One Day in December(10)

Snowflakes on your tongue, I want to suggest, or the bubbles in vintage champagne. ‘Very nice?’ I smile. ‘Is that better?’

‘Not even close. He’s a … he’s a cream horn.’

She laughs, dirtily, but she’s gone all dreamy-eyed on me and I don’t think I’m ready to listen to her try to convince me of Jack’s merits, so I shrug and wade in before she can speak again. ‘Okay, okay. He’s … well, he seems like fun and he’s easy to talk to and he’s obviously wrapped round your little finger.’

A snort-laugh escapes Sarah’s throat. ‘He is, isn’t he?’ She crooks her little finger and we nod over our coffee mugs. She looks about fourteen; her face is scrubbed clean of make-up and her hair hangs in two long plaits over her ‘My Little Pony’ T-shirt.

‘Is he what you’d imagined?’

Oh God, Sarah, please don’t push. I don’t think I can for ever hold my peace if you do.

‘I’m not sure what I expected, really,’ I say, because that much is true.

‘Oh, come on, you must have had some image in your head.’

I’ve had Jack O’Mara’s image in my head for twelve clear months. ‘Um, yeah. I suppose he’s sort of what I’d imagine your perfect man to be.’

Her shoulders sag, as if just thinking about his fabulousness has sapped the small amount of energy from her tank, and she’s lapsed into that glassy-eyed state again. I’m relieved we’re both still hung-over, it’s a ready excuse not to over-enthuse.

‘But he’s hot, though, right?’

I glance down quickly into my coffee cup while I try to pull the panicked, guilty truth back out of my eyes, and she’s looking straight at me when I lift my gaze. Her uncertain expression tells me that she’s seeking my approval, and I both understand why and resent her for it in the same breath. Sarah’s generally the most striking woman in any given room, a girl accustomed to being the centre of attention. It could have made her precocious or precious or pretentious; it hasn’t made her any of those things, but there’s no escaping the fact that she’s lived her life as the girl who can bag any guy she wants. More often than not that’s meant her boyfriends have been outlandishly good-looking, because, well, why wouldn’t you?

For the most part it amuses me, and up to now it’s meant that our romantic paths haven’t crossed. But now …

What am I supposed to say? There is no safe answer. If I say yes, he’s hot, I don’t think I’ll be able to make myself sound un-pervy, and if I say no, he’s not hot, then she’ll be insulted.

‘He’s different to your usual type,’ I venture.

She nods slowly and bites her bottom lip. ‘I know. You can be honest, I won’t be offended. He’s not the obvious kind of handsome you expected him to be, is that what you’re trying to say?’

I shrug. ‘I guess. I’m not saying he isn’t good-looking or anything, just different to your normal.’ I pause and give her a knowing look. ‘Your last boyfriend looked more like Matt Damon than Matt Damon does, for God’s sake.’

She laughs, because it’s true. I even called him Matt to his face once by mistake, which was okay because he only lasted four dates before Sarah decided that, however handsome he was, it didn’t make up for the fact that he still called his mum three times a day.

‘Jack just seems more grown-up, somehow.’ She sighs as she cups her hands round her mug. ‘As if all the others were boys, and he’s a man. Does that sound ridiculous?’

I shake my head and smile, beyond forlorn. ‘No. Not ridiculous to me.’

‘I guess he had to grow up early,’ Sarah says. ‘He lost his dad a few years ago – cancer, I think.’ She breaks off, reflective. ‘His mum and his younger brother depended on him pretty heavily for a while afterwards.’

My heart breaks a little for him; I don’t need telling how devastating that must’ve been.

‘He seems a pretty cool guy.’

Sarah looks relieved by my assessment. ‘Yeah. That’s what he is. He’s his own kind of cool. He doesn’t follow the crowd.’

‘Best way.’

She lapses into contemplative silence for a few seconds before she speaks again. ‘He likes you.’

‘Did he say so?’ I intend to sound nonchalant, but I fear I might have hit something closer to desperation. If I did, Sarah doesn’t flicker.

‘I can just tell. You two are going to be best friends.’ She grins as she scrapes her chair back and stands up. ‘Just wait and see. You’ll love him when you get to know him.’

She ambles from the kitchen, giving my topknot an affectionate waggle as she passes. I fight the urge to jump up and pull her into a fierce hug, both by way of apology and as a plea for understanding. Instead I drag the sugar bowl towards me and stir extra sweetness into my coffee. Thank God I’m heading back home to spend Christmas with my folks soon; I seriously need some time to myself while I work out how the hell to play this.





2010




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New Year’s Resolutions


Last year, I made two resolutions: 1) Find my first proper job in magazines. Well, I can safely say I’ve failed spectacularly on that front. Two near misses and a couple of freelance never-got-published articles ranks as neither glittering nor fabulous really, does it? It’s both depressing and scary that I’m still working at the hotel; I can see how easy it is for people to get stuck in a rut and let go of their dreams. But I’m not giving up, not yet.