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Chapter 21
The speeches seem to go on forever, and it’s after nine o’clock when we finally start the drive home. As we head back towards Kent, I do some calculations in my head.
“What time does the fish and chip shop close?” I ask Toby.
“Ten o’clock, I think.”
I get my iPhone out and put Toby’s address into the navigation app.
“According to this, we won’t get back to yours until ten thirty,” I tell him. I’m feeling a bit grumpy now. The sandwich and tea have long worn off, and my stomach is rumbling fiercely. An idea comes to me.
“I tell you what. There’s a chippy near my flat that stays open late. It’s not quite as good as yours, but it’s OK. Why don’t we detour via Tunbridge Wells, have something to eat, and then I’ll come on with you to collect my car afterwards. What do you think? We’re practically going past my door on the way back to Sevenoaks, so it’s hardly out of the way.”
Toby considers my plan. “OK,” he says, after a few moments. “Let’s do that. I’ve never been to your flat.”
“Very few people have. This is a huge privilege for you, Toby. I hope you realise that?”
“Surely your boyfriends stayed over and saw it?”
“No. One or two came for coffee or lunch, but that’s it. I have a golden rule that nobody stays the night.”
“In that case, I am honoured,” he smiles.
He’s silent for a while, but I can sense his curiosity.
“It’s not a big deal,” I tell him. “I’m not hiding some huge trauma or anything. It’s just that my flat is my space, I have everything exactly as I like it, and I decided early on that I would keep it as a haven just for me. If I let someone stay over then, before I know it, there will be toothbrushes and mess in the bathroom, pants on the floor, and some guy’s hairy arse farting into my sofa when he’s not raiding my fridge. So, nobody stays the night, and only the special few are allowed across the threshold at all.”
“For someone who professes to like men, you have a very low opinion of them, you know that?”
“That’s not fair!”
“It is. You say you like men, but your generalisations about us are pretty critical. ‘Some guy’s hairy arse farting into my sofa’, that doesn’t sound very pro-men to me.”
I consider his words before replying.
“I do like men. I like their company and, not to put too fine a point on it, I mostly enjoy sex. Or, at least, I used to. It’s just that men can be extraordinarily inconsiderate and selfish in my experience. And it’s not just the normal things like leaving the loo seat up, although that drives me insane. It’s leaving stuff lying around, or not clearing up after themselves. I’ll give you an example. The last guy I went out with was called Mark. I met him through Tinder and, on the surface, he seemed perfect. He was good-looking, funny, attentive, and pretty good in the bedroom too. His flat was always immaculately clean, and I thought I’d hit the jackpot. We went away for a few days to the Lake District together, staying in a little stone cottage. All very romantic, you’d think. Turns out that he was a total slob when he was out of his own space. He left half-drunk cups of coffee around, expecting that I’d clear them up and wipe up the ring marks on the table as well. He left his towel on the bathroom floor every time he showered, and he was pretty careless using the loo, so I’d find splashes of his pee when I went to use it. We broke up as soon as we got back. That’s fairly typical of my experience.”
“Did you say anything to him? Give him the opportunity to mend his ways?”
“I’m looking for a man, not a dog to train!”
“I see. So, in order to gain access to your flat, a man has to pass a series of Madison tests that he’s unaware of. Did I pass these tests?”
“Yes, but it’s different with you because you’re a friend rather than a boyfriend. I make no apology for being very protective of my space. As an introvert, it’s important to have a refuge where I can go to recharge my batteries.”
“Of all the terms I would use to describe you,” Toby laughs loudly, “introvert is definitely not among them!”
“How would you describe an introvert then?” I ask him.
“Well, someone more like me I guess,” he says, after his trademark pause. “Quiet, inward-looking, a little shy in company. You’re ballsy and confident; you like to be in charge. I would say those were extrovert qualities.”
“Ah, but you’ve fallen into the classic trap of thinking that extroverts are loud and introverts are shy. In fact, it’s nothing to do with that. Do you remember my friend who told me about systematic desensitisation and flooding?”
“How can I forget?” he smiles. “It was, umm, a pivotal moment in our friendship.”
“She also explained this to me, because I always thought I was an extrovert for the same reasons you just outlined. But what she told me was that the difference between an extrovert and an introvert is nothing to do with how you interact with people, it’s about where your strength comes from.”
“Go on.”
