Pretty Ironic

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So when Sandwich grills me on the subject for a second timeCC Image courtesy of snapperwolf* on Flickr

‘How come Freddie isn’t with us?’ he says.

I shrug.  ‘Oh he came in a different party.’

‘Oh.  But I thought you were great friends?’

‘Yeah, well-.’

I break off to pass someone the butter, before turning back to him.

‘We don’t always go in the same party.’

‘Oh.’  He looks puzzled.  ‘Do you see him much, outside of dancing?’

‘No, not really.’

It’s the truth.

‘You don’t meet up for coffee – or drinks?’

Or casual sex?

‘No!’  I frown.  ‘Why are you asking?!’

He remains poker-faced.

‘Oh I just wond– .’

At this moment, Freddie appears, and claps us both on the shoulder.

‘Hullo chaps!’

He says things like ‘chaps’, but he’s pretty, so he gets away with it.

‘Hello!’ I say, smiling up at him.  We kiss on the cheeks.

Freddie looks from me to Sandwich and back, a twinkle in his eye.  ‘How are you both?’

Sandwich looks happy enough.

‘Good, thanks,’ I say.  ‘You?’

Freddie nods fervently.  ‘Yuh.  Really good.’

He says ‘yuh’ too: he’s really pretty. 

‘Are you having a good evening?’ he says.

Sandwich smiles his approbation; he’s not a big talker.

‘Yes!’  I say. 

Trying to convince Sandwich we don’t have casual sex.  More’s the pity. 

CC Image courtesy of Velvet Twerp on Flickr



Clear Night (Freddie, Part 4)

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Freddie holds the door open for me; I go out, avoiding his eye.CC Image courtesy of ruminatrix on Flickr

‘So,’ he says, as we cross the car park, ‘what was that text about?’

‘What text?’ I say.

Duh.

‘The one you sent the other night.’

‘Well, like I said, I was confused!  I got the impression, from your behaviour….’

‘That I…?’

‘Yeah…’

He looks surprised.  ‘I don’t know why!’

I laugh.  ‘Are you seriously telling me you had no idea?’

‘No!’

I give him a look.

‘Well,’ he says,I suspected that you might – the other night…’

‘But you didn’t…?’

‘But because I didn’t… I just pretended it wasn’t – you weren’t–.’

I come to a standstill.  ‘But wait a sec!  I was only – I mean, because I thought – from your behaviour–.

‘What did I do?!’ he says.

‘You want a list?!’

‘Yes!’

This is surreal.

‘OK – a list….’

I wait whilst he unlocks his bike.  Straightening up, he says with a smile:

You took my arm the other night.’

‘And then you offered me your arm!’ I say.

He laughs. ‘But I offer my arm to anyone!  My friends, my sister, my mother…’

‘Well, you shouldn’t!  And – well – I didn’t know that!’

Neither of us speaks for a moment.

‘What else?’ he says.

I laugh.  ‘This is weird!  OK err… eye contact?’

He looks at me blankly.  I can see I’m going to have to come up with something more concrete.

‘OK, the other night, you insisted I bus back with you.  What was up with that?’

He looks puzzled.  ‘When?’ 

Tuesday.  You were taking the bus, and you insisted I take it with you, even though it made more sense for me to take the tube.’

He frowns.  ‘But I took the tube with you, and I had my bike.’

‘No, not that night, the other – oh, never mind.  Also, Beatrice noticed.’

He rolls his eyes.  ‘Argh there’s always a third party involved.’

‘Not just Beatrice – others.  It was obvious!  From your behaviour.  Like on Valentine’s Day….’

‘What about it?’ 

I sigh.  ‘Never mind.’

‘I still don’t understand,’ he says.  ‘When did I take the bus back with you?’

‘No, you didn’t – you tried to persuade me to, but I took the tube with Beatrice.  I don’t know, perhaps you’d had a bit to drink or something…’

‘No, because I’d giveCC image courtesy of quimby on Flickrn up alcohol for Lent.’

‘No, Lent hadn’t started…’

Shades of beige t-shirt here.

 ’… I remember you saying that was the last night you could drink.’

‘Oh.’

‘But anyway, it was more just a general impression I got from your behaviour.’  I give him a nudge. You should be more careful!’

He looks sheepish.

‘Sorry,’ he says.  ‘I suppose I thought, that because we’ve known each other as long as we have, I could behave that way and you wouldn’t think it meant anything.’

‘But does having known someone a long time necessarily mean nothing can happen?’

‘Yes – in this instance.’

I suddenly feel very sad.

‘Well, I guess – I didn’t realise that,’ I say quietly.

We walk on in silence for a minute or two.  When conversation resumes, it’s about the weather.

We’re approaching my stop.

‘You don’t have to walk me,’ I say.  ‘It’s the wrong direction for you – seriously.’

‘No I will.’  He laughs.  ‘So long as you don’t read anything into it!’

I laugh, in spite of myself.  

As we cross the road, he says, ‘I remember now, when I insisted you take the bus.’

‘So,’ I say, ‘why did you insist?’

