Neal Doran - Dan Taylor Is Giving Up On Women

On Thursday evening I thought everything was under control.

On Friday I was certain I was woefully under-prepared.

What was I going to say? Why did my clothes all suddenly look so dull and old man-ish? Should I have got a haircut? Should I bring a present? What was I going to do about the prospect of social kissing when I arrived? What if she was taller than me? What if I really liked her?

These were questions I was still trying to deal with while I stood in Carl’s Fine Wines and Spirits just down from Rob and Hannah’s. I was wearing my work overcoat, my only non-work shoes, my least saggy-arsed jeans — cords were bringing back too many bad memories still — and the one shirt I felt fitted the bill as fashionable dinner party casual smart. I thought it also hinted at the wry intelligence of a kind and caring man who wanted to look good, but didn’t need to try too hard to prove himself.

It was blue.

‘All right,’ said Carl.

‘Hi!’ I choked back before returning hurriedly to browsing. Why did he have to pick now to get so chatty? I ducked away to the front of the shop to have a look at the state of the flowers, and whether I could hand them over to Hannah without it appearing more insulting than complimentary.

Should I get some for Niamh too?

Oh, God. Just thinking about questions like this was sending my internal temperature rocketing. I looked at my reflection in the glass of the chilled lagers cabinet. You need to calm down, relax, and just be natural, I told myself. It’s just a casual dinner. Angus and Sarah are going to be there too, to take the pressure off. She’s probably more scared of you than you are of her.

Aside from a mental image of my turning up to a date with a venomous spider, my internal pep talk did go some way to calming me down. I took a deep breath, and smiled and winked at my reflection. Which I think surprised the guy stretching across me to get his cans of lager.

Feeling guilty about not nurturing my friendship with Carl the offie owner, I tried to push things forward again while I was paying.

‘Busy evening?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, not bad, typical Friday.’

‘Right.’

I felt as if everything was back on track again as I left the shop with my wine and carnations, and headed to the dinner party.

‘Ooh, Kangaroo’s Pouch Shiraz! I’ve always loved that name since I saw the shouty Jesus bloke outside Sainsbury’s drinking it.’ Hannah gave me a peck on the cheek at the door as I handed over my off-licence purchases, and we headed up the stairs to their first-floor flat’s kitchen.

‘How are you doing, Dan? All set for your big night?’ she asked. ‘You look nice — and getting better at getting that deodorant on. Hardly any marks at all.’

In striking contrast to me, Hannah was looking cool and in control, in skinny twill trousers and a groovy print T-shirt, her hair pulled back off her face.

‘You’re looking good,’ I said. ‘Is that new?’

‘Why, yes, it is,’ she said, smiling and standing a little taller. ‘Thanks for noticing. Very observant.’

‘I saw the screwed-up Zara bag sticking out of the recycling out front, and took a guess,’ I confessed.

She smiled and shook her head gently.

‘Well, good work on the compliments, anyway,’ she said, patting my arm, ‘but maybe try to keep the rubbish bins out of it when Niamh gets here.’

‘Hey, sport!’ exclaimed Rob, emerging from the kitchen brandishing a tomato-stained wooden spoon and wearing his favourite ‘lady in saucy underwear’ cooking apron. ‘Feeling lucky? Eh? Eh? Eh?’

‘Be nice to him,’ ordered Hannah. ‘He’s a little nervous, and he’s brought me flowers, which is something no other man has done for me in living memory.’

‘If I came in with flowers, dollface, it’d just give away my guilt at my tawdry affairs,’ he replied.

‘I need a drink,’ I told Rob, ‘as a matter of some urgency.’

‘You’ve missed the cocktails, and we’re out of tonic. Beer or wine?’

Grabbing a seat in the cramped kitchen, I pondered the question. When Niamh arrived would holding a beer look too loutish? White wine a bit sissy? The process of elimination left me asking for a glass of red, although a T-free G and T did have its appeals.

‘So when do Angus and Sarah arrive?’ I asked.

‘Bit of a change of plan there,’ explained Rob. ‘They were all set to leave and Angus had a disaster with the canapés he was planning for Sarah’s touch rugby team coming over for their annual piss-up tomorrow. Their evening is now going to be spent de-veining prawns, and testing his filo.’

‘But, but they were my pressure valve, my lightning conductor… It’s going to be too intense with just the four of us!’ I said, nervously swigging my wine.

‘You’ll do fine, sweetheart,’ said Hannah. ‘It probably would have become pretty obvious what was going on anyway, even with Angus and Sarah here.’

‘Hang on a minute,’ I said, ‘what do you mean it’ll become obvious what’s going on? Niamh does know what’s happening, doesn’t she? She’s in on this already, right? You said about resolutions… It’s not like I’m involved in some kind of ambush here, am I?’

Rob and Hannah shared another one of their looks, conclusively informing me that an ambush was pretty much exactly what I was involved with here. I took a bigger swig of my drink.

‘It’ll be fine, Dan. It’s not a big surprise at all,’ said Hannah in her best reassuring tone. ‘She phoned feeling a bit gloomy and fed up with life, and I said we were having some friends over for dinner so why didn’t she come and we could catch up.’

‘A catch up? She thinks she’s coming for a quiet meal with her old pals to moan about her family and work, and she’s going to be stuck with me babbling at her over the Babah Ganoush?’

‘Bar-barh GanoOOOOSH,’ said Rob loudly as he continued tinkering with his tomatoey sauce, throwing various dried herbs into the pot.

‘Don’t worry, it won’t be like that at all,’ said Hannah, although the way she started gulping down her own drink made me think I’d put an element of doubt in her mind.

‘Did she even say she was looking for someone?’ I asked. ‘Oh, God, she’s going to look at me, and I’m going to have to sit there while her face registers the horror of the trap she’s walked into.’

‘You’ll be fine, sport,’ insisted Rob. ‘Wow her with your sense of HUMMUS.’

‘I didn’t say anything deliberately because I know she’s looking,’ explained Hannah. ‘But Niamh’s always been someone who likes things to develop organically.’

‘Which means she expects to have a load of shit dumped on her, and has to get by without any chemical assistance,’ said Rob.

‘That’s it, I’m off. I’ve just remembered I have to peel ten kilos of kumquats and feel up my pastry before my netball squad comes to tea tomorrow.’

Halfway to my feet I froze, and so did the others, as the doorbell rang.

‘Honestly, you’ll be fine,’ said Hannah, giving my shoulder a squeeze as she headed down the stairs to the front door. I’m not sure if it was her hand, or my entire body, that was shaking. Possibly both.

‘Let me have a look at you,’ said Rob as he topped up my empty glass. ‘Looking sharp, buddy. It’s not many people that can pull off that glowing red-wine-stained-teeth look.’

At the bottom of the stairs we could hear the door open and Hannah and Niamh greeting each other enthusiastically. Niamh had a soft, friendly voice, and I remember feeling, alongside the embarrassment and awkwardness, a sense of hope that maybe this could turn into something. This could be the story about how we got together for years to come — the night Mum fell for Dad, despite his having tzatziki spilt down his best shirt.