The Dating Detox (30 page)

‘Yes!’ I say. Brilliant idea.

‘You’re going to fucking well clean up as much as you can first,’ says Eddie.

‘We’ll all muck in,’ says Fraser. ‘First things first. Where’s the vacuum contraption, then, Edward?’ He becomes wonderfully military in a crisis.

‘I’ll pick up the linguini,’ I say, still getting a mini giggling fit now and again whenever I look at the floor of the pantry.

‘I’ll help you,’ says Jake. Eddie and Laura go into the kitchen to show Fraser where the vacuum cleaner is, and Jake and I pretty much immediately start kissing again, laughing at the same time. (It makes breathing hard, but I’m happy to sacrifice oxygen for the laughing and the kissing.)

A minute or so later, a purposeful clearing of the throat from Fraser, holding a vacuum cleaner at the doorway, wearing aviator sunglasses and still in his homemade jeans shorts, reminds us to spring apart.

‘Linguini!’ I exclaim, and quickly try to pick it all up. Amazing how hard it is to pick up a single strand of dry linguini.

‘Out,’ orders Fraser. We exit the pantry carefully. Jake and I are shedding flour with every step. I look down at my feet. My little ballet shoes are, without doubt, dead, suffocated by muck. We turn around to watch Fraser at work: he wields the vacuum cleaner as though it was a WMD, and within a few minutes almost all of the mess is gone…just as the vacuum cleaner makes a coughing, chugging sound and dies.

‘Bloody thing is jammed,’ says Fraser, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

I think. ‘Did you suck up the maple syrup?’

‘Was that the runny stuff? Yes. Everything. I got everything.’

Well, that explains it. ‘Mmm,’ I say. No point worrying about broken vacuum cleaners for now. Fraser steps out of the pantry and takes off his sunglasses, panting as though he just finished a marathon.

Eddie and Laura hand Jake and I gloves, wipes, kitchen
towel and kitchen spray. ‘See you two later. Come along Laura. Come along Fraser,’ says Eddie, shepherding them towards the garden.

‘Oh, Eddie, we are sorry. Are you really pissed off? I promise we’ll clean it as best we can now and again in the morning…’

‘That’s alright, darling,’ he says, winking at me. ‘You two have fun…I’m taking this lot outside.’

‘He’s fine,’ I say, turning back to Jake, as they all leave the kitchen. ‘Shall we finish cleaning up…?’ This isn’t the messiest party this house has ever seen, but it’s in the top five.

Jake pulls me to him and we start kissing again.

‘I need to be alone with you,’ he says abruptly. ‘It’s all I’ve thought about for fucking months, and I want it, now. If we stay here, there’ll just be interruptions all night.’

‘Oh, gosh, OK,’ I say. We throw down the cleaning things and leave the kitchen, kissing and stumbling as we go. The only private place I can think of, obviously, is my bedroom, which sets my mind racing again. We leave our shoes in the front hallway, where my sodden Converses are also drying out. Halfway up the stairs I stop and turn around. We start kissing again. ‘Wait…’ I say. ‘Just so you know, we’re going to my room, but I’m not going to—we’re not going to—’

‘Shut up, Minxy darling,’ he says. ‘I only want to be alone with you. I’m not going to try to get in your pants.’ We keep walking up the stairs and he adds, ‘Well, I am going to try, obviously, but I’m pretty sure you’re not going to let me.’

We get to my room and stand in the doorway kissing, and well, I’m not going to go into detail about the kissing again, but it’s really very good indeed.

‘I need to…get out of these wet…’

‘That is the worst line I’ve ever heard,’ says Jake, shaking his head. ‘What kind of boy do you think I am?’

I start laughing. ‘I’m serious! We can’t make the room dirty on top of everything else.’

‘Who said anything about being dirty?’ says Jake as we walk into the room.

I roll my eyes, grab a T-shirt, pants and my third and final pair of jeans from my overnight bag, and head for the bathroom.

‘Need a hand?’ says Jake.

‘NO!’ I say. ‘Go and get some clean clothes.’

I get into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. What are you doing? Don’t think about it. He’s not Rick, don’t think about the Sabbatical, just go with it. When I get out of the bathroom, dry and (of course, this is me we’re talking about) make-up thoroughly checked, Jake’s lying on my bed wearing clean jeans and a T-shirt.

I go over and sit down, and lie down next to him. We’re on our sides, side by side, but not touching.

‘I’ve been thinking about this since Mitch’s party,’ he says.

‘So have I,’ I say.

