. "You wouldn't understand anyway," I say to him. <br />
"Because it's about love?" he smirks at me, and I notice that his teeth are perfect. Many men don't appear to have perfect teeth. <br />
"Yes," I respond quietly.<br />
"Love's overrated," he says as he reaches for another strawberry.<br />
My mouth forms a perfect oval at the shock of what he's said, "What? How can you even say that? Love's wonderful,"<br />
"Love's painful," he says incredibly quickly. He's obviously been hurt by someone.<br />
I pause for a bit and we both just sit there staring at each other. "I suppose it is sometimes," I tell him. "But the painful part is temporary. The wonderful part in permanent,"<br />
He laughs at that. A whole-hearted, manly laugh that I instantly think is attractive. "How old are you?" he asks me with a smile.<br />
"22," I respond, not seeing what that has to do with anything.<br />
"You're still young. You're still learning," the third strawberry goes in his mouth.<br />
<em>Patronising!</em><br />
"I know lots about love. And anyway, what makes you such an expert?" I angrily ask.<br />
But he doesn't answer my question. He just smiles at me from across the failed picnic, eating my strawberries. <br />
"How's your head?" he asks after a few seconds escape us.<br />
I'd completely forgotten about that. "It's fine. You can leave now," I pull my possessions towards me to indicate that I no longer want him intruding in my life. <br />
"You might have concussion,"<br />
Annoyed, I look at him, "I don't have concussion,"<br />
"Well, anyhow, I'd still like to stay a bit longer to make sure," he seems genuinely concerned. His eyes shine brightly, almost glimmering in the happy sunshine. "I could never play basketball again if I knew a fatality came of it,"<br />
"Maybe you just shouldn't play basketball again full stop!" I snap.<br />
He leans in closer. I can see a faint laughter line forming at the corner of his mouth. "You know, I was wondering why a pretty girl was spending today all alone. But now I think I know,"<br />
I don't react to it. Whatever he's thinking about me, it isn't true. I mean, this guy launched a heavy basketball at my head, invited himself to my picnic and ate my Waitrose strawberries. How <em>nice</em> does he expect me to be?<br />
"You're a Jane Austen fan," he tells me.<br />
I look up at him with quizzical eyebrows. <br />
"Your favourite book is Pride and Prejudice,"<br />
I still say nothing. Just stare at him, wondering where he's going with this.<br />
"You're still waiting for your Mr. Darcy, which is why no man has ever met your expectations,"<br />
"Actually, I'm waiting for my Captain Wentworth," I tell him, somehow thinking I've won this little argument.<br />
"And you're stubborn. What a wonderful mix!" he mocks - that irritating smile still on his face. "You want a love story, not a boyfriend," he tells me, and I sit there stunned. "You can't settle for just anyone, so you make up your mind about someone immediately. You jump into relationships without liking someone, but you're too stubborn to give up on it,"<br />
My mind darts back to my last relationship...and he's right. <br />
He leans in a little closer again, his eyes portraying sympathy. "My last girlfriend was exactly like you, and the problem is that no matter how much a guy tries, he will never be good enough in your eyes,"<br />
Aha! We've solved the mystery of why he's so against love. <br />
"You have me wrong," I say.<br />
"Really?"<br />
"Well, you have me 30% wrong," I begin to explain. "I'm a hopeless romantic. I long to meet the perfect guy - the perfect romance. But I'm also a realist. I've had long-term relationships," I smile at him, "so don't think you have me so sussed, Mister,"<br />
He helps himself to the final strawberry that's sitting on it's own on the paper plate. <br />
"I'm sorry it didn't work out with your last girlfriend," I throw a smile his way. <br />
He looks around uncomfortably. "It's still a sore subject," so I don't probe it anymore. <br />
"But love really is...lovely," I tell him and he smiles. A proper smile. Teeth and everything. <br />
"Your head's better, yeah?" he asks, standing up. Immediately I want to order him to sit back down.<br />
I nod my head.<br />
"I better get going," he grabs the basketball and turns to leave. "Thanks for the strawberries," he shouts when he's a few metres away.<br />
