The List (23 page)

‘I'm not missing him, and I have no intentions of getting pissed.'

8 p.m
. I will not watch any horror films. I will watch something meaningful and thought-provoking. This vodka is really strong.

9.05 p.m
. Just started watching
Black Swan
. This should be good.

9.55 p.m
. This is not good.

10.19 p.m
. This can fuck off.

11.15 p.m
. I'm watching
ZOMBIELAND
!

1.30 a.m
. VODKA! VODKA!

2.15 a.m
. I miss Oliver.

Sunday July 3rd

I got up at four in the afternoon. Then I lay back down again. I got up again at seven, made some cheese on toast and checked my emails to see if anyone had responded to my advert: twenty-six replies. Blimey! However, twenty-five of them contained ‘cock shots' with no indication of what the rest of the person actually looks like. I can't make a decision based on a webcam photo of a penis – I don't fancy a penis; I fancy the face and body it's attached to. The other
one (which had no photo) was sent by a man who was ‘60 years young and everything still works'. That's the same age as my dad.

This won't do. This won't bloody do at all. I've emailed Oliver. It's much more fun when he's around. It's nice knowing that, whatever I do, he doesn't judge me, and I think that's why we've stayed friends for so long. Most people would have chased me with sticks towards some sort of drowning pond by now. How the hell am I going to cope without him?

This is going to be a long month. I have some holiday to take from work, so perhaps now is a good time. I can't afford to actually go anywhere, but a week pottering around at home sounds like it might do the trick.

Monday July 4th

We're having a girls' night on Friday. Dancing and cheap booze. You know, just once I'd actually liked to get pissed on expensive booze. God, if I said that in front of Frank he'd be thrilled. Speaking of Frank, I put my holiday request sheet on his desk so he can sign it off on his return. I wonder how his holiday with Vanessa went? I bet he romanced her with champagne and a box of Milk Tray by the fireside. I hope they melted. The chocolates – not Frank and Vanessa. Scrap that, I hope they melted too. Perhaps they had some sort of log cabin, surrounded by woods? And bears. BIG GIANT HUNGRY BEARS! Are there any bears in Scotland? I've just checked. There are no bears in Scotland. Disappointing.

Tuesday July 5th

As I'd finished my work for the afternoon I decided to go on Twitter, where there was a message waiting for me.

I was about to reply when Lucy appeared with a coffee and pulled a chair over. She peered at my screen.

‘I'm bored. What are we doing? Who is he?'

‘Oi, nosey! Guy on Twitter. Wants to meet up.'

‘Ooh, like a date? Or just a random shag he can tweet about later.'

‘I don't really know him, so a shag would …' I stopped mid-sentence. If this had been a cartoon, a light bulb would have appeared above my head.

‘A shag would what?' demanded Lucy. ‘Tell me!'

‘A shag would mean I could tick off challenge number eight. It's perfect. Why didn't I think of that?'

‘You did. Just there.'

‘Yes, but you inspired me. I'm going to tell him it's on like Donkey Kong.'

‘That's just weird, but you're right. I am an inspiration.'

I've sent him a message back telling him I'll meet him. It's perhaps not the completely anonymous deal I had in mind, given that I know what he looks like and we've spoken on Twitter, but after those replies to my advert, it's about as close to a stranger as I'm willing to go. This would mean another challenge down and it's only July! I'm way ahead of myself. I could come up with another thousand.

Wednesday July 6th

I got into the office this morning to hear Frank boring everyone with tales of his holiday. I overheard talk of fancy hotels and oysters, and although I clamped on my phone earpiece to block him out at that point, I imagine the great adventurer took a trip on a magic carpet and killed a fucking dragon while he was there.

I didn't reply and he hasn't emailed again. This made me feel relieved and, for some reason, annoyed.

9 p.m
. I've decided to catch up on my reading and not be led astray by mental boys and my hormones. I'm in bed, snuggled up with
The Time Traveler's Wife
, and so far it's one of the best things I've read in ages. Whatever happened to romance? Two people realizing they can't live without each other and kissing properly.

11 p.m
. Gosh I've missed reading. I could spend all day lost in someone else's imagination. I love reading.

12 a.m
. I can't put this book down. I've made coffee and will sacrifice sleep in order to see it through. My life is an uninspiring sham.

3 a.m
. I'm completely distraught. Henry died. Reading is stupid.

Friday July 8th

I was so exhausted in work today I pretended to be ill and came home. Frank didn't seem too convinced, so I told him disgusting fake tales of menstrual blood and clotting, and he almost booted me out of his office. I've had a nap and am now looking forward to a night with the girls, footloose and man-free. Frank didn't mention anything about us so perhaps things will get back to normal. The annoying thing is, even if we go back to ignoring each other and keeping
things work related, there will be that small matter of having seen each other all shades of naked.

Still haven't heard from Oliver, but he's probably already hooked up with some gorgeous American stick insect called Brandy or Clammy and they're off feeling each other up at fun-filled baseball games while eating six-foot-long hot dogs suggestively.

Anyway, screw him – I have a night of dancing and general shenanigans with Lucy to look forward to.

Saturday July 9th

Last night was fun – I hadn't been dancing in ages.

I went to Lucy's house to get ready as her shower is much better than mine and her straighteners don't burn the ends of my hair, unlike my cheap ones.

