Читать книгу The Dating Detox: A laugh out loud book for anyone who’s ever had a disastrous date! - Gemma Burgess - Страница 14

The party is really warming up now, with people spilling out of the living room into the back garden. Someone has won battle of the iPods (Marvin Gaye). I see Fraser talking to his flatmates in the middle of the living room and decide to say hi.

‘Here she is!’ exclaims Ant as I walk up. I snogged Ant once, when I first met him, under the influence of tequila and…uh, tequila. Regretted it instantly. He would be handsome if he wasn’t so sleazy. And mildly monobrowed. He now seems rather happy with himself. ‘The girl everyone’s talking about! She’s taken a vow of spinsterhood!’

‘You’re all talking about me?’ I say. Great. Looks like I’m a laughing stock, then. ‘How dull your lives must be.’

‘A serial dater like you, renouncing all men? I’m surprised it wasn’t in the News of the World.’ Ant laughs like a hyena, and the other flatmates, apart from Fraser, join in.

‘When did your Dating Sabbatical start, Ant? About eight years ago?’ says Fraser. I smile at him gratefully. Now that is a riposte.

‘We were just talking about the recession,’ says one of the flatmates earnestly, a rather sweet geek called Felix who I think has a thing for me. However, he laughed along with the rest of them so I’m not going to be nice to him.

‘How fascinating,’ I reply. He looks crushed and I feel bad. I shouldn’t pick on geeks. ‘I’m a bit clueless about it, I’m afraid, Felix,’ I add.

‘It’s bloody boring stuff,’ agrees Fraser.

‘You won’t be clueless soon, when you have to pay for your own meals every night,’ says Ant. ‘No more steak dinners à deux for you.’ I hate to say it, but he has a point. Dates have been a good source of meals for the past few years. Of course I always make an effort to pay, but they never let you. Certainly not on the first date. I wonder if Jake likes steak. I could cook it for us both at home. In my kitchen. Perhaps, if we all become really poor, we’ll have to share baked beans on toast. No, scratch that. Baked beans are not a date-friendly food. I could…oh, I could make an omelette. I wonder if he likes eggs.

I’m interrupted from my—utterly ridiculous and very non-Sabbatical-compliant—reverie by Mitch, who approaches the group with his arm thrown around the neck of the white jeans girl.

‘Don’t talk to Sass, darling. She’s a MAN HATER,’ he stage-whispers. The girl giggles, hiccups, and seems to throw up slightly in her mouth.

As everyone falls about laughing, I smile/grimace at Mitch and wait to see if I’ll think of something witty to say. I don’t. I wonder if Mitch told Jake about the Sabbatical already. Oh God, I shouldn’t care. Suddenly I feel very tired. I decide to avoid all men for the rest of the night, and walk over to talk to Tory, a girl Eddie worked with years ago. She’s nice enough, but she talks about sex almost constantly. It’s kind of weird. I think he invites her to parties because she’s guaranteed to score with someone. She’s party insurance. (Is that mean of me? Oh well.)

‘So, no dating for you, Sassy, yeh?’ she grins, after a bit of basic chitchat. ‘I heard all about it. I’m going to do it too!’

‘Really?’ I say. I hate being called Sassy. ‘Er, wow. That’s great.’

‘Yeh. Just sex, you know? The whole emotions-and-talking thing is just…such a waste of time,’ she says, taking a long swig of her drink and casing the room.

I nod, and excuse myself to go to find Bloomie. I manage to stop at only two groups as I walk around the party, and have a moderately entertaining banter with them. However, my paranoia is now switched on and I’m convinced everyone is laughing at me. I can’t see Jake anywhere. Not that I’m looking for him, I meant because I’m trying to avoid him. I finally find Bloomie in the backyard with Kate—who I didn’t think was coming, so it’s a rather nice surprise—and Eugene.

‘Hello, princesses,’ I say, kissing Kate and Eugene. He’s not really a dork, obviously. He’s in his early 30s, works in finance with Bloomie—they met in a conference call, of all the romantic stories—and is half-French, though he grew up mostly in London and has no trace of an accent. He still has that skinny, sexy, floppy-haired French guy thing going on. He can wear big square scarves knotted around his neck and still look pretty hot, which is an incredible feat when you think about it.