"It's fine," I call out as I pick up <i>Minx </i>and continue reading. Now, where was I? Ah, yes! <em>'He was beautiful...'</em>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-59572787555755506982011-04-21T17:07:00.006+01:002011-07-16T17:36:04.670+01:00What's Your Age Again?It was just a smile. One innocent smile to the blond-haired Greek God standing on the other side of the shop. He had a name badge - now, I'm no intelligence expert, but my powers of deduction came to the conclusion that he must work here. <br />
But, I must stop this 'across the shop' smile flirting because this guy looks eighteen; twenty if I'm having a super lucky day today, and considering I shall be 23 in a couple of months, add the fact that I'm snobbishly old-fashioned about this sort of thing, it is definitely a no-go zone. <br />
He's amazingly attractive though - and the smiles escape me without me being able to do anything about them. He's tall, with energetic blue eyes, and a body which right that moment I was imagining completely naked.<br />
Uh oh! What if he's sixteen? ...If he is, ignore that last bit.<br />
<br />
"I'm definitely buying this," Little Brother says coming out of the fitting rooms. He smiles at me - that same smile I often have plastered on my face whenever I want a favour from someone.<br />
"You want me to buy this for you, don't you," I say as unenthusiastically as I can possibly muster. <br />
He nods his head.<br />
"Fine!" I say, taking the rugby shirt from his hand and walking up to the till. Little Brother has now moved to the next shop. The selfish idiot. <br />
"Hi," the Greek God sings.<br />
"Hello,"<br />
He runs the item through the till, occasionally flicking his eyes my way with a smile. But he stops before he hands me my purchase, rips the edge of some green tissue paper and scribbles something down. He pushes it across the table right in front of me. Without saying a word, he hands me the carrier bag, followed by the receipt and nonchalantly walks away. There, on the emerald scrunched up paper is his name and his number.<br />
I feel like a teenager, which makes me wonder whether he is one.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHgmX-MMod4HS4k0Up9U7V55q2LVyY5vVwtzn9MItR3MOVTMtiUFSTsxgvXP7YFw-1BKryNoShSu5X7ExRN2u5nb7dV6u5V30GZuwx4sKKMn2MGKAr_OKGz0_TbFt9fSqfnBi9XXFVdYgy/s1600/CIMG7690.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHgmX-MMod4HS4k0Up9U7V55q2LVyY5vVwtzn9MItR3MOVTMtiUFSTsxgvXP7YFw-1BKryNoShSu5X7ExRN2u5nb7dV6u5V30GZuwx4sKKMn2MGKAr_OKGz0_TbFt9fSqfnBi9XXFVdYgy/s320/CIMG7690.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
I have no intention of calling him - I rarely go on dates with absolute strangers (that may be a lie...), and all I know about this guy is that his name is Dean, occupation: Sales Assistant, age: Unknown. Hardly the start of a fairy-tale romance. <br />
And, I've only just come out of an incredibly short, but awful relationship (read all about it at <a href="http://www.hopelessdaters.com/2011/05/no-knight-in-shining-armour.html">No Knight In Shining Armour</a>). Getting involved with someone else isn't the best idea, despite my friend's attempts at "getting me back on the horse". <br />
<br />
The next day, however, I'm finding myself typing him a text and before I know it, a date has been arranged and I'm on my way to Kingston (upon Thames) to see him. <br />
"You should have asked to meet at a pub," my friend had said to me earlier that day.<br />
"Why?"<br />
"Because then you'd know if he's over eighteen or not," <i>Oh! That would have been a clever idea. I'll keep it in mind for the next teenage looking boy I date.</i><br />
<br />
I walk in the restaurant and immediately spot him sitting down on a table by the window. He's wearing a white shirt and smart trousers, but he looks a bit like a young estate agent who hasn't managed to see a tailor yet. And his hair is so...blond. Imagine a fair-haired cherub that has grown into a dashing Cupid. That's Dean.<br />
<i>He's 17.</i><br />
"You look amazing," he tells me kissing my cheek.<br />
<i>He's 25.</i><br />
"Thank you," I reply. "I hope you haven't been waiting long,"<br />
"Barely five minutes," he smiles broadly at me like a perfect gentleman. <br />
<i>He's 27.</i><br />
"Let's get some drinks in. Red or white?"<br />
<i>He's definitely over 18...unless he means fruit squash!</i><br />
"Red," I reply cautiously, so he calls over the waiter and tells him the order. Thankfully he really did mean wine. <br />
