the bathroom and crane my neck to the right, I can see a bit of green; it’s someone else’s garden. But the last time I did, I fell off the wash basket and banged my foot on the side of the loo. It really hurt. I bet Scott’s view of London is of the Houses of Parliament, the Eye and the fabulous bridges criss-crossing the Thames. London at its best, not the depressing, flabby underbelly that is my London.
The families would all sit around an enormous trestle table, we’d eat elaborate, expensive food with difficult-to-pronounce names and even Bill would be impressed. Everyone would get on. We’d laugh all evening. My mum and dad would finally stop worrying about me. I’d be a success. It would be a tremendous moment.
I probably need to think about something else now.
Scott and I listen to music. It’s a huge relief and a pleasant surprise that Scott does not ask me what I usually listen to but instead excitedly tells me about his favourite artists. I actively try to like the stuff Scott’s introducing me to; I mean he must know a thing or two. Adam used to do the same but I never liked the bands Adam listened to and never tried to change that opinion. Oh God, I’m thinking about Adam in the past tense. It’s over but he doesn’t know. A brief flicker of shame licks my innards. I suppose I have to call him. But what can I say? He knows I’m here with Scott; he sent a message via the production manager. How pathetic, how typical, he couldn’t even be bothered to come in person. He’s not interested in fighting for me – just in embarrassing me.
I find it’s more comfortable to be indignant than racked with guilt.
Scott and I talk as though we’ve known each other for ever but haven’t seen each other for a very long time. Everything I say seems interesting to him, he seems to want to approve of me, he envelops me in an overwhelming sense of Yes. Yes, I’m funny. Yes, I’m sexy. Yes, I’m interesting. The result is I feel so utterly gorgeous that I physically morph in front of him. I swear I become taller, stronger, leaner. The blemishes on my chin vanish, my cheekbones become more pronounced, my eyebrows curve in just the correct arch and there are no stray hairs jutting out at unfortunate angles. My hair is shining, my smile is radiant and endless, and my brain has never been more alert.
He showers me with stunning compliments in a way that seems casual and yet authentic. Not insincere or creepy. ‘You’re enthralling,’ ‘You’re remarkable,’ ‘You’re gorgeous.’ These compliments are unusual and enormous. They should jar or appear disingenuous but they don’t; it feels natural and I don’t doubt him for a second. With him, I am these amazing things.
Besides music we talk about movies, food, favourite smells, school, chocolate and TV. They’re small, everyday subjects but everything seems larger than life as I wrestle to be clearer, more truthful and concise than ever before. I want to find the most true and perfect words, so that I can dignify this magic.
Scott asks, ‘Where were you born?’
‘Reading.’ I pause.
‘What?’
‘I was wondering if I should pretend that I don’t know you were born in Hull, just for conversational form,’ I admit.
Scott starts to grin. ‘That’s the first time anyone has ever admitted to that dilemma. Mostly people think they know me really well and don’t ask any of the pleasantries but dive straight in and ask the most intimate questions imaginable.’
‘Such as?’
‘About sex mostly. They ask me if I’ve ever blar blar blar and if not why not? Do I want to? For blar, blar, blar you can use your imagination. I’ve been asked about every weird sexual perversion you could possibly think of, largely by total strangers.’
‘Right,’ I nod, embarrassed for Scott, myself and the unimaginative idiots who have intruded on his privacy in the past. After a brief pause I ask, ‘Did you walk to school, ride your bike, take a bus, or get a lift? Which?’
It seems a banal question but actually I think it tells you quite a lot about the person you are talking to. Nowadays, all kids seem to be driven to school as part of their parents’ inexplicable quest to contribute to child obesity, but when we were kids most people walked. You only got a lift if you were posh and went