How to Get a (Love) Life (22 page)

‘Do it,’ I whispered.

He took his wallet out and fumbled around for a card.

‘I’ve sheen them do this in films all the time,’ he whispered confidently, taking time to find the edge of the door. He slid the card down in the gap between the door and the frame, but nothing happened. He tried again, but still nothing happened. I turned away in panic, convinced the burglar would hear us and come and get us with a knife or a gun or something (I’d seen lots of films too). Then, with no prior warning, Chris took a run up, put his shoulder down and smashed through the door. There was a sickening thud as the door came away and Chris staggered in, with me right behind. The living room lights were on.

‘Itsh empty,’ he announced, spinning round to look at me.

‘Shhhh,’ I murmured, gesturing over his shoulder. ‘
He might still be here
.’

I stumbled across the room.

There was a mound on the sofa. The burglar was sleeping? No. But then the burglar started yelling. ‘Oh my God! There’s a man in the room! A MAN IN THE ROOM, oh my God.’

It was my brother, not a burglar. I lurched towards him, arms outstretched.

‘It’s me! Don’t worry! I thought
you
were a burglar, Mark, but it’sh you, it’sh not a burglar it’sh just you, yes, you …’ I slurred, going for a hug.

‘He’sh my brother, but not a burglar,’ I explained to Chris, whilst comforting a terrified Mark. ‘We’re safe. Everyone is safe.’

The morning light bore down on my eyelids, and a stagnant smell washed over my face. Horrible, horrible morning, and someone was BREATHING on me. I groaned, opened one eye and tried to push the breather away from me. Oh God. Chris. God, why was he here? What the hell was I doing lying next to him? Did something happen last night? I still couldn’t move. Another wave of nausea washed over me, my mind a haze of shadowy memories.

I vaguely remembered ordering shots at the bar, but after that, I recalled nothing. I felt like something bad had happened but couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Had I done something with Chris? I opened the other eye and noted I was still wearing all my clothes. My dress had twisted round so that one lone breast was poking out, but I didn’t have the energy to move. Then my brother appeared in the doorway of my bedroom.

‘Mark, what the fuck?’ I said, hastily sitting up and trying to cover up the lone breast.

Then I threw up, only just making it to the bathroom in time. When I got back, Mark had disappeared and I flopped back onto the bed. My movements woke Chris. Great. He mumbled something, then groggily opened his eyes. Then closed them. Then opened them really, really wide. Then sat up and shot off the bed, tottered across the room and landed in the armchair opposite me.

‘Shit, Nicola, I mean, hi, morning, I mean …’ Then he gave up and put his head in his hands. ‘My wife is going to kill me.’

I closed my eyes.

Oh God.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Single girl WLTM, unmarried man for quiet nights in.

Contact: Box No. 49990

Before Christmas, James had asked, okay begged, Caroline and I to pop into the office on New Year’s Day to deal with an urgent casting the following week. So, after a restorative shower and half a tube of toothpaste I’d dragged my carcass to work where I was now being interrogated by Caroline.

‘Chris is married?’ she’d repeated in shocked tones after worming the whole sorry story out of me.

‘Yes.’

‘You know, I think I knew that actually,’ said Caroline, sipping at a milkshake.

I gaped at her. ‘Something that you could have mentioned before, perhaps?’ I suggested.

‘Well, I didn’t know you were going to go out with him, did I? Anyway, what, Nicola, did you expect of that man? You know I dislike him utterly. Come on, you can’t be that surprised? You know he’s an arrogant, no-good—’

‘—Caroline, will you stop talking about me
every
time I leave the office,’ said James, emerging in the doorway.

‘Ha, ha, ha,’ she chuckled as he handed us both tea.

I looked away, not wanting to catch his eye, my face hot as I remembered his surprised expression at the restaurant last night.

‘So, who are you ripping to pieces only one day into the New Year?’

‘No one,’ I said quickly, shooting a warning look in Caroline’s direction.

‘No one,’ she repeated, with a winning smile.

‘Hmm … Well, if either of you need me I will be in my office putting up my arrogant, no-good feet and lounging about, of course.’

I watched as he disappeared into his office. He was obviously not going to mention seeing me last night. Maybe he hadn’t seen me after all? Maybe he had just been looking over my shoulder at someone else. I really hoped so.