<i>He's definitely over 18. </i>Phew!<br />
<br />
Half an hour into the date and I'm laughing hysterically. This guy is hilarious. His sense of humour isn't like any I have ever encountered before. He's confident, energetic, mature...<br />
<i>He's 24.</i><br />
"And after that he couldn't exactly show his face here again. Decided to go to university last October," he finishes off talking about his best friend from the school days.<br />
<i>He's 18.</i><br />
"So are you at university?" he asks me, eyes engaged on my lips as I stumble with an answer.<br />
"Umm...actually I graduated last year," I inform him. But oddly his smile doesn't fade. His reaction seems...normal.<br />
<i>He's 22.</i><br />
"University was never for me. I wanted to get a job, find a nice girl and get on with my life," he drawls.<br />
<i>He's 30?</i><br />
"Are you enjoying work?" I ask him thinking back to the day we met.<br />
He shrugs his shoulders and scrunches his nose, "S'alright," he says, "It's my first job, so it can only get better from here,"<br />
<i>OMG, he's 16!!!</i><br />
"Oh," is all I manage, hiding the disappointed look on my face by drinking more wine. <br />
"Maybe another year there, and then I'll look for something more serious. An office job like all other grown-ups," he smiles.<br />
...<i>Are you a grown-up?</i><br />
"It's just a difficult time at the moment. I have so many unemployed friends that have finished uni," <br />
<i>He's 21.</i><br />
He smiles again, "There's still time. I'm young,"<br />
<i>How young???</i><br />
"So did you do A-levels?" I carefully ask, hoping this will give me a better indication.<br />
"Last year," he replies.<br />
<i>He's 19.</i><br />
"My last exam was on my nineteenth birthday, so I'll never forget that bloody paper," he jokes.<br />
I quickly do some adding up.<br />
<i>He's 19.</i><br />
<i> He's definitely 19.</i><br />
<i> I'm not too sure how I feel about this...</i><br />
<br />
We're now by the Thames riverbank just outside the Italian restaurant. He asks me if I'm cold and immediately takes his coat off.<br />
"It's honestly OK," I refuse and we both stare out at the boats, which are bobbing up and down on the rumbled river. <br />
I can feel him move closer. This surrounding is perfect for a first kiss; the night air is crisp, the crescent moon keeps peeking out of clouds, and the river sparkles like gold next to the street lamps. <br />
But I don't want a kiss.<br />
Not from a nineteen year old, anyway. <br />
"Best get going," I tell him, immediately edging my head back when he leans in. I have probably crushed him - from this moment on he'll have relationship issues. <br />
"OK," he says, almost as if he thinks he's done something wrong. But all I do is smile at him, get in a cab and run away. <br />
<br />
"If you're going to arrange a second date, better do it before half term ends," Mikey (from <a href="http://www.hopelessdaters.com/p/bunny-boiler-series_03.html">Bunny Boiler</a> fame) tells me when I call him on the way back. <br />
"Stop it with the jokes," I scold. "He's already sent me a text telling me he's had a lovely time,"<br />
"I'm surprised his mother lets him have a mobile at his age," I hear him giggle at the other end of the line.<br />
"Don't joke, Mikey. The guy looked really broken when I avoided the kiss," I shudder at the recollection.<br />
"If you like, you can pass on some of my nephew's toys. Maybe that will cheer him up?"<br />
Har! Har!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-14797782658475694192011-04-20T14:52:00.004+01:002011-05-15T15:03:26.847+01:00Anthony and Chloe-patra<span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>(Continuation of </em></span><a href="http://www.hopelessdaters.com/2010/10/much-to-do-about-nothing.html"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>Much To Do About Nothing</em></span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>)</em></span><br />
<br />
I keep getting phone calls. Odd ones, where no one says anything. A bit like in a scary movie, right before the pretty girl is killed. And unfortunately, in this little story, the pretty girl must be me. <br />
Oh, hang on. I've just risen from bed and looked at myself in the mirror... I should be safe for a few more scenes.<br />
<br />
This is the last week of the Easter holidays before exams start, and instead of being halfway through Chapter 16 and knowing all there is to know about oligopolies, I'm about to head out to work; to the Witch's Corner to most likely stir a cauldron...or hassle people to sign up to a store card - pretty much the same thing. <br />
