How to Get a (Love) Life (18 page)

‘Goodnight,’ she said back, one hand on the banister.

Guy didn’t look up from his Blackberry as he called a ‘Goodnight’ from the staircase.

I joined Carol and Mark in the kitchen.

‘Let’sch get on the internet and sign you up for stuff, Nic,’ Carol said, clapping her hands.

‘Good thinking!’

We pulled up short, seeing a pan half full of mulled wine on the oven.

‘Another glass to
mull
over the situation?’ Carol asked, which cracked Mark up for a good ten minutes.

Mugs of mulled wine in hand, we proceeded to spend a drunken hour signing me up for carpentry classes at the local university.

‘Thscat’s where they’ll all be,’ said Carol, gesturing at the screen, her pretty green dress now sporting a trail of red wine down the front.

‘By Valentine’s Day , sis, you’ll have met a man, AND you’ll be able to make me a wooden tray using a lathe,’ Mark read from the advertising blurb on the website. He pointed at a man standing by a machine. ‘You could meet him,’ he whispered.

‘Excellentsch work,’ Carol and I chorused, before collapsing onto Mum’s white leather sofa.

Chapter Twenty-One

Hung-over and head thumping, I practically crawled into the kitchen the next day to pour myself a coffee and forage for breakfast. Mark and Carol were still not up and Guy had left a note on the kettle that said, ‘Meeting’. Mum had left a second note saying, ‘Back soon’. I felt like writing a third note that simply said, ‘Dying’, but didn’t have the energy required to find a pen.

The kettle bubbled. I reached for a mug and shook coffee granules into the bottom, already anticipating that first caffeine hit, and feeling it was a win-win, when I discovered a year’s supply of paracetamol in the cutlery drawer.

Reaching into the fridge for milk, I frowned as the doorbell rang.

I poked my head round the kitchen door, making out a shadow of a man in the frosted glass. Could I ignore him? As if in answer to my question, the doorbell went again. Postman? Lone carol singer? I opened the door.

Standing outside was a man in a full three-piece tweed suit, complete with flat cap on top of his straggly long hair. Stanley.

My mouth fell open and I automatically drew my tatty towelling dressing gown protectively around me.

‘Nicola,’ he said, taking off his flat cap with a flourish and leaning forward to kiss both my cheeks. ‘How wonderful to see you! Rally, rally wonderful.’

‘Stanley, I …’

‘Golly,’ he drawled, taking in the dressing gown over faded pyjamas and flip flops. ‘You look frightfully like one of those women on that television programme,
Eastenders
. Ma in?’ he asked, looking round as he stepped inside,
uninvited
.

‘No, no, Ma’s, I mean Mum’s out. Back soon,’ I said, parroting the note.

‘Shame. Is that the kettle just boiled?’

With a defeated sigh, I realised I had a house guest. ‘Yes. Tea? Coffee?’ I offered.

‘Earl Grey if you have it, old gal, lovely, lovely.’

I fetched a mug and noticed Mark’s head appear round the door, wide-eyed, and then hastily withdraw. I followed him into the hallway but he’d already escaped up the stairs.

‘Mark,’ I hissed.

He mouthed things at me from the top landing, out of sight of Stanley, and made a hanging mime of a dead man on a rope, tongue lolling out, rocking sideways. I was too groggy to laugh and shuffled back into the kitchen, realising, sadly, that there was no hope of back-up.

Stanley flicked his long hair behind his shoulder as he marched around the kitchen taking the lids off things to peer into them for no reason.

‘Well, Nicola,’ he said as I handed him an Earl Grey with a slice of lemon, just how he liked it. ‘You must be rally surprised to see me here?’ He eyed me over his mug, before taking a sip, pinkie out.

‘I guess so!’ I confirmed.

‘Just thought I should pop by and tell you I am in the neighbourhood.’ He leaned forward.

‘Right.’

‘Didn’t feel we really caught up properly last night.’

‘I suppose not.’

‘I’m around the corner,’ he said, nodding slowly.

‘Sorry?’

‘
A-round the corner
,’ he emphasised each word.

‘Um …’

‘Available at a moment’s notice if you wanted a … play date.’ He winked.

‘A
play da
—’

‘—A rally
fun
play date.’ He winked again.

‘Oh! Okey dokey,’ I said, draining the last of my coffee and wrapping my robe even more tightly around myself.

‘We could rally have some fun, you and I. I thought of you last night in that gorgeous dress of yours, and do you know what I thought?’

