Page 20 of One Night With You

We weave through campus, a different place now it’s dark. The shadows cast by the glass buildings onto the smooth, wide pathways dance across our faces, and we chat about how we ended up on the Manchester course and what our hopes are for it.

‘I want to do exactly what the guest speaker said. Tell stories that speak to a wider truth. Documentaries, really – fiction’s great, but there’s so much about life you couldn’t make up, don’t you think?’ Harry says.

‘Absolutely,’ I agree, waving at Mick by his coffee cart as he closes up for the day.

‘How do,’ he says.

‘Evening,’ I say in reply.

Turning my attention back to Harry I add: ‘And I think there are so many new mediums afforded to us by technology that there’s a sort of renewed hunger for it. Financially I don’t know how it could work, but even one-minute videos on social media go viral if they’re good enough, don’t they? People love mini-insights into new worlds, other lives. Why else do we love stuff likeBig Brotherand reality TV?’

‘That’s so true.’ Harry nods. ‘I wonder if there’s a way to utilise social to take people on the journey of a documentary getting made? So that by the time it’s out there’s a ready-built audience for it?’

‘That’s interesting,’ I say. ‘Yeah. There must be a way to build a community around it. It’s kind of meta – you could get people interested in the story you want to tell. It becomes a sort of collective project, then, with everyone watching it come together in real time and still wanting to see the final doc. If that makes sense?’

‘It really does,’ says Harry. ‘Yeah. I like the way you think. You’ve got my brain cogs turning now.’

‘Same,’ I say.

Before we reach the university gallery, we’re interrupted by my phone pinging, alerting me to an email.

‘Oh,’ I say, taking a look at my screen. ‘That was fast. They’ve replied. About the old man – although, sorry, I really should not refer to him that way.’ I try again. ‘They’ve replied about JP, the man from the paper.’

‘And?’

I open my mail app and see emails from two fashion brands, the man in question – and a new one from Abe. I hit the checkbox to mark off the spam, including Abe’s, deleting all of them unread. Then I open the one we want, skimming down the reply to pick out the top-line info. ‘Okay. Well … It’s his grandson writing back, and he says his grandfather would love to meet, and actually there’s something they need our help with.’ I look up at Harry, whose eyebrows have risen, impressed by this timely and positive development. ‘So it’s already mutually beneficial,’ I say. ‘Even without us saying about fundraising on campus.’

‘I’m liking the sound of this …’ He beams. ‘It’s a great start.’

‘Shall I ask if they can do tomorrow? Strike whilst the iron is hot?’

‘Go for it,’ he says. ‘I keep a car here, so I can drive us. Get his address?’

‘Perfect,’ I say, so excited I’m almost trembling. ‘I’ll write back now.’

We confirm the details of the meeting and, both equally buzzed by the promise of something interesting afoot, don’t stop talking and swapping ideas for the rest of the night. I get another text from my mum, a missed call from Candice, and a DM from Jackson, but none of it is enough to pull my thoughts away from the here and the now, the total joy of everything I had hoped for feeling like it is working out exactly.

‘Okay, so how do you feel about art as activism?’ Harry asks me, and he has my full attention once more.

‘Well …’ I begin, and we talk for three more hours.

14

Nic

‘Dude, come on! You can’t need to take a leak again! We’re three points up! We’ve got this in the bag! You’ve got a bladder smaller than my grandma’s!’

I give a wave of surrender to a furious Jackson across the pitch. He’s so mild-mannered and relaxed in real life, but put a sweatband on him and a switch is flipped. It’s been six weeks since he helped me move my sofa – since I stumbled onto the doorstep of the house on Maple Avenue, and since I had what nobody else knows was my first ever one-night stand – and I’ve officially seen both sides of him. He calls himself Jumpy Jack when we play, coming up with ‘strategy’ and saying things like:Get ’em where it hurts. That little blond will be out of puff within five minutes – run rings around him!Or:Look at that brickhouse of a bloke. He won’t be fast, but he’ll last the whole game. Keep the attack closer than flies on shit. That’s a man whose arm will never tire and that’s a danger to our leader board.

Then we finish, and as long as we’ve won – which we do more often than not, to be fair, thanks to Jumpy Jack – the switch is flipped again and he shakes everyone’s hand and becomes regular Jackson, inviting everyone to the pub. More’s the luck, too, because I’m meeting loads of people this way. And by people, I mean … women. I’ve not gone on any proper dates yet, but I seem to be getting better at the whole ‘good chat’ thing. It’s nice. Exciting. I want to embrace a different side of myself; someone more gregarious and out there. I don’t want to sound wet but it’s like I’m learning about myself, a bit. I always thought I was shy and introverted, but I’m not. Not really. I’ve got loads to say, it’s just picking my moment to say it. I can see how most of the guys on my team don’t even listen to anyone else most of the time; they just wait for the other person to take a breath so they can start talking. But Jackson’s trick really helps me be present and relax – I ask questions, and women are just sohonest.They tell you about being in therapy or what book they read before they asked for a raise at work and they’re self-aware. Self-possessed. It’s made me realise that all the guys I think of as being super confident actually aren’t, really – they just act that way. Except Jackson. He’s pretty legit. He’s fast becoming my best mate here, as it goes.

Anyway, for saying I’ve been here less than two months I’m feeling great about my decision to move. Everything feels fresh and new and inspiring, and I know that I could have played dodgeball in Liverpool. I mean, of course Icouldhave, but it’s like when you go on holiday and get to try on a different part of your personality because the sun is shining. London Nic plays dodgeball after work and goes to the pub and chats with all sorts of people he never would have thought would want to chat with him. And no, I don’t knowwhy London Nic is talking about himself in the third person. Maybe he just can’t believe it can all be this easy.

I didn’t know so many people – let alone women – were into dodgeball, of all things. It’s like somebody sent a memo out to everyone in the city saying it’s the sporty in-real-life equivalent of a dating app. You don’t swipe left or right at dodgeball, you simply pour all your sexual frustration into lobbing balls at each other twice a week and have a couple of pints and a bit of easy repartee afterwards. Ollie says I need to start asking for phone numbers, and Jackson says if I practise first dates with enough people, I’ll get the first date that really matters right, so I have to ‘get in the game’. Not that I’m looking forThe One, obviously. I’m here for a laugh, to go with the flow.

London Nic says yes more than he says no, to all things from after-dodgeball drinks to new cuisine. (Memo to self though: don’t let Jackson convince me to try Iranian-Mexican fusion again.) And besides, I can’t quite shake thoughts of Ruby. I’m meeting wicked people, but man, with Ruby it was like …bam.I haven’t hadthe bamwith anyone else yet. Not that I’ve told Ollie or Jackson I feel that way. I knew what it was with Ruby and went into it eyes open. I don’t want word to get back to her that I still mope over that night, like we had sex and I fell in love or whatever. Adults can fuck and then move on. I know that. I just haven’t met anyone I want to move on with yet, that’s all. Not to mention … well, embarrassingly, I’m having a bit of trouble in the oldsail shipdepartment, if you know what I mean.

I touch Zola’s shoulder to signal to her to take my place on the court as I make my exit, returning the provocative wink she gives me with a roguish grin – we flirt, sometimes, at the pub. She’s nice. A laugh. But as soon as I’m surenobody is looking, I grab my water bottle to take with me and the façade quickly drops. I do it quickly, reflexively, because if anybody thinks to ask me why I need it to pee with, I will die. Actually, legitimately, one hundred and ten per cent die.

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