Once again, my perception skills fail me. I’ve lost my touch entirely. Of course Jim isn’t on Facebook. I bet he’s never even considered it.
We open the second bottle and Jim refills my cup.
I notice a hole in the back of his t-shirt and am tempted to poke my finger in, just for fun, but I eat the Snickers instead. Jim hadn’t been wearing this t-shirt this morning when we crashed because I seem to remember a camper van print, which is now replaced with some beer brand I’ve never heard of. I bet he got changed when he picked up the minibus.
Blondie is singing ‘Call Me’.
‘Jim Glover?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Do you believe everyone has a soul mate?’
‘Oh, Jesus, girl. You’re asking me?’
‘I wanna know your thoughts.’
‘Okay … fuck. Erm. Well, to be honest, yeah, I used to believe that. But now, I dunno.’
‘Helpful.’
‘Look. We live in a mental world, everyone running around like every minute’s about to be their last. No one’s taking the time to get to know anyone anymore, it’s all rushed.’
‘You mean dating, all those apps, swiping and scrutinising everybody’s faults?’
‘Hmm. Maybe. I don’t know much about apps and shit. But I do think people used to tolerate each other more than they do today. They allowed their love to grow. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. Finding love … and by “love”, I mean the kind classic movies portray, or the “love” our grandparents told us about when we were kids … well, today it’s different. The world’s moved on, it got batteries, it goes faster and faster. It’s all so instant. No one allows anything to grow. Love included. If a relationship shows a hint of needing a bit of watering, people are quick to get the fuck out. I’m guilty of it meself.’
‘Or maybe you just haven’t found The One.’
‘Cheesy, like. But, I reckon, when you know you know.’
‘Oh, I love that notion, Jim.’
‘God, you are a hopeless romantic, aren’t you, girl?’
‘Hopeless.’
Cyndi Lauper appears on the screen. ‘Time After Time’ fills the room, the space between us. It’s nice to sit back and listen, enjoy the sensation of the wine, take a moment. The conversation has dried up, but that doesn’t matter anymore.
‘I might have to hit the sack, love.’
I agree, struggling to keep my eyes open, too. The bed is beckoning.
But neither of us move.
I decide to break the silence at the exact moment that Jim does.
‘You can have the—’/ ‘I’ll sleep down here—’
‘Sorry what?’/ ‘What? Soz.’
‘I don’t mind—’/ ‘You can have it—’
‘We can share—’/ ‘We could share—’
‘Sorry,’/ ‘Sorry.’
So, since I’m not sure of anything Jim is saying, I presume he feels the same way.
‘It’s big enough for a whole family,’ I manage, although a little too loud for my liking, my eardrums tingling at my own shrill.
‘You won’t even know I’m there,’ Jim says, a mock yawn prompting me into a genuine one.
He’s still wearing his t-shirt, his ripped jeans, and I feel quite naked in my PJs. Like a married couple from one of those old sitcoms, we each climb into opposite sides of the bed, the only thing missing being rollers in my hair and a pair of striped pyjamas on Jim. I plump up my pillows and he lies flat as if his body is displayed in an open casket. Cyndi Lauper hits the high notes with ‘I will be waiting’ and I giggle to stop myself from cringing. I catch Jim smirking, too. The music is invasive, if not corny.
‘Shall I turn it off?’ Jim asks.
I nod, snuggling downwards.
He points the remote towards the TV, but it doesn’t turn off. Stretching his arm out further, screwing up his face to somehow help him press down harder, he tries again, calling the remote control a ‘lazy bastard’.
‘If you’re lost, you can look, and you will find me …’
The duvet flicks back and he swings his long legs, still wearing his ripped jeans, out of the bed.
‘No, wait,’ I say, sitting up and pulling his shoulder back. ‘Let me.’
I swing my bare legs out of bed now, standing, but Jim also stands and says, ‘Nah, you stay where you are.’ Both of us are moving, both speaking simultaneously yet again, neither hearing the other one’s words.
‘No, it’s fine,’/ ‘Get back into bed,’/ ‘I’m closer,’/ ‘I’ll turn it off.’
And now, we’re both standing at the foot of the kingsize bed, so close, inches apart.