The Dr Pepper Prophecies (5 page)

I have a sneaking suspicion that he doesn’t know what I said either.

**

Thanks to that, a quick heart-to-heart with Julie to get an edited version of her heavenly mini-b
reak, and nipping out for more Hobnobs at lunch, I actually finish the day in quite a good mood.

Half a stone heavier, but in a good mood.

The bus journey from work to where I live is about fifteen minutes.  I think it takes less time to walk.  Every few weeks I promise myself I’ll start including it in my carefully-planned-but-never-executed exercise routine.  As soon as I do that, it starts to rain.  Living in a country where welly boots are practically part of the national dress, it’s quite hard to take that as a sign.  Yet somehow I manage it.

So I’m thinking about Julie and Paul, vaguely wondering what Paris is like and toying with the idea of learning to say something other than ‘Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?’ in French, when it hits.  My first ever epiphany.

I nearly jump up and yell ‘Eureka!'

But I’d feel kind of silly if I did.

Not that that usually stops me.

I’m buzzing with excitement though.  Because I have just figured out what I was meant to do with my life.  Five seconds ago I was clueless, but now I know.

I was meant to help others.

I mean, look at the evidence.  Julie and Paul – who might never have looked twice at each other if I hadn’t given them a helping hand.  Susan –who’s now following her dream of being a full-time painter because I gave her the encouragement she needed to quit her 24-hour high-stress job from hell.  Will – okay so I still haven’t managed to educate him about Natalie’s close ties with the underworld, but I will eventually.  Martin – I got him a job.  Okay, so it backfired just the tiniest bit, but nevertheless.

I may not be able to find a good job.  Perhaps I am doomed to attract only the production line rejects of the male species.  But I have a gift to use in the service of humankind.

I feel truly blessed.

Now, where do I start?

Oooo, it’s my stop!

I hurry down to the doors, where a middle-aged woman with varicose veins and a knackered expression is gathering up about a hundred carrier bags.

'Excuse me,' I say, feeling positively saint-like. 'Would you like some help with those?'

She eyes me like I’m a weasel who’s just offered to baby-sit her eggs.

'No,' she says flatly. 'No, thank you.'

'Really,' I say, giving her an encouraging smile. 'I don’t mind.  I’m getting off here anyway.  Do you have a long way to walk?'

Now she thinks I’m a stalker.  Her eyes flick nervously towards the door.

'Are you two getting off, or what?' the driver yells at us from his tiny cabin.

'Sorry driver,' my potential beneficiary says.  She jerks her head towards me. 'This girl’s giving me trouble.'

Before I can even open my mouth to protest, the driver gets out of his chair, undoes his little door and comes out.

'What seems to be the problem?' he says impatiently.  I can hear him thinking ‘Bloody women passengers’.

'This girl’s trying to steal me shopping.'

My eyes widen. 'I was just offering to help,' I say.  My heart starts beating double-time.  God, is he going to arrest me or something?

The driver turns to me.  I feel like I’m fourteen again and being thrown off the bus for sticking gum under the seat in front.

I still maintain my innocence on that point.

'You,' he says, pointing with his whole arm at the door. 'Off, now.  Go wherever you have to go, no dawdling, no looking back.  I’m not going to have any hassle on my bus.'

Half of me is outraged at the injustice.  The other half of me feels guilty.  I almost feel like I was trying to rob her.

'Sorry,' I whisper, head down to avoid the accusing stares of the rest of the passengers.

I jump off the bus and scuttle up the road as fast as my little legs will let me.  In fact, I’ve never felt smaller in my life.

Okay, so my first attempt didn’t go so well.

But there’s still the evidence.  The indisputable evidence.  And anyway, it’s different with people you know.  My friends all know that I’m only trying to help.  Which is very important.

Revised plan for helping others is now in effect.

It’ll be a success.  I can feel it.

What’s the worst that could happen?

By the time I’ve hiked up the a) long and b) steep hill that I have the misfortune to live at the top of, I’m hot, sweaty and utterly fed up.  It’s one of those horrible muggy evenings and all my clothes feel damp.  I puff my way up the stairs like I’m climbing Everest, fall against the door the moment I’ve unlocked it and stagger into the flat.  Then I drop my bag and coat on the floor and collapse on the sofa.

Beth isn’t home.  In theory she doesn’t do evenings, in practice she ends up covering every time someone stays off sick or goes on holiday.  Which is good in a way, because it means I get the place to myself sometimes.

Once I’ve caught my breath, dragged myself over to the sink to get a drink and had a pre-dinner snack of scampi fries and a chocolate mousse, I almost feel human.  By the time I’ve had a shower and changed into sweat pants, I feel ready to appreciate my alone time.

Of course, by then Beth has come home.

The joys of flat-
sharing.

'Is there any more lasagne?' I ask hopefully, from my prone position on the sofa.  I love lasagne.  Love it.  Just like Garfield.  Except for the whole cat thing obviously.

'Huh?' Beth says.  She looks puzzled, like I’ve just spoken in Greek and she’s trying to translate. 'Oh…no, Will ate it all.'

Damn.

It’s hard to love a man who eats the last piece of lasagne.

'What are we having then?' I ask.

'Umm…pizza.  Unless you would prefer to wait?'

'Pizza’s fine.' I hate waiting.

I watch Beth through half-closed eyelids.  She looks distracted.  She keeps picking things up and putting them down again.  She’s all flustered.  Very un Beth-like.

