The Cupid Effect (34 page)

‘Right,' he replied and sat there anyway. ‘You're Jake's flat-mate, aren't you?'

‘We live in a house,' I replied. I could probably get a bit more frost into my voice, but not much.

The Git laughed.

‘Jake talks about you all the time. You and Ed, you're like his family. I guess it comes from him being an only child. You and Ed are like his brother and sister.'

‘Really,' I said. Yup, I could crowbar more frost into my voice and there it was – icicles were hanging off that one word.

The Git leant forwards over the table, obscuring my papers with his elbows. The world revolved around him, clearly. I sat back, focused on his bare elbows. I couldn't look him in the face without scowling.

‘I'm glad we've met up,' he said.

‘No, we didn't meet up, you came over and disturbed me,' I said. ‘I'm in the middle of marking.'

‘OK, I'm glad I've seen you, then. I'm really worried about Jake.'

I raised my eyes to him then. Oh no! Jake. My heart sprinted, my breath came in short bursts. I'd been shutting him and everyone else out. Had something hideous happened while I was doing that? ‘Why, what's happened?'

‘I rang him the other day, he sounded really down. I asked him if he was OK and he said he was at college and he'd call me back. And he hasn't. That's just not like him. He always calls me back when he says he will.'

‘Do you always call him back when you say you will?' I asked.

He frowned, thought about it. ‘No.'

Well then
, my face said. I looked back down at the work I was marking, raised my pen.

‘No,' he put his hand between my pen and paper, ‘but I'm busy. And then I forget. It's not like I do it on purpose. I'm just busy.'

‘And Jake isn't?' I asked.

‘But Jake's just always been there. For him to not call me back something must've happened. I'm really worried.'

I slammed the pen down, raised my eyes again to him. ‘Do you know, Terry, I try not to judge people. Mainly, because of the “let she who is without sin cast the first stone” thing and also because I hate it when people judge me but, BUT, I really think you're the most odious type of person. You're an arrogant, self-serving little prig and I can't even bring myself to think that you're a nice person who does bad things because you're not, are you?' I paused. ‘You treat Jake like dirt then you're surprised when he cuts you out of his life. In fact, you have the
audacity
to be hurt.'

‘You know nothing about it,' he retorted.

‘No, I don't, so why did you come sit over here? Why? Because you want me to do your dirty work for you, so you just wandered over here and decided to charm me so I'd get Jake to talk to you.

‘Mate, and I use that word because that's how I speak, not because you are in any way a friend of mine, I've only heard Jake's side of the story, but the fact you've come worming around me just proves what a git you are.

‘Jake opened his heart to you. He asked you to tell him how you felt, he wasn't asking you to leave your boyfriend or for you to say you loved him. All he wanted was for you to tell him if you had any feelings for him because you've spent seven years sending him mixed messages, not to mention having sex with him. All he wanted was for you to say something like “I don't think of you in that way” or “I love you like a mate” so he could let go and move on. He did not expect you to sit there and say “I do not love you. I've always known how you felt and I kind of hoped if I ignored it you'd go away. And, by the way, everyone you know has known how you felt and – while they've all been laughing at you – they've tried to convince me to go out with you but y'know, I couldn't face it. Because you know what, you're funny, and gorgeous and clever, but you're missing that certain something that makes you lovable. And, you know all those times I've shagged you, well, it was out of friendship, not cos I've felt anything, despite all those mixed messages I've been sending and how I've reacted in the past when you've gone out with other people. Oh, yes, there was also that night when I told you that if you loved someone, then you should tell them how you feel but when you tell me I just piss on your emotions.” So, buddy, do not sit there and tell me I know nothing.

‘You've known Jake for so long, you know how sensitive he is, you know how hard it is for him to open up and admit how he feels and you still,
still
, couldn't even afford him the luxury of being patronisingly nice. Anyone who could do that to a friend is a freak.

‘Now, please go away and if you can manage it in your egocentric world, stay away from Jake until you find a way to treat him with some respect.'

The Git stared at me and my newly-vented spleen. He'd probably never been told about himself before. Everyone tiptoed around him because he was so gorgeous and did a good impression of being a nice bloke. Everyone around him thought he was a good bloke, a nice lad, really great. The only people who saw the real side of him were the ones who, like Jake, loved him and wanted to be with him. They were the ones who got screwed over because they were stupid enough to fall completely for the nice-guy act. And, well, people like me had to pick up the pieces. Really pick up the pieces. Everyone else just got sick of hearing about it and started to tell the ones like Jake to just put him behind them. To ‘get over it'. While I,
I
felt it. I had to feel for Jake and pick up the pieces and want to cry and feel his pain and understand and fret about it. I was the one who got to understand how even when Jake said it was OK he was just putting a brave face on it because he was so humiliated that all his friends knew and had tried to talk The Git into going for it. And all his friends probably sat there discussing it and pitying and wishing he could get a grip. I was the one who knew he was so humiliated because if The Git hadn't said anything, he'd never have been any wiser and in some cases ignorance was bliss; what you didn't know really couldn't upset you.

I glanced up, The Git was still there. ‘No, really, I mean it. FUCK! OFF!'

A few people in the pub looked around as he, still wearing that wounded face, got up and walked away. He even left his drink on the table, left a short glass with orange juice and melting ice cubes to dribble condensation on the table as he left the pub.

I watched his back leave the pub. Then it smacked me in the face. Hard. So hard I had to drop my head into my hands.

I've done it again. I've only gone and done it again. I've gotten involved. I've broken my silence. I've behaved like BLOODY, TWATTING Cupid again.

