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‘No, he’s the same.’

‘But …’

‘I told Ingo anyway,’ Paula said. ‘I had to; I couldn’t keep up all the lying.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘
Oh
,’ I then said. ‘Eh,’ I added, to clarify. This had implications, big fucking huge ones. Bloody
good
ones for me, obviously. How did I verbalise this realisation? I said, ‘eh,’ again. Good at the shit I didn’t care about, crap at the stuff I did. Story of my life.

‘Is that it?’ Paula said. ‘
Eh
!’ An impartial observer would probably have ticked
disgusted
if asked to judge the expression on her face at that moment. I had to get my head together.

‘No, no, sorry,’ I said quickly. ‘Sorry.’ I breathed, which helped. ‘Sorry.’

‘Stop saying sorry.’

‘Sorry.’ I breathed again, more deeply this time. That helped more. The problem I was facing was simple. Paula had taken this massive step, and I needed to be there for her as she worked through it; sadly, tragically and pathetically though, one short, three-letter word was blinding my every sense. I could see it, whether my eyes were closed or open; I could hear it no matter what other sounds happened to be happening; I could, I’m dismayed to admit, both taste and smell it (or at least my imagined version of it); I was trying as best I could not to dwell on how it would feel to touch it. Starts with ‘s’, ends with ‘x’, has a big ‘
eeeeee
’ in the middle.

‘I’m…
not
sorry,’ I said. ‘How bad was it?’

Paula shook her head, though not at me for once. ‘It was horrible.’

‘How did he take it?’

‘He cried,’ she said plainly. ‘So did I.’

‘Did he… accept it?’ I had to be careful; I didn’t want to seem too interested in my side of things.

‘He had to; I didn’t give him a choice. It was just so
sad
.’ Paula was on the verge of tears. ‘He sounded like a wee boy.’

‘Do you think he was actually surprised?’

‘I don’t know,’ Paula said. ‘It sounded like it, but he did agree the last year hasn’t been good.’

I sympathised with Ingo, I truly did. I’d been chucked by Paula myself and knew how crappy it was. But Ingo wasn’t my priority. ‘And how are you?’

‘I feel like a complete cow.’

‘But you know you’re not, don’t you? You only did what you had to. Staying together when it’s not right doesn’t help anyone.’

‘I know,’ she said, eyes on the table. ‘Still feel like a cow.’

‘Look, I know you didn’t only do it for me, but thank you.’ I reached for her hand. She let me take it. ‘I’m sure it doesn’t help, but you’ve made my day.’

She let out a weak laugh. ‘Just your day?’

‘My week, my year, my life,’ I said.

‘You’re right, it doesn’t help much, but maybe a little.’

‘Ingo will be okay eventually. He needs to get on with his life the same as you.’

‘I know. He was due to start work in a few weeks; I had to tell him before he started thinking about booking flights or anything. Plus, he needs to give the School notice that he isn’t taking the job.’

‘So he’s definitely not coming over?’ I couldn’t hide my relief. One of my many paranoid nightmare scenarios was that Ingo might still take the job and end up hanging around
Glasgow
trying to win Paula back. Recent exes are always bad news, but an ex in
Germany
was a hell of a lot better than one in
Govanhill
.

‘Don’t be a twat, Jim. Why would he?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Just checking.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m all yours. Or should I say, you’re stuck with me.’

‘Fine by me,’ I said.

‘We’ll see if you’re still saying that after a few months listening to me moaning at you all day. Remember, you only have to put up with me for a few hours at a time just now.’ Her smile was more solid now and she seemed to be brightening a little.

‘Moan away, my dear,’ I said. ‘I’ll just stop listening when it gets too much. I believe that’s why iPods were invented, after all.’

‘You try it and I’ll break your legs,’ Paula said, laughing. ‘When I moan I want a bloody audience.’

‘Fair enough. So, have you said anything to your mum and dad?’

‘About us?’ She looked scared.

‘No, about Ingo.’

‘Oh, right. Yeah, I told them after I spoke to him.’

‘How were they?’

‘Same as always, supportive and lovely. My mum was upset for a while, but my dad didn’t seem a bit surprised.’

‘I get the feeling there’s very little could surprise your dad, except maybe Bruce Lee turning up alive and well working in Tesco.’

‘True,’ Paula said. ‘You were right; they’re brilliant and I should have told them ages ago. In fact, I should have told Ingo ages ago, too. All that stuff about his grandad was just an excuse for me being a shite-bag.’ She squeezed my hand. ‘I’m sorry you had to go through all this, it hasn’t been fair on you. Thanks for putting up with me.’

‘Are you joking? I get to spend my life with you, I’d have put up with anything short of you getting a sex change and marrying Sammy.’

She laughed. ‘He actually suggested something along those lines once, but it was a long time ago and he was very drunk. He can go a bit hetero when he’s
pished
. I caught him snogging Andrea one night.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah. They both denied it the next day, but I definitely saw them.’