‘What’s news here then? Everyone in the rest of the party is talking about me, apparently.’

Kate nods. ‘You or the economy. And you’re more fun.’

I sigh. ‘Sheesh. How you doin’, Eugene?’

‘Smashing,’ he grins, and looks at Bloomie. She giggles and grins back. What the sweet hell is that about? Other people’s relationships are mystifying.

‘Where’s Tray?’ I say, as though I suddenly noticed his absence and was upset by it.

‘Oh, he’s at home,’ says Kate, looking over to the house as if it was unexpectedly fascinating. ‘He’s…working. Do you have a cigarette, Sass?’

I glance over to exchange a quick look with Bloomie, but she’s still gazing at Eugene. Kate’s staring into space. I wonder what Jake is doing, and involuntarily look at the kitchen window. I only see Ant emptying a bottle of Diet Coke and a bottle of rum into the blender and pressing blend. Dickhead. I get out three cigarettes and light all of them, in my mouth, at once, then hand one each to Kate and Bloomie. An old trick from university. It’s so not cool that it’s almost cool.

‘Wow, you guys…you’re like the Pink Ladies,’ says Eugene.

Oh, for God’s sake. ‘Wrong thing to say, darling…’ says Bloomie, laughing. He looks perplexed. ‘I’ll explain later…’ she adds, and they smile at each other happily. I wait for them to talk more, but they seem to be communicating through the medium of loving gazes.

‘Young love, huh, Katie?’ I say, turning away from the happy couple.

‘Mmmm,’ Kate says absently.

Gosh, what a bunch of funsters.

Bloomie’s BlackBerry rings, and the expression on her face changes from happy to stern so fast it’s like she’s swapping those comic/tragic drama masks. She hands Eugene her drink without speaking, answers it and barks ‘Susan Bloomingdale…’ as she walks away.

‘It’s 11 pm on a Friday!’ says Eugene, half to himself.

‘It’s probably the States,’ I say. ‘She works with the San Fran office a lot, right? Don’t you do the same sort of job, anyway?’

He shrugs in his nonchalant Gallic way, and looks quizzically at us. Well, at me. Kate seems to have checked out for the time being, and is here in body only. ‘I’m an analyst,’ he says. ‘And I’m not obsessed with it.’

‘Neither is Bloomie,’ I say loyally, and slightly untruthfully. ‘She kind of gives everything 100%, that’s all.’

Eugene nods.‘Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the kitchen to get a drink. Can I get you anything?’

‘I’m all good,’ I say, glancing over at Kate, who’s still mute. ‘She’s all good, too.’

I stand in silence for about 30 seconds, waiting for Kate to speak.

‘Kate,’ I say, taking a drag on my cigarette. She doesn’t respond. ‘Kate, I’m pregnant.’

She’s in a trance. I sigh and look around the back garden. Everyone else is talking loudly or drinking messily. The noise levels of the party seem to have doubled. The Killers are playing very loudly and I hear a whoop from the living room that probably means Mitch is doing The Worm across the carpet. The first houseparty of my Dating Sabbatical is suddenly turned up to eleven, and I’m completely unsure what to do with myself. I’m not even sure if I’m having fun anymore. Everything was fine till I met Jake.

‘Hello, trouble,’ says a voice behind me. I turn around. Oh, my God.

It’s Rugger Robbie. My ex-boyfriend. Break-Up No.2. Fucking hell, I haven’t seen him in years. I thought he moved to Brisbane to be with the girl he met in Thailand. The girl he left me for.

‘Robbie!’ I smile, kissing him hello. I can’t pretend to be upset about it all, five years later. Especially when I’m not.

‘You look fantastic!’ Rugger Robbie says, looking me up and down very obviously. ‘How are you?’

‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I’m great.’ He doesn’t look fantastic, so I can’t say it back. The fit rugby body has become a fat rugby body, and his face looks like someone has pumped it full of air from the cheekbones down.

‘So, Sass, what are you up to these days?’ he asks jovially, staring at my boobs. It’s most off-putting. ‘Still living in London?’

‘Yep,’ I say. ‘Are you back here on holiday?’

‘From where—Brisvegas?’ he asks. God, people who say Brisvegas are irritating. ‘Nah, I came home about six months ago.’