‘No more running away,’ he says in a stern voice. ‘You always run away before I have the chance to talk to you properly…’

‘OK,’ I say. ‘No more running away.’

And we get lost in the euphoria of kissing again for about an hour. He’s good with the compliments, too. You’d think I’d cringe, but it’s actually extremely nice when someone takes a good ten minutes to explain in detail and with amusingly silly anecdotes, why specific parts of one’s body are perfect, and kiss them. Extremely nice.

‘I want to see Madagascar,’ he says, after a soliloquy of why he adores my left earlobe more than my right one. (The right one never looks him in the eye and he doesn’t trust it, but he’s willing to give it another chance.)

‘No,’ I say.

He makes a pretend huffing sound, and we lie back on the bed for a second. It is just lovely being this close to him. He smells very, very good, by the way, a little bit lemony around
the jawline, and all soapy and clean everywhere else. He wraps his arms around me.

‘I wonder if anyone’s noticed we’re gone?’ I say.

‘I’m sure they’ve been expecting it,’ he shrugs, kissing the insides of my wrist. ‘I can’t stop looking at you. I can’t even hear what other people are saying half the time, because I’m trying to read your lips from across the room. I only came here this weekend to see you, because it’s been three fucking months and I couldn’t wait any longer. God, I only made everyone leave that dinner party and bar crawl through Notting bloody Hill, in the hope of running into you.’

I sigh happily. Is there anything more flattering than an orchestrated coincidence? But I can’t seem to say anything back. I can’t process the magnitude of what he’s telling me, so I try to make a quip to lighten the tension.

‘Ah, there’s nothing like a little stalking on a Saturday night.’

‘Stalking?’ he raises his eyebrows. ‘That’s charming. Right. Come here…’

We start kissing again. After a few minutes, I pull away. ‘And what was with the Homer Simpson thing?’

He smiles. ‘Criteria to see if you really were as good as you seemed.’

He lies back on the pillow and pulls me half on top of him, so I’m sort of leaning on his chest and we can talk face-to-faceish. Finally I have the nerve to say what has been echoing loudly in my head since his wrist-kissing speech.

‘Why…why do you like me so much?’ I ask, and immediately think, God, why did I ask that? Never ask them how they’re feeling or why. ‘You hardly even know me.’ Goddamnit, shut up, woman! Vino veritas. Truth in wine.

Jake looks up at the ceiling and thinks for a few seconds. ‘You just always look like you’re having fun being you.’

Good answer.

But he doesn’t really know what I’m like yet, I think. He
couldn’t, this is just a beginning. A lovely beginning, but a beginning, nonetheless. Right now, all he knows is what he likes about me, and he’ll end up getting to know me better and then dumping me. Just like Rick, and Posh Mark, and every other guy I’ve ever dated. Never mind. Don’t think about that right now.

‘When Mitch told me you and Eddie used to date I was beside myself with jealousy,’ he continues, gently pinching my earlobe. ‘I wondered if you two were best friends destined to end up together…it was torture.’

‘You stupid man,’ I say, taking hold of his hand and kissing the palm. I want to tell him I think he’s lovely and how he makes me laugh more than any other guy ever has, but the idea of saying how I feel aloud makes me feel sick. Blame the mistaken-love-confession to Rick, blame years of self-taught dating dos and don’ts, blame whatever you like, but I just can’t. So I kiss his hand some more instead and hope for a subject change.

‘Tell me about the guy you threw the wine at,’ says Jake.

Why that subject? I groan and press my forehead into his chest so he can’t see my face. ‘He was a guy I, um, dated last year. The Pink Lady guy. I’m not proud of it. He is, um, an arsehole.’

‘I wondered if that was him. Mitch said it probably was.’

‘Mitch is a terrible gossip,’ I say.

Jake nods. ‘He told me he never liked your ex.’

‘Why didn’t he ever tell me that?’ I say.

‘He probably has a policy to never get involved. I do with all my friends’ bad relationships.’

‘Yikes,’ I say. Bad relationships. God. I sigh. ‘Well, I should have seen through him last year. But I didn’t. I don’t seem to be able to see things very well sometimes…I’m starting to think that I’m a bit of an idiot, actually,’ I say. Hmm. Vino veritas strikes again. I don’t feel drunk, but I’ve had about two bottles of wine, so I must be.

‘I don’t think you’re an idiot,’ Jake smiles. ‘Were you…really heartbroken afterwards?’

