Page 19 of Just for the Season

I stare at him.

‘I’m acting like a boyfriend,’ he says in answer to my unspoken question, about why on earth he’s suddenly behaving like that.

‘Really?’ I raise an eyebrow. Or maybe two. I’m finding it hard to be fully in control of my face right now. I would kill to be able to just crawl into bed. I hate alcohol. I’m never drinking again. I’m definitely still a bit drunk and also already quite hungover. Torture. I might not be in charge of my face but I do know that Marcus looks nothing like a boyfriend. He just looks crazy. Or like a really bad actor. ‘Only if the boyfriend in question is trying to look weird,’ I tell him. ‘You need to stop doing that.’

‘And do what, though?’

‘I mean, just look like a regular person hanging with their regular girlfriend at a regular party.’

‘What does that look like, though?’

I sigh. ‘Just… I mean, just don’t do anything.’

‘Like…?’ And then he stands completely still.

‘No. Now you look weird in a different way. Relax.’

‘Of course I look weird. This is a weird situation.’

‘No it isn’t.’ Why did I have to land on the worst method actor in the world when I chose my fake boyfriend for the evening? ‘Forget about the whole fake-romance thing and let’s just have a normal, regular conversation.’ I close my eyes for a moment because Marcus is just making my headache worse. ‘Maybe we could sit down over there.’

I move over to a sofa in the corner of the room and sink down onto it, relieved not to have to stand up any more.

‘You seem a lot more sober now,’ he says, sitting a good metre away from me.

‘Yep. Sober enough to realise that I should apologise to you and also that I’m really sorry but could you sit a little closer to me? Like at the moment you look as though accidentally touching my knee with yours would be like putting your bare skin against a nettle or something.’

‘Yeah, well, I… yep, okay, got it.’ He shifts a bit nearer to me, looking exactly like he’s trying to avoid a stinging nettle.

I start giggling.

He raises his eyebrows.

‘I’ve never seen someone so reluctant to come within a foot of me, and it’s very funny.’ I hiccup. ‘Ow.’ I hiccup again. ‘Ow. I didn’t know hiccups could hurt that much.’ I hiccup some more. ‘Ow, ow, ow.’

‘Are you okay?’ Marcus leans over and gives me an awkward little pat on the back.

‘Yes, thank you. I just have hiccups for some reason.’

‘Hmm. I wonder whether it could possibly have anything to do with the bucket of champagne you downed earlier in the evening.’

‘Maybe, but in my defence this is my first time properly out after a triple whammy: big break-up, job loss and home loss.’ I’m trying to speak in a dignified manner but it’s tricky when you can’t stop doing huge hiccups, which really hurt between my ribs.

‘Getting drunk does always solve a problem.’

‘Seriously. Are you always this unsympathetic and sanctimonious?’ I glare at him, and then hiccup again.

‘Sorry. What you told me about what happened to you did sound awful. Sorry.’ He does actually look quite penitent. Then he says, ‘I have to point out in my defence that I am very helpfully being your fake boyfriend this evening.’

‘Very true.’ I look at him for a moment, hiccup a couple of times, and then put my hand out. ‘Truce?’

‘Truce.’ He smiles at me – he has a really nice smile, which I haven’t actually seen before; when he wants a real girlfriend he’ll get one very easily – and then shakes my hand. Then he leans his head towards mine and says, ‘Do you think it looks weird for a couple to shake hands? Your grandmother keeps checking on us out of the corner of her eye in quite an obvious way.’

‘Hmm, maybe it does look weird.’

‘Should we… perhaps I should… should I – briefly – put my arm round your shoulders?’

I start giggling again.