‘Hah! Am I allowed to slag him for it?’

‘Go for it. He’ll pretend not to know what you’re talking about, but I bet you he blushes.’

‘Nice one. It’s always good to have some ammo on the boss.’

‘Well, you’ve got some on Kate, too, after today.’

‘Now
now
. I told her and I’ll tell you. I’m not a bastard.’

‘Looks like she and I have something in common, then. We’re both lucky to have you.’

This took me by surprise, and I think I went purple. ‘Eh.’

‘Aw, he’s all embarrassed.’ Paula was delighted. ‘Can Jimmy not take a compliment? Is he a wee bit shy?’

‘Fuck off,’ I said. ‘It’s your round.’

Paula was still laughing when she returned from the bar. She had brought along a couple of frozen vodkas to balance out the beers.

‘Congratulations, I’m impressed,’ she said when the vodka had been disposed of in the usual manner.

‘With what? It’s only vodka.’

‘Not
that
. I’m impressed you haven’t brought up the subject of sex.’

‘I didn’t think it was appropriate,’ I said. ‘Yet,’ I added.

‘Today isn’t the day,’ Paula confirmed. ‘But thanks for realising that, a lot of guys wouldn’t have. More proof, as if it was needed, that you are a wanker after all.’

‘I am right in looking on wanker as basically a compliment now?’

‘In your case, yes,’ Paula said. ‘You’re a nicer guy than you give yourself credit for, Jim. I don’t even just mean the way you’ve put up with me and all my crap. Look how good you were with Kate today; if that had been me I’d have laughed my arse off at her and ran to Sammy in a minute.’

‘Aye, but you have to remember you’re a complete cow, so it isn’t a fair comparison.’

‘This is true,’ she agreed. ‘It wouldn’t do you any harm to let Sammy see how good you are at all that stuff, though.’

‘Now you’re just trying to change the subject. I believe we were talking about not talking about sex.’

‘And we still are, or aren’t. I’m confused.’

‘You’re Irish, it’s only natural.’

‘Careful! The only thing I hate more than racists are all those bloody foreigners.’

‘Boom
boom
,’ I said.

‘So we’re still not talking about sex,’ Paula said. ‘And, in light of that, the fact that I’m choosing to inform you my mum and dad are going to visit the aunties in the homeland next weekend and I’ve got an empty is mentioned purely in passing.’

Chapter 24

It’s normal for teenagers to panic about sex (I know I did). It might even be normal for the elderly, I don’t know yet. But I couldn’t help feeling it was a bit daft for me, a 33 year-old man of the world (or at least the south side), to be so nervous.

I’ve never been flexible enough to blow my own trumpet, but I wasn’t a novice. My inability to commit to any of my previous relationships meant I’d amassed more, or at least more varied, experience than many (okay, some) guys my age. None of that mattered when I thought about being with Paula again, though.

As the days crawled towards the weekend when her parents went to Ireland and Paula and I hopefully went somewhere much nicer, I became increasingly jittery.

We continued to meet for lunch and the odd evening and, with the spectre of Ingo dissolving and pretty much everyone except our parents knowing we were together, we were able to relax and simply enjoy spending time with one another. Our conversations lost those early, awkward bits and we started to make some proper plans. Whenever the upcoming ‘consummation’ was mentioned though, I became a gibbering wreck again.

‘How about the west end?’ Paula asked. We were in The Brooklyn and
Marita
had just brought us our lasagnes.

‘It’s a bit expensive,’ I said. ‘You’d get the same size for half the rent on the south side.’

‘For someone who says he doesn’t get on with his parents you’re awful keen to stay close to them.’

‘I don’t not get on with them; we just have bugger-all to say to each other.’

‘Because you’ve never tried.’ Paula shovelled a forkful of pasta and aubergine into her mouth.

‘It’s not that easy.’

‘Actually it is, you just open your mouth and let words come out. You talk some amount of
pish
when you’re with me; just do the same with them.’

‘Oh cheers,’ I said. ‘I talk
pish
, do I?’

‘We all do; it’s called conversation.’

‘I suppose. But we’ve got an understanding in my house. Thirty-odd years’ experience has taught us it’s safer just to say hello then stay quiet; thus by-passing our natural impulse to argue like fuck all the time.’

Paula looked at me with a patronising amount of sympathy. ‘That’s quite sad, you do know that.’

‘Hey, it works for us,’ I said. ‘Anyway, we were talking about flats.’

‘True.’ Paula shuffled through the various rental lists we had collected from estate agents. It was too early to actually start viewing, but we wanted to get a feel for what was available. We hadn’t even discussed the possibility of buying, what with her being on the verge of bankruptcy and my salary being so low that any mortgage adviser worth his salt would have had me arrested for loitering if I went anywhere near their office. ‘There’s a two bedroom in
Netherlee
that looks all right,’ Paula said.

‘Why do we need two bedrooms?’

‘It would save us having to move if, you know, our situation develops.’