Dinner for Two (10 page)

‘Congratulations,’ says Fran, when I arrive back at my desk.

‘This is all your fault,’ I tell her.

Fran looks thoroughly pleased with herself. ‘I think you’ll make a great agony uncle. Much better than Adam, who was just a few strides away from being a bit creepy.’ She pats my shoulder. ‘Well done, mate. First thing to do is have a cheesy photograph taken for the top of your column.’

‘Why?’

‘You have to have one if you have a column in the mag – the readers like to know what you look like so they can pretend you’re their best friend.’ She handed me a picture of herself smiling impishly. ‘I had it done last summer and I look about twelve in it, don’t I?’ She giggled. ‘They’ll probably have to do a lot of work on yours, though.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s not a veiled insult, honest. It’s just that Daisy told me they had to get the photographer to shoot eight rolls of “Ask Adam” before they got a single shot where he didn’t look like a serial killer. They were even toying with the idea of using a male model as a front but Adam wouldn’t have it. He said it would compromise his integrity.’

‘That’s a lot of effort for one photograph.’

‘Not really. What you’ve got to remember is that, well, blokes are a bit scary, aren’t they? Especially when you’re a girl and you’re only fourteen. That’s why teens like boy bands so much. They’re a nice non-scary introduction to the delights of older boys. They’ve got smooth cheeks and they’re sort of girly-looking – just the kind of boy a girl likes at that age. So, the photographer will turn you into the boy-band version of an agony uncle, the perfect nonthreatening male role model.’

‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’

‘Of course,’ says Fran. ‘Can you think of anything funnier than a former cooler-than-cool music journo dispensing words of wisdom to a bunch of teenage girls? I certainly can’t.’

‘The Love Doctor!’ exclaims Izzy, when I call her at
Femme
later that afternoon and tell her the news. ‘You have
got
to be kidding.’

‘It’s true,’ I say. ‘It was Jenny’s idea. She said calling the column “Dear Dave” wasn’t “fresh and funky”.’

‘And “Love Doctor Dave” is?’

‘Apparently.’

‘Hats off to Jen for persuading you to do it, though. When she told me about it I said there was no way you’d do it. Not even because we’re all friends. And there you are, an agony uncle. You should start reading up about all this advice stuff, you know – try some of those Oprah-endorsed books. I could probably steal a couple from work.’

‘Hmm, maybe. The thing is I was thinking about taking the organic instinctive approach to agony uncling.’

‘Which is?’

‘Making it up as I go along.’

Izzy laughs. ‘That’s it,’ she says. ‘I’m going to round up everyone and we’re going to celebrate tonight. It’s not every day a girl’s husband becomes a doctor of love.’

Trevor, Jenny, Stella, Lee, Izzy and I are sitting together in a crowded Pizza Express in Soho. We’ve been at our table for over fifteen minutes and have sent away the waitress twice as we’re all too busy talking about my latest career move to concentrate on ordering.

‘You do know that being an agony uncle on a teenage girls’ magazine isn’t a normal occupation for a man of your years?’ says Trevor. ‘Not normal at all.’

‘You’d be hard pushed to find yourself on a weirder mag,’ says Stella.

‘
Yachting Monthly
?’ suggests Izzy. ‘Dave hasn’t been near the sea in his life. I think that would be pretty weird.’

‘No,’ says Trevor. ‘Boats fall into the category of “things a man can fake an interest in even if he isn’t that interested”. Along with golf, any kind of vehicle that has a motor . . .’

‘Anything technological – computers, video cameras, etcetera,’ adds Lee.

‘Basically anything that’s really
manly
,’ says Trevor.

‘Leave him alone, you lot,’ says Jenny. ‘Dave’s going to be brilliant at giving advice. When he used to come over to the flat that Stella, Izzy and I shared in East Finchley we were always asking him for advice about men.’

