Page 48 of Has Anyone Seen My Sex Life?
Again, he looks surprised by my line of questioning.
‘I’m seeing people… nothing serious.’
‘Just asking…as a curious friend.’ I emphasise that last word to let him know the boundaries but also that I’m someone he can talk to. He relaxes slightly.
‘I’m out there having fun. Just don’t want anything serious. When I was at uni, I was going out with someone for a while but we’re not together any more so…yeah…’
He talks about the ex with a touch of mist in his eyes. I don’t pry further. But a lad this young and reasonably handsome surely shouldn’t be so preoccupied with lost love and broken hearts. The benefit of fifteen years on this kid is that you want to pass on that knowledge. Not like the sort of drunken advice one would give a teen babysitter, but you want to tell him to have fun. Life will soon be serious and filled with children and mortgages and your life not being your own so go out there and do it all. Go out and drink and dance till you’re drenched through with sweat, take cheap flights to Europe, experiment with your hair, pick up a stranger on the night bus home and shag them in the kitchen of your shared flat. Have that sort of carefree sex all about pleasure and gratification, when it isn’t about love. Be able to look back on it fondly while you’re sitting at your office desk and remember that person you once were. Don’t sit here with an old hag like me eating office supply mega pack biscuits and drinking tea from a mug marked with Margaret’s name from accounts. I don’t tell him all this of course.
‘Well, you’re young. Jen from advertising is single.’ I try to think up some alternatives.
He stops for a moment. Jen is lovely. She’s partial to coloured knitwear and I think she makes her own earrings but I’ve been out with her on a work do and she likes a bit of karaoke and can hold her drink. It’s a good start.
‘Is Jen the one who has the handbag in the shape of a cat face?’
I nod. His silence tells me that may not be happening. We smile at each other. He’s still studying my face when Neal comes over to our desks.
‘So, what’s this about then? This big article?’ If I’m Lois Lane then Neal is a wannabe Perry White. He has none of the power mind but he has a ruddy face, rolled up sleeves and drinks an abnormal amount of coffee which always makes him seem slightly on edge.
‘I have no idea. Crook Road?’
‘That old chestnut. Nope, this is bigger than that. C’mon troops.’
He gestures to the few people heading for the meeting room.
‘Kirsty said it was a big story…’ I tell Tim as Neal plods through the office.
‘Kirsty thought the new Costa opening on the High Street was a big story.’
I laugh. He made a joke. He grabs our mugs and in return, I pick up some pens and paper for him, pocketing the last of the biscuits. Tim covered for me in my fortnight away too so I’ve a newfound respect for him. He finished and edited some of my articles and demonstrated an articulate command of language and facts. We could be an awesome double act. And look at him carrying my tea. That’s the sign of a good upbringing. That doesn’t make me sound old at all.
We head over to the meeting room where Diana has set up piles of printouts. Our editorial team is a select few, of which I’m privileged to be a part. Next to myself and Tim, there’s Neal who doesn’t like a chair but prefers to prop himself up on a windowsill and manspread himself. He prefers a cultural interest story set on a hill whereas Lisa and her statement beaded necklaces like to hang around Carlisle Crown Court finding wrong’uns who sell drugs out of prams. I’m the token Southerner, also known as the one who has all the babies, the advocate for arts and education. Tim’s on sport. Di dips in and out but likes big debate and opinion pieces.
‘So, what’s this all about then, Di… there’ve been whispers, you know?’ Neal enquires. The boss closes the door. She’s gone for a comfortable slack today with a striped shirt and pearls. She always looks serious. I know she’s married and has children but she’s the sort whose spice rack is in alphabetical order. Go on Di, live a little. Get your ground ginger mixed up with your chilli flakes.
‘This isn’t about the job cuts at the paper, is it?’ Neal continues.
I look at Tim for a moment. There were cuts? Was this something I missed from being away? As much as I joked about the small-town trappings of my job, it was also a source of earnings for me, a newspaper that fit around my life and for which I had great affection. Was this some sort of group cull? Neal has three sons to get through university so is more on edge than usual, his eyeballs literally vibrating in their sockets.
‘Oh god, Neal,no. Our jobs are safe.Just the rumour mill going into overdrive after Prestwich ordered that stupid redesign.’
She starts passing around the handouts. Neal’s question about job security still in the air, I take a cursory glance at them before nibbling on a biscuit.
‘So I’ve been approached by two sources now: one a tabloid newspaper and the other, one of those gossip mags, both raising a potentially interesting Kendal-based story and they were hoping we could get involved, maybe do some investigative work.’
Lisa looks at the printout, goes a bit blush and covers her face. Is this Crook Road? What have those councillors been up to now?
‘What the hell is this, Di?’ huffs Neal.
‘Well, apparently, this stuff is everywhere at the moment. It’s generated a huge following. Publicists, promoters, even art buyers are desperate to find out who it is behind this.’
Tim is giggling under his breath. Neal throws the handout down on the table and walks out of the room. ‘Not for me, Di.’
I pick up his discarded page.It’s a collection of pictures. It’s cocks. It’s all cocks. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I know this cock. Why are they here? Lisa has taken a pen to hers. She’s literally highlighting the willies. Tim is still laughing under his breath. It can’t be, can it?
‘So, I’ve studied a fair bit. Suffice to say, it’s all a little racy but the publishers think that the artist is local to these parts. He goes under the pseudonym of – and you’ll love this – Captain Mintcake.’
There are sniggers around the table. I laugh, probably louder than I should. Di gives me a look. ‘Right, ridiculous?’
