One Thing Leads to Another
‘Yes, I s’pose you’re right.’ Flin was silent for a moment. ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘we all got quite drunk, especially one of the girls, who tipped her wine glass all over me. Her friend decided she should take her back to their hotel and I stayed in the bar for a couple more drinks. I had wine all over my crotch and I didn’t want to get up until it was dry.’
By that stage he felt quite drunk himself, but sleepy as well – the sun had been beating down all day – and so went for a nap under a tree. He was only supposed to sleep for an hour or so, but when he awoke realized that it was evening and that he’d missed his rendezvous with the others by several hours. Of course, he’d rushed off to the meeting place but there was no sign of them or the cars anywhere. What was he to do?
‘What did you do?’ asked Jessica.
‘I panicked,’ Flin confessed.
It was true, he had. He remembered that moment particularly clearly. His head was pounding furiously from the combination of hangover and exercise. It all seemed a bit bleak. He didn’t have the telephone number of where he was staying – it had never occurred to him that once in Italy, he would need it. Nor could he quite remember the address, but was confident that he could find it – probably. Near Greve somewhere; Montefiore, or something like that. He would go to a cashpoint, take out some money and find a taxi to take him there, with a driver who hopefully spoke some English. It would cost him a fortune, but he could see no alternative. Wondering whether the others would have tried to look for him, or gone to the police, he tried to think what he would have done if he were them. He hadn’t been able to think.
Finding a cashpoint easily enough, he put in his card and opted for ‘inglese’, but then realized with absolute horror that he could not quite remember his pin number. This was a new card he’d only had for a couple of weeks. He felt sure it was 4432, or 4423, or was it 2243? He tentatively tapped in 4432, but it was rejected, as was 4423. No, it was definitely not 2243. Holding his hands up to the sky, he circled round for a moment and then stood staring at the cash dispenser. This was too much. How could he have been so stupid? If Italian cashpoints were anything like British ones, it meant he had one chance left. What the fuck was the stupid number? There were definitely a couple of fours in it, and he was pretty sure there was a three and a two, or was it a three and a seven? He pressed 4473. And his card was retained.
‘So then what?’ Jessica asked him. By now they were approaching Hammersmith.
‘I had to take a taxi ride and hope that I’d firstly be able to find the place and secondly the others would have enough cash to pay the driver.’
It was an experience he hoped he would never have to repeat. The taxi driver had clearly been confused by his nonsensical attempts at Italian. Flin eventually worked out where he needed to go by doing a lot of pointing and saying ‘scusi’ at regular intervals. First he directed his finger towards a dog-eared map in the taxi, and then pointed to where he knew the village was.
‘Ah, Montefioralle!’ the driver exclaimed with almost as much relief as Flin. By the time they reached the village it was dark and Flin realized that they were lost again. Eventually though, exhausted, thoroughly fed-up and nursing a splitting headache, he found the correct track down to the villa and made it back.
‘Flin, that sounds just about the most horrific thing I’ve ever heard. I mean, what did they all say?’
‘They weren’t very amused. Especially as I’d racked up about fifty quid with the taxi driver. “Where on earth have you been? We’ve been worried sick,” and all glaring at me accusingly. It was awful. And Poppy had a complete fit, at which point so did I.’
‘What did you do?’ Jessica was incredulous.
‘I told her I was really ill, had sunstroke and had lost my card and that her yelling at me was the final straw. She swallowed it actually, and was really quite attentive for the remaining days. Still, if I never see her ever again, I can’t say I’ll be sorry.’
‘You poor love. I don’t know what to say,’ Jessica told him as she pulled into Turneville Road.
‘At least we’re all in the same boat again. Unless, of course, there’s something you haven’t told me.’
‘Well, something has happened, actually,’ admitted Jessica.
‘Oh, no, what?’ Flin responded, unable to check himself.
‘Geordie.’
‘Geordie? No! What?’
‘He thinks he’s in love. Although nothing’s happened yet,’ Jessica added hastily. Then she told him all about their night at Tommy’s and how Molly had asked Geordie to call her.
‘Oh, great,’ sighed Flin. ‘So now not only will I have to put up with a love-sick housemate, but Geordie’s also ahead in the competition. Don’t tell me you’ve found someone too.’