I open my eyes properly and struggle into a sitting position.  Then I pull my knees up and hug them to my chest.

'What’s up?' I ask.

Beth, God love her, actually glances at the ceiling.  Sometimes I think we really are speaking two different languages.  I mean, I know she went to private school, but she must have had a seriously sheltered childhood to be confused by that.

'Nothing,' she says.  The back of her neck has gone red beneath her little blond bun.  Beth only ever seems to blush from the chin down.  Disturbing thought really.

She’s avoiding my gaze.  I’m intrigued.  Beth’s life is usually even more boring than mine.

'Really, tell me,' I say. 'I’ve spent the whole day being watched by the love child of Big Brother and Adolf Hitler.  I need something to take my mind off the pile of crap that is my life.  Spill.  What’s going on?'

Beth fusses some more, getting a pepperoni pizza out of the freezer compartment and taking off the wrapper.  I wait.  Beth is like the Terry’s Chocolate Orange in the adverts – prod it a couple of times and it’ll open up.  As opposed to the real ones, which take a sledgehammer to break
apart.

Once the pizza is safely in the oven, she’s ready.

'Something just happened at work today, that’s all,' she says.

I nod.  It’s best not to interrupt.

'I was asked for a date,' she adds, blushing more.

I sit up, riveted.

'I’m just not sure if I should accept,' she says, frowning a little. 'We are colleagues, after all.'

Not another person.  Work-based romances don’t always go bad.  Don’t 70% of people meet their future spouse at work, or something like that? 

I’m about to say this, when it occurs to me to get one more tiny piece of information.

'Who was it?' I ask.

Beth looks shyly at me. 'I don’t know if you’ll remember him, I introduced you to him at the staff Christmas party.'

I do a quick re-cap of everyone I remember meeting.  Which isn’t many.

Oh!  I have it!  The completely gorgeous Italian guy who works in the library café to practise his English!  This is fantastic!

I’m not even remotely jealous.  Really.

Okay, maybe slightly.

'Angelo!' I squeal.

Beth looks amazed, as if the fact that such a sex God even existed has completely passed her by.

'No,' she says,
'Andrew.'

My smile fades.  Just the tiniest bit.

'Andrew,' I repeat, trying to sound enthusiastic. 'That’s…great.'

Not that there’s anything wrong with Andrew exactly.  I’m sure he has a lovely personality.  It’s just that…  How can I put this?  If Angelo is Blackadder, season three, Andrew is Mr Bean.  Both fascinating characters, I’m sure, but it’s not exactly hard to figure out which is more attractive.

'I told him I wasn’t sure that we should mix a personal relationship with a professional one,' Beth says. 'Do you think that was right?'

It’s clearly my duty to save Beth from herself.  She’s so soft-hearted that she might actually accept him if I don’t keep her on the right track.  Beth is beautiful and sweet and a total innocent.
  She’s like Jane Bennett from
Pride and Prejudice
.  And with no Bingley on the scene, she’s in grave danger of saying yes to Mr Collins.

'While obviously the decision is yours and I wouldn’t dream of interfering,' I say, knowing that Beth is no more likely to ignore my advice than a vampire is to take up sunbathing, 'I think that you’re right not to date someone you work with.  Look at me and Martin.  It would be terrible when you broke up.'

Beth nods slowly. 'That is what I thought,' she says. 'I was right first time.  It would be terrible if we didn’t stay together.'

I smile encouragingly at her until she starts to smile back.  Weakly, but it’s there.

'Thank you,' she says.

For the rest of the evening, I bask in the glow of satisfaction.

I’m like cupid.  Only in reverse.

**

Later, on Messenger…

SciFiFreak3001 says:

‘Repeat after me.  I am a good person.’

Dumped!!! says:

‘I am a good person.’

SciFiFreak3001 says:

‘I deserve to be treated well.’

Dumped!!! says:

‘I deserve to be treated well.’

SciFiFreak3001 says:

‘Martin, you are a complete git.’

Dumped!!! says:

‘Martin, you are a complete git.’

SciFiFreak3001 says:

‘I fart in your general direction.’

Dumped!!! says:

‘?????’

Will is another person who seems to speak in another language half the time.  He doesn’t even use regular swearwords, he likes alien ones from the five thousand
science-fiction TV shows he watches.  Very disorienting.

SciFiFreak3001 says:

‘Just say it.  It’ll make you feel better.’

Dumped!!! says:

‘I fart in your general direction.’

Then I start to laugh.  It’s so ridiculous it’s funny.

SciFiFreak3001 says:

'I told you so. ;-)’

Dumped!!! says:

‘I’m not laughing.’

SciFiFreak3001 says:

‘Liar.’

This is my strategy for getting through Tuesday.  I went to bed on top of the world and woke up at the bottom of a cess pit.  I hate my job.  I hated it even before Martin.  I have to find a new one.

Although maybe I should start playing the lottery.  Just in case.

How great would that be?  Walking into work around noon and saying 'Screw you Martin.  I don’t need your job, I’m worth 7.8 million.'.

In slightly stronger language, of course.

Dumped!!! says:

‘Is Natalie coming round tonight?’

SciFiFreak3001 says:

‘No.’

SciFiFreak3001 says:

‘I’ll probably regret telling you this, but we had a small fight.’

Why do they never have large fights?  Why can’t she drop her Snow White act and reveal the evil queen inside?

Dumped!!! says:

‘What about?’

Note to self: bring up topic frequently.

SciFiFreak3001 says: