A Girl Like You - A Girl Like You Part 6
Library

A Girl Like You Part 6

Robert replies: He could be your soulmate.

I narrow my eyes at the phone. Nice one, smartarse. I reply: Seriously. Should I fake a burst appendix?

From Robert: I'll call you in ten minutes. Have your phone out.

I head back with our drinks and sit down with a bright smile.

'Saturday was fun, huh?'

'I know! We got the overland to Victoria and then the train to South Kensington, and got off there by mistake instead of High Street Kensington, and-'

Hurry up, Robert, I think. Please hurry up. I'm trying to engage Josh on the marvellous subject of Wandsworth ('When the shopping centre was opened, it was the largest indoor shopping centre in Europe! That was 1971, of course . . . but it has all the shops I need now: Burtons, JD Sports, Primark . . .' 'Oh, I adore Primark!' I say, grateful to finally have something to say about Wandsworth), when my phone rings.

'It's my flatmate, I'm so sorry, I must get this,' I gabble. 'Hello?'

'Abigail, I've locked myself out of the flat,' says Robert.

'You've locked yourself out of the flat?' I repeat, very loudly and clearly.

'Yes, I have. And I need you to come and let me in.'

'You need me to come and let you in?'

'Yes. Fast. I'll be in the pub.'

'I'll be there as soon as I can!' I say, and turn apologetically to Josh. 'I'm so sorry, I have to go . . .'

'I had a great time,' Josh says. 'I'd love to see you again,' he stands up awkwardly and moves towards me. Cripes, he's not going to try and kiss me at 8.20 pm in a Central London bar, is he? I make myself all elbows putting on my jacket, and turn away whilst picking up my bag.

'That'd be great,' I lie, and smile at him. 'Don't worry about walking me to the tube. I'll be fine. No, no. Bye!'

Walk fast, woman, and don't look back.

Why bother to make dates when they're going to be that boring? Was I that boring when I was with Paulie? No, perish the thought.

Seriously, though: is dating always this difficult and/or dull? Why is everyone always talking about dating if it's this turgid? Life with Peter was a non-stop rave in comparison.

Do you think I'm being terribly mean? Look, I can't help it. Josh is a dweeb. He wasn't funny or interesting. I just don't fancy him. I did fancy Paulie, a bit. Having said that, Paulie got my name wrong and didn't make much effort even before my nervous meltdown. Hmm.

If you were me, would you get the tube home? Me neither.

I get in a black cab and start giggling to myself in the back. Not one but two bad dates! At least that one wasn't stressful. How silly the whole dating thing is! I mean, really. Oh well, experience equals confidence, right? I just oh, more texts.

From Henry: If you were a real friend you'd blend all my food from now on.

From Sophie: Wedding dress hell. I'm getting married in jeans. How's the date?

From Plum: Seeing the guy from The Westbourne tomorrow!! ARGH!

By the time I get to The Engineer, I'm in a really good mood. I walk in and see Rob in a corner talking to a very pretty girl with long dark hair. Interesting body language: she's leaning forward in her chair, and he's leaning right back. Something not fun is happening.

'Hi!' I say brightly, when I reach their table. The girl the tanned, glamorous type that you see on holiday, the kind with no body fat and improbably full lips turns towards me, and I see that she's been crying. Her long fingers are curled around tatty little tissues. She seems unable to speak.

'This is Antonia,' says Robert shortly. I look at him, and back at her. His face is completely closed, giving nothing away. 'I'm Abigail, Robert's flatmate,' I say. She blinks and looks away. 'I'll get a . . . bottle,' I add, and turn towards the bar. Yikes. This is going to be awkward. Third-wheel-tastic. Should I just leave? I pretend to look around the bar and see Antonia storming out. Problem solved.

By the time I get back with the wine, Robert has sprawled himself over the two seats. He has a habit of taking up all the space at a table, or a sofa, or anywhere, I've noticed. Anyone else feels like they're encroaching on his territory just by being in the same room. I push his feet off the chair with my knee, sit down with a dramatic flourish, and pour us each a glass of red. I feel slightly euphoric to have got away from Josh From HR so easily.

'You need to shave,' I say.

'So, did you break his heart?' replies Robert, ignoring my shaving comment. I notice again how green and steady his eyes are. He really nails the whole self-assured eye contact thing.

'I don't think so. We had nothing to say to each other.' I sigh. 'My second date in my whole life was a dweeb. And the first was a fucknuckle.'

'You now think Bam-Bou Paulie was a fucknuckle?' says Robert in surprise, his eyes lighting up in amusement.

'I'm always more discerning in retrospect.'

'Aren't we all, Abigail darling?'

'I'm not your darling. You clearly just broke your darling's heart.'

'Oh, no grief, please . . . she flew here from Milan. I didn't ask her to. Fucking nightmare.'

'I expect you led her on,' I say.

'I did not,' he says defensively, running his hands through his hair. 'I never do, I always say "this is just casual" and then before you know it, it's where-is-this-going, what-am-I, and what-do-you-take-me-for . . .'

'How awful it must be when the easy sex starts asking hard questions.'

'Quite. I admit, it got a little too serious with Antonia . . . I mean, that's been going on for months. My bad.'

I snort with laughter.

'But the rest of the time, I'm totally honest that I am not looking for, uh, anything, and I end it within a month. I mean, that doesn't make me a bad guy, does it?'