‘Don’t be so mean-spirited. Anyway, I don’t think I have, but Tommy was definitely acting keen.’
‘Tommy? Not your type, surely.’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ Jessica gave him a capricious smile.
‘Oh, just brilliant. And I thought I was glad to be home.’ Flin sighed once again and slowly stomped upstairs with his bags.
Sitting forlornly on his bed, Flin looked at his belongings. A few clip-framed posters and a couple of shelves of books, CDs, records he never played any more and a few other bits of bric-à-brac. And his tired-looking old Aiwa music deck. As far as his worldly goods went, that was about it. Twenty-five, he reflected sadly, and his most valued things were his cherished collection of Beatles vinyl originals and CDs. He had no trust fund like Geordie, no savings and brilliant pay package like Jessica and virtually all his other friends. Just a large overdraft not far from its limit once again after an extravagant and utterly miserable holiday.
Part of him was glad to be back, especially with the fun of living in the new house, but a larger portion still felt incredibly low that it was over with Poppy. He hated being single and the thought of having to start all over again depressed him. Three years down the line from graduating and he felt he’d hardly progressed. Eddie Fussle was getting married in three and a bit weeks’ time. Perhaps that was the answer. Maybe they would be post-student workers one minute and then suddenly emerge from the chrysalis as fully fledged marrieds. Mind-boggling. It had never occurred to him that people of his age were even remotely ready to undertake something quite so … well, he supposed ‘grown-up’ was the only phrase.
Buying a house was probably the next big step. If he had his own house he would feel considerably more inclined to treat it with respect, but this seemed another impossibly futuristic scenario. How on earth was he ever going to be in a position to afford a house, let alone furniture to go in it? He thought about all the thousands of houses in London. How could anyone afford them? Even a tiny flat seemed ridiculously expensive, and despite his near-constant penury, he was aware he earned more than most Londoners. Life could be so demoralizing. Still, he should be glad for Geordie. Jessica was never going to have a problem finding a boyfriend, but Geordie – well, he had to admit his friend deserved a break, and if Molly did materialize into something good, then, competition or no, he should be glad for him.
Having unpacked, Flin was back downstairs being told by Jessica to stop feeling sorry for himself when Geordie walked in.
‘Flin, you’re back! How was it with the luscious Poppy?’
Jessica glanced at Flin to await his response.
Flin sighed. ‘Not quite what it was cracked up to be, actually.’
‘No?’ Geordie grinned. ‘The parents interrupting your nights of hot sex?’
‘Something like that,’ Flin replied, shifting on the sofa.
‘You’re going to have to tell him, darling,’ put in Jessica.
Geordie was looking expectant. ‘Tell me what?’
‘Oh, nothing. Look, do you fancy catching last orders?’ Flin asked him. Of course, Flin was going to have to tell Geordie about it, but he wanted it to be a highly edited version, out of earshot of Jessica. His car-ride confessional had been cathartic, but then again Jessica was a good listener. Admitting all to Geordie would take him down to a new level of humiliation – Geordie may be his best friend, but there were some things that simply could not be discussed with blokes.
Over a pint in a quiet corner of the pub Flin explained how he and Poppy had had a bit of an argument and things had gone badly wrong from then on. He did tell the story of the taxi-ride, but skirted over the other details of the holiday.
‘What a nightmare,’ Geordie said, recognizing that tact and sympathy were required at the present. Making him suffer could be saved for later.
‘Yeah,’ said Flin sullenly.
‘I mean, I really thought you had it sewn up.’
‘Hm,’ nodded Flin
‘To be honest, I was jealous as hell! She was absolutely gorgeous! I had all these images of you shagging under the olive trees or vines or whatever. I bet she looked even better with a deep tan.’
Flin winced. ‘Geordie, can you please stop going on about how gorgeous she must have been? It’s very painful for me.’
‘I’m commiserating,’ said Geordie.
‘Well let’s just change the subject,’ said Flin.
‘Sure,’ said Geordie, then added, ‘but I must admit I wouldn’t have wanted to be in your shoes. It does sound really embarrassing.’
‘It was.’
They both sat in silence for a moment, looking at the brown, flat liquid in front of them.
‘Anyway, on a brighter note, I think I’m about to fall in love.’
‘Yeah, Jessica said. That’s great.’ Flin looked up wearily from his beer. ‘Well done.’