‘No, I was just plain miserable,’ I say. It feels oddly natural to talk to him about this.‘Not heartbroken. I felt like…I was unbalanced. It sucked.’ Ah, well put. Real eloquent.

He nods. ‘I know that feeling. You have to just take a step back and a few deep breaths.’

‘Exactly,’ I say. A step back, a few deep breaths and a Dating Sabbatical. We start kissing again. We kiss rather passionately for quite a long time, actually, and I get all lost in lust for awhile. Then I remember I want to know more, much more about him, and pull away.

‘What about you? Any mean girlfriends?’

‘You’re thinking about my ex-girlfriends at a time like this…? Yes, of course…everyone has battle scars by my age.’

‘“Battle scars”. I like that,’ I say. ‘It makes them sound important and trivial at the same time.’

‘That’s exactly what they are. I’ve been cheated on. Twice, in fact. And I’ve been dumped for no good reason. Everyone has.’

I sigh. I haven’t thought about this stuff much today.

‘It’s a little depressing, isn’t it? And things never change.’

‘That’s a silly thing to say. Everything changes.’

‘Really…? I don’t think it does,’ I say. ‘Like, look at our group. We’re getting hammered and having wild parties and we were doing this ten years ago. It just seems like nothing will ever move on.’

‘Of course it will. Take it from me. I’m older and wiser. It happens when you least expect it. Suddenly everyone you know is at a new stage…’

I look at him doubtfully. ‘My friends?’

‘
Your
friends,’ he nods.

‘I found out recently that Bloomie and Eugene talk about marriage, which really surprised me, and then I felt like such a dork to be so surprised,’ I admit. ‘I just can’t imagine being there.’

Jake nods. ‘One of my oldest friends is married with a child and when it all happened about four years ago, I really couldn’t understand how he was ready for that life, as I felt so…not ready. Then I decided I’d felt that way before,’ he continues, tracing a line down my temple and jaw as he talks. ‘Remember when you’re a little kid, and you see your cousin’s homework from school and think, I’ll never be able to do that…?’

I grin. ‘Yes. My babysitter used to do calculus study while I watched TV. The idea that I’d have to go to big school some day really stressed me out.’

‘Exactly! It’s like that. Suddenly, what seems impossible is the next natural step. My friends are in the middle of it. Marriage, babies, and everyone enters a different phase of their career, and just, you know, sorts their shit out.’

‘Maybe I’m just a bit slow,’ I say. Jake smirks. ‘Seriously. I’ve only started to feel in control of my job and money and you know, life, in the last few months.’ I think for a second. ‘I like my place in the world at the moment…But I don’t know where any of it is going.’ All I know is that in exchange for that control, I had to give up dating, I think to myself. So what am I doing here snogging Jake when I’m on a Dating Sabbatical? Don’t think about it.

‘My mother,’ says Jake, ‘is a total hippie, and says that one can create self-fulfilling prophecies, but they can go both ways. So you have to create positive ones. Imagine your perfect future and make it happen.’

I grin. ‘She sounds like my mother.’

‘God bless baby boomers,’ smiles Jake, wrapping his arms around me for a kiss, which turns into quite a long, grabby snogging session. ‘OK—thank you, very nice kissing, by the way, well done…OK, so let’s take your career. I know you’re a copywriter…’

‘Oh, you did do your homework, and you pretended you didn’t know at dinner…’ I say adoringly, and we start kissing again.

‘So…’ he pulls away. ‘You’re a copywriter. Do you like it? What next?’

I think. ‘Yes, I like it. I love my company and my boss, and I want to help him do well…But I don’t know what next. At some point in the next 30 years, writing ads to sell people shit they don’t need is going to get boring.’ I stare into space for a second. ‘But I try not to think about that.’

‘So what do you like doing?’ says Jake, kissing the inside of my palm. ‘You have lovely hands, by the way.’

‘Thank you. You should see my feet. Well, the only thing I like to do is write. And that’s good, since I get paid to write. But I don’t want to be a journalist, which is what everyone suggests, and I don’t know what else to do. So I just…try not to think about the future. At all.’

Jake shakes his head. ‘You are a ball of negativity. You love to write. That’s awesome. So start a blog or write a book or something.’

I look at him and laugh. ‘Write a book? About what?! It’s not that easy…But…yeah, you know, I’ve recently been writing these little short stories…They’re nothing much, but maybe you’re right. I could start a blog and post them…and then a publisher could snap me up and voilà, eternal happiness.’

‘We have just created your self-fulfilling prophecy. You will find eternal happiness as a writer,’ says Jake.