The Importance of Being a Bachelor (2 page)

‘Probably because the likelihood of you getting married is about the same! Mate, with the best will in the world there are two chances of you getting married before any of us – no chance and slim chance. And do you know what? Slim’s out of town.’

‘What are you talking about?’ said Adam as the boys all laughed at Jon’s well-worn joke. ‘Are you trying to tell me that Ade and Lorna – a woman who, let’s not forget, once threw a carving knife at Ade’s head – are more likely to get married than me?’

‘Not that old one again,’ interrupted Ade. ‘First off, it was a long time ago; second, she missed; and third, she didn’t really mean it. She was just a bit annoyed.’

‘Ade, mate,’ said Adam. ‘She threw a knife. At. Your. Head. The fact that she’s a rubbish aim is the only reason you’re standing here tonight. When most women get angry they slam doors or smash china. They do not throw knives!’ Adam turned back to Del. ‘So as I was saying you’d give Ade better odds of getting married than me?’

Jon chipped in. ‘How deluded are you? Of course Ade’s got more chance of getting married than you have. For starters he’s actually got a girlfriend.’

‘And?’ questioned Adam, unwilling to let small details like ‘girlfriends’ get in the way of him making his point.

‘What do you mean “and”?’ said Jon in his best withering tones. ‘Have you lost the plot, mate? One of the prerequisites of getting married is that you have somebody to get married to, otherwise, well, you’re just a bloke in a suit throwing a party for all your mates.’

‘I’ll have you know that if I actually wanted a girlfriend I could get a girlfriend just like that.’ Adam proceeded to snap his fingers like a latter-day Paul Daniels as though he was about to conjure a girlfriend out of thin air.

‘Mate,’ said Del, placing a deliberately patronising hand on Adam’s shoulders. ‘We all know that you have a gift with the ladies. We all know that you can and indeed have pulled some of the most amazing women we could ever hope to see. But there’s one thing we’re sure of: you will not be getting married in this or in fact any other century.’

‘And your reasoning is?’

Del shook his head in despair. ‘Mate, are you really trying to say that you don’t know?’

‘If I did I wouldn’t be asking the question, would I?’

‘But you’re not really going to make us spell it out for you, are you?’ chipped in Fad. ‘Surely you can’t be that dense.’

‘Well I must be, because I have no idea what any of you are on about. So come on. Take a moment out from your world of mirth to explain why out of all my oldest friends I am apparently the one least likely to take a walk down the aisle?’

The friends exchanged wary glances before staring contemplatively into their pints. Del then drew a deep breath, which Adam took as a signal that he had nominated himself the chief deliverer of home truths.

‘Listen mate,’ began Del, ‘I just want to say that in no way do we see this as a deficiency in you. In fact it’s the total opposite. We’re completely envious of you. You’re like . . . I don’t know . . . the Fonz . . .’

‘Or the bloke from
Cheers
,’ said Fad.

‘Or better still Warren Beatty in
Shampoo
,’ added Rich.

‘So what you’re saying is I’m a womaniser?’

The boys all winced at Adam’s use of such an old-fashioned pejorative word and shook their heads in unison.

‘You’re not a womaniser as such,’ said Del diplomatically.

‘What then?’ asked Adam. ‘I’m like the bloke out of
Cheers
only I’m not a womaniser . . . you’re not saying anything really, are you?’

‘The thing is,’ said Del tentatively. ‘It’s not you. It’s them.’

‘Them who?’

‘You know . . . the girls you go out with . . . or rather the
kind
of girls you go out with.’

‘What’s wrong with the kind of girls I go out with?’

‘Well, not to put too fine a point on it, while the girls that you go out with are undoubtedly attractive and usually well turned out, none of them are exactly girlfriend material, are they?’

‘“
Not exactly girlfriend material
”?’ spluttered Adam. ‘I don’t even know what that means.’

‘Just that. They’re great to look at and all that but . . . they’re not the kind of girls you want to grow old with, are they? Your problem is, mate, that you are quite plainly addicted to the wrong kind of girl.’

