Page 15 of The Gin Lover's Guide to Dating

‘No problem at all,’ I hear myself say automatically. ‘I understand. Thanks anyway, for the opportunity.’

‘Sorry it wasn’t better news.’ Jan does sound genuinely apologetic. ‘Wewerevery impressed by you. Bye, Liv.’

I say goodbye and end the call, then crouch down in the alleyway, my head in my hands, feeling sick with despair.

That’s it. That was the last glimmer of hope on the immediate horizon. There’s been nothing else suitable for a few weeks now. The job market has completely dried up. And even if it hadn’t, I almost can’t bear to keep going through this. Fifteen interviews and not a single offer.

I sit for several minutes on the cold pavement, unable to muster the motivation to move. It’s only when I attract a sympathetic glance from a passer-by that I eventually haul myself to my feet and drag myself out of the alleyway.

I trudge dejectedly along Rose Street and onto Princes Street, passing one brightly lit shopfront after another: windows bursting with colour and style, all trying to lure me inside; but I’m immune to them. It’s unseasonably cool for the beginning of September. The sky is heavy; dark clouds roll threateningly across the horizon, making Princes Street Gardens and the castle seem uncharacteristically uninviting, almost ominous. A chill wind picks up, causing me to shiver slightly, and within a few minutes, cold wet droplets begin to splatter me in the face.

Realising I don’t have an umbrella, I decide I need to find cover fast. I look around and spot a Costa just across the road on Hanover Street. Suddenly the rain is pouring down heavily, huge droplets bouncing off the pavements like tiny missiles, soaking me through in seconds. I rush across the road towards the doorway, earning myself a blast of the horn from a black cab driver as I do.

Once inside, I order a medium cappuccino, and slump into a seat at the back of the café, close to the toilets. It’s very quiet, but I can see that a few other soaked shoppers are following my lead.

I sit for quite a while, teaspoon in hand, playing miserably with the froth on my drink; uncomfortable in my wet clothes, listening to the now lashing rain and wind battering the windows. The weather matches my mood.

How have I got to this point? Just three and a bit months ago, I was unstoppable. My career was unstoppable. I was exactly where I wanted to be: my five-year plan on track. Now… now I’m unemployed with an ever-growing gap in my CV, which is making it more and more difficult to get a job. I can’t even seem to make a sideways move, let alone secure the step up I was after. I wasn’t prepared for this.

In my bag, my phone sounds the arrival of a new text message. Guessing who it’s from, I don’t even bother to look. I can’t face telling Dylan I’ve missed out on yet another job. He’s been on my back constantly to take some other kind of work and this won’t make it any better. It beeps again almost straight away.

‘Get lost, Dylan,’ I mutter.

As I continue to play with – rather than actually drink – my cappuccino, I don’t even notice that the café has filled up, until someone approaches me.

‘Liv? Is that you?’

I look up, and at first, I don’t recognise the person standing in front of me.

‘It is you, isn’t it?’

‘Err… yes…’

Confused and slightly on my guard, I take in