I didn’t tell Caroline about seeing James. For some reason, I didn’t want to talk to her about it.

Caroline flicked through one of the filing cabinets, emerging with a CV. ‘It’s Chris’s file,’ she said, scanning the details.

‘Shh.’ I scolded, glancing at the door to James’ office.

‘Oh look …
married
,’ she pointed out helpfully.

I gave her a stony glare.

‘Ah, right,’ she said, going back to searching his details. ‘Hmm, it’s as I expected.’ She nodded solemnly and put the file back in the cabinet, but not before bending one of Chris’s photos and leaving his face horribly creased.

‘What is what you expected?’

‘His birthday,’ she announced. ‘It’s as I expected.’

‘His birthday …?’

‘It’s in
June
,’ she stressed, as if that explained everything perfectly.

‘June?’

‘Gemini,’ she shrugged, smiling widely. ‘It explains everything. Chris is a typical Gemini. Typical’

‘Er … this isn’t meant to be amusing,’ I tutted, annoyed that my life appeared to be an astrological comedy of errors.

‘It does explain it, though,’ Caroline continued. ‘Gemini, the twins, are known to be two-faced, prone to leading a double life. They’re interested in everything but can’t focus on one thing. Like Trevor in
Brookside
who cheated on his wife.’

‘But Chris is nothing like Trevor.’

‘No …’ she mused. ‘But perhaps his moon sign is different?’

‘Moon what?’

‘Moon sign?’

‘Yes, the sign the moon is in when you are born.’

I looked at her blankly.

‘Come on, Nic, don’t you read anything? You know you should really take an interest in this stuff. It is fascinating and could save you a lot of trouble. For instance, you’re a
Virgo
, so you’d want to find another Earth sign.’

‘Like Scorpio?’ I said, remembering the ex.

‘NOT Scorpio,’ she said, halting me with a hand. ‘Honestly, Nic. Scorpio is a water sign, like Pisces and Cancer. Scorpio.’

I was really fed up. ‘Aquarians are the water-bearers, so I should avoid them, then?’ I asked, confused.

‘No! They’re air, of course.’

Yes, of course. ‘Okay, so going back, if I’m a Virgo, what signs should I be looking for?’

‘It’s not an exact science,’ she explained. ‘But ideally you would want to look for a Taurus or Capricorn. You wouldn’t go far wrong with the Fire signs but do
not
settle for a Sagittarian.’

‘Why not?’

‘I just wouldn’t,’ she said, pursing her lips.

‘
Why not?
’

‘Cheaters,’ she stated.

‘What, all of them?’

‘Yes, all Sagittarians are cheaters,’ she said firmly, putting an end to any debate on the matter.

‘My mother’s a Sagittarian.’

She had the decency to blush.

So it looked like I’d been wasting one sixth of my time. Un-bloody-believable. What was the point of dating people if you were not first armed with this arsenal of facts and potential pitfalls? I logged onto the dating website I’d joined and edited the info. It now stated: ‘Geminis and Sagittarians need not apply.’

Three minutes later I received an angry message from user PinkMan687. ‘What have you got against Geminis?’

Oh my God. I’m star signist.

I didn’t have time to respond to PinkMan687 because James appeared in the doorway to his office. ‘Nicola,’ he said, not quite meeting my eye as he spoke. ‘Could you pop in here and run me through the accounts for the, er …’ He mumbled the end of the sentence and I saw a red flush creep up his neck.

‘The what, James?’ Caroline smirked at him.

‘I’m coming,’ I said, getting up and self-consciously following him into his office. My palms were a little damp.

James sat at his desk and I sat across from him.

‘What did you want me to have a look at?’ I asked.

He pushed a piece of paper across to me and my mouth fell open. I had no words. James sat back in his chair and grinned at me.

‘I can’t accept this,’ I said in disbelief.

‘What are you talking about, Nicola? You earned it.’

‘Nooo, it’s too much,’ I protested, sliding the cheque with my Christmas bonus back across to him.

‘Take it,’ he said, gently nudging it towards me. ‘You’ve been fantastic, both of you have and I’ve given the same percentage to Caroline. You’ve both worked hard all year for it.’

‘I … thank you,’ I said, trying to be graceful.

‘Anyway, looks like you’ll need it now that you are wining and dining our best client.’ He laughed, shuffling papers on his desk. It sounded shorter and louder than his usual laugh.