‘Well, aren’t you going to ask me about it?’
‘OK, sorry.’ Flin took one of Geordie’s cigarettes. ‘Go on then, let’s hear it.’
As Flin got into bed that night he decided he would just have to try and put the Poppy débâcle behind him. It was no good being permanently maudlin. And he may suddenly be behind with the romantic part of the competition, but there was still a long time to go and there was always work. Bruklin Sale was coming over – the talk of Sundance – and he knew that this presented a golden opportunity to make a big impression. He had the opportunity to help establish this bright, new and exciting director/star in the UK; and well aware that Bruklin was unspoilt by years riding the publicity bandwagon, Flin knew he would have more influence over what this new star would do to promote than the vast majority of campaigns he worked on. Internal promotion was difficult in his line of work; the way forward was to put together campaigns that people in the business noticed. Get noticed, and get headhunted. It was as simple as that.
chapter six Ponderings on Love
While Flin was lying in his bed and giving himself a talking to, Geordie was trying to relax in his nightly bath. This had become an important part of his day for several reasons. Firstly, he never slept well if he missed out on this ritual: he hated feeling soiled and grimy and especially loathed having to get under his duvet with dirty feet (if he ever had to forgo his bath, he at least made sure his feet were clean). Secondly, he loved lying in warm soothing water and reading. It enabled him to relax after the rigours of the day and he kept a stash of Tintins, Asterix and rugby magazines for this purpose. Recently he’d adopted the additional habit of taking a cup of tea in with him – Earl Grey with one lump of sugar and just a dash of milk was how he liked it. He’d discovered drinking caffeine never kept him awake; if anything it merely aided relaxation and so quickened sleep.
Surrounded by mountains of bubbles and sipping tea from a new mug bought for the new house, Geordie was trying to read King Ottakar’s Sceptre, but found his mind wandering. He could not stop thinking about Molly. Jessica had told him to wait a few days before phoning and now he knew the moment was approaching. God, he so hoped it would all work out. The very thought of lifting the receiver and dialling filled him with nerves. He couldn’t remember ever having felt like this before. No girl in the past had ever caused him such a sense of nervous anticipation. He thought about his past girlfriends. How he’d left Nadia in Argentina then tried to see Nell again once he’d come back from his travels. By that stage, she’d long got over him and was going out with a lawyer with red hair. Then he suddenly remembered his first girlfriend and smiled to himself at the thought. Geordie supposed he must have been about fifteen, just before O levels, and he and Flin had just started smoking and trying to look cool. The two of them had gone to a local girls’ school social and had ended up snogging two girls called Vicky and Clarissa. He’d followed Vicky around all evening and in retrospect it was clear she’d been keen for him to make a move. But he had never snogged anyone before and his intense fear of rejection had made him hold back until, clearly despairing of ever making her conquest, she’d grabbed his collar and shoved her tongue in his mouth. He could remember it all so clearly. Flin, much to Geordie’s irritation, had snogged several times before then, and had wrapped up the deal with Clarissa early on in the evening. At the end of the party they compared notes and Geordie had felt ecstatic, not so much because of the sexual pleasure, but more due to relief that he had crossed this teenage hurdle.
He’d gone out with Vicky for about three weeks. At one point, Flin and he had taken the girls to the fair and had swaggered about in trenchcoats bought from the flea market, smoking Marlboro reds. Whizzing around in the Waltzer he’d tried to remain unfazed, despite feeling nauseous, while the girls screamed and laughed, their hair across their faces and getting caught in their wide-open mouths. Between the strutting and prancing, though, there’d not been much sexual activity: a grope of a breast and more snogging, but definitely no activity below the waistline. Not that surprising really – there simply wasn’t a lot of opportunity for clandestine meetings and one day he’d received a letter from Vicky, in handwriting considerably more mature than his, announcing that they were drifting apart and therefore she wanted to finish it. Geordie had never realized they’d been that close. Flin had a similar letter from Clarissa on the same day.
Thereafter the main opportunity for meeting girls had been at parties held during school holidays at the racecourse in Salisbury. Such functions provided three clear aims for Geordie, Flin and their mates: get very drunk, ask the DJ for obscure and thus very cool tracks, and pull a girl. It was on one of these occasions that Flin beat him to the next great hurdle of life. Up until then neither of them had talked about it. They discussed sex and girls all the time, but since neither of them had actually slept with anyone at that stage, they always skirted over the precise details of any sexual conquests. That night, however, while waiting for Flin’s father to come and pick them up, Flin had been cock-a-hoop.