‘Er, what did you think Stanley?’

‘I thought …’ He paused, gaze travelling slowly up my body, before meeting my eyes. ‘I rally have to make that girl realise I am keen if she is.’

‘Ah. Well that is kind,’ I said, my toes rubbing the back of my heel in awkwardness.

‘Quite. We’re having our annual Christmas backgammon tournament this afternoon,’ he guffawed. ‘So I best get back to Mummy but, Nicola … Just remember … Around the corner, there is a friend. A friend who could be more than a friend.’

‘I’ll remember that, Stanley,’ I croaked, nodding dumbly. ‘Thank you for er … thinking of me.’

‘I’ll leave my mobile number here,’ he said, sliding a card across with one finger. ‘And you can ring it day or night. Day … or night, Nicola.’

‘Thank you,’ I squeaked, suddenly overwhelmed by the awful urge to laugh.

‘Well,’ he said, adjusting his flat cap. ‘I’ll be orf.’

And, striding out into the hallway, he was gone. I was left blinking in the kitchen.

When the front door closed I heard an explosion of laughter from the landing above, as Mark and Carol chorused: ‘Day or Night, Nicola. Day or NIGHT.’

‘Was that Stanley Holloway I just saw leaving?’ My mother asked, sweeping into the kitchen moments later, her head still craned towards the front door.

I groaned inwardly. ‘It was,’ I said, refusing to divulge more. ‘Tea?’

‘Green,’ she nodded. ‘You know, Nicola, you could do a lot worse than Stanley Holloway. Believe me.’ She perched herself primly on the edge of the white sofa. ‘You wouldn’t have to work for a start,’ she said, noticing a speck of something on her skirt and brushing it off immediately.

‘I
want
to work,’ I said.

‘I know, darling – you’ve always been eccentric – but you wouldn’t
have
to,’ she stressed.

I rolled my eyes and waited for the kettle to boil.

My mother waved a hand, ‘Well, I’m glad you want to move on but you can’t be so fussy, Nicola.’

‘God forbid,’ I muttered.

‘Mark tells me you are getting back
out there
…’

Did Mark? I glanced at the stairs with a scowl.

‘… And maybe that will put an end to this constant work and no fun. You used to be quite fun,’ she mused.

‘Thanks Ma,’ I said, handing her a mug.

‘Good luck with it,’ she raised the mug in a toast. A flicker of warmth passed between us and I smiled at her.

‘Thanks, Mum.’

She sipped at her tea. ‘Too strong,’ she sighed and poured it down the sink.

Chapter Twenty-Two

After three whole days and three whole nights in the family pad in leafy Gloucestershire, I was ready to return to Bristol for my casual cinema trip with Dan and the chance to catch my breath. I was glad to be back.

Flinging my suitcase into the doorway of my flat, I ventured straight back out to buy a newspaper and a coffee. Heading for the nearest place that sold caffeine by the double shot, a newspaper folded neatly under one arm, I already felt in better spirits. The barista gave me a smile and a ‘Happy Christmas’ as I picked up my mug from the counter. Settling myself in a window seat, I had a leisurely read of the articles, finishing up with a peek at my Virgo horoscope.

‘A new year, a new you! Be bold!’

It continued to tell me that there was a moon in Uranus and something about this being a significant moment, whatever that meant. I heard my phone beep and took it out of my bag. Oh! I’d missed a call from a number I didn’t recognise. I rang my answerphone.

‘Ni-co-la. Happy Christmas. Seeing you in a few short days. You
promised
you’d come for dinner and then on to a party. It’ll be rocking. Call me. Don’t break my heart.’

I stared at the mobile. I stared at my horoscope. I realised that, although I was only going out with Chris to help James keep him as a client, I
was
actually looking forward to it. New Year, New Me! On the way home, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to pop into the office. I could check any emails and tidy up the post so that there wouldn’t be a huge pile to wade through when we returned after the Christmas holidays.

Unlocking the door to the agency, I headed straight upstairs to our floor. Pushing open the door, I was surprised to see we had no mail. Not even an advert for double glazing, or a festive card from a desperate actor keen to send us Christmas salutations and his new show reel. I jumped as I heard movement in James’ office beyond. Before I could seize a weapon, the man himself emerged, an umbrella held aloft.

‘We have no cash on the premises,’ he called out. ‘No cash on the premises.’

