“Yeah, it’s nice. I like the location, but the hot water still isn’t fixed and—”
“That’s not good enough. Give me the landlord’s number,” she rummages in her handbag for her phone.
“Jesus, Mum, no. I’m twenty-nine. I’m not having my mother call up on my behalf.”
“Then get a plumber in yourself. We will pay for it if you can’t afford it.”
“I can afford a plumber,” I tut back.
“Then get it fixed. It’s nearly winter. You can’t keep having cold showers or no heating.” Mum is seconds away from wagging a finger at me and so I endeavour to change the subject.
“I promise I will, okay?” I then look behind my mum’s head at Aisha and Nick standing side-by-side with their arms around each other. “She’s so happy, isn’t she?”
Mum turns and nods, clearly touched by what she sees. “He’s a good man. Good family. You should see his aunt’s kitchen and the size of her Kitchen Aid mixer!” Mum tells me with a lot of excitement.
I smile and link my arm into hers as we walk back towards everyone. “Kitchen appliances are an excellent way to assess one’s future in-laws,” I joke but my mother nods solemnly, wholeheartedly agreeing.
After saying a brief hello to my father who then leaves with Nick to fetch the cake, I watch Mum and Aisha fight over the placement of dishes, my mother keen to ensure a proportionate ratio of English and Indian dishes across the whole table. I’m about to intervene to tell them it really doesn’t matter when Hannah and Sally sidle up to me, still holding hands.
“How have you been, Meen’?” Hannah asks.
I manage to contain my grimace – I think – upon hearing her call me that nickname and I plaster a smile firmly on my face as I reply, “Fine, busy with work.”
“Aisha just mentioned you have a date coming tonight,” Hannah says and I don’t know why but her knowing this makes my shoulders relax and drop.
“Yeah, he should be here any minute,” I say, glancing quickly at the door, something I now realise I’ve been doing a lot since I got here.
“Wait…he?” Hannah’s jaw drops. Sally’s eyes dart between us, looking confused.
Fuck.
I think about how to play this. I could just say he’s a friend. I could just give up on the whole fake dating thing before it descends into the kind of chaos I really don’t need in my life. It would be the easier thing to do, after all, and no doubt it would also make Charlie’s life easier too. My parents don’t have any expectations and Aisha is completely clued up as to what’s really going on. Maybe it’s silly for me to keep up this pretence in front of Hannah. Maybe what I need to do to move past feeling so melancholy about not being in a relationship right now is to take ownership of my new single status. Yes, that’s what I’m going to do, I’m going to—
“There you are!” I hear Charlie’s voice from behind me. I turn and see him approaching us, a sunbeam of a smile on his face and his eyes fixed on me. He’s wearing blue jeans, a faded denim lightweight jacket I’ve not seen him wear before and under that a multi-coloured striped polo T-shirt. The T-shirt is tucked into his jeans which I find annoying and boyish and sort of adorable all at once. He looks like he just walked out of a queer-friendly GAP advert, and that he also just nipped into an off-licence because he’s holding a bottle in his hands too. A bottle of champagne. Jesus, why is he so useless at taking instructions? And yet, I’m not annoyed. Not really, because he looks so happy. Happy to be walking into a family function where he knows exactly one person. Happy to be here to celebrate my sister. Happy, maybe, to see me.
“Charlie,” I say, and then instantly rage at myself because of how breathy his name just sounded. I clear my throat. “Hi.”
“Hey, you,” he says and he stops abruptly in front of me. So abruptly it sort of makes his body sway on the spot and I can’t help but wonder if he stopped himself from getting closer, from leaning in and… I stop that line of thought immediately when I realise that I wanted him to lean in and… Nope. Not going to let my earlier panging influence my thoughts.
“Hi, I’m Charlie,” he says as he holds out his hand to Hannah and Sally, who are both staring at him like he’s got three heads. Sally is considerably quicker at getting herself together.
“Hello, I’m Sally.”
“Errr, hi. Hannah.”
I watch Charlie as recognition interrupts his smile. His gaze blinks over to me before he drops Hannah’s hand and I give him the smallest, curtest nod.
“Come here, you,” he says to me, his sunshine smile framed with those bracketing dimples in his cheeks and his blue eyes shining down at me. I see the intent in his face and I hear it in his words and I’m about to step away, to protest, to blurt out how we’re just friends, just colleagues, just like I was planning but he is too quick.
He moves. He swaps the champagne bottle from one hand to the other, shifts his body so it’s by my side, and then slides a hand around my waist. It lingers lightly on the top of my hip, his fingertips barely pressing down enough for me to feel it through the fabric of my dress. I don’t know why but I find the lightness of his touch irritating, aggravating, maddening, which is a feeling I have no time to analyse as I watch Hannah’s eyes widen as she stares at me like I’ve also now grown two extra heads.
“Hey,” I say as I turn my head to the side and look up at him. He grins at me, and I see something new in his smile. Pride. Charlie Atkinson is proud to have his arm around me.
And just like that, I realise now that my pang has faded. I am no longer panging.
Which is as annoying as fuck. Charlie is not the answer to this problem. No way.
Jesus, fuck. I hate PMS.