It's the perfect time to revise. Jo and the rest of the housemates have gone home for the holidays so the entire place is all mine. <br />
But no.<br />
Here I am, putting on the same dress I've been wearing to work for the last month, because Mel won't allow me to use my 75% off on uniform anymore. And yet, she's always wearing something new. The bitch!<br />
<br />
"Late again!" Mel hisses as I push open the glass double doors.<br />
It's 9:15 - I shouldn't even be here until 9:30.<br />
"Actually, I'm early," I retort.<br />
"I asked you to come in at nine because we're short-staffed today. Ergh! Does no one listen to me anymore?"<br />
<em>I don't think anyone did in the first place.</em><br />
<em> </em>"You might as well go and get Henry," she places both hands on her hips and starts tapping her right foot at me. <br />
<em>Henry? Who's Henry? Does she have a child I don't know about? Have her and the Merchandiser Dude spawned?</em><br />
<em> </em>So I stand there looking dumb, waiting for her to explain. <br />
"The hoover?" she impatiently clarifies.<br />
<em>You could have just said that, you lunatic!</em><br />
<br />
Hoovering is a nightmare. There's only one plug socket tucked away behind a rail of heavy dresses and each morning I stand there wrestling with the clothes, trying to get my job done. What's more is that Henry has pretty much had it. Its long lead is covered with brown sellotape trying to keep us from getting electrocuted, and as you try to hoover up even the lightest of dust, it spits at you. You have no idea the amount of times I've ruined clothes with that temperamental thing. It's because of this, that 'Henry' is the least envied morning task. One of the reasons why the other girls are always so late - in this instance, the early bird does not catch the worm. <br />
"Hoover the changing rooms," Mel shouts above the noise. <br />
So I drag poor, warn-out Henry up the couple of steps, cursing in my head at how cumbersome this whole task is. The changing rooms don't need to be hoovered - there's barely a square inch in them. <br />
"Come on, you piece of crap," I tell it, as I lift it up the steps.<br />
But Henry is clearly seeking revenge, because the sellotaped lead has wrapped itself around my foot, and as I attempt to climb up a step, I trip and fall on the floor. <br />
Mel doesn't even look up from whatever email she's reading at the till. So, I just sit there, inelegantly for a bit. I'll just treat this as my break.<br />
I unwrap the lead from my foot and try to get up, but the floor length mirror opposite the shop doors catches my eye. My head and body (still on the floor) spin round to see if I'm actually right.<br />
And there, out in the street looking into the shop is Anthony.<br />
Handsome, smart, funny Anthony.<br />
He's smiling at me and with a look of concern, mouths, "Are you alright?"<br />
I only nod my head. I suppose I feel a bit embarrassed, but at the same time I want him to know just how horrid it is working here. I almost feel like yelling, "She beats me, Anthony! She beats me!"<br />
He smiles again at me and walks away, and I instantly feel like running after him and saying, "I'm so sorry I said no when you asked me out. I didn't mean it. I have no idea what I was thinking,"<br />
But I just sit there on the floor, with my legs crossed, collecting more dust than Henry could. My black and white dress is probably black and grey by now. <br />
"Oh, do get up!" Mel shouts. "Get on with the changing rooms!"<br />
<br />
For the rest of the day I've been instructed to stand on the shop floor by the doors, asking customers if they need any help. It's 3:22 - I've asked 49 people so far, and each and every one of them has responded with, "No, thank you. I'm just browsing," - because, let's face it, it's not that difficult to look at a few dresses and decide whether or not you like them. <br />
But Mel still keeps creeping up on me, pointing to a customer and roaring, "Go and ask her if she needs any help. Go on,"<br />
"But I already asked her two minutes ago,"<br />
"Go and ask her again!"<br />
So off I'd trot like an idiot and pester the lovely, old woman again. "No thanks, dear," she'd respond, throwing me a look of concern for my mental health. <br />
<br />
