Dan Taylor Is Giving Up on Women (18 page)

‘Alex. He has two grandmas. So when he said he was visiting her, he was with the one that is alive, and the other one is still dead.’

The row with her boyfriend she’d been telling me about that morning, I finally realised. We’d obviously not got to discuss it enough earlier.

‘Well, that’s good news,’ I said, ‘about the live one, anyway.’

‘So…’

‘Yep.’

‘I thought you’d be relieved to know.’

‘Yeah, that’s great.’ I felt as if I should be concentrating more on this call, but the sniping over the poker table was still lingering.

‘And…how is your eye? Still sore?’

‘Not too bad.’

‘Not getting in any more fights?’

‘No,’ I said, rubbing the side of my head. ‘Not fist fights, anyway.’

‘So that’s what it was! You were in a fist fight?’ The excitement tingled in Delphine’s voice, and sent a bit of a bolt through me, but standing in Angus’s draughty hallway, with the guys almost certainly earwigging on the other side of the flimsy door, was not the time to get into this.

‘That’s not what I meant. No.’

‘Were you being bad?’ she asked teasingly.

‘It was…really nothing that interesting. Just an accident.’

‘Hmm,’ she said, unconvinced. ‘I will find out what it is you have been doing, Danny Taylor. You will not be able to resist my interrogation on Saturday night.’

‘That sounds a challenge, but I’m not sure I’m going to make the party.’

‘Don’t you dare not,
monsieur
.’

I was trying to think of a smart answer back, when a whiff of tobacco heralded Rob coming in through the front door.

‘Listen, I’d better go,’ I said, barely giving her the chance to say goodbye before cutting off the call.

‘Well, that sounded like an absolutely scintillating conversation,’ said Rob.

‘It was Oscar Wilde again, asking for tips on sparkling repartee.’

‘Listen, sport. I’m sorry for being arsey.’

‘I’m sorry too,’ I said, ‘for…well, I’m just sorry.’

‘Bit of tension at home, but shouldn’t be taking it out on you guys.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘She’s got some half-arsed idea in her head, I think. It happens, from time to time, y’know?’

‘Saturday morning was brutal. And she still seemed a bit upset when we spoke on Sunday.’

‘You probably frightened her with your bad-boy bruises and prison tattoos.’

‘I think she’s worried about you.’

‘I think you’re finally getting to see close-up that these big relationships you think are going to be the solution to everything just bring a load of new problems.’

‘Should she be worried?’ I asked.

Rob paused and rubbed the glass front of his phone with a corner of his jumper.

‘Straight flush, last to speak, and he didn’t even raise. What are we going to do with these people, bud?’

‘Keep playing the right way, and it comes around in the long run.’

‘Yeah, well, until then Martin’s wasting my money on baby’s new shoes, and Jim’s…doing whatever it is he does when he’s not running the planet.’

We stood there in the gloom of the hall, listening to Angus wrongly singing about ‘the warm smell of fajitas rising up through the air’ along to ‘Hotel California’ on the radio, and Martin trying to get Jim to find out the QPR score.

‘We should go back in,’ said Rob.

The idea of sitting back down for another couple of hours of boysy banter made my shoulders slump, and I didn’t want to jeopardise my shaky truce with Rob — any bravado from him would just start me sniping again about his not answering whether there was anything going on with him.

‘This eye’s giving me a headache,’ I said. ‘I’m going to get the train. Play the rest of my chips for me. Angus is chickening out of the big hands because they’re trying to save money for new curtains, and Martin’s talking too much when he’s got a good hand.’

‘You’re able to tell the difference with the talking too much he does when he has a bad one?’

‘Speak to you later,’ I said, grabbing my coat from the wall.

‘Hey, who were you talking to, by the way? Sounded like a woman.’

‘Delphine. She wants to cross-examine me about my injuries at the weekend.’

‘Finding dates on your own? You know, for us to believe you’ve got it together with her I’m going to need to see video evidence.’

‘You see, I knew you were going to say something sordid like that.’

We both smiled and I headed for the front door. With a yelled ‘see ya, guys’ I was out into the hallway and on the way home — before I popped my head back in again to shout a thank you for all the food to Angus.

I took the scenic route home, heading for the District Line for Wimbledon so I could see some of town as I travelled, and would get a decent walk at the end of it. But on the busy above-ground train I quickly got tired of looking at dark streets whizzing by with nothing to really see, except the reflection of me and the businessman sitting next to me. I was thinking more than I wanted to about the Harrisons.

Taking a leaf out of Jim’s book, I played with my phone a while. I was looking up the news, and while I was there I thought I’d just casually look at the mobile version of the dating site. From the window reflection, I could see the businessman next to me was peering over my shoulder, and gave me a look up and down as I signed in as
FunnyGal483
and touched my way through to the section of profile pics of Men Seeking Women. I checked to see who was currently online; there was a couple of dozen names of people spending their Tuesday nights looking to find someone with whom they could do more fun things on future Tuesday nights.

But most importantly SuperDan82 was around.

