Page 56 of The Dicktionary Club

‘I do everything, Curtis. I go to work, I do the washing, I make the fucking dinner. I’m tired, Curtis. Just help more,’ she said more softly, feeling emotional this time. ‘It’s not nice to come home to this.’

‘I will, Zo. I do my best. I’m sorry, babe.’

Zola felt her shoulders relax, feeling almost guilty for storming in and creating such an atmosphere.

Then another huge fart exploded out of his arse. Curtis erupted into laughter, curling up into a ball, his eyes watering with tears. Zola stood in front of him turning rigid with fury, anger rippling through her veins.

‘I can’t do this!’ she hissed, almost choking on the stench, appalled by his disrespect. She returned to the kitchen, grabbed her bag, then stormed into their bedroom.

‘Babe, oh come on!’ he called out. ‘It’s only a fart!’

She opened the door just wide enough to scream, ‘It’s fucking disgusting. The entire flat smells of shit! You smell of Wotsits and shit!’ Then she slammed the door again.

From the living room she heard Curtis’s muffled voice say, ‘All you do is feed me vegetables. What do you expect?’ But she chose to ignore him.

Curtis had never been the tidiest person in the world, but since they moved to Glasgow, he’d had more free time and had chosen to spend it mostly in the gym or playing video games. Hewasn’t domesticated, but it had never bothered Zola when they lived in London together. He was hardly in the house then, but in Glasgow his social life took a dip, and now that he was working part-time hours and hardly leaving the house, it really bothered Zola. She’d begun to loathe him for it.

Zola began lifting clean clothes from the laundry basket, hanging them on rails and leaving a large pile to be put away on his side of the bed.

‘Zola,’ she heard him call out, but still she ignored him. ‘Babe, come through. Sit with me and watch me play!’ Curtis moaned.

She held her head in her hands briefly, opened the door and said coldly, ‘I’m not your mother, Curtis. I’m not impressed by video games or how loud you can make your arsehole sound! Get to the fucking toilet.’

She heard the echo of laughter from the men he was playing with over the TV and banged the door shut again.

‘She sounds like your mother, bro,’ she overheard one of them say.

‘Nah, she’s all right,’ Curtis replied coolly.

Zola sat down on the bed, feeling herself shake with anger and frustration. She brought out her phone.

One new Tinder message.

Her heart bounced in her chest. She felt panicky, wondering if Alvaro had replied or if it was just another potential date she had lined up for Bella.

Alvaro:I’m sorry you can’t make it, Bella. I was thinking of you all day. If you don’t like me, then I have to know x

Zola’s heart melted as she imagined the sweet accent behind his words. Immediately she began typing.

Bella:I do like you, Alvaro! I’m so sorry. I’ve told all my friendsat work about you today and how amazing our chats have been! Please, meet me tomorrow. I promise I won’t cancel; if I do, you never have to chat with me again. X

Zola paused, biting her nails at the three dots as he typed.

Alvaro:OK. Tomorrow. x

Alvaro:Tell me about your day, beautiful x

Zola lay down in bed and continued to message Alvaro late into the night, telling him all about work, about Andrea, and making up a story about her unexpected meeting and deadlines she had to make. She giggled at his replies as he described his hectic day as an intern at a law firm and his take on Glasgow so far. Zola completely understood what it was like coming to Scotland as an outsider: a new city, new people with rough-sounding accents. She empathised with his struggles and how he was missing home.

Chapter Twenty

Ella

Meanwhile, in the West End, I was sitting anxiously on the edge of my sofa, watching the clock count the minutes down to 7 p.m. I hadn’t really wanted to tell him where I live, but in the end I’d messaged my address to Philip earlier. Then I’d spent ages choosing my outfit carefully, but as I glanced at myself in the mirror now, I wondered if I’d made the right choice. I’d picked out a navy, one-shouldered, knee-length dress, but now observing my look, I wondered if it was too fancyornot fancy enough. Philip hadn’t told me where we were going, which was playing havoc with my anxiety. Before any engagement, especially dinner, I liked to know every detail, to ensure I was correctly dressed and could download and study the menu. Philip’s insistence on spontaneity didn’t sit well with me, but I imagined his idea of dinner wasn’t going to be a cheeky Nando’s, so I opted for a classy dress, and glammed it up with a pair of cream heels and a matching bag. My hair fell neatly down past my shoulders in a classic Hollywood wave. I was always grateful for my hair; it was thick and shiny, and it sat pretty much any way I attempted.

By five minutes to seven, I could feel my legs shaking with anxiety –what was I doing?I stood up and glanced down at the busy street, lined with parked cars below me. I sighed heavily.It’s not a date. It’s work, I reminded myself.All you have to do is write one article about this man, Ella, and that’s it.

The sound of my phone made me jump.

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