‘She’s right,’ says Stella. ‘But that’s what you do with a friend’s boyfriend, isn’t it? You treat them like they’re your big brother.’

This is true. I didn’t do much except listen to them talk incessantly about the men they were interested in. I didn’t think of it as giving advice – it was more a way of keeping my girlfriend’s flatmates amused while I waited for her to get ready to go out.

‘He was more like your flat’s resident eunuch,’ says Trevor. ‘And, anyway, Dave’s advice to Jenny when she was thinking about going out with me was that I was the love-them-and-leave-them-type.’

‘I was just messing with your head,’ I say, laughing. ‘You’re all right by me, Trev.’

‘Enough of the squabbling,’ says Jenny. ‘The question is, Dave, are you ready?’

‘For what?’

‘Your first-ever agony-uncle letter.’

Jenny has thoughtfully brought a carrier-bag full of ‘Ask Adam’ letters with her to the restaurant. As if I were selecting a winner for one of those TV competitions of my youth, I root around in the bag and pull out an envelope. It is pastel green with the
Teen Scene
address painstakingly scrawled across it in silver metallic ink. The letter itself is written on yellow paper in the shape of a dog. I read it aloud:

‘What’s your gut reaction?’ asks Stella.

‘I don’t understand,’ I reply. ‘Why’s she signed it “A Puff Daddy Fan”?’

‘Because she likes Puff Daddy!’ says Izzy, and rolls her eyes.

‘And this is relevant because?’

‘You’re being deliberately obtuse, Dave,’ warns Izzy. ‘She’s signed it “a Puff Daddy fan” because she doesn’t want anyone she knows to recognise her and, well, the only other option –“anonymous” – is just a bit square, isn’t it?’

‘Okay, okay.’ I focus on the letter again. ‘So she fancies her best friend’s boyfriend and she wants to know if he fancies her and if it’s ethical.’

‘
Good
,’ says Jenny, encouragingly. ‘What’s your answer?’

‘My answer? Well, it’s bad news, isn’t it? She shouldn’t steal her best mate’s boyfriend because that’s going to cause a whole heap of trouble.’

‘And?’

‘And the boyfriend might not fancy her anyway.’

‘Exactly,’ chips in Trevor. ‘From what she says in the letter, do you think the boyfriend does like her?’

‘Probably.’

‘Really?’ says Stella. ‘I thought he was just being friendly.’

‘No,’ I reply firmly. ‘He fancies her. If he didn’t fancy her he wouldn’t be walking along the street with her. Believe me, having once been a teenage boy I know I wouldn’t have been seen dead talking to a girl I didn’t fancy in case my mates saw me.’ I look over to Trevor and Lee for support. ‘Am I right or am I right?’

They nod and grin enthusiastically.

‘That’s so shallow!’ says Izzy.

‘Fifteen-year-old boys
are
shallow,’ says Lee. ‘That’s why they’re fifteen-year-old boys.’

‘Maybe you should leave that bit out of your answer in the mag, eh?’

‘I’m enjoying this. Let’s see what else is in there.’ I search around in the bag again. The next letter is in a small white envelope; the handwriting appears youthful but masculine.

‘What a sweetie!’ enthuses Jenny. ‘Let me have a look at his letter.’ I hand it to her and she examines it carefully. ‘Why can’t all boys be like this?’ She adopts a look of mock-menace for Trevor’s benefit. ‘All nice and sweet and vulnerable instead of being the nasty, leering creatures they usually are.’

‘Are you talking about teenage boys or men in general?’ asks Lee.

‘All of you,’ chips in Stella. ‘All men could learn a thing or two from a sweetheart like that. You should definitely put him in your first Love Doctor column. I’ll bet you’ll have loads of
Teen Scene
readers gagging to introduce him to the delights of kissing. I tell you what, if I was ten years younger I’d probably have a go myself. What are you going to tell him?’

‘About kissing?’

‘Yes! About kissing.’