From that moment, I swore to myself that I will not talk to another customer again unless they spoke to me first. From now until 6 o' clock I'd remain silent, standing there looking pretty in my red shoes and my dirty dress. <br />
"Ant, I want to go in here. You know it's my favourite shop," I hear a girl's voice say at the entrance. <br />
"But, do we have to go in here right now?" the guy speaks. <br />
And, of course, it's obviously Anthony.<br />
Because that's just my luck, isn't it, for the guy I like (whom I stupidly rejected) to swan back into my life with a drop-dead gorgeous girl. But, let's look on the bright side; she's now the pretty one in this story, so at least she'll die before I do. <br />
I instinctively go to hide, but soon turn around again when I see Mel glaring at me from the till. Looks like I can't really avoid this one. Perhaps I'll go hassle that lady again. <br />
"Are you sure you don't require my help?" I tell her, as she stands there holding one of our new coats.<br />
"Err...I'm OK for now," she smiles.<br />
My head moves briefly towards the door. Anthony catches my eye but doesn't acknowledge me. Which is fine. I've pretty much ignored him too. <br />
"We have some other new coats as well," I tell the lady, moving her towards the other end of the shop.<br />
"I've decided on this one," she tells me, standing her ground (and good on her). <br />
"OK, I'll take this to the till for you,"<br />
"That's very kind of you, but I'd like to have another look around,"<br />
"Oh, well, let me help you with that. Were you looking for anything in particular?"<br />
Anthony and female friend are rummaging through a few dresses. I scan my surrounding and wonder whether anyone will notice if I run home. <br />
"I'm fine, dear," the lady says curtly. There's not much point trying again unless I want to be arrested. <br />
I move back to my little spot and stand there with my back to them. A part of me longs for them to come and speak to me, but the other part is saying, "Don't talk to me, don't even look at me!"<br />
"I'll ask this girl for help," Anthony's friend says. "Excuse me," the girl leans in. "I need a dress for a party tonight. Which is your most popular one?"<br />
I smile at her and walk her over to the newest addition of clothes. "Everyone seems to adore this one," I say, pointing to a light pink, strapless mini dress. Anthony joins us a few seconds later.<br />
"What do you think, Ant? Wouldn't I look absolutely gorgeous next to you in this little number?" she says, flicking her long, blonde hair.<br />
"Yes. Hi," he finally says to me.<br />
"Hi," I respond quietly. <br />
"Oh. Do you two know each other?" <br />
"Yes. This is Ella," Anthony replies, in a way which indicates he has spoken about me to this girl before. <br />
"Oh," is her response, which definitely confirms that he has spoken about me to this girl before. <br />
"Ella, this is Chloe. We've been seeing each other these last couple of weeks," he says, almost shyly. <br />
"Lovely to meet you," I say, and she smiles back, despite the horrific awkwardness of this entire situation. <br />
"Actually, I'm not sure I want this dress," Chloe says, scrunching her face at Anthony. "Maybe we should go somewhere else first. It's better to have a look around,"<br />
<em>Awkward! Awkward! Awkward!</em><br />
<em> </em>I nod my head and keep my eyes fixed on her, but all I want to do is look at Anthony. I want to ask him how his mind could be changed so quickly, when only a month ago he really liked me. Fickle! I don't have time for fickle men. <br />
"Why don't you have a look around on your own?" Anthony asks her. "I need to pop to the bank quickly anyway," and with that, he's left the shop.<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNvz3Oc-9tdOjU98tExTcQmQ6eKWO-Up6tUOdG4BkVVHsGrCClB4x-20GHhbeooe5rfouTvjAls1s2fGRF3KAFjS5k64TthaAidYlt5EmZ-arfJtluXvqmcQ1vhh_N987NZ6cIM1gP5GRf/s1600/Don%2527t+cover+your+emotions.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNvz3Oc-9tdOjU98tExTcQmQ6eKWO-Up6tUOdG4BkVVHsGrCClB4x-20GHhbeooe5rfouTvjAls1s2fGRF3KAFjS5k64TthaAidYlt5EmZ-arfJtluXvqmcQ1vhh_N987NZ6cIM1gP5GRf/s320/Don%2527t+cover+your+emotions.jpg" width="210px" /></a> I don't know whether to leave her browse or to stand there watching her look at dresses. I stupidly choose the latter. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "I've heard a lot about you," she tells me.