He thinks for a moment.

‘I don’t know.’

The bus comes into view.

‘I’ll probably be home before you!’ he says, preparing to mount his bike.

‘Probably,’ I say, ‘since I’ll walk the last bit.’

It’s a clear night.

CC Image courtesy of Greg Balzer on Flickr 



Thursday’s Child (Freddie, Part 3)

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I glance at the bike.CC Image courtesy of abustaca on Flickr 

‘You probably want to get on that,’ I say.

It’s cold, late, and he has an early start the next day, so it’s a good test.

‘It’s fine,’ he says.  ‘I’ll walk you to the tube.’

And a good result.

Crossing the road, I take his arm, as I did the other evening.

‘I could tube back with you,’ he says, ‘if the bike’s allowed on at this time of night.’

We do occasionally talk about things other than London transport.

‘That would be nice,’ I say.  ‘I imagine it would be.’

It had better be.

It is.

As we approach my stop, he gets more and more distant.  I’m confused.

He gets off with me (not like that).  I’m even more confused.

And walks me to my door.  Confused dot COM.

‘See you next week,’ he says.  Not so much as a kiss on the cheek.  This is weird.

He turns to leave.  I glance over my shoulder, and see him look back.

‘Errr…’ I say.

‘What is it?’ he says, doubling back.  ‘Do you not have your keys?’

It might be dark, but there is definitely an elephant in the room.

‘No, it’s err…’

What does one say in this situation?  Why didn’t you kiss me?  Do you want to kiss me?!  I know you don’t want to kiss me but – so – why the Hell did you walk me home?!

I look down at the ground.  ‘Oh – er – it doesn’t matter.’

He looks relieved.  ‘Sure?’

No.

‘Yeah,’ I say.  ‘Goodnight.’

And he’s off.

I start swearing – it’s very cathartic – as I turn the key in the lock.  Once inside, I fume and pace the sitting room.  I find my phone and text him.

‘I’m a bit confused.  Are we ‘just friends’?’

I already know the answer.

CC Image courtesy of Jaydot on Flickr


 

Men and Buses (Freddie, Part 2)

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CC Image courtesy of failing_angel on FlickrFreddie joins me on the pavement.

‘How are you getting home?’ he says.

I nod towards Beatrice ‘Tube.’

‘Why don’t you take the bus?’ he says.

‘Errr….’  I notice he isn’t carrying his helmet.  ‘You’re not cycling?’

‘Oh – no, I’m taking the bus.  You should take the bus.’

‘I didn’t know there was one that went from here to mine,’ I say.

There’s a pause.

‘Well – it doesn’t – but it goes quite close!’

I laugh.  ‘Right, I’m getting the tube.’

‘Then I’ll get the tube with you.’ He thinks for a moment.  ‘No, I’ll get the bus.  Take the bus, then I can enjoy your company!  And then – I’ll walk you back to yours.’

It’s fifteen minutes in the wrong direction for him.  I can feel myself blushing.

‘Hmm… that’s kind, but I think I’ll take the tube.  Since it actually goes to where I live!’

And because I’m scared, and I can’t abandon Beatrice - in that order.

‘OK,’ he says.  ‘Well, I’ll walk you to the station.’

I smile.  ‘OK.’

We set off, Sam and Beatrice going on ahead.  After a while, I take his arm.  He looks surprised but glad.  A beggar is sitting on the corner, and we stop whilst he searches his pockets for some change – Freddie, not the beggar.  When we resume walking, he offers me his arm.

Outside the station, we kiss gently on both cheeks.

‘See you on Thursday,’ I say.

‘Look forward to it.’

CC Image courtesy of b0r0da on Flickr

 

Adverse Conditions (Freddie, Part 1)

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CC Image courtesy of Erik Mallinson on FlickrI’m really bored at work.  ‘Talking to the plant’ kind of bored.  The kind of bored which makes you do things which you know are a bad idea, but, because they provide momentary relief from the boredom, you do them anyway.  Like texting Sam and suggesting he discreetly asks Freddie what he thinks of me, at a party they’re going to that evening.  Half an hour later, following consultation with plant, I realise this is a stupid idea, and send a follow-up text saying not to bother.

The next day, I hear from Sam.

‘Did try.  Think I aroused his suspicions though.’

That’ll teach me – except it won’t.

I request details.  Nothing.  Eventually he replies:

‘Just asked which of our mutual acquaintance he fancied.’

‘That’s not a bad approach – well done!  Why do you think you aroused his suspicions?’

There’s clearly more to it.

‘He didn’t answer immediately so I asked if it was you.’

Great.

‘He was cagey but not adverse.  I hope I haven’t panicked you.’

‘No, don’t worry,’ I say. What is panicking me is that you’ve used ‘adverse’, when I think ‘averse’ is the more appropriate word.’ 

It’s a miracle I have friends.

‘You’re right,’ he says, ‘meant averse.  You coming this eve?’

Freddie will be there.

‘Yep, see you later!’

I’m not panicking.

CC Image courtesy of litherland on Flickr