It was a strange feeling when your heart skipped a little faster because you’d seen a thumbnail picture of yourself, but it was what happened. Pulling up the full profile with its large picture of me caused the guy sitting next to me to do another double take. He seemed to have no intentions of moving from his spot lurking over my shoulder, despite the carriage having emptied out since we both got on, and I leaned away from him, resting my back on the glass divider separating my seat from the train doorways. What I did with myself while sitting on the train was my business.

But what did I want to do? I wondered. With all the stuff that had been going on for the past few days, right at that moment I was happy to settle for just a friendly, uncomplicated chat with Hannah, without the need for any more apologies.

Well, as uncomplicated as a conversation could be when you were pretending to be a woman and talking to a friend’s wife who was pretending to be you. And you suspected that you both knew it…

FunnyGal483
: Evening handsome! Still on the lookout for the gal of your dreams?

There was a bit of a wait when no reply to my message came back, and I started to worry that maybe I’d been too forward with my hello. But I reminded myself I wasn’t writing as me, I was a hip North London woman journo and could say what I liked, and the consequences didn’t matter because I didn’t actually exist.

SuperDan82
: And as if by magic she appears… Hello Ms 483, still photographically challenged I see.

FunnyGal483
: You know all these photos I have are fine in capturing the superficial heart-stopping beauty, but I still haven’t found one that captures the gorgeousness of the inner me.

SuperDan82
: You know, a lesser man might begin to worry that this is an elaborate ruse to avoid posting a pic of a face that could be mistaken for a bag of spanners…

FunnyGal483
: A better man wouldn’t try and provoke me into revealing myself with taunts. You’re off the list for the tasteful Helmut Newton nude ones now. So, what are you up to this gloomy Tuesday?

SuperDan82
: Would you believe at the minute I’m sitting at my computer? I should be working, but how anyone is supposed to use these things for work when there’s funny dogs doing tricks on YouTube is beyond me. You?

FunnyGal483
: I only came on here so I could tell someone I’m on the train. It’s a sad thing when you have no one to call when you’ve got that kind of big news.

SuperDan82
: Glad to be around to hear it. What are these magical-sounding train things of which you speak? I’ve been thinking though, about being single, and that it’s those little things that you miss the most sometimes, isn’t it? Having someone who just wants to be in touch, just for the pointless sake of it…

FunnyGal483
: The first person you think of sharing a link with when you see a pipe-smoking bulldog who’s best friends with a skateboarding duck…

SuperDan82
: Or telling that you’re having a shitty day and are looking forward to a DVD box set and a glass of wine when you’re both home.

FunnyGal483
: The reminders to get milk…

SuperDan82
: Well, that’s cheered me up no end. I’m alone, unwanted, and just remembered I don’t have enough semi-skimmed to make a comforting hot chocolate. Thanks for stopping by…

FunnyGal483
: Hot chocolate’s a bit of a girly drink for a burly fella like you, isn’t it?

SuperDan82
: I spike it with Bourbon.

FunnyGal483
: The drink or the biscuit?

SuperDan82
: No comment.

The conversation had started well, I thought. She, or rather SuperDan, was talking to me, which was one of the less likely scenarios I’d imagined when I’d thought about how my next conversation with Hannah would go. I figured I’d try and push my luck a bit.

FunnyGal483
: So, what’s got you all melancholy and contemplative?

SuperDan82
: A bit of a falling out with a friend. Just got me a bit angry and confused.

FunnyGal483
: Something you want to talk about?

SuperDan82
: Not really…just something I’ve got to get over. You know how you can think you know someone, then boom…

FunnyGal483
: I’m sure they regret whatever it is they’ve done.

SuperDan82
: Then why haven’t they tried to contact me?

FunnyGal483
: Maybe they feel bad? Don’t know what to say?

SuperDan82
: I think that’d be letting them off the hook a bit too easily. And don’t they need to have the courage of their convictions, right or wrong? I thought we knew each other well enough to talk through these things, y’see. But listen to me — I’m beginning to sound like a girl (no offence). Where’ve you been tonight?

Maybe now would be the time to come clean, I thought. Stand up like Kirk Douglas and say, ‘I’M SuperDan82’, and then say sorry. That was what she wanted, right? We both knew who we were, didn’t we?

FunnyGal483
: Oh y’know, drinks with my gal pals.

OK, so I chickened out. I’d make a terrible Spartacus.

SuperDan82
: Gal pals?! I thought the only people that said that were trannies…

FunnyGal483
: Get back to your cocoa, mister.

SuperDan82
: So what does that involve? Sitting around complaining about men, or the lack of them?

FunnyGal483
: Huh, you forgot to mention cooing over shoes and babies while you were stereotyping a gender.

SuperDan82
: I’m sure you and your friends are very far from being stereotypical women. But while we’re talking ideals, what’s your perfect man like?

A man less secure in his own sexuality than me — there must be one out there somewhere… — might have worried that I knew my answer to this question about the perfect man quite so readily, but I was delighted to share my thoughts on this.

FunnyGal483
: Oh, you know, someone who has a mixture of George Clooney’s looks, George Clooney’s personality, and George Clooney’s bank balance.

SuperDan82
: Well, you’ve come to the right place.

FunnyGal483
: How about you? Ideal woman that is?