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> My attention perks up. "Have you? All good, I hope,"</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "All I know is that you're the girl Ant liked before me. I just don't get it?"</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "Umm...you don't get why he liked me?" <em>Err...isn't that a bit of a nasty thing to say???</em></div> "No," she quickly responds, not lifting her eyes from the clothes once, "I just don't understand why he still has your number. Why he still talks about you,"<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "Oh...well....I...umm..." I'm tongue-tied. What on earth do you say to that?</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "It's just weird, that's all. The two of you didn't even kiss," and she finally looks up at me, her blue eyes glazed over like ice, expecting me to confirm.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "We never kissed," I tell her. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "It's difficult to date someone who had strong feelings for someone else only weeks before," she looks back at the clothes, and I instantly feel for her. This is horribly awkward for me, but it must be dreadful for her. She looks like she's holding in a lot of feelings that she hasn't shared with Anthony yet. I've decided I like this girl. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "I phoned you a couple of times," she blurts out. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> And now I hate her.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "I wanted to see what you sounded like. Just how different you were to me," she says, still in a somber tone. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "So, that's why I've been getting phone calls where they hang up instantly?" I'm shocked. We all get jealous, but you deal with it. You don't phone strangers and then hang up!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "Sorry," she says, and I honestly think she means it. "I'm finding it hard," she smiles, says goodbye and leaves.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> Today is a strange day. I've decided.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div> A minute later, Anthony walks back in.<br />
"Oh, you've just missed her," I tell him.<br />
"I know. Look, I just wanted to..." he attempts to speak, but stops himself half way.<br />
"Are you OK?" I ask.<br />
"Ella, look, you..." and once more, he stops. I look up at him, unsure of what to do. But all he does is smile at me and walk out of the shop. <br />
Again.<br />
Like he always does.<br />
He needs to stop doing that!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7322210613486468027.post-81222736391453194772011-04-19T20:58:00.006+01:002011-07-16T17:39:49.520+01:00The Liar, the Bitch and the Wardrobe<div style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm sitting in a taxi on the way to the Palace Theatre and I wonder just how fast things are moving with Malcolm. Today we'd have been seeing each other for exactly three weeks, and here I am in a black cab with him holding my hand as we head to the theatre to meet his group of best friends. </div> "It's too soon," I whisper to myself as I stare out at cloudy London as it gets ready for dusk. <br />
"Did you say something?" he responds, stroking my hand and staring at me intently with his blue eyes.<br />
"Nope," I lie. <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> He averts his gaze back to his side of the window and I continue my thought process.</div> Right, where was I? Ah yes, it's all too soon. This is technically our 6th date and already I'm being introduced to his friends as his girlfriend. Am I over-reacting here or is this all a bit too much? We haven't even discussed the 'labels' ourselves yet. I mean, I don't even know which side of the bed he prefers to sleep on. <br />
"Oh well," I tell my brain. Just enjoy it. You never know - these people could become lifelong friends.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The cab drops us off at the side of the theatre, and I click clack my heels to the entrance. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> I'm nervous.</div> I'm really nervous.<br />
"Mal!" a female voice yells, and Malcolm straight away dashes towards the trio, still holding on to my hand. All I remember from that moment is my heavy and glittery French Connection dress swishing to and fro as I'm being dragged to meet his friends.<br />