‘Truly hopeless.’

While Adam Bachelor was debating the whys and wherefores of the women he dated with his friends over in Cheshire, back in south Manchester his youngest brother Russell (tall, thin, with a face that nine out of ten girls would describe as ‘thoughtful’) was turning down the volume on the TV before opening the two bottles of Grolsch sitting on the coffee table in front of him and handing one to his best friend, Angie. ‘So come on then,’ said Russell, leaning back in the sofa. ‘What’s going on?’

It had been over an hour since Russell had logged on to Facebook via his laptop to discover the message that ‘Angie McMahon is no longer listed in a relationship.’ Announcing to the world (or at the very least her one hundred and twenty-three Facebook friends) in such a dramatic fashion that she had split up with her boyfriend when her previous Facebook status update at ten the night before had read: ‘Angie is . . . . loved up!’ was, thought Russell, a very Angie thing to do and one of the many reasons that he liked having her in his life. Angie was always so random, so haphazard, so frequently lacking in any kind of sense of self-preservation that she was always fun to have around.

And while Angie’s lesser friends were busy plastering her Facebook page with messages of condolence, Russell was the only one who had bothered to pick up his phone and call her in person. Angie had answered within three rings but her sobbing and gurgling had been so intense that Russell had barely been able to understand a word so in the end he had told her to jump in a taxi and make her way over to his place.

‘It’s over between me and Aaron,’ said Angie, obviously struggling to stay in control.

‘I know. Is it for real?’

Angie nodded and put her beer down on the table. ‘It’s as real as it gets. You know how things between me and him have been up and down for a while?’

Russell nodded.

‘Well, this afternoon we had this massive heart-to-heart about where we were going and what we both wanted and all that and I suddenly realised we just weren’t right together. Whatever it is that two people are supposed to have we didn’t have it. I think we were just a bad habit that went on too long.’

‘But you two have been together for ages.’

‘Four years give or take.’

‘I don’t get it,’ said Russell. ‘I mean, I could understand if it was four weeks. After all, that’s pretty much the standard time for things to run their course. But four years? That’s ridiculous. Plus you live together. How are you going to be able to afford your flat on your own? You love that place and let’s not forget how much you loathe living in shared houses. Remember last time you did it? You ended up in a girl fight over stolen yoghurt with the girl who lived across the hall!’

‘Great. Thanks, Russ.’ Angie started to cry again. ‘That’s just what I need right now: you telling me that I’m an idiot. Why stop there? I’ve got an iota or two of self confidence left so why don’t you really go to town and point out that I’ve got a couple of spots breaking out?’

‘Come on, Ange,’ sighed Russell. ‘You know that’s not what I meant. It’s a bit of a shock, that’s all. Any time that I’ve seen you two together you’ve always seemed pretty OK to me. That’s all I was trying to say. I wasn’t having a go, mate. Honest.’

‘OK,’ she said and then put her head on his shoulder and carried on sobbing.

He felt as if Russell and Angie had been friends forever even though it was actually only six years. They first met when Russell returned to Manchester from a year of post-university travelling and, desperate to pay off his debts, had started working at BlueBar, his elder brother Adam’s bar. Russell was more than a little attracted to her given that she ticked a lot of the boxes on his girlfriend requirements list. First, she liked to talk (Russell had dated enough cute but silent girls in his time whereas Angie could talk the back legs off a donkey), second he could talk to her (Russell had dated enough girls without sufficient personality) and finally she had a sense of humour (when she was on form Angie could make him laugh like no other human being on earth). As for looks, Russell wasn’t too fussed as he had never been into girls who couldn’t walk past a mirror without taking a glance at themselves. No, the kind of girls he liked were the kind that you didn’t really know you liked until you started talking to them. Those were his favourites: the ones you had to actively seek out and discover for yourself. Angie was a perfect example of that type of girl. And he had sought her out for a carefully arranged but casually proposed drink on their day off only to discover over two pints of Stella that she, like all the good ones, had already been discovered. Over the next couple of years their friendship had flourished. Perhaps because they had never found themselves single at the same time, Russell convinced himself that if the opportunity ever arose, sparks would be sure to fly but when that happened a month before she started seeing Aaron it was something of an anticlimax. Instead of feeling extra flirtatious Russell just felt really awkward and Angie obviously likewise. ‘It’s like we missed our window of opportunity,’ Russell later explained to Adam. ‘Ange and I are mates now. Anything else would be just plain weird.’

