Page 30 of Wish You Were Here
‘A reasonable amount of time, I think. To be fair to Annabelle, she was lovely and perfect for the right man, but her dating tactics left me feeling like I was being grilled by the Gestapo.’
‘It doesn’t sound very romantic. Did you pass the quick-fire round?’
‘I don’t think so. We shook hands at the end of the evening.’
‘Fuck, Beno. Although, how very English. Nice date, but let’s not do it again. Cheerio!’
‘It was a bit. Not really my type. I think I need more romance and less science when it comes to love. So, Sas, what’s been going on with you?’
‘Actually, I got asked out on a date, too.’
‘Oh yes? By whom?’
‘By whom?’ I reply, doing my best impression of Ben. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. Actually, by the best man from Jess’s wedding.’
‘Wait. Wasn’t he the man you ended up spending the night with against your friend’s wishes? I thought he was trouble.’
‘Great memory, Beno, but actually he’s super nice, and okay, this is what happened.’
I explain all about Joe Thompson and Fudge Cake, about Jess potentially moving to the Northern Beaches, how ridiculous Brian’s birthday was, and that I just needed something good to happen. I don’t go into graphic detail about Brad’s body or his ridiculous good-looks, but I think Ben understands that I am searching for something, and whether Brad is that thing I have no idea, but I just needed a reason to be happy.
‘I totally understand,’ says Ben when I finish.
‘Yeah?’
‘Of course. There’s a reason I’ve been on two disastrous blind dates in the last month and why I will probably go on a few more. We’re both searching for love, Sas.’
When he says the word ‘love’, we look at each other, and even through the screens on our phones, ten-thousand miles apart, I feel a deep connection with him. It’s that feeling when you’re with someone and you feel drawn to them, want to know everything about them, experience life with them because you know it’s going to be amazing. There’s an electricity between usI can feel, but I also know it can’t happen because we’re so far apart, with two different lives, and it feels impossible we could somehow make this be anything more than just good online mates.
‘I have a gig later tonight,’ I say after it all becomes too unbearable. ‘Oh yeah, I checked, and you definitely can say break-a-leg to singers.’
‘Phew. Break-a-leg then, and don’t let the Fudge Cake thing get to you. What’s the saying? Comparison is the thief of joy.’
‘I like that,’ I say with a smile. ‘Comparison is the thief of joy. Although probably made-up by a man with a small dick, eh.’ Ben laughs, and I love hearing his laugh.
Ben and I have another couple of conversations before it’s time to say goodbye. He needs to get ready for work, and I need to get ready for my gig. For a moment afterwards, I sit on my bed and I feel a genuine sense of sadness about my situation with Ben. It’s actually really shit, but I can’t let it get to me. Plus, I have a date with Brad to look forward to, and I want tonight’s gig to go well because Ben’s right. I can’t let Joe’s success cloud my joy because the reason I started singing and want to continue is that I love it. I always have.
The pub is in Newtown and only a short Uber ride away from Glebe. Brad messaged me while I was on the way and asked if I fancied a morning date at the weekend, and I replied and said yes. I was surprised he wanted a morning date, but he said he had something interesting planned and that I might get wet. I have no idea what it is, but I’m excited to find out. It makes me think that there is more to Brad than meets the eye. Most men would just take me out for a meal, a drink, or perhaps a movie, but Brad is doing something different, and I appreciate that.
I get to the pub and walk through to the green room at the back. It’s quite a small, old pub, but the acoustics are good andthey have plenty of decent bands on. I unload my stuff, drink some water, before there is a knock at the door. I open it, and standing there is Joe Thompson – probably the last person I wanted to see tonight.
‘Can I come in?’ says Joe excitedly. ‘I have some news.’
Joe doesn’t wait for me to reply before he’s walking past me and into the room. Joe has never been the politest person in the world – or even in Sydney for that matter.
‘What’s up, Joe? I’m on in ten minutes, so—’
‘Guess who’s coming to see me perform at the end of November?’
‘No idea, Joe. Your mum?’
‘Nah, she’s dead, remember? Breast cancer,’ says Joe casually, as though he hadn’t just referred to his dead mother.
‘Shit, sorry, I—’
‘Na, s’right. No, not my dead mum, but fucking Fudge Cake!’
‘Oh, right, that’s great, Joe, but you’re telling me because?’
