Dan Taylor Is Giving Up On Women. Neal Doran
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‘Happy New Year, toots! How are ya?’ Rob asked, giving her a big hug and noisy kiss.
‘This is our dearest old pal, Dan,’ said Hannah, ‘Dan, Niamh.’
I don’t know exactly what I was thinking the moment before it happened, but time slowed down as I realised I was leaning in, arms wide open, to give a total stranger an unexpected and unwelcome kiss and friendly embrace.
I knew immediately upon moving that the situation had called for a nod and hi, but caught up in the enthusiasm of greetings from Rob and Hannah I’d over-committed. I felt my life flash before my eyes as I continued on my irreversible trajectory towards Niamh; every embarrassing experience I’d ever had replayed itself in front of me, from being too slow to put my hand up when bursting for the toilet on my first day at infants’ school onwards. I watched Niamh’s face — pretty, with stylish thick, dark spectacle frames that emphasised her increasingly widening eyes — as I moved closer, arms extended. She had a frozen fixed smile as I lurched forward, brain filled with memories of the times I mistook my boss’s wife for his mother, and called my GCSE biology teacher ‘dad’.
Finally I had my arms around her, patting her back in as non-committal way as possible and giving a quick peck somewhere around her ear, while my memory brimmed with recollections of other times I’d been in such close proximity to a woman and had felt a need to be somewhat apologetic.
She stood, still smiling, with the look of someone who might have suspected that they were the only person not in on a private joke, as I leapt back to the safety of my spot against the kitchen wall.
‘Um, hi, nice to meet you,’ she said as she stood there, arms folded, in her straight-from-work tailored suit, braced for any further unexpected assaults.
‘Well, isn’t this all very friendly?’ said Rob into the endless silence. ‘Now, who needs a large intoxicating beverage?’
After shuffling through to the living room, with me going to extraordinary lengths to make sure there was no chance for me to be in physical contact with Niamh, we sat on different sofas and nibbled crisps while Chris Isaac crooned reassuringly in the background. Hannah and Niamh caught up on friends they have in common, and I composed myself while listening attentively and nodding along to the trials and tribulations of people I didn’t know. I assured myself there was no long-term harm done, that maybe she’d just think of me as one of those larger than life characters that was always going around hugging people and sharing a bit of banter with bus drivers. I knew I just needed to pull myself together, and ease my way into the chat the two of them were having and we could start again. It wasn’t long before I spotted my opportunity.
‘Well, Osbourne’s been at it again,’ said Niamh with a tone of weary disbelief, and I mentally high-fived myself for having done my homework.
‘Yes, it’s another sign that this coalition government still isn’t dealing with economic reality. I think at the EU summit of ministers there’ll be repercussions beyond that close vote in the Commons,’ I declared, while Hannah looked over, obviously seeing a new side to me.
‘If only he could think less about the short term and more of his legacy — like the late John Osborne with his revival at the National Theatre. Fifty-seven years since its debut at the Royal Court, which marked the real take-off of a career that encompassed more than twenty plays and Oscar-winning screenwriting. Have you seen it?’ I continued.
‘Um, I meant Ozzy?’ said Niamh. ‘He burnt off his eyebrows trying to put out a fire in his LA mansion? It was in the Metro this morning…’
‘I’ll just go and see Rob,’ said Hannah, getting up quickly to leave the room. ‘If I don’t reclaim the kitchen he’ll be tinkering with that sauce all night. Talk amongst yourselves!’
Niamh and I smiled at each other nervously. After a while we established that we’d both had nice Christmases, although they’d been quiet. Also that it was very cold out today, but that was probably what you’d expect in January.
Chris Isaac was singing one of his old numbers, a kind of darkly sensuous song, best suited to somewhat later in the evening — and for two people on somewhat more intimate terms than we were on. I said I didn’t know what he was up to these days. Niamh thought maybe he was doing a bit more acting. I thought she might be right, but neither of us was sure.
Niamh took a sip from her half-full glass of white wine.
‘I’ll get you a refill!’ I said and bounded off to the kitchen.
‘What are you doing in here?’ muttered Hannah as she turned from putting the finishing touches to a mezze platter. ‘Get back out and chat to her!’
‘Don’t make me go out there,’ I whispered. ‘I don’t know what to say. It’s killing me.’
‘You can do it. Have you asked her about her job?’ she whispered back.
‘I thought that was boring!’
‘You could always go and try and snog her again,’ said Rob, in his usual-volume booming voice. ‘Just don’t HARR-ISSA her.’
‘Come on, out you go,’ whispered Hannah as she hustled me to the door.
‘I need the wine!’ I squeaked, and found a bottle of sauvignon blanc thrust into my hands, followed by a shove that sent me tripping into the coat rack on the wall outside the doorway to the living room. Getting back to my feet and untangling myself from a spaghetti of scarves and handbag straps, I looked over at Niamh, watching me from across the room.
‘Wine!’ I declared, holding the glistening bottle aloft as a collection of umbrellas clattered and fell around me.
I topped up her glass, and, after downing the last drops of red in mine, decided I’d switch to white, rather than risk going into the kitchen again.
‘So, you’re a lawyer?’ I asked.
‘A solicitor, yes. For a housing charity. We do a lot around helping vulnerable people to get all their entitlements, making sure families in trouble can get decent and safe accommodation, taking on dodgy landlords, that kind of thing. And you?’
‘I, um, try and find out if people like fizzy drinks, and why. And what they might look for in new fizzy drinks. I get free samples sometimes,’ I said.
‘Well, that sounds fun.’
The silence returned. I thought desperately for something else to say that’d fill the void. I pondered asking about hobbies, but was worried my pastime of sitting on the sofa with no trousers on watching box sets might not be a match for the answer of sky-diving, playing second violin in the London Philharmonic, or curing cancer that I felt certain it was going to be up against.
‘Behave yourselves, kids, I’m coming in,’ boomed Rob as he scuttled into the room bearing an enormous plate of dips, breads, stuffed vine leaves, and olives. ‘We might as well haul ourselves over to the table if you two can stop your gabbling for just a minute. And it’s a small table, so watch out. I don’t want to get my legs felt up by either of you trying to play footsie.’
Rob and Hannah’s rickety kitchen table had been set up in the corner of the living room, by the window overlooking the scenic forecourt of the local exhaust repair centre. Covered in a retro vinyl tablecloth and surrounded by a collection of fold-up stools and computer chairs, it was lit by candles mounted in old spirit bottles that were disappearing under the multi-coloured wax of atmospheric lights that had gone before. I could remember when at least one of those bottles had seen the last of its contents downed as a series of shots when a new candleholder had been needed for Hannah’s birthday dinner, and had loads of memories of meals around this quirky old table, talking and laughing until the early-shift mechanics across the way were coming into work.
I could be myself at this table, and relax and talk to anyone about anything; it was home turf. It felt as if I was getting my second wind, and I could start this evening over. I was going to be sparkly, and charming and witty and show Niamh I could hold