Page 97 of Did My Love Life Shrink in the Wash?
‘True and real.’
‘I’ll take that.’
‘Will you sit with me for a bit longer?’ she asks. ‘I just want a timeout, is that OK?’
I nod. A timeout. I think about those words and take my parka, draping it on her shoulders.
‘A gentleman also said something before,’ I say. ‘Could you translate it for me? He said I’ve “got cake”.’
She giggles uncontrollably. ‘It means you’ve got a good arse. You have booty.’
‘Oh! I thought he was asking me for drugs. I apologised.’
She starts to howl. ‘You’ve got a good rack too.’
I blush at the observation. ‘We’ll thank Joe for that.’
‘I guess without Joe, you and I wouldn’t have met either, eh?’
So very true. We’ll thank Joe for everything. She sits next to me and pops her head on my shoulder as we allow the noise around us to melt away. Without Joe, where would I be? I’d be out the front enjoying this gig, paying for the privilege. And for a moment, I think about Joe’s tiny wonderful face, this little mash-up of myself and Will, a backstage pass to another life. And even though the next chapter is uncertain and this T-shirt is bloody ridiculous, I have cake, I have a Joe. And that is everything.
Track Twenty-One
‘Learn to Fly’ – Foo Fighters (1999)
I am sitting in a pub in Kingston, staring at a blackboard notice telling me it’s ten more days until Christmas. Why do they do this to us now? When you were little, it was exciting – the thrill that Santa was fattening up his reindeer; the worry if you had been good enough to get what you wished for; the looking forward to Christmas movies. Now, it’s like a sand timer counting down what remains of the year, reminding you of everything you haven’t done. You’d better lose some weight, write some cards, get on Amazon to buy everything and pray a DPD man doesn’t leave it outside the wrong door. Behind the bar, Mariah Carey sings at me. I don’t think that all she wants for Christmas is me but I appreciate the sentiment and those banger high notes at the end. I remember Will sang that song at karaoke once. It was a summer in Brighton and he thought he was being ironic. Oh, Will. How on earth is it Christmas and we’re still in limbo? This is going to be Joe’s first Christmas. Surely the dream is us buying him his first bike (or whatever you give a baby for its first Christmas) and sitting in matching pyjamas in front of a log fire. Isn’t that what Christmas should be?
‘They’re out of Corona so I bought you a Bud,’ says Sean. I nod and watch as he mouths the words to the next Christmas song that comes up on the playlist. He knows all the words to Cliff Richard? You think you know a person. I’m here tonight, in this pub in Kingston, gatecrashing the school Christmas knees-up. It’s supposed to be a way for me to reconnect with everyone. There’s a set menu dinner later (soup, dry turkey dinner, woeful slice of Christmas pudding) and a Secret Santa too. I’ve just got mine. It twists the knife in my heartbroken back a little more, but it’s a pocket book of how to say ‘I love you’ in different languages and a Toblerone. I won’t lie, I think this book has been regifted because there’s an inscription in the front to Keith.Happy Birthday Keith, love D.This means Keith from modern foreign languages (he flits between French and Spanish) has palmed me off with a gift his wife gave him once. That’s not good, Keith. Poor D. I thought a repurposed gift card was bad. But the Toblerone helps.
Christmas is always the time that the faculty let loose and you see personality start to shine through. Nick from maths will don a comedy antler and Jonathan, who works the science labs, will be the first to drag the staff from the office onto the dance floor.
‘Oh my God. Hi!’
Connie from the PE department (previously known as Beyoncé) comes to sit next to me on our bench. She looks stunning in a red bodycon dress and holly earrings. How does she get her legs so smooth? Why isn’t she wearing tights? The joy of winter is not having to upkeep legs, no?
‘I just wanted to say thank you for inviting me to your birthday party. It was so much fun. Actually I met someone there who gave me his number. He was dressed as Boba Fett?’
As soon as she says that, my nostrils flare. Yasmin’s Boba Fett. Harry was dressed as Boba Fett. My silence is slightly too prolonged while I process it all. ‘Just someone my sister works with. He’s married,’ I finally reply.
‘Oh,’ she says, both shocked and disappointed.
‘I’d avoid him like the plague. Man whore, riddled, complete dick.’ She senses I’m trying a little too hard to throw her off his scent. ‘Just you deserve better than him.’
‘Thank you,’ she says, surprised at the compliment.
I look over her shoulder to see Sean approaching.
‘Sean is single…’ I say.
‘I did debate that. He’s funny and all but his mum still packs him Fruit Winders in his lunchbox,’ she mumbles to me.
‘But if you can get past that… He’s pretty cool?’
She’s not sure how to respond as he’s currently wearing an actual elf hat with ears and a bell.
He approaches the table. ‘Ladies…’
‘I’m just going to chat to the drama lot,’ Connie says, standing up to leave and Sean takes her seat.