He stopped, took one look at my frozen face, bag halfway to the floor, feet planted in panic, and burst out with a relieved laugh. ‘Nicola! Thank God. You scared me!’ He dropped the umbrella to a less threatening height.

‘
I
scared
you
,’ I managed, almost dropping my bag in relief.

‘Hmm. Good point,’ he said, noting my pale face.

A second passed and then we both began to speak at once.

‘I just thought I’d pop in and check on—’

‘I can’t believe you are back in the office on your holi—’

Immediately, we fell into a self-conscious silence and I ambled awkwardly across to my desk.

‘Right, let’s start again,’ he said. ‘How was your holiday and why aren’t you still on it?’

‘Holiday was lovely, thank you, and I only popped in to pick up the post. You know, and just make sure everything was okay,’ I explained.

‘Well, it is okay. I don’t expect you to come back here at Christmas, Nicola,’ he said. ‘Go home, have fun, be merry, etc, etc …’

‘Okay, fine.’ I laughed, putting up my hands in mock surrender. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘Time for a coffee?’ he asked, slinging his coat over his arm.

‘Um, no thanks. I’m fine. I just, um … drank.’

I reached for my bag and bashed the corner of my head on my desk.

‘Ow!’ I flinched.

James hurried over. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yeah,’ I said, rubbing my head where it had knocked the corner. ‘Ow,’ I repeated, tears stinging the back of my eyes. Oh, brilliant. Was I going to cry like a baby in front of my boss? Wonderful. The humiliating notion thankfully made the tears retreat. I smiled weakly at him.

‘Best get on then,’ I said heartily.

James grinned. ‘Right … I suppose I’ll be off then.’ He paused to in the doorway. ‘
Unless
…’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, if you really are set on making yourself useful, you
could
help me with a task I’ve been putting off for weeks.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I’ll show you,’ he said mysteriously, bolting through to his office. ‘Wait there.’

I heard him scuffle about, dragging something heavy across the carpet. Then there was a thud, followed swiftly by a ‘Bollocks.’

‘Er, are you alright in there?’ I called.

‘Yeeesss fiiine,’ he grunted. ‘Hold on.’

‘Okay,’ I mouthed, tapping the top of my desk.

There was a load more rustling and what sounded like sellotape being removed, and then finally James called out in a triumphant voice: ‘Alright, come in!’

I edged open the door curiously and found James proudly patting the top of a large rectangular cardboard box, with a makeshift bow made of sellotape perched on the top.

‘Ta-da!’ James announced. ‘Happy Christmas! Don’t say I never give you things.’

Perplexed, but delighted, I rushed forward. ‘Oh, wow, you shouldn’t have …’ Then I spotted the writing on the side of the box –
Office 4-door Filing Cabinet
– and stopped short. ‘Ah … you really shouldn’t have!’ I exclaimed, slapping James on the arm.

It was an odd moment in my life. Physically assaulting one’s boss was not something I’d tried before. James looked as surprised as I felt, and then, rubbing his arm in an over-the-top panto gesture, he started roaring with laughter.

I gestured with my hand. ‘I’m so sorry, James, I …’ but the movement of my hand was too much for him. He shielded his face.

‘Stop, Nicola. Please don’t!’ And then, grinning at me, he lowered his arms. ‘I can’t take another beating,’ he whispered shakily.

I pouted, hands on my hips.

‘Fine,’ he huffed. ‘I suppose I might have deserved the slap.’ He handing me a pair of scissors. ‘Now cut the sellotape, Nicola. Don’t get me with those, I don’t want to spend the New Year in A & E.’

I cut the tape and, together, we ripped open the cardboard until its remnants were scattered all about the floor. It looked like we were building an extension onto the office, not a filing cabinet. There were slats of wood, packets of bolts and screws and random metal objects littered everywhere.

‘Ah, flat-packed furniture,’ James sighed. ‘My favourite type of furniture.’

I picked up one of the many clear packets. ‘I’ve never seen so many nuts.’

‘Quite,’ James agreed.

I looked up sharply, convinced he was mocking me, but he smiled innocently back.

After ten minutes of pointlessly clanging various pieces of metal against various pieces of wood in the vain hope they would suddenly all make a filing cabinet, James had run to get coffee while I was left scooping the instruction manual out of the bin, where it had been flung in the first five minutes by a frustrated James. By the time he returned with two cappuccinos, I’d successfully attached Part A to Part B with Screw J. I was pretty smug about it too.