Home > The Plus One Pact(2)

The Plus One Pact(2)
Author: Portia MacIntosh

I opened my mouth to announce my departure when Matt’s mum, Lizzie, burst back through the door with a gentleman who, based on his appearance, I could only imagine she found in the eighties. He had the big hair, the tight trousers, he even had the self-important swagger of a rock star. For some reason he had a dodgy fake tan job, making his leathery skin an intense shade of dark orange.

They kissed their way through the door clumsily. Lizzie’s date was clearly going to be continuing here at the house. Upstairs. I really didn’t think this date could get any more awkward but Matt’s mum heading upstairs for a jump with Tan Halen certainly added a new level of cringe.

‘You crazy kids can get out of here,’ she told us, drunkenly stumbling forward towards the sofa, subtly handing Matt something before cranking up the volume of the TV and heading upstairs with her date.

And so, we left. We left the house, with Kieran downstairs, watching people get banged up, and Lizzie upstairs… I’m not going to finish that sentence.

‘Thanks for hanging out,’ Matt said to me as soon as we stepped outside. ‘Family is really important to me. It says a lot about you.’

‘Well, if your mum needed a babysitter last minute, what can you do?’ I replied, although I still thought it was weird that he didn’t tell me.

‘Oh, it wasn’t a last-minute thing, I just thought I could kill two birds with one stone, get the pizza paid for, you know?’

‘So the date you planned was babysitting?’ I asked.

‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘What, you think I just hang out with kids for fun?’

Matt laughed to himself obliviously before holding up what his mum had handed him – two £10 notes.

I pursed my lips, speechless. Well, of all the dates I’d been on, no one had ever tricked me into babysitting with them.

‘At least we can go on a second date now,’ he said. ‘Now I can afford to go halves.’

I felt as if I had hit my limit multiple times over the course of the babysitting date, but this was my last straw. No more manners, no more sparing feelings.

‘I don’t think so,’ I replied. I forwent my usual polite friendliness to be firm.

‘What? No, come on,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you half my babysitting money, seeing as though you were there too, how about that?’

So here I am, standing outside on a warm summer evening, being offered £10 to go on a second date with Matt. I can just about make out his mum’s excitable giggles coming from her open bedroom window and I sincerely hope Kieran hasn’t turned the TV down.

‘Keep the money,’ I tell him. ‘Use it to take Kieran out for an ice cream.’

Or just put it towards his therapy.

‘But what about our date?’ he asks. ‘Or our second date?’

Matt looks so disappointed. I think he thought this date had been a roaring success.

‘Sorry, I just… I don’t think this is going to work out,’ I tell him.

This is the first time I’ve had a date bad enough to actually tell the guy a second date isn’t going to happen while I’m still on the first one. Then again, tonight wasn’t a date, was it? It was babysitting.

‘What?’ he says, and yes, amazingly, he is surprised.

‘I’m sorry,’ I apologise again, although I’m not sorry, I’m horrified. ‘It’s just… it’s not going to work between us.’

Matt's face falls. His enthusiasm fades. I’d go as far as to say his usually goofy mask slips off.

‘Bitch,’ he says simply.

I feel my eyebrows shoot up with a force. I’ve never been called a bitch before. Sure, it bothers me as a woman, and as a human, but on a personal level I don’t care what Matt thinks of me; all I care about is getting out of here.

I turn on my heel and begin the walk to the train station, which thankfully isn’t far.

I just want to get home, kick off my heels, get into my own bed and just be alone.

Obviously I’m not happy being single, otherwise I wouldn’t have resorted to trying to find love on dating apps, but right now, tonight, I feel lucky to be able to go home alone.

I’d rather be single than be with someone like Matt.

 

 

2

 

 

Who is the most annoying: an actor, a dancer, or a double bass player?

I’m not telling you a joke – unless you count my life as being a joke, which I suppose you could – I genuinely can’t tell which one is the most annoying.

I’m not sure what woke me up this morning. I think it was the sound of a double bass, crashing, rather than drifting, its way through my open bedroom balcony door, which I opened last night because it was too hot to sleep. Now it’s too noisy to sleep instead.

I rent a one bed apartment in central Leeds in a really great location. Well, at least I used to think it was. It has a small balcony off both the bedroom and a cool open-plan living space with a view across the city centre, starting at the swanky Victoria Gate shopping centre across the road, stretching across Leeds. I can see all the sights, including the Pinnacle building that stands tall in the centre of the city.

I remember the day I moved in here: after I’d spent hours and hours unpacking and setting things up, the day turned into night and I looked out of my bedroom window and saw the word ‘Pinnacle’ shining in big, bright white letters. Having grown up in a small village just outside Leeds, and suddenly finding myself in a super cool city-centre apartment about to start my dream job, it felt like a very appropriate message to have floating out there in the night sky. I felt as if I had finally made it.

When I got in last night, after my disastrous date, I kicked off my shoes, stepped out of my clothes and, as I climbed into bed, ready to put the evening behind me, I noticed that the lights in the Pinnacle sign were out in almost all of the letters – all of them except the L. Last night, having a big, bright, impossible-to-miss L for loser hovering outside my bedroom window felt even more appropriate.

One of the perks of mostly working from home is not only being able to go on ultimately disappointing midweek dates without having to worry about what time you get in, but also being able to sleep in whenever you feel like it. But, living where I live, I have no such luck.

Originally I thought it was an awesome, artistic place to be, sandwiched between Northern Ballet and Leeds Playhouse, and being a creative person I felt as if I was living in the heart of creativity and expression. Unfortunately, this means that my building is full of musicians, actors, and dancers, and they are a little too expressive, especially when it comes to rehearsing.

Right now I can hear the thudding of feet above me, the almost creepy sound of a double bass from somewhere below, and if I hear the person in the flat next door to me bellow, ‘Ready to lower boats, sir!’ one more time, so help me God…

I have managed to deduce, from what has been put on the notice board downstairs, that at the moment most people are rehearsing for either Le Diable amoureux or Moby Dick. I am literally trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea, and even when these two shows are over, there will be different plays, different ballets, new people renting the apartments that surround me. That’s why I am in the process of trying to find somewhere new to live. I genuinely live in fear of Stomp coming to town.

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