Oh well, just this one thing couldn't hurt. Could it?

chapter thirty-four

Down and Down

‘Hi, Ceri, it's Viv. Remember me? I used to be your old boss. Actually, I was your boss and your friend. I know I didn't come to your leaving do, and I know I didn't speak to you during your last month working for me, but we were friends, weren't we?

‘Anyway, I was just ringing to see how you are. And to get your advice on something. My husband's sister is going to work abroad and she asked me to go with her. I was wondering what you thought I should do? I mean, you gave up everything to go chase a dream in Leeds and I was wondering if I should too? Anyway, give me a call or email me, I need to hear from you. Bye.'

After the incident with Jake's man, I became hot property. My life became the epitome of ‘treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen'. My mobile rang off the hook with people calling me ‘for a chat', i.e., to tell me their latest problems. I was literally getting calls back to back.

The people from Leeds realised I'd taken my ball home so didn't bother me as much. It was everyone I'd known in London, everyone from my past stepping into the breach. ‘Just ringing to say hi, see how you are'; ‘haven't spoken in ages, just wanted to catch up', i.e., I want to tell you my problems, I want advice, I want to share my latest love news with you.

A few days later she rang again to ask me if I'd consider selling my flat to them. They'd pay almost double its worth cos they'd really fallen in love there and wanted to stay. I was still going ‘huh?' when my paranoid ex-boss Viv called to ask about her love life.

A day later, Whashisface Tosspot rang out of the blue. I hadn't spoken to him in almost three years, and let's not forget that I didn't say his name out loud so he wouldn't ever call me. But I'd answered my mobile not recognising the number and it was him. He'd simply wanted advice on why his marriage was going wrong. Was it because he'd only known her nine months when they said, ‘I do' or was it because I'd cursed his marriage? What should he do?

My first ever boyfriend called to tell me he was getting married, finally, to the woman he left me for ELEVEN years ago. Oh, by the way, his best mate was getting married in Skipton at the end of the month and he'd been told to invite me. On and on, people who I didn't even know had my number were calling me, or emailing me. Or finding me via the college website and dropping me a line. I took to turning off my mobile for hours and hours – only to find my messages backed up to the answermachine's capacity; I only spoke to my family on my home phone and I started to develop a phobia to email.

It was as though something was trying to tell me: ‘You think you had it bad before? Well, this is what it could really be like. Count yourself lucky it's not everyone beating a path to your door, all right?' After ten days of this, I conceded. Gave in to it.

I lay in bed one Tuesday night and accepted my fate. Accepted my fate may have been overstating the case. It was more a case of resigning myself to it for the moment, until I could find some kind of get-out clause.

‘All right, God, The Universe, Karma, Whoever You are who has placed this upon my head, You win,' I said out loud. ‘I will go back to being what I was before. I'm not necessarily saying I believe I'm Cupid, modern-day or otherwise, I'm just saying if it's my purpose in life to fuck up friendships; incite people to have sex with their exes; make young boys get married too young and make older women unhappy with everything, then I'll do it. I've learnt me lesson. No shirking my responsibilities.'

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep.

‘Oh, PS, I'm not saying I'll go about my duties happily, though, all right? Just as long as that's clear.'

chapter thirty-five

‘I'm Back, Baby'

I made my reappearance in the canteen the next day. I'd not mustered up the energy to face a Gwen session, so hid out in my office until lunchtime. Screwing up her life, making her unhappy would just have to wait. It was one-fifteen by the time I got to the canteen. I got food, a charming-looking Caesar salad with a side order of chips. (The chips served to remind me that I hadn't been to the gym. At all.)

I took a couple of steps away from the cashier and immediately found myself not only up Shit Creek without a paddle, but also without a boat. On one side of the canteen, in the blue corner was Mel, hunched over a magazine he so wasn't reading; in the red corner sat Claudine, doing the same with a book. It'd got that bad they couldn't even sit together. Both looked up when I left the safety of the company of the cashier and, even without my glasses I saw each of their faces light up.

Mel waved and beckoned me over; Claudine grinned and pulled out the chair beside her. A surge of rage overcame me. I loved neither of them best; I wasn't sure I liked
people
at that point.

How dare they? How dare they use me as a tool in their stupid row. And, God forgive me, it was stupid.

I walked between the two warring factions, found the middle ground (a table equidistant to both tables) and placed my tray on it but I didn't sit. I went to Mel, because I'd met him first, ‘Come join me,' I ordered. It was a pleasant order, but an order nonetheless.

Mel was overjoyed at being invited to join me at the big table. Who knew eating with me would be so exciting – many men before him would've paid good money not to eat with me. He got up, picked up his tray and magazine, minced over to where my tray was. The campness came from trying, through his walk, to stick his tongue out to Claudine.
Na, na, Ceri loves me more.

While Mel minced, I sauntered over to Claudine. ‘Come join me,' same tone, same order.

‘No thanks,' she replied, glaring at Mel.

‘It's not an invite,' I explained, ‘it's an order.'

Claudine's eyebrows shot up.
You are ordering ME?
those eyebrows said.

‘Claudine, you have burdened me with the very minutiae of your love life, the least you owe me is joining me when “invited” (I made the dreaded air quotes) to.

‘And you, Melvin Rivers, can sit your butt back down,' I said, very loudly, so it carried and everyone who was dotted around the middle ground and Claudine's corner, heard. Humiliation wasn't out of the question. This Cupid thing had some perks and being outrageous, saying anything, was one of them. The Universe, Fate, God, Karma, Whatever, expected it of me.

‘Well?' I said to Claudine.

She sighed, screwed up her face, then reluctantly got up, gathered her tray and book. ‘Don't expect me to talk to him,' she warned in a low voice.

They sat as far away from each other as possible, but were still technically sat opposite me.
Had I really done this? Had my Cupid curse really prised these two close people apart?