‘What a great fucking party that was,’ he said ecstatically and then turned to Geordie and added with great deliberation: ‘literally.’ Geordie clearly remembered Flin’s smug expression.
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Well, I, er, got my oats, didn’t I?’
‘No way!’
‘Way, man, you better believe it. I shagged Sophie Stewart by the edge of the grandstand.’ Geordie had felt intensely jealous, infuriated that his friend had one up on him. From then on it had seemed of paramount importance that he lose his own virginity as quickly as possible.
He went back to reading his Tintin wistfully. Those days had been fun. No careers to worry about and the future seemed all mapped out. How times had changed. Now he was developing lines on his face. And when he’d last had his hair cut, he’d discovered some grey amongst the otherwise blond locks. And what was even worse, he had a sneaking suspicion his hair was thinning a little. His golden youth was fading.
The following evening, he announced to Flin and Jessica that the time had come to phone Molly.
‘Do you want us to make ourselves scarce? I’d hate to put you off,’ offered Jessica helpfully.
Geordie thanked her – he could feel his heart beating loudly enough without having the other two there to distract and make him feel even more nervous.
‘Do you think we should listen in?’ Flin suggested to Jessica in the hall.
‘Don’t be so rotten, Flin. Come on, leave him to it.’
They pressed their ears to the door.
It was so embarrassing making the first call. Geordie knew that she knew that he fancied her, otherwise he wouldn’t be calling. But at the same time, they both had to pretend that this was not so obviously the case. With a deep breath he rang the number. Come on, come on, he thought impatiently as the phone began to ring with no response. After about ten rings, there was an answer.
‘Hi! Molly?’ Geordie said, quick as a shot.
‘No, sorry, this is Lizzie. Molly’s not here.’
‘Oh, um, sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault.’ Smart-arse, thought Geordie, sending a false laugh down the line.
‘Well, could I leave a message for her please?’
‘Sure – just let me find a pen.’ Geordie could hear the receiver being put down and some rattling about from the other end. ‘Fire away.’
‘Could you ask her to call Geordie.’
‘Oh yes, Geordie. Sure thing. She met you the other night, didn’t she? I was wondering when you’d call.’
Geordie had absolutely no idea how to respond to such brazen upfrontness. ‘Were you? Well, if you could ask her to call me that would be great. I’m in all night. Thanks a lot.’
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
‘Am I?’ Geordie really was too taken aback.
‘Your number.’
He told her and said goodbye and then slowly stomped through to the kitchen.
‘Well?’ asked Flin, in an innocent tone.
Geordie relayed his conversation with Lizzie. He thought it a good sign that Molly had obviously mentioned him to her, and felt encouraged.
‘That’s fantastic. She’s clearly been waiting for you to call. She must be keen, darling, take it from me,’ Jessica assured him.
‘Are you sure? That’s good, is it?’
‘Definitely.’
An hour later they were all eating their way through a ready-to-cook Thai montage meal when the phone rang.
‘That’ll be it, old sport,’ said Flin, patting Geordie on the back. It was. Geordie’s mind raced. He felt quite heady with excitement.
‘Hello, Geordie. It’s Molly. Sorry I wasn’t in when you called earlier.’
‘It doesn’t matter at all. Thanks for phoning back. How are you?’
‘Fine, thank you. How are you?’
‘Good, thanks, great. Molly?’
‘Geordie.’
‘I was wondering whether you might be around on Saturday afternoon.’
‘No, I’m not. No, hang on a minute, that’s Sunday. Yes, I am.’
‘I thought it might be fun to do something.’
‘OK, sure.’
So far, so good.
Geordie gingerly suggested that they meet in Richmond – he had thought it might be romantic to walk along the river, have lunch and maybe stop in at Ham House. Much to his delight, Molly agreed and arranged to meet him at Richmond station at midday.
After ringing off, Geordie clenched his fist in triumph. ‘Yes, you little beauty!’ he shouted. She must be keen. Well, quite keen. She must be, she must be. It was only Monday. Five days to contain his excitement. He prayed it would be sunny.
