Seriously, I think, as I sit down in the corner of the café at the end of my road. I work hard all week, and half the weekend, and my reward is to meet Sonja for a Saturday afternoon coffee and then Freya for Sunday dinner with Dan and Lizzie.
At least the café does excellent coffee.
‘Jake.’ Sonja is a vision in head-to-toe electric blue today.
I stand to greet her and she pulls me into a particularly close perfume-infused hug and plants actual kisses onto my cheeks rather than the distant air ones I would have expected.
I kiss the air rather than her and say, ‘Hello, Sonja.’
‘Howareyou?’ She releases me and sits down with a big swish. A further wave of strongly perfumed scent hits me.
I’m still trying to work out what it reminds me of when she asks, ‘Have you spoken to Freya today?’
‘Nope.’ Freya and I are not on friendly text-chat terms. Especially since she sent me a message earlier in the week calling me a weasel and I didn’t reply. It was obviously a reaction to the newspaper article that ran that day reiterating my thoughts on romance, which happened to name-check Freya (them not me, but it might as well have been me). The interview actuallyhappened the day after the TV show but they only ran it this week (without telling me that they were doing it then; I presume they were waiting to see whether the challenge took off with the public). I was only reiterating exactly what I said on the show, no more no less, and I do want to explain that, plus the timing, to Freya, but I’ve had an insanely busy week so I thought it would be best just to tell her when I see her tomorrow with Dan and Lizzie.
‘I’ll fill you in, then.’ Sonja waves her menu at the man behind the counter. ‘We’re going to send you on your bonding weekend sooner rather than later and I’d love to know all your personal likes and dislikes so we can give you the best weekend we possibly can.’
She’s interrupted by the waiter, who’s ready to take our order, which gives me a moment to think.
I have the strong impression that Sonja puts Sonja’s interests first at all times. She’s looking for good television, not trying to give Freya and me a lovely weekend away together. I wouldn’t put it past her to try to give us a terrible weekend because surely that would make better television.
I think I would like Sonja to know as little about me as possible.
I spend the next fifteen minutes batting all her questions away while I drink a latte and she alternates between taking reluctant sips of kale and carrot juice and gulping down hot chocolate as though it’s the nectar to end all nectars.
Eventually, she gets visibly irritated.
‘Jake. Are you being deliberately obstructive?’
‘Not at all,’ I lie. ‘I just don’t reallyhavestrong preferences either way. I’m very busy. I work very long hours. No real time for anything else.’
‘Right.’ She bites her lower lip and bats her eyelids and I blink. ‘Am I right in thinking there’s nothing at all between you and Freya?’
I nod, slightly alarmed by the way she’s reaching across the table now and clasping my arm.
‘In that case, when you get back from your weekend away, maybe we could meet one evening, and I could try to help youdevelopsome preferences.’
‘That would begreat,’ I lie, very heartily. ‘If I have time. Definitely.’
For fuck’s sake.
Nogood whatsoever has come of going on that TV show.
Once I’ve escaped Sonja’s clutches, the rest of Saturday – watching football with a few friends – is good, as is the first part of my Sunday.
I have a rare lie-in and then go over to my parents’ to take Max out for a drive. The serious car crash he was involved in a few years ago means he is now in a wheelchair. My parents are wonderful and devoted and very youthful for their age, but are approaching seventy now, and I’m always conscious that I need to be in a position to give Max a home with me when my parents can no longer look after him on a daily basis, which means working as hard as I can to be on the best financial footing I can be.
I also, obviously, have a fairly constant feeling of guilt, a sense of ‘how come this awful thing happened to him and not me’ accompanied by a determination to live the life I get to have as fully as I can, kind of in honour of Max, and an equally strongwish to do my best to inject as much happiness as I can into his life.
I take him for a drive to Richmond Park, where we go up to King Henry’s Mound to look at the views from there, which he always likes. As we go, I tell him the latest on work, the challenge, the frankly weird art-embroidery evening, and how Freya thinks I’m a weasel. I also admit that I doreallywish I’d just kept my thoughts to myself when we did the TV show, because if I hadn’t said anything then none of this would have happened.
‘You’re an idiot,’ Max tells me.
‘I think you’re right. I’m going to have to complete the challenge, though.’
‘Yes. And the upside is that I’m enjoying watching you on TV. The montages aregreat.’
‘Ha.’ I give his shoulder a gentle punch. ‘At leastsomeone’s deriving enjoyment from this whole situation.’