‘Honestly, I can’t even remember this being an issue.’

‘That’s such a lie,’ says Izzy. ‘How can your first ever kiss not have been an issue? Who was it with?’

I think long and hard. The details are foggy. A fourteenth-birthday party. A game of Spin the Bottle gone out of control. A darkened room. An alien tongue tasting of Pernod and blackcurrant.

‘Amanda Reddington at a party,’ I confess. ‘Chunky girl with huge glasses. Kind of took me by surprise.’

‘Did you fancy her?’ asks Lee.

‘Not really,’ I reply.

‘So why did you kiss her?’ asks Jenny.

‘She offered,’ I tell her. ‘It felt rude not to.’

‘So what did you know about kissing before that moment?’ Izzy interjects.

‘Nothing.’

‘And what had you learned after you’d kissed her?’ asks Stella.

‘Not to go into a darkened room with Amanda Reddington.’

‘So what advice are you going to give this poor boy?’ says Izzy, pointing at the letter.

‘I’ll tell him to do it like they do in films. Go in gently, keep his eyes closed, head angled to avoid a clash of noses. He could hold her hands, and he shouldn’t even attempt to put his tongue anywhere it doesn’t belong for the first ten minutes unless invited to do so.’

‘What about lubrication?’ asks Stella.

‘
What
about lubrication?’

‘Dave, as someone who was once a teenage girl, let me tell you that teen boys have a major problem with lubrication. They’re either so dry it’s like kissing sandpaper or they’re foaming at the mouth and you want to gag. Mind you, the worst thing they can do – and, believe me, this used to happen to me a lot – was lick their lips then wipe them on their sleeve!’

Jenny lets out a shrill scream. ‘That is
so
horrible.’

‘I always thought the lick ’n’ wipe was quite a sexy manoeuvre,’ I tell her. ‘You know, like, “Here I am, babe, limbering up for the kill.” Izzy used to love it when we first started going out.’

Izzy laughs. ‘You can bet your life that wasn’t me you’re talking about,’ she says. ‘He is
so
lying.’

‘So I’ve got to tell him all this?’ I ask Jenny.

‘Exactly,’ she says. ‘It’s not as easy as you thought, is it? Pick one more, then let’s order some food because I’m starving.’

The final letter I pull out is a brown manila prepaid envelope to British Gas, only the address and prepaid symbol have been crossed out with a thick black marker pen then replaced with the
Teen Scene
address. I hold it up for the entire table to see.

‘Looks scary,’ says Lee.

‘I think you’re right,’ says Trevor, who is studying the letter. It’s written on a page torn from a school exercise book.

An eleven-year-old desperate
Teen Scene
reader, Leicester

‘The pre-teen contingent,’ says Jenny knowingly. ‘Explains everything.’

‘It does?’

‘Pre-teens haven’t got the faintest clue about real teen
angst
so they have to make it up. They read in the problem page about all these teens with real worries and feel envious so they make stuff up.’

At this moment the waitress arrives at our table with a look of determination. We order six beers and when they arrive Jenny takes the tray from the waitress and hands them round. Raising hers in the air, she addresses the table loudly enough to get the attention of the whole restaurant: ‘Will you all be upstanding for Dave Love Doctor Harding, the nation’s number-one agony uncle!’

And they all stand up and give me a round of applause.

‘Which one of you is Dave Harding?’ says the guy from the post room, not noticing that, other than himself, I’m the only man in the office.

It’s now four o’clock on the following afternoon and I’ve been waiting all day for the rest of the ‘Ask Adam’ postbags to arrive. Keen to get on with my new job, I’d called several times and been told that the bags would be up in ‘twenty minutes’ It isn’t until my fifth call that Fran explains to me that the post room’s ‘twenty minutes’ could be anything from half an hour to an entire day, depending on what they’re watching on their portable TV.

The post-room guy drops three huge green plastic post-bags at my feet, then leaves the office without another word.