Page 8 of In the Same Boat

I don’t answer that either. In a roundabout way, it’s got me here. Standing in a bar I don’t particularly like, with a man who is trying very hard to make me be his wingman.

‘Look,’ he says, softening slightly. ‘I’m not saying you have to love it. Just… try.’

‘Okay, okay,’ I say. ‘Let me see if I can spot anyone who might want to talk to us.’

‘That’s the spirit,’ he replies.

We don’t move immediately. There’s a moment where we both stand there, glancing around, looking for someone who won’t be offended by our presence.

I notice two women, maybe around the forty mark, the two of them standing at a table, facing out into the bar, their eyes scanning the room as they talk.

‘These two look like they might be open to chat,’ I say reluctantly. ‘On the left.’

‘What time?’ he asks.

‘What?’

‘What time?’

‘What ti—? Oh, for fuck’s sake. Ten o’clock.’

‘Those two?’ he says, like he was expecting something else.

‘Do you want me to talk to them or not?’ I check.

‘Go on then, show me how it’s done,’ he replies. ‘Go over there on your own, work your magic, and I’ll catch up.’

‘D—’ He shoves me before I can finish what I’m saying. ‘Hank. Come on.’

‘No, go on, if you’re so good at this, and I’m the reason we’re not pulling, then go ahead, prove it.’

Pulling. Ugh. I hate the thought of the two of us being out on the pull together. I want to help him, really, I do, but participating in… this, whatever this is (I’m not calling it pulling) feels wrong.

‘Fine – I’m actually quite good at this,’ I remind him.

‘You are, eh?’

‘I am, because I know that the first rule of approaching people is the same as the first rule of comedy,’ I point out.

‘What’s tha?—?’

‘Timing,’ I interrupt him with a smug smile. ‘Watch how it’s done.’

I take a deep breath, not because I’m nervous, more because my patience for the evening’s events has run out.

‘Hi,’ I say, catching their attention without interrupting their conversation. ‘Sorry – quick question. Is this place always this loud, or have I come on a special night?’

They both look at me, then at each other, then back to me.

‘It’s always like this,’ the brunette says, smiling.

‘I thought it looked like a place for a quiet drink but I guess I misjudged the place,’ I say.

‘You definitely have,’ the other one – the redhead – adds. ‘It’s chaos in here.’

‘I don’t mind a little chaos,’ I reply – because usually I don’t. ‘Look at my hair.’

I point at my messy hair. Short on the sides, purposefully messy on top.