Page 26 of Wish You Were Here
‘Here, here to that!’ says Brian, trying to rally the troops.
There is a pause in the conversation, and we are all waiting for our drinks, when Shirley says completely out of the blue.
‘Oh, Bri, before I forget to tell you, I’m gay now. Probably always was, if I’m honest, and I’ve got a girlfriend. She’s got her own place in Hurstville. You know her, actually. Gloria Sparks? Dark hair, incredible tits!’
We all look towards Brian, who is sweating profusely.
‘Name rings a bell,’ says Brian uncomfortably, then the waiter appears and we all start drinking, and I, for one, don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.
The rest of the night continues in the same fashion as the first fifteen minutes. Yvette complains about everything, eats hardly anything, while Shirley gives us all far too graphic details about her new lesbian love life in Hurstville, while eating everything within reach. Brian tries to move the conversation away from Shirley and her highly sexual girlfriend, Gloria Sparks, while Mum and I drink quickly. At least the food is delicious, and after two hours, and a quick rendition of ‘Happy Birthday, Bri’ we are all ready to leave and head off home. The thing is, it’s only eight o’clock. Mum and Brian are heading back to Glebe, Shirley to her lesbian lover in Hurstville, and, apparently, Yvette is meeting a friend for dinner, which feels rather odd, but then again Yvette is rather odd. After we all say goodbye, I am left in Kings Cross with an entire night ahead of me, feeling a little drunk and in need of something to do.
I could call Jess, but she probably won’t be up for coming out after eight o’clock, and will probably suggest popping over to their apartment, which isn’t awful, but I’m feeling the need for something different. Maybe it’s the alcohol or everything else that’s been happening in my life recently, but I’m feeling needy. I scroll through my phone until I come to his number, and my finger hovers over it for a moment. Is this a truly terrible idea? Probably, but sometimes in life the worst ideas turn out to be the most fun, and don’t I deserve a little fun? It’s definitely the alcohol talking. My finger eventually pushes the little call symbol; the phone is ringing, and after a moment, he answers.
‘Sas,’ he says, clearly surprised.
‘I thought I told you that only my friends call me Sas.’
‘You’re calling me at eight o’clock, you sound like you’ve had a few drinks, so either I’m a mate or you’ve called because—’
‘Because I thought that maybe you’d like to get a drink or something.’
‘A drink?’
‘Or something.’
‘Where are you?’
‘King’s Cross.’
‘I’m in Bondi. Can you get here in thirty minutes?’
I take a moment to think about it. A night in Bondi with best man Brad. I know that Jess would hate the idea, potentially hate me for doing it – and it might break Caroline’s heart if she ever found out – but there is something inside of me that wants to do this. I tell him I’ll be there in less than thirty minutes, and I’m soon in the back of an Uber on my way to Bondi to meet up with Brad, all thoughts of abstaining from men and sex clearly out of the window.
11
Ben
I’m standing outside a restaurant in Chelsea, about to go on a date with one of Hugh’s friends. The restaurant is bright, modern, upmarket, but we’re in Chelsea, it’s to be expected, and Annabelle, according to Hugh, is also bright, modern and upmarket. I did ask him if she was recently out of a relationship because after my last date with Cressida, I couldn’t risk it being another evening where the girl starts crying and vanishes without a trace. Hugh confirmed that Annabelle hadn’t been in a serious relationship, as far as he knew, for at least a year or two, and she seemed, to him at least, emotionally stable. It was good to hear, although slightly concerning, that Hugh felt the need to qualify every statement about Annabelle with either ‘as far as I know’ or ‘to me at least’. He was definitely covering his back if the whole date went tits up. Anyway, good or bad, it’s time to meet Annabelle to see if she isThe One, because according to my research into statistical probability, there are only eight women left in London that I can date. I take a deep breath and then walk into the restaurant.
The problem with this date, and indeed any date, is that as I was getting ready all I could think about was Saskia. Our first FaceTime went so well, there was definitely a romantic spark, and I can’t wait to speak to her again. I was thinking about herthe whole time I was getting ready for tonight, and so of course, Annabelle will get compared to Saskia, which is quite unfair. What am I doing? There is absolutely no chance Saskia and I can date, and yet she’s squeezing herself into every new romantic situation I am having in London. It feels like I am sabotaging myself. Every date, no matter how good, is being tarnished because there is this other girl, who is perfect for me, but lives on the other side of the world. I’m desperately trying, as I walk towards a table where Annabelle is already waiting for me, to put Saskia out of my mind.
‘Hi, hello, I’m Ben,’ I say when I reach the table. Annabelle is standing up waiting for me with a lovely smile, and Hugh was definitely right when he said she was attractive.
Annabelle is about medium height, perhaps five-five, with shoulder-length chocolate brown hair, the prettiest face with hazel eyes, a smile that could easily render me hopeless, and she’s wearing a figure hugging black dress and what it is hugging is extremely pleasant. Plus, as I go in for a polite kiss on the cheek, she smells incredible. Whatever perfume she is wearing is definitely doing it for me. It’s citrusy, floral with undertones of something musky and a little sweet – vanilla? At this moment, I am wondering whether tonight could actually be something of a triumph. Maybe Hugh has pulled a rabbit out of the hat, and the rabbit is called Annabelle!
I sit opposite her, and we have the usual introductions before the conversation becomes a little more practical.
‘So, Ben,’ says Annabell. ‘Hugh says you work in asset management.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And what sort of assets do you manage?’
‘Whatever I am told, but at the moment it’s mostly property.’
‘Oh, right, fantastic, my father works in property.’
‘Oh, what does he—’
