Harriet Evans - A Hopeless Romantic

So, shivering on that cold balcony on New Year’s Eve, as Jo and Chris kissed each other, and Paddy danced crazily and inappropriately with a scared-looking cousin of Chris’s, and Simon charmed the pants – literally – off the brunette, Laura clenched her fist, and went to bed that night with a new iron resolve. Three weeks after her ‘thing’ with Dan had begun, but months after she had realised that he was the one for her, she had to do something about it. Even now, nearly two months later, she remembered it clearly. It kept coming back into her head like a drumbeat.

She had to know, she had to sort this thing out, because somewhere in her lovesick, crazy brain was a small voice telling her that this wasn’t how normal people behaved, fell in love and that small voice had been getting louder and louder since before Christmas until now, two months afterwards, it was like a foghorn in her ear. She and Dan had to take the next step. Well, Dan had to take the next step and finish with Amy, then Laura and Dan had to take the step after that, which was to work out if they could be together.

So they would go to Kenwood House on this cold February Saturday, with the hot chocolate/gloves/yew trees, and during that time they would talk, and Laura would explain, calmly and clearly, that Dan had to sort his situation out, otherwise they couldn’t be together any more.

‘Talk,’ Dan said. ‘Yes, talk.’ He looked at her, their fingers still entwined. Laura smiled at him, took the toast out of his mouth, put the tray down on the floor, reached for him, and they crawled back under the duvet, muffling their laughter, and then, a while later, their moans as they came together again and any further discussion was put aside for the moment.

An hour later, Laura emerged from her room, carrying the teapot, and padded into the kitchen in her bare feet. Paddy was sitting at the little table by the French window, gazing out at the view. Their flat was in a slightly cramped, dodgy Victorian mansion block, and had interesting design features – the French window, for example, opened not onto a charming balcony with pots of geraniums and basil, but a sheer drop down four floors. The boiler was in Paddy’s bedroom, and the sitting room had three electricity sockets, but all right next to each other, by the door, nowhere helpful like underneath the bay window where the television was. It was Paddy’s flat, bought for him with some help from his elderly parents, since he was a teacher at a school nearby and earned in a year what most bankers earn in a month. He and Laura were very happy there, though the water frequently turned itself off, the windows rattled, and the lino was curling because they had laid it themselves. Added to which Paddy had a mania for collecting interesting things from around the world, and so the flat was stuffed with a) painted gypsy floral watering cans, buckets, etc., b) elephants made of wicker he’d picked up travelling through Africa, and c) comic books.

Paddy didn’t look up as Laura came into the kitchen, humming to herself. ‘Morning,’ she said brightly. ‘How are you today, love?’

‘Fine,’ muttered Paddy bitterly. ‘Oh, just fine.’

‘Oh, right,’ said Laura, nonplussed. ‘Er, are you, though?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ Paddy told her. ‘I’ll survive,’ he spluttered into his tea. He stared moodily out of the window. Since he spent quite a lot of his leisure time doing this, Laura ignored him and put the mugs down on the counter.

‘What are you eating?’ she asked curiously.

‘I made scrambled eggs with tomatoes,’ said Paddy shortly. He gestured to the plate, which looked like pink brains. Paddy was an enthusiastic but disconcerting chef.

‘Oh,’ Laura lied. ‘It looks nice.’

She ran the mugs under the tap.

‘It’s not enough that Mia hasn’t answered any of my texts,’ Paddy said, picking up the thread after a few moments’ silence. Laura obediently swivelled round to listen. ‘I’ve texted her four times, why hasn’t she replied? Oh no. I have to sit in solitary silence, with CD:UK my only companion, and listen to my flatmate – who I’ve known since she was five – screaming with pleasure as some git rogers her senseless at eleven a.m. for about the fifteenth time that morning.’

Laura bit her lip to stop herself grinning. ‘Sorry.’ She went over and patted him on the shoulder. ‘I’ll make you some tea. Why don’t we all go into the sitting room and have some tea?’

‘No, thanks a bundle,’ said Paddy, pulling his tattered paisley dressing gown about him with an attempt at dignity. ‘I prefer to watch Saturday Kitchen on my own, thanks very much, not squashed up on the sofa with you and Mr Playaway whilst he tries to molest you under my very nose.’

‘OK, OK,’ said Laura. This was going to be tricky. Of course, no one knew about her and Dan – not yet anyway. She hadn’t even told Jo. But she’d had to tell Paddy because Dan always came to her place. She hated making him party to it and thereby making him lie. It wasn’t for long, and so far he’d been great, but…She filled the kettle and affected a tone of nonchalance. ‘Er…any plans for today?’

Paddy looked up suspiciously. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You know I have. We’re going out to lunch with Simon.’

‘Simon?’ Laura said in a tone of blankness. She pulled a mug off one of the hooks above the sink and examined it. ‘Urgh, this is dirty.’

‘Your brother Simon, who’s about to go to Peru for four months.’

Laura winced. Simon worked for a charity. He was taking time off from work to travel to Peru, volunteering for another charity.

Paddy went on, ‘And then you know perfectly well we’re going round to Jo’s because Chris is away and she wants a hand with painting the kitchen.’ He glared at her. ‘Oh my god, you’re piking. I can’t believe it.’

‘What?’ said Laura. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You lying bitch,’ said Paddy. ‘Go back in that bedroom, ease those chafed thighs onto the bed and tell Dan you’re not spending the day with him or whatever it is he’s suggested you do. You’re coming out to lunch.’

‘Honestly, Paddy, I had no idea,’ Laura pleaded with him, aware how weak she sounded. ‘Sure, Jo mentioned going round, but it was ages ago – I didn’t think it was a proper plan…no one emailed me about it this week – I thought it was a casual arrangement.’

‘Casual arrangement?’ Paddy repeated.

‘Yep,’ Laura said. ‘And lunch – hey, you’ll have a much better time without me there. You never see Simon on his own, you can really catch up. And stuff.’

Paddy looked at her, and Laura realised the atmosphere in the kitchen was no longer one of grumpy, amused sniping.

‘No, Laura,’ he said quietly. ‘That – that thing you’ve got next door with Dan. That’s a casual arrangement.’

‘No it’s not,’ said Laura in a small voice.

‘Oh god, you stupid girl,’ Paddy slapped his hand to his cheek. ‘I don’t care. Just don’t try and lie to me. It’s not a big deal, Laura, honestly. But –’ he held up his hand as Laura made to speak ‘– don’t lie to me. You know it was arranged ages ago. You, of all people.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Laura, feeling her chest tighten.

‘I mean, I’ve always thought you were a good person, someone I could trust, someone I could rely on. Thick and thin, and all that.’

‘Oh for god’s sake, Paddy,’ Laura said, her face reddening, feeling cross all of a sudden. ‘That’s such crap. It’s only lunch, get over it! I am – I am a good person. Dan – I – you know how I feel about him, don’t do this.’ The kitchen tap was encrusted with limescale and she wrenched it round to turn it on, running her finger around one of the mugs as she thought of what to say next.