His Thai was almost cold and both Flin and Jessica had finished theirs.
‘Just what I need,’ said Flin ruefully, ‘a delirious loved-up housemate.’
‘This is very thrilling,’ announced Jessica, then thought of her own situation. Despite her vows, she’d enjoyed Tommy’s attentions. Perhaps she would go to the cricket match on Saturday and see him then. She could ask Lucie to come with her and then she’d have someone to talk to while the boys were fielding. Cricket matches could be quite fun if it was a warm and sunny day and there were plenty of people she knew. Add a bottle of wine or two and it made for quite a relaxing day out. She felt rather pleased with her plan, and smiled to herself at the prospect.
chapter seven Money – Or the Lack of It
Despite the enormity of the events that had occurred to him since he’d last been in the office, Flin had arrived back at work to discover nothing much had changed; he felt as though he’d never been away. Thanks to Tiffany, both his e-mail and voicemail had been regularly checked and his in-tray neatly sorted. She was away his first day back, but on her return had made a beeline for his desk and flashed him one of her huge dimpled grins.
‘Hi, you’re back! How was it? I’ve been itching to know.’
‘It was terrible. Worse than terrible,’ he confessed, the humiliation returning once again.
‘No way – why?’ She was sitting on the edge of his desk, her out-sized shirtsleeves reaching her knuckles, and thick rubber-soled pumps dangling from the end of her legs.
‘I don’t know if I can tell you. I’m too embarrassed.’ He was too, but somehow couldn’t help smiling at her look of utter incredulity.
‘Oh, Flin, you have to!’
He acquiesced, giving her the Geordie Heavily Edited Version. ‘So as you can imagine, I’m almost glad to be back at work.’
‘I’m so sorry. What a bitch – honestly.’ She bit her bottom lip for a moment, then added, ‘Well, it’s nice to have you back. It’s been really boring without you.’
Her sincerity was genuine and spontaneous. Flin felt cheered – this was the nicest thing anyone had said to him in a long time. ‘Thank you – and thanks for clearing the deck.’
‘Oh, no problem,’ she said, then trotted off to her own desk.
No one else really probed him too much about his holiday. Martina had said, ‘Wow! You look really brown!’ but didn’t actually ask him whether he’d enjoyed himself or not and by lunchtime his being away was old news and quite forgotten.
He had also phoned his bank to order new cards and made an arrangement to take out thirty pounds from his nearest branch. It was a sum unlikely to last him a week, but Flin hoped it would at least encourage him to try and be a bit frugal. Noticing a day later that two-thirds had already gone, he phoned his bank again to check his balance. He wished he hadn’t – just twenty-six pounds and eleven pence left until he was up to his overdraft limit. This revelation plunged him into renewed gloom. He knew he’d spent a lot of what he’d saved while being at his sister’s on the holiday, but was sure he had at the very least in excess of a hundred pounds. How could he be so far out? It was depressing but, none the less, he was confident he could pull through until pay-day, so long as there was no extra drain on his resources.
‘I’m broke too, if it’s any consolation,’ Tiffany told him later.
‘Really?’ Flin had never really given much thought to anyone else having cash crises. Obviously Tiffany earned less than him, being only an assistant publicist, but he just assumed everyone else was better than him at looking after their money. Hearing Tiffany’s tales of financial strife rather cheered him up, he shamefully realized. A partner in debt, a fellow money-mismanager. He had always felt he was the abnormal one among his group of friends; they all seemed to live their lives with consummate ease on what they either earned or had inherited.
Geordie arrived back shortly after him that evening and quickly brought up the subject of outstanding bills.
‘We’ve got to pay the gas, electricity and phone connection fee, I’m afraid. Here,’ he said, handing Flin the letters. ‘Sorry, but it always costs a bit to get everything set up in a new house.’
‘So how much do I need to pay?’
‘Your share is forty-eight pounds, I think. We really should send it off tomorrow. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.’
Flin felt sick. ‘The problem is, old man, I don’t actually have forty-eight pounds. I’ve got thirty-six quid to last me nine days and ten of that is in cash. Can’t we wait for a final notice before paying these?’ Why did Geordie always have to be so organized about such things, and why did he always have to make him feel so bad about being poverty stricken?