‘I'm wearing my biker boots and that minidress with the floaty skirt,' Lucy announced.

‘So we're not going anywhere fancy then?' I laughed. ‘Just as well, I'm wearing my jeans and Converse. I'm not in the mood for sore feet.'

‘Cool. I fancy somewhere with rock music and tattooed women. I cannot be arsed with being surrounded by men who are all wearing the same shirt from Topman. Glass of wine before we go?'

I pulled my favourite black top with the sheer sleeves over my head and replied with a muffled, ‘Yes,' knowing full well that one glass would quickly become more.

A bottle of chardonnay later, we caught a taxi to the Cathouse, home to ageing rockers, Emo kids and everyone
in-between. We danced, drank, drank some more and, as I found out, 700 gin and tonics turns me into a complete idiot. Younger men seem to gravitate towards me these days – it's unreal.

At one point during the night a twenty-something guy, who was completely pissed and hobbling with one shoe hanging off his foot, decided he'd chat me up: ‘Want to see how far I can kick my shoe?'

Quite far, as it happens. Best chat-up line I've ever heard.

Shoe boy was full of drunken compliments. but I stuck to my resolve, and even hearing, ‘You have the most amazing body' didn't make me drag him home, and the fact that he said it seventy-five times didn't make it true. We did have a kiss outside and I swear he giggled when he touched my boob. Men closer to my age never hit on me any more. It seems that men in their twenties want an older woman but men in the thirties want someone in their twenties. But after the disaster with Richard, I think I'd like to play with someone my own age now.

Sadly the night didn't end as planned as Lucy went home with the dirtiest man in the world, and not in a good way. We ended up back at his place (I have no idea what his name was), where I passed out on his couch. I woke up at 7 a.m. to the sound of them shagging, and when I finally managed to focus I wanted to run away screaming from the shithole we'd ended up in. The place was filthy. Actually that doesn't even come close to describing the squalor this fella lived in. The floor was covered in fag ash and dirt, every piece of cutlery and crockery he owned was covered in old food and mould and I half expected to hear a voice
say ‘ZUULLL' when I opened the fridge. How the hell can anyone live like that? ‘He didn't have any sheets on his bed,' said Lucy in the taxi on the way home. ‘Christ, when did I stoop this low?'

She made me promise never to mention it again and spent the rest of the journey with her head in her hands, mumbling about celibacy and convents. I now realize that Lucy is just as messed up as I am and, if I'm honest, I'm just so glad it wasn't me waking up on a bare mattress and staring at the man directly responsible for the next plague outbreak.

Sunday July 10th

I met Hazel and Lucy for lunch at Blackfriars pub in the Merchant City. ‘How was Friday night?' asked Hazel. ‘Wish I could have come but the Cathouse isn't really my scene. Everyone just seems a little grubby.'

‘It was, erm, fine,' said Lucy, glancing at me. ‘Tell Hazel about your man with the shoe, Phoebs.'

Hazel laughed as I recounted my shoe-boy adventure. ‘And you didn't pull him, Phoebe? He sounds sweet.'

‘He was,' I replied. ‘I just don't want another younger guy. I don't get why younger men are so keen on older women.'

‘Young boys have always had a thing for older women. We're experienced and we're more comfortable with our bodies. It's quite flattering really.'

‘Younger men are also more grateful,' added Lucy, cramming a cheeseburger into her mouth. ‘I mean, they
understand how lucky they are to be touching a boob; of course they're going to be overenthusiastic.'

‘I'm too old to have my boobs giggled at,' I mumbled, wishing I'd got a cheeseburger instead of pasta. ‘Oliver never giggles at my boobs. Or tells lies about my body.'

Hazel was already on her second gin. ‘Maybe you do have an “amazing body, dude”,' she laughed. ‘Men don't see what we see. They see lady bumps and round bottoms. We just see excess fat.'

‘Why don't you just go out with Oliver?' suggested Lucy, ‘God knows you see enough of him anyway.'

‘Oliver as a boyfriend? God no. He's terrible at relationships, as am I. Having a relationship would ruin everything. We're fine as we are.'

I saw Lucy and Hazel glance at each other.

Lucy smirked. ‘Whatever you say, Phoebe.'

Monday July 11th

With Oliver away, Frank and I apparently over, and no ridiculous younger men around, I did nothing in work today except look at Stuart's bottom. Then I sent Lucy emails about Stuart's bottom. Then I sent Stuart emails about his bottom, and when there was nothing left to say I watched a pigeon look stupid on the building across the road. Frank also noticed my lack of enthusiasm in the workplace.

I ignored him.

So Frank dropped me home and we had sex again. Why can't we end this? It's driving me mad. ‘Head office would have a fit if they found out about this,' he grunted while on top of me. I rolled on to my side and he spooned me.

‘No shit,' I moaned (I love that position). ‘We need to stop this. It's crazy.'

He flipped me on to my stomach.

‘Let's cool it then. It's been fun, but [speeds up thrusting] … Dammit, Phoebe, it's so good I could do this all day long.' The rest of the conversation had to wait as he made me come and I was speechless.

Afterwards we both agreed that was the last time. I don't even like him that much and I'm pretty sure he feels the same. ‘No hard feelings?' he said to me as he left, and amazingly I resisted the urge to use the word ‘hard' in a filthy reply.