“Where did you study?”
“Cambridge,” he replies. “What? You look surprised.”
“No. I’m not surprised you went to Cambridge,” I say, unable to hide my stammering. “My dad is a plasterer and I just assumed you would have done an apprenticeship young. What did you study?”
“Physics,” he says, grabbing a handful of Haribo. “Helps with keeping a house upright. So where are you from, then, Mara? You said Corbridge? Where’s that?”
“Northumberland.”
“A good northern lass, then,” he says, and I resist the urge to toss another cushion at him.
I smile. “Come on now. Choose a card.”
He reaches across the sofa, takes the pack, expertly shuffles it again, splits the deck, and picks the top card. I feel a small thrill of delight that he’s not only indulging me, but apparently enjoying it. It feels so comforting to have that back in my life again, albeit tentatively. I smile at him and he smiles back, my range of vision almost full again as our eyes connect across the low light. I am reminded again of my best friend, even if this is different. Right now, in the moment, there is a sense of belonging and of home thatI haven’t felt since I was with Charlie. And I’ve missed it. I smile at Ash again.
“What is it?” he says.
“Nothing,” I say. “Go on, what does the card say?”
He looks down. “Hang on,” he says, looking at back at me, stunned. “You’ve not seenLord of the Rings?”
13
It’s 7 p.m.the following Saturday, and I’m going to meet Ash for a night at the famous Star and Anchor. He finally convinced me to go out after a week of evenings in front of the TV, and although I jumped at what felt like a cool, natural flatmate invitation out, I’m feeling that strange jittery anticipation you get before a date. I try to calm myself.It’s only Ash, I say to myself in the mirror by the door. Is a dress too much to meet a flatmate for a drink? I rush back into my bedroom, fishing through all the various dark clothing for something more low-key, and decide on a navy off-the-shoulder blouse and trusty black Levi’s. I pull them on and stop by the mirror again, fiddling with my new hair. I stand on tiptoes to see more of myself in the mirror. I am too short to ever be properly glamorous in that willowy way. Too much boob. Hair better, eyebrows neater. I have outlined my lips to give the impression they’re a little fuller.
“Makeovers reallydogive a sense of control in a chaotic world,”I say, thinking of Cher fromClueless, momentarily wishing that Joe looked a bit more like Paul Rudd.
I look at my watch. Time to go.He’s just your flatmate, Mara. This is totally normal, meeting a flatmate for a drink on a Saturday night. It checks off the make-new-friends part of Project Maraandyou actually enjoy his company. Chill.Be chill.
But I am not at all chill.
I wonder, in a panic, if I can get anyone to join us.
I think about Samira, who was so breezy about my cancellation this week at work but didn’t make any mention of a reschedule, and I was too shy to ask.
I dial her number. “Hello,” I say in my best light, singsongy voice. “You don’t fancy a trip to the Star and Anchor with me and my flatmate, do you?”
“Hey, Mara. I’m afraid I have other plans,” she says. “You need to give a bit more notice or you make a girl feel like an afterthought.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m a bit all over the place.”
“It’s fine,” she says with a sigh. “If you still want to go clothes shopping, we have plenty of time before your mum’s birthday. So, let’s just findand stick toanother time, okay?”
I apologize again. “Shit,” I say, as I hang up and dial Ryan.
“Hi, Ryan?”
“Is that Mara?” he asks, and then I hear a large grunt and a heaving noise and immediately fear what I may have interrupted. “You picked a bad time, mate.”
“Do you want to come for a drink with me and my flatmate, Ash?” I am trying.Lord, I’m trying.
“Can’t,” Ryan says, panting and grunting. “Got CrossFit, then band.”
“Oh,” I say, relieved he’s just at the gym. And then afterward, I feel put out. Why do people have so many activities? Don’t they get tired? I just want to be on my sofa. It occurs to me that in my haste to get some hobbies, I have actually signed up for pottery next week, and I grimace.
I decide it is better to probe no further. “Okay, enjoy cross-stitching,” I say and hang up before he can correct me.
Oh well. Itriedto make it a gang-of-friends-type thing, but it isn’t to be. I’ll just drop Joe into the conversation tonight and make a clear line in the sand.