So he
had
seen me.

‘It was just dinner,’ I blurted.

‘Of course, not for me to judge, I was always under the impression that you weren’t a particular fan of Chris, but—’

‘—I’m not,’ I interjected, wondering why I even felt the need to clarify it.

‘It’s none of my business anyway,’ James shrugged casually.

‘Quite,’ I said, regretting my crisp tone when I saw his face, like I’d said something cruel enough to make the smile fade from his eyes.

My breathing felt loud and my hands were curled tightly around the cheque. James opened and shut his mouth as if he were about to say something else. It never came. I got up to leave.

‘Is that everything?’ I asked curtly.

‘Yes,’ he croaked.

‘Well, I’ll get back to work then,’ I said, feeling the burning sensation of tears behind my eyes. ‘Thank you James, for the … just, thanks,’ I said, closing the door behind me.

Caroline looked up as I appeared, a frown deepening the lines round her eyes. ‘Is something wrong, my lovely?’

I plastered a smile on my face, forcing my mouth to turn up at the edges, ‘Fine,’ I announced. ‘I’m absolutely fine.’

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Single girl WLTM man with similar interests. She loves: carpentry.

Contact: Box No. 5902

It was the evening of the carpentry class and as I parked the car outside Frenchay College, I took a good long look at myself in the rear-view mirror. The last few days had been quiet in the office and I had barely glimpsed James. Tonight would be a chance to do something different and I was ready to test out my new idea. Rubbing at a dash of mascara that had settled on my eyelid and licking my glossy pink lips, I realised I might have overdone my look. I peered down at the carefully selected outfit. In the full-length mirror in my flat, a lumberjack checked shirt and dungarees had seemed an excellent choice. Now, I realised I looked like a female Bob the Builder, albeit with excellent long lashes and a very pouty smile. Too late now. Taking a breath, I undid my seatbelt, stepped out of the car, grabbed my bag and jogged towards the entrance.

I poked my head around the door of Classroom 12B. This was the place. Long, empty tables were arranged in lines down the big room. The strip lighting highlighted a thin layer of orange dust on the surface. Numerous tools were scattered about unattended. The room was empty of people, bar a lone man with his back to me, leaning over what (I would later discover) was called a ‘workbench’, doing something with a ‘tenon saw’ and a plank of wood. I coughed lightly, my heart hammering at the prospect of the hour ahead. The sound made the man look up from his work. He frowned momentarily, glanced surreptitiously at the clock just above my head and, finally, broke into a smile.

‘You must be Nicola.’

‘I’m early, I’m sorry.’ I started flapping my hands. ‘I can wait outside.’ I turned to head back into the corridor.

‘Don’t be silly! It’ll be good to show you the ropes before the rest appear, so you don’t feel too at sea on your first day. Just let me finish this. Choose a workbench and pop one of them on over your clothes.’

He pointed to a row of pegs lined with aprons. I unhooked one and approached a workbench in the middle of the room, poking my head through the string on the apron and tying it at the back. I flung my handbag on the floor by the radiator.

The man strolled over, holding out his hand. ‘Tom. Thanks for enrolling.’

I took it and shook. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt underneath an apron that matched mine. He had reddish hair and a thick beard that seemed flecked with sawdust. His hands were enormous and he smelled like hard work and beeswax.

‘Now, don’t be alarmed, but this class is quite er … male-heavy.’

‘That’s what I expected,’ I said, a little too enthusiastically. I turned red.

‘Yes, well, not to worry. I’m sure you will be made to feel welcome. They’re a good bunch, mostly beginners and all at varying stages with different projects on the go.’

I nodded along.

‘So, what inspired you to take up carpentry, then?’ he asked.

I’d practised my answer in the car on the drive over. ‘I want to be able to make something, create something from scratch, something, um, beautiful.’

‘Sounds good to me. The guys here range from those who want to be able to do basic woodwork without shaming themselves, to Clive who wants to build his own boat. Friendly advice: Do NOT get onto the subject of sailing in front of him unless you have a spare couple of hours to hand.’

I laughed and mentally deleted Clive from my list.

Tom spent five minutes setting me up for the class ahead, fetching the planks and tools I’d need. It looked like a bewildering array of items. I must have looked nervous because Tom reached across and gave my shoulder a squeeze. ‘Good luck.’