One Thing Leads to Another. Jamie Holland
impossibly futuristic scenario. How on earth was he ever going to be in a position to afford a house, let alone furniture to go in it? He thought about all the thousands of houses in London. How could anyone afford them? Even a tiny flat seemed ridiculously expensive, and despite his near-constant penury, he was aware he earned more than most Londoners. Life could be so demoralizing. Still, he should be glad for Geordie. Jessica was never going to have a problem finding a boyfriend, but Geordie – well, he had to admit his friend deserved a break, and if Molly did materialize into something good, then, competition or no, he should be glad for him.
Having unpacked, Flin was back downstairs being told by Jessica to stop feeling sorry for himself when Geordie walked in.
‘Flin, you’re back! How was it with the luscious Poppy?’
Jessica glanced at Flin to await his response.
Flin sighed. ‘Not quite what it was cracked up to be, actually.’
‘No?’ Geordie grinned. ‘The parents interrupting your nights of hot sex?’
‘Something like that,’ Flin replied, shifting on the sofa.
‘You’re going to have to tell him, darling,’ put in Jessica.
Geordie was looking expectant. ‘Tell me what?’
‘Oh, nothing. Look, do you fancy catching last orders?’ Flin asked him. Of course, Flin was going to have to tell Geordie about it, but he wanted it to be a highly edited version, out of earshot of Jessica. His car-ride confessional had been cathartic, but then again Jessica was a good listener. Admitting all to Geordie would take him down to a new level of humiliation – Geordie may be his best friend, but there were some things that simply could not be discussed with blokes.
Over a pint in a quiet corner of the pub Flin explained how he and Poppy had had a bit of an argument and things had gone badly wrong from then on. He did tell the story of the taxi-ride, but skirted over the other details of the holiday.
‘What a nightmare,’ Geordie said, recognizing that tact and sympathy were required at the present. Making him suffer could be saved for later.
‘Yeah,’ said Flin sullenly.
‘I mean, I really thought you had it sewn up.’
‘Hm,’ nodded Flin
‘To be honest, I was jealous as hell! She was absolutely gorgeous! I had all these images of you shagging under the olive trees or vines or whatever. I bet she looked even better with a deep tan.’
Flin winced. ‘Geordie, can you please stop going on about how gorgeous she must have been? It’s very painful for me.’
‘I’m commiserating,’ said Geordie.
‘Well let’s just change the subject,’ said Flin.
‘Sure,’ said Geordie, then added, ‘but I must admit I wouldn’t have wanted to be in your shoes. It does sound really embarrassing.’
‘It was.’
They both sat in silence for a moment, looking at the brown, flat liquid in front of them.
‘Anyway, on a brighter note, I think I’m about to fall in love.’
‘Yeah, Jessica said. That’s great.’ Flin looked up wearily from his beer. ‘Well done.’
‘Well, aren’t you going to ask me about it?’
‘OK, sorry.’ Flin took one of Geordie’s cigarettes. ‘Go on then, let’s hear it.’
As Flin got into bed that night he decided he would just have to try and put the Poppy débâcle behind him. It was no good being permanently maudlin. And he may suddenly be behind with the romantic part of the competition, but there was still a long time to go and there was always work. Bruklin Sale was coming over – the talk of Sundance – and he knew that this presented a golden opportunity to make a big impression. He had the opportunity to help establish this bright, new and exciting director/star in the UK; and well aware that Bruklin was unspoilt by years riding the publicity bandwagon, Flin knew he would have more influence over what this new star would do to promote than the vast majority of campaigns he worked on. Internal promotion was difficult in his line of work; the way forward was to put together campaigns that people in the business noticed. Get noticed, and get headhunted. It was as simple as that.
chapter six Ponderings on Love
While Flin was lying in his bed and giving himself a talking to, Geordie was trying to relax in his nightly bath. This had become an important part of his day for several reasons. Firstly, he never slept well if he missed out on this ritual: he hated feeling soiled and grimy and especially loathed having to get under his duvet with dirty feet (if he ever had to forgo his bath, he at least made sure his feet were clean). Secondly, he loved lying in warm soothing water and reading. It enabled him to relax after the rigours of the day and he kept a stash of Tintins, Asterix and rugby magazines for this purpose. Recently he’d adopted the additional habit of taking a cup of tea in with him – Earl Grey with one lump of sugar and just a dash of milk was how he liked it. He’d discovered drinking caffeine never kept him awake; if anything it merely aided relaxation and so quickened sleep.
Surrounded by mountains of bubbles and sipping tea from a new mug bought for the new house, Geordie was trying to read King Ottakar’s Sceptre, but found his mind wandering. He could not stop thinking about Molly. Jessica had told him to wait a few days before phoning and now he knew the moment was approaching. God, he so hoped it would all work out. The very thought of lifting the receiver and dialling filled him with nerves. He couldn’t remember ever having felt like this before. No girl in the past had ever caused him such a sense of nervous anticipation. He thought about his past girlfriends. How he’d left Nadia in Argentina then tried to see Nell again once he’d come back from his travels. By that stage, she’d long got over him and was going out with a lawyer with red hair. Then he suddenly remembered his first girlfriend and smiled to himself at the thought. Geordie supposed he must have been about fifteen, just before O levels, and he and Flin had just started smoking and trying to look cool. The two of them had gone to a local girls’ school social and had ended up snogging two girls called Vicky and Clarissa. He’d followed Vicky around all evening and in retrospect it was clear she’d been keen for him to make a move. But he had never snogged anyone before and his intense fear of rejection had made him hold back until, clearly despairing of ever making her conquest, she’d grabbed his collar and shoved her tongue in his mouth. He could remember it all so clearly. Flin, much to Geordie’s irritation, had snogged several times before then, and had wrapped up the deal with Clarissa early on in the evening. At the end of the party they compared notes and Geordie had felt ecstatic, not so much because of the sexual pleasure, but more due to relief that he had crossed this teenage hurdle.
He’d gone out with Vicky for about three weeks. At one point, Flin and he had taken the girls to the fair and had swaggered about in trenchcoats bought from the flea market, smoking Marlboro reds. Whizzing around in the Waltzer he’d tried to remain unfazed, despite feeling nauseous, while the girls screamed and laughed, their hair across their faces and getting caught in their wide-open mouths. Between the strutting and prancing, though, there’d not been much sexual activity: a grope of a breast and more snogging, but definitely no activity below the waistline. Not that surprising really – there simply wasn’t a lot of opportunity for clandestine meetings and one day he’d received a letter from Vicky, in handwriting considerably more mature than his, announcing that they were drifting apart and therefore she wanted to finish it. Geordie had never realized they’d been that close. Flin had a similar letter from Clarissa on the same day.
Thereafter the main opportunity for meeting girls had been at parties held during school holidays at the racecourse in Salisbury. Such functions provided three clear aims for Geordie, Flin and their mates: get very drunk, ask the DJ for obscure and thus very cool tracks, and pull a girl. It was on one of