‘Is Kerry with you?’ I ask politely. That was her name.

‘Oh, no,’ he says, eyes flicking up to meet mine. ‘We broke up. I’m living with Riggsy and Martin again, just off Fulham Palace Road. It’s just like old times!’

‘How fun,’ I smile. I wonder if he’s still pissing on curtains. ‘Well, nice to see you, I’d better see if Mitch needs any help with, uh, something.’ I glance at Kate, who still seems to be in some kind of waking coma. What the fuck is wrong with her?

‘Hey, uh, can I get your number?’ Rugger Robbie asks. ‘I’d love to take you out for dinner sometime. We should catch up.’

‘Should we?’ I snap, and then catch myself and smile sweetly at him. ‘Afraid I can’t, Robbie. Take care though. Come on, Katie.’ Before either of them can reply, I grab her hand and we stride towards the house purposefully.

‘Whoa, Thelma and Louise!’ exclaims a guy standing outside the door. He’s wearing a T-shirt with an absolutely huge Abercrombie & Fitch logo. ‘Serious faces, laydeeeez! It’s a party! Aren’t you having fun?’

We stop and look at him.

‘Make me laugh, then,’ I say.

‘Uh…’ he says, looking for inspiration to his friend next to him.

‘Too late,’ I say and we walk through.

‘Wow, that was a bit harsh,’ says Kate.

‘I’m just not in the mood right now,’ I say, leading Kate up to a small cabinet in the hallway. ‘It’s been a very, very long week, and I deserve a party, and I don’t think I’m going to be in the mood to party till…’—I lean down, slide open the door and pull out half a bottle of Jagermeister—‘I’m Jagerunk.’

Kate’s eyes light up. ‘That’s been there since the last party?!’ she exclaims. ‘Brilliant!’

We walk into the kitchen, grab a few clean double-shot glasses, and start pouring out Jagermeister. It’s pretty heaving with people, and in the corner I can see Fraser enthusiastically snogging Eddie’s henna-ed workmate Tory. It’s a bit early for that, isn’t it? He’s really putting his shoulders into it and everything. Ew.

Two guys are standing next to the fridge looking at us.

‘You know,’ says one very loudly, turning to the other, ‘my life really HASN’T changed that much since winning the lottery.’

I turn around and look at him and start cackling with laughter. ‘Dude…that’s the best line I’ve ever heard,’ is all I can manage to say, wiping the tears from my eyes. ‘For that, you have to do a shot.’

‘No problem!’ he grins. He’s kind of shiny, with lots of moles on his face. He and his friend step up to the kitchen counter next to Kate and I, and we all do a shot simultaneously.

‘Oh, that was probably a bad idea,’ sighs Kate.

Bloomie and Eugene appear, holding hands.

‘No more work calls all night! Ooh, shots? Without me? What do you think you’re playing at?’ asks Bloomie.

‘You’re up,’ I say, and in another minute, we’ve all done another.

‘Now, THAT one was a bad idea,’ I say to Kate.

Mitch lands with a massive thump at our feet after doing a triple roly-poly across the living room and into the kitchen, and pretends to do the breaststroke across the kitchen floor on his tummy. He looks up at Bloomie and I and smiles. ‘Gekko and Special Needs. My two favourite girls…That was the Triple Axel Extreme Roly-Poly…I always nail it.’

‘Bitch is into extreme sports,’ explains Bloomie to Eugene.

‘Why aren’t I one of your favourite girls?’ says Kate in an injured tone.

‘The Extreme Roly-Poly is nothing compared to the Extreme WORM!’ shouts Mitch from the floor.

‘So, do you come here often?’ I turn back around. It’s mole-faced lottery winner guy. From a great line to a shit line in sixty seconds.

I look him straight in the eye, and say in a tone that means ‘fuck off’: ‘No.’ He exchanges a glance with his friend and they walk away.

Bloomie picks up the bottle of Jager. ‘Another!’

Rugger Robbie charges into the kitchen.‘Hi, gang! Shots? YES!’ He comes over, putting a sweaty hand around my waist.