He drops my hand in an instant as he greets them, and I'm left there behind him like a shy child wondering whether or not to introduce myself.<br />
So I cough.<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "Oh, this is Ella. My girlfriend." he finally says. Well, at least I know where I stand with him. It's more than most girls get. "This is Dan, Melissa and Liz," he states, pointing to them one by one. "Dan and Melissa are engaged. To each other, of course. And, well, Liz is still single,"</div> "Oi!" Liz reacts and playfully punches him on the arm. <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "Lovely to meet you all," I say. The couple smile back, but Liz has completely ignored my comment. She's cut me off and has gone straight back to talking to Malcolm. I'm not stupid; this girl clearly fancies him. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "I love your dress," Melissa says, eyeing up the sewn-on jewels scattered all over the mini dress.</div> "Thanks. I wasn't sure on the choice for tonight,"<br />
"So she brought two extra dresses with her," Malcolm unhelpfully inputs. <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> Melissa laughs, "I did wonder why your bag was so big,"</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "You just never know with these events," I tell her. "You can never be too prepared when it comes to dressing up," the couple smile at me, but it's as if I can hear Malcolm roll his eyes as he stands to the side of me. And Liz? Well, she's playing about with her phone - probably eBaying a voodoo doll of me. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We head for our seats and I break Malcolm away from the group. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "You and Liz," I coyly begin. "Is there history between the two of you?"</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> But he just laughs, and I immediately feel like a paranoid idiot.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> "Don't be silly. We're just really good friends. Nothing has ever happened between us," and he pulls me closer to kiss me on the cheek.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiGuSvzgq0zakrm6Wpb5Nv59B5_1hZFXtYXoHRg4wDbnr_3LrYkBE6wnHDuxjouTWsKSkYPZkv6u0rXVFtTTMDKLbhMZdEHLE4ciPFxaqb97owbb13-skI0nVTwwt_jQ3mkULw_aNCNTuU/s1600/west-end-shows--priscilla-queen-of-the-desert-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiGuSvzgq0zakrm6Wpb5Nv59B5_1hZFXtYXoHRg4wDbnr_3LrYkBE6wnHDuxjouTWsKSkYPZkv6u0rXVFtTTMDKLbhMZdEHLE4ciPFxaqb97owbb13-skI0nVTwwt_jQ3mkULw_aNCNTuU/s320/west-end-shows--priscilla-queen-of-the-desert-.jpg" width="320px" /></a><br />
<br />
Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I'm staring at the stage in awe as the vibrant colours glimmer. I'm taken aback by the outfits and I cannot believe that I have never seen this musical before. Where on earth have I been these last twenty-two years? Clearly, I've been wasting my time watching Blood Brothers.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> The only thing that's ruining it is Liz. Every now and again she leans over me to talk to Malcolm. I'm seconds away from tapping the shoulder of the bald man in front of me and asking if we can swap seats. But he seems quite large - I don't think he'll manage the leap. </div> "Shh," I say, trying to make it come across jokingly. "He's singing a Kylie song. Have some respect for one of our pop princesses," but whilst Malcolm has shifted his eyes to the stage, Liz is still carrying on.<br />
"Want to come to Australia with me and Tess?" she asks.<br />
<em>Tess? Who's Tess? And did this lunatic just invite my boyfriend on holiday with her when I'm right there???</em><br />
"I'll think about it," Malcolm responds.<br />
<em>No, you bloody won't think about it</em>!<br />
"You'll only regret it if you say no..." she reaches out and tries to tickle him. <em>He's not a five year old girl, nor a dog, Elizabeth!</em><br />
<em> </em>"Maybe," Malcolm tells her. <br />
"That'll be a yes then," she smiles so broadly, I'm pretty sure I can fit three whole apples in her mouth. <br />
<em>Actually, if he knows what's good for him, that was a definite no.</em><br />
<em> </em>I try to ignore her, but I find I can't. I'm not too sure how comfortable I feel with my new boyfriend being such good friends with a girl who's deeply in love with him. It's unsettling - I'm sure you'd all agree. It's as if I'm reading into every little word she mouths, every action she takes, and all I want to say to her is, "Liz, darling, give up now. Just go outside and walk out into oncoming traffic, OK?"<br />
