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I thought her boyfriend probably wasn’t coming over tonight, then; Armani suits and ready meals didn’t really go. I went back inside my flat, shoved the tools in the kitchen and grabbed a beer. I had a taste for wine now but didn’t have any, so Red Stripe it was.
Slumping in front of the TV, I flicked aimlessly through about 250 channels. I was still avoiding anything war-related as it reminded me of the Netflix audition and of Samuel, who now I’d never get to play.
My mobile rang.
‘Hey.’
‘It’s Luke.’
‘I know.’
Luke could not seem to grasp the concept that caller ID was a thing that everyone had and therefore he no longer needed to announce himself as though he was making a telephone call circa 1974.
‘What’s up?’ I said.
He was at the pub; I could hear the chatter and clink of glasses coming from the kitchen.
‘What are you doing tomorrow night?’ he asked.
‘Working. As you well know, because you did the rota,’ I replied, sinking about half a can of beer in one.
‘You’re only working till six,’ said Luke. ‘So afterwards, come to mine for dinner. Donna’s invited a few people round.’
‘As long as these friends of Donna’s don’t include anyone she’s trying to fix me up with,’ I warned him.
I knew what the pair of them were like. Their hearts were in the right place, but honestly, I hated it when they tried to play matchmaker.
‘Well there is someone,’ said Luke, sounding sheepish.
I rolled my eyes. I knew it.
‘This friend of hers. Her name’s Janine. She saw you on TV apparently and thinks you’re fit.’
‘She hasn’t seen me in real life, has she? She might change her mind then.’
And when she realised I was less TV star and more jobbing actor.
‘She’s very pretty,’ added Luke. ‘She’s a primary school teacher. You know, nice and stable. She’d be good for you.’
I carried on flicking through Netflix, only half listening.
‘And Donna’s going to put a nice spread on,’ said Luke. ‘Lots of Cava to go with it. Come on, it’ll be a laugh.’
I sighed. It did actually sound quite nice. Donna and Luke were always good company – there was never any drama with those two, they just accepted each other for what they were, limitations and all. In my experience, the relationships I ended up in weren’t like that. I never quite knew how to be myself – sometimes it felt as though I was putting on a show, playing the part of whoever it was I thought they’d want me to be. Luke said I just hadn’t met the right person yet, but it was difficult to imagine that this ‘right person’ even existed.
My last girlfriend (not that I’d really call her that, since we’d never made it official) of any note was in my second year at drama school. Nathalie had been in the year above and had basically treated me more like a lackey than a boyfriend, which I’d pathetically gone along with for ages before coming to my senses and ending it, at which point she professed to be heartbroken. It had a been a nightmare, and a distraction I’d vowed never to repeat, especially not when I was paying a small fortune to be there. I thought that perhaps, because I was one of the only students whose parents weren’t dolling out the money for fees, living expenses and anything else their little darlings required, the stakes seemed a little bit higher for me than they were for most other people. And when it came down to it, acting was more important to me than a relationship. Certainly, back then, and there’d been nothing to change my opinion on that thus far.
‘OK, I’ll come,’ I said. ‘But I do not, and I repeat DO NOT, want to be fixed up with anyone.’
I was up for a bit of fun, it wasn’t like I didn’t like women, but I felt much more comfortable if I was in the sort of relationship that wasn’t really a relationship. Then it didn’t matter so much what they thought of me, did it? I didn’t feel that intense pressure to please them, which was a dynamic that took me right back to trying to please my dad, a pointless and exhausting pursuit.
There was silence on the other end of the line.
‘Are you still there?’ I asked. It wasn’t like Luke to be stuck for something to say.
‘I know I’m starting to sound a bit repetitive, but I’m worried about you, Jack,’ he said quietly.
This was dangerously emotional territory for Luke, and for me, too – the closest we’d got to opening up to each other was when we’d drunk half a bottle of whisky each and had confided in one another about how disappointed our parents were in us. We hadn’t gone into great detail, mind you, but there’d been a mutual understanding that we’d had to work things out for ourselves. Or, more accurately, Luke had worked things out for himself and I still had a lot to learn.