‘I’m out,’ I say, moving away from the group so Rugger Robbie’s hand falls away. My throat, stomach and indeed head all feel rather warm. Bloomie pours herself, Rugger Robbie, Eugene and Kate a shot, then leans over and pours another shot in Mitch’s mouth. He gurgles appreciatively. Robbie offers me the dregs of his shot. I shake my head and try not to make eye contact.

Harry bounds into the kitchen. ‘My turn for cocktails! I’m making a Sticky Surprise.’

I exchange glances with Bloomie, and we head to the living room, followed by Eugene and Kate. The Irish guys have cleared all the furniture to one side, and are holding a rhythmic gymnastics competition cheered on by the whole crowd. At the moment, one guy is doing an absolutely beautiful routine with an invisible ribbon. He dips and jumps, swirls and turns, and it’s breathtaking, till Mitch runs in from the kitchen and rugby-tackles him to the side of the room.

The Jager has just hit my central nervous system, which is not an unpleasant feeling. Someone turns the music up, and Bloomie and Eugene climb onto a coffee table and start dancing. Kate takes out her phone, reads a text and heads towards the garden with a stressed look on her face. Hmm, something going on there.

Then I look up to see that Jake has just walked in from the garden and is looking at me. We make eye contact. I look away quickly.

Ignore him. No, that’s rude. Say hi. No, ignore him.

I look back at him, as if seeing him for the first time, and acknowledge him with a quick nod. He nods back. It’s so swift that it makes me smile.

As he starts to walk over to me, I evaluate my Jagerunkness. It’s certainly given me a kick, but that’s why I did them. I can handle it. Don’t I have a mantra for potentially indimitating situations? I mean…portently intimidating situations? I mean…what?

‘Mistress of the Minx cocktail,’ he smiles. ‘Having fun?’

‘I…yes. Yes, yes, I am.’ Where the fuck is my mantra?

‘You’re a very silly girl for drinking Jager like that, did you know that?’

He was watching me doing Jager shots?

‘It’s been a bad week. And don’t call me a silly girl. I am a silly WOMAN.’

‘A very silly woman.’

‘Mmmmmm,’ I say. He has very nice eyes. And I really do like his shoulders. At least I don’t have that buckling tummy feeling anymore. I don’t feel much of anything, actually. Bzzzzzjagerbuzz. ‘I think I ought to go home.’ I do? Do I think that?

‘Probably,’ he agrees. ‘I believe you just did two enormous shots of a 70-proof drink in less than three minutes. Where’s your partner in crime?’

‘She’s there,’ I say, pointing at the coffee table, and look up to see Bloomie, but she and Eugene have disappeared. Outside for a snog and a cigarette, I expect.

‘Shall we go sit outside and have a little chat while you sober up a bit?’ asks Jake.

I look up at him and frown.

‘No. Nooooo. Nonono.’

‘Sheesh, don’t overreact. It’s not like I’m asking you on…a date.’

This sobers me slightly. I look him straight in the eye. My powers of deduction are drunk. He doesn’t seem to be making fun of me, but his eyes are laughing.

‘Your eyes are laughing,’ I say.

‘What?’ he says, and starts laughing out loud.

I’m not sure what to say, so I don’t say anything at all, but smile at him. Shit, I shouldn’t be smiling, that’s like flirting. I try to scowl instead and end up making what I fear is a very odd face.

‘I feel glazed,’ I say. Where did that come from?

‘You look glazed,’ he nods, then leans in towards me slightly. ‘But you—’

At that exact second, Kate walks up to us quickly. ‘I’ve got to go home, sweetie, I’ve got a cab outside…’

Thank God. I can’t remember the Dating Sabbatical Rules right now, and I probably couldn’t even read them if I got the damn sheet out of my clutch, but I’m pretty sure I’m close to breaking them. I look over and see Robbie in the kitchen screaming ‘BEER BONG!’ I’ve got to get out of here.

‘Can I come?’

‘Of course! But, like, I’m really leaving now. No long goodbyes.’

‘I’m ready. I’ll text Bloomie goodbye,’ I nod. I look up at Jake. His eyes aren’t smirking anymore. ‘Uh…bye.’

‘Bye.’

‘Bye.’

We carefully step around an Irishman doing an impressive routine with an invisible hoop, over Mitch, who’s passionately snogging the white jeans girl, and head out the door.