Russell sat silently cradling Angie in his arms on the sofa for over an hour before he felt able to suggest that it might be a good idea to get them both another beer. While he was up and in the kitchen he ordered a Chinese set meal for two to be delivered to the house and made a mug of tea just in case Angie wasn’t in the mood for Grolsch. Returning to the room he set the drinks on the table and turned on the TV. It being Saturday night there was nothing on but talent shows and big films and Russell was about to switch off when Angie made a comment about one of the celebrity contestants, which was the first time in an hour that she had spoken about anything other than Aaron. The comforting nature of reality TV appeared to relax her and by the time the Chinese food had arrived, been unpacked and consumed she seemed a lot more like her old self.

‘I really am sorry about ruining your evening,’ she said, setting her empty plate down in front of her. ‘You must think I’m a right nutter going on about Aaron like this.’

‘No chance,’ replied Russell. ‘We’re mates, aren’t we? That’s what mates do. They look out for one another.’

Angie picked up her beer and sighed, ‘I suppose.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It’s just that when it comes to us it’s always you looking out for me rather than me looking out for you. I thought friendship was supposed to be a two-way street.’

‘It is,’ said Russell. ‘You’re always looking out for me. You just don’t do it in such obvious ways, that’s all.’

‘Can’t agree with you there. I mean look at the evidence: I’ve been sitting here for a couple of hours now and it’s all been me, me, me. Think about it, Russ. I haven’t asked you a single question about your own life.’

‘Well go on then,’ laughed Russell. ‘What’s stopping you?’

Angie rubbed her hands with mock glee. ‘OK then, how’s work?’

‘It’s all right,’ said Russell. ‘Nothing to write home about but it’ll do.’

‘Next question: how are your folks?’

‘They’re cool. I’m having lunch at theirs tomorrow as per usual.’

‘That’s good to hear,’ said Angie. ‘I like a boy who is good to his old mum and dad. Next question: how are you getting on with your plans to go travelling next summer?’

Russell shrugged. ‘Haven’t done a thing about it.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Not saved a single penny. In fact I’m more broke this month than I was last.’

‘But you promised me you were going to start saving this month.’

‘I know. I know. I just had a couple of big bills, that’s all.’

‘Right,’ said Angie, ‘finally here’s the question that I always like to ask even though I know you’ll hate me because it reminds you of how loose your tongue gets when you’ve had a few. Anyway, here goes: how’s being in love with your middle brother’s girlfriend going?’

‘Hopeless,’ sighed Russell. ‘Truly hopeless.’

‘That’s not even a word!’

While Russell was lamenting the fact that he was in love with someone he shouldn’t be in love with, his middle brother Luke (average in both height and outlook on life but handsome in a teddy-bear-ish sort of way) was (even though he was unaware of it) staring very hard across the candlelit table at his girlfriend.

‘Are you OK?’ asked Cassie.

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘No reason, it’s just that you were looking at me a bit strangely, as though that mackerel starter you just wolfed down was in the process of letting you know that it didn’t agree with you.’

‘Nope, it was great. Fantastic even. Possibly the best starter I’ve ever had.’

‘What’s up then?’

Luke shook his head. ‘Nothing . . . it doesn’t matter.’ He picked up the half-filled red-wine glass in front of him and raised it to eye level. ‘Let’s make a toast. To me and you and the last eighteen months of us-ness.’