'You're such a cliche.'

'How amusing, because you're not at all. Newly single girl, late 20s, trying to bag a boyfriend . . .'

'Shut up. And I'm not trying to "bag a boyfriend". I'm just trying to survive singledom and make up for lost time.'

'I've given you a few tips. You'll be fine.'

'Tonight was easy,' I admit. 'I had no problem walking out. I felt totally in control.'

'Of course, Christ, you should always feel in control,' says Robert in surprise.

I take out my notebook and write Stay in control on the list. Robert watches me with a bemused look on his face. As I look up our eyes meet, and I raise an eyebrow at him.

'Nice dress by the way. It suits you.'

'But what if I meet someone I like?' I don't want to talk about my dress, I want to talk about my dating.

'Then you see them as much as you want. Whatever blows your hair back. The point is, you're calling the shots.'

I hear my phone beep from my bag. 'Ooh! Text,' I say excitedly, reaching for my bag. 'It's the guy I met at The Cow on Sunday! Skinny Jeans guy!'

'What's he say?' he asks, trying to read my tiny phone screen. 'I haven't seen a Nokia like that since Britney was a virgin.'

'I like this phone, why change?' I say, and clear my throat. 'Ahem! He says . . . Princess Malbec Of The Cow. I need a recommendation for a wine bar. You seem like the boozy type who'd know somewhere good. Any ideas?' I make an excited-grin face at Robert. 'What should I reply?'

'Well, what do you want to say?'

'Well, I'm going to ask where he lives, and then what area he wants to go to. That will help me narrow it down, right? And then I'm going to tell him I'm most certainly not the boozy type, thank you very much . . .'

'No, no, no. Don't jump, don't be serious, don't respond to every point, it's too anxious. And don't ask so many questions. You're in control, remember?'

'OK,' I say, and take a long drink of wine. I like the way that Robert doesn't make me feel too stupid for not knowing this stuff. 'Like . . . umm . . . Are you asking me out? Before I recommend anything, I want to know which area, and when . . .'

'No, no, that's still jumping.'

I bury my face in my hands and squeal. 'This is hard! I can't play this game . . .'

'You keep saying that, but you seem to be learning quite fast,' says Robert drily.

I peer at him through my fingers. 'What would you say, then . . .?'

'I'd wait for a bit, then say something like: I'm flattered to be your drinker of choice. Mention my name at Negozio Classica on Portobello Road and they'll look after you.'

'That's so arrogant! And I've never even heard of that place. And shouldn't I say what time?'

'Arrogance is good. Keeps him on his toes. Let him take care of the details. Don't be obvious. It's needy.'

'But . . .'

'Send it.'

I obediently tap it in, reading aloud as I go, and press 'send' before I can think about it. Goodbye little text. God speed.

'Tell me more about Antonia.'

Robert sighs and rubs his eyes. 'I met her in Croatia last summer. She's beautiful. And crazy . . . We had a hedonistic week drinking and sleeping and swimming all day, staying on her dad's boat . . .'

'Seriously. What happened?'

'That's exactly what happened,' he says in surprise.

Wow. That's unlike any holiday I've ever had. Peter and I went on a boat trip off the coast of Majorca once, but Peter was seasick and I got a headache and we were only out for six hours, anyway. Then he went to bed and I lay by the hotel pool and watched other people having a good holiday. God! Enough about Peter.

I pause, as a dark-haired girl in a tiny black dress and huge black boots walks past us to the bar. She's trying to give Robert some intense eye contact as she passes, but unusually he's oblivious.

'Do women always just present themselves to you on a scent-spritzed platter?'

'Sorry?'

'Nothing. So, you fell in lust with her, then what?'

He shrugs. 'We've been stealing weekends together here and there, but it was never going to last, was it? She lives in Milan, for God's sake . . .' He shakes his head. 'I'm surprised she's surprised, if you know what I mean.'

'I don't think women think like that.'

'Well, guys do.'

'Do you want to know what I think?'

'If it's anything other than that I should end it, no.'

'You don't have to be such a bastard about it. I think you need to make her feel better. Did you tell her you're sorry?'

'Never apologise, never explain.'

I'm about to retort when my phone beeps.

'Ooh!' I read the text aloud. 'For my safety, you should probably escort me. Negozio Classica, tomorrow, 8 pm? What should I say?'

Robert reads it. 'Short notice. Do you want to see him?'

'Yes . . .' I say, thinking about Skinny Jeans' blue eyes and engagingly bold manner. 'I think so. Yes.'

'Leave it for twenty minutes. Then text him back "sounds good, see you there".'

'Shouldn't I say something funny?'

'Leave him wanting more. And don't use an exclamation mark or a smiley face.'

'Like I would!' I exclaim. We sit in silence for a few moments. I might have used an exclamation mark, actually. 'I wonder if I'll ever date someone I actually like,' I say. 'Instead of just saying "yes" to any random man I meet.'

'Course you will. But you have to slay a lot of dragons to get to the princess, that's what my mother always says.'

'What a peach.'

'She is,' he agrees.

'I have to use the euphemism.'

'You know, "loo" isn't a dirty word. You can even say "bathroom" or "toilet".'

By the time we finish the wine, I've sent the second pre-agreed text to Skinny Jeans, and receive a reply as we're contemplating getting a second bottle.