<br />
"We'll go and get the drinks," Liz says standing up from her seat at intermission with Dan.<br />
Finally! I get five whole minutes without her flirting with my boyfriend.<br />
"I'll help you carry them," Malcolm says.<br />
Err...<br />
"Your shoes are really lovely as well," Melissa tells me as she leans over her seat. <br />
But my eyes are still glued to Malcolm who is now holding on to Liz's elbow and heading out of the doors. "Huh? Oh, yeah, they're new," I tell her. "Slightly painful though. Probably won't wear them again after tonight,"<br />
She lets out a gasp, " You must have a killer wardrobe,"<br />
I beam with pride as I think of all my clothes. Most of them unworn with the price tag still on them, but still, Gok Wan would approve of it, and that's the main thing. <br />
"I'd love to buy stuff like that," Melissa continues, staring at my shoes like an orphan longing after their parents. "Dan and I are on a tight budget now that we've decided to get married,"<br />
"When's the big day?"<br />
"August," she sighs. And not in a '<i>I'm so in love with my fiance</i>' way.<br />
"Getting close,"<br />
"Mm,"<br />
<em> Awkward!</em><br />
<em> </em>"I've got everyone wine," Liz's voice thankfully interrupts. <br />
"Have you misplaced my boyfriend?" I ask her when I notice that Malcolm is not with her. She throws me a sickly smile and says,<br />
"He's just gone to the little boy's room. Will be back by your side shortly. Here's your drink," I reach out to grab the little, plastic cup, but Liz has already dropped it.<br />
All over my lap. <br />
"Oops," she says, covering her mouth with faux-shock.<br />
<em>Oops indeed! She did that on purpose. I've seen Benny Hill sketches that are more subtle.</em><br />
<em> </em>"I'm so sorry!" she says out loud when Malcolm is back in view. <br />
Wait, did she just smirk???<br />
"And that's why I carry around two other dresses," I tell them and make my way to the bathroom. <br />
"I'll come with you," Melissa tells me sympathetically. <br />
I know I sound pathetic, but it's one of those moments where I just want to cry. I want to make my excuses and head home, eat a bar of Galaxy and watch Eastenders. <br />
How can Malcolm be so stupid and not notice what Liz is doing? Ergh! I honestly hate how dumb guys are sometimes when it comes to other girls. It's as if they only respond to flirtation and nothing else. <br />
"She did that on purpose," I tell Melissa, knowing full well how awful it sounds.<br />
But shockingly she replies with, "I know!" I look over at her wanting more information, but she seems reluctant to give anything else. <br />
"She clearly likes him, doesn't she?" I say as we reach the toilets. <br />
Melissa only has to look at me for me to know that I'm completely right. <br />
"Don't be too hard on her. She's been finding it extremely hard to get over him since New Year's. She's always had a crush on him, but it got much much worse after they slept together. As you can probably imagine,"<br />
I'm standing there by the cubicles in shock, a Reiss dress in one hand and a River Island one in the other. My heart has stopped beating - of this I am sure, and the red wine has seeped through to my nude tights. I look like I've been shot. <br />
No.<br />
I feel like I've been shot. <br />
"Are you OK?" Melissa asks.<br />
"Aha," I manage to mouth.<br />
"Oh," she says, edging back a little, "He hasn't told you?"<br />
"Nope,"<br />
"Oh,"<br />
<em>Oh, indeed!</em><br />
<br />
I walk out of the toilets in the Reiss dress and sit back down as if nothing has happened.<br />
"Ooo, this dress is lovely," Liz says.<br />
"Well, refrain from spilling wine onto it," I retort. She sneers and throws a look towards Malcolm. <br />
"What's the matter?" he whispers in my ear. "Liz is only trying to be nice,"<br />
"She doesn't want to be nice to me," I whisper back.<br />
"What?"<br />
"She wants to be nice to you,"<br />
"Have you somehow absorbed that wine?"<br />
"I asked you if you two had history. You said no. You lied,"<br />
He says nothing. Just stares at me for a while, before turning his attention to the stage just as the cast are about to sing 'A Fine Romance'.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09986749517508432852noreply@blogger.com3