Page 15 of Ship of Fools

He stares at me.

I’m starting to think we might both be messed up, and that this might be… He interrupts my chaotic thoughts and sits up straight, waving his hands about with more gusto than my dad.

“I have a great life. I have a fun job, that I am really confident at, and I like the people I work with. That’s a lot to be thankful for, I know that. I can afford to pay for a flat that isn’t full of damp and cockroaches, like the one I lived in at uni. Talk about the incentive of doing well on your exams. All I wanted was to live somewhere that didn’t constantly smell of bleach and cheap insect sprays.”

“I bought this flat,” I interrupt, waving my hands around as well. “Because I wanted to live in a house with no clutter. That took all of two days, before I had stuff all over the floor and my kitchen looked just like the one at my parents’ house. It’s not easy living on your own. You have to do everything, and sometimes I’m just too tired to be bothered to hoover, or eat, or pick up crap off the floor. My parents don’t care, they just live with dust and dirt and stuff everywhere. I wanted something different, but instead I have ended up living just like they do.”

“Perhaps, that’s a good thing. Being too obsessed with stuff. I still wipe down my kitchen with bleach every day, praying that the Chistleworth cockroaches won’t find out where I live.”

I giggle. He smiles.

“I probably want all the same things that you want. I want a partner that will love me to death, treat me like a queen and fuck me senseless... but I also want friendship, and laughter, and great cups of tea. I want to be able to sit down and watch crap TV, talk about stupid customers, and hopefully, have family around us that adore us. That’s what I want. I also one day want a dog, and a nice car, and I want someone to go on holiday with, and then maybe buy a house with a garden, where I can do really crap attempts at growing tomatoes. My dad tries to grow tomatoes, but he keeps forgetting to water them, and they all die. If I could successfully grow tomatoes, I would perhaps get a tiny amount of respect from Dad. He thinks I’m a loser, because I haven’t set up my own company and joined a gentlemen's club in London. Instead, I live in a shit town and flog cars. “

“Your dad is an arse.”

“No.” He laughs. “He’s just a misguided bloke, whose parents sent him to boarding school when he was five, and then installed a load of crap values into him. He doesn’t mean to be condescending and mean. It’s just the way he is.”

“What would he think of me then? I’m neither of those things.”

“If you were my boyfriend?”

“I prefer partner. Sounds much more grown up.”

I blush. I’m at it again, letting my brain daydream of things I shouldn’t even consider.

“I would be proud of you if you were my partner. I think you’re lovely. “

I blush even more.

“I know we don’t know each other,” he says. “I know this is not a hookup, or a proper date, or whatever. I know this is weird, but it’s Christmas, and to be honest? Right now, I would rather be here with you, than anywhere else.”

“Where’s your family then? Wouldn’t you rather be at home?”

“Spain. Holiday home. My sister, Nina, is finding her inner chakra or some shit in India. I didn’t want to go to Spain. My parents didn’t ask. I don’t really fit in with their expat friends and little tapas parties and all that. I fit in here. I like it here. I don’t have to prove myself. I can just exist and…” He stops and looks at me with a snort. “I fuck up, a lot. I mess around with guys, and I sometimes scare myself how little I think of myself. I know that is an issue, and it’s something I am trying to fix.”

“How?” Apparently, I’m a man of very few words right now.

“I want to find out how to be happy. How not to let other people’s expectations grind me down! I want to find better friends, who tell me off when I’m a bastard, and stop me drinking when I’ve had enough. I want to find friends who will have my back when I mess up. I want to try not to mess up. I suppose that’s my fantasy. I want to be happy, with great friends and a boy... partner. A grown-up adult relationship. Great fun sex. I just want that. Happiness. Love. Fun. All in a neat package. “

“Fantasies are good. Reality is a shit place to be in.”

“I know that,” he sighs. “Still, even if this is not real life, and perhaps you are right, perhaps you and I are a really bad idea, but... we could still play along with it, like, you know...”

“Pretend?” I laugh. He’s ridiculous. And I am falling more and more in love with him by the second. I want to scoop him up and love him and protect him from everything that’s wrong in the world. I want to yell at his parents for not looking out for him. I want to kick his crap friends in the teeth. Not really. I don’t know who his friends are. I still hate them, because he says he needs better ones.

“We can pretend,” he says, and bounces up and down on the sofa, crossing his legs and getting himself comfortable. “Let’s say, it’s snowing really hard outside, and my car has broken down, so you have invited me in for a cup of tea, because the rescue services will take hours to attend, and I was standing out there in the street, all alone, getting belted by the snow.”

“Good try.” I laugh. “We’re both mechanics. Well, I am, and I have a feeling you know your way around under a car bonnet too, so why are we not fixing your car?”

“I’ve got a sore arm.” He giggles, holding his arm in a pretend sling. “Broke it as I skidded off the road.”

“Oh dear. Do you need an ambulance?” I’m playing along, because he is happy and I’m having too much fun to stop. Even if I should. Stop.

“There are no hospitals here. We are in the middle of nowhere.” He says dramatically as a police siren breaks the silence, and we both laugh as the blue lights light up the room, as the police car passes by in the street outside.

“So, have we got electricity?” I suggest, and Andreas jumps up and kills the ceiling light.

“Oops!” He declares. “We just lost power. Have you got candles?”

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