SuperDan82
: Hmm. Kind, funny, thoughtful, George Clooney’s bank balance… Tell you what, you go and marry George, get a big divorce settlement, and come back and see me.

FunnyGal483
: Great plan! Although I think there might be a few fundamental flaws…

SuperDan82
: I can think of one quite big one, myself, to be honest. But ideals are no way to live your life really. Life is rarely ideal, but you’ve got to muddle through.

FunnyGal483
: Is that so?

SuperDan82
: Yep. Even if you ended up with a gorgeous mega-star, you’d have to learn to put up with all sorts of bad habits.

FunnyGal483
: And I guess there’d be the revolving door of starlets you’d have to deal with. These lLotharios don’t change their ways y’know.

There was a definite pause in a response coming in, that wasn’t just the time taken for typing. I muttered a ‘fuck’ that startled the guy sitting next to me as I thought about what I’d said.

SuperDan82
: Yeah. Well… Everyone’s got to draw the line somewhere, I suppose. Anyway, I’d better go.

FunnyGal483
: I’m getting near my stop too. Will you be around this week?

SuperDan82
: Who knows? Depends if I’m still spending most of my time working on my sulk… OK, bye.

Before I could even say bye back SuperDan82, and Hannah, were gone.

I’d thought when I was being FunnyGal483 instead of being myself I wasn’t as tactless and inept as I was in real life. Bringing up shagging around while she’d got her problems with Rob was a bit mean. And the worst bit was I realised, a split second before I hit the send key. But I did it anyway.

‘Alone and unwanted,’ she’d said. ‘Angry and confused,’ too. Well, her and me both.

We’d gone beyond the point now where she was pretending to be me, I was sure, and it made me resentful of Rob all over again, sitting at poker cracking funnies and avoiding answering questions from someone supposed to be his best friend about whether he was having an affair. He doesn’t deserve her, I thought.

But then I thought about what I was doing, as his supposed best friend, and figured he probably didn’t deserve me either.

As the week went on at work, the party at Jamie’s increasingly became the only topic of conversation. But despite my enthusing along with everyone I was still reluctant to go, and was planning the out-of-work equivalent of a sickie.

Delphine had intimated heartbreaking stories of man’s inhumanity to beautiful Frenchwomen to be shared over plastic cups of red, but I’d discovered I was no longer thinking of these as an unmissable opportunity to deliver a sympathetic — potentially erotic — hug. Janice was looking forward to the promise of a good gossip away from the office, which would entail tiptoeing around any really salacious news, for fear of invoking her righteous wrath and finding yourself clearing the contents of your desk into a bin bag. Even Weird Boring Chris had been getting animated over lunch at the chance for ‘a bit of a boogie’, visions of which had made the sandwich man’s sandwiches even more unappealing.

I, meanwhile, was laying the foundations of my excuse not to go, coughing whenever I thought of it, and using my staple new excuse of headaches. That my black eye was tripping through an array of colours, but not seeming to fade, made that a bit more convincing. For a demented split second one day I found myself missing Sam, and the simpler times when I was on the run from the law with a straight-talking klepto.

I finally emailed Hannah. Well, OK, maybe not emailed as such, but forwarded a link to a clip of ducks and other
cute animals waving their arses in time to Beyoncé’s ‘Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)’. I didn’t get a response.

I spoke to Rob at work, but he seemed distracted. A lot of new jobs on, he said. I didn’t mention the dating project, and, for the first time in ages, he didn’t bring it up either. Maybe the enthusiasm for it was fading already, I thought, and maybe that’d be no bad thing. Time to let dull old ordinary life resume again.

One thing was constant, and that was my enthusiasm for my job. I still had none. I spent the week just staring at the same incomprehensible documents. But this time I couldn’t even muster up enough energy to pass the time emailing the other guys. Delphine had argued with her family, but I didn’t respond to her 1,200 word essay on it. I didn’t sift through it for clues as to whether she might fancy me. I didn’t even finish reading it.

I spent a lot of time staring at the Joey badge I’d unhooked from my coat lapel and stuck on the cubicle wall. I got a strange, questioning look from Weird Boring Chris when he saw me stroking it one afternoon. Then he smiled and moved on.

I tried emailing Hannah again. It was a link to a video of what the show
House, MD
would be like if the cast, including its frequently drug-addled protagonist, were played by The Muppets. It showed a previously unseen side of Kermit the Frog that broke down barriers, and was just the sort of thing to bring people together after personal difficulties, in a way that only truly important great art could.

I didn’t get a response.

Delphine asked if I wanted to go out for lunch to have a bitch about the other women in the office. I said I’d already got my barbecue ham and raisin bagel from the sandwich guy.

Over the days I composed several emails to Hannah, wherein I tried a range of different ways to combine remorse with complete denial. The messages had been variations on a theme of an apology for potentially being an arse in an undefined way at an unspecified time in the recent past. I was trying to do what Hannah, or at least SuperDan82, had suggested, and be more accountable for my actions. But I’d get as far as the email subject header ‘About last Sunday’s unfortunate lunge…’ and get in such a state of panicked anxiety I had to hide in the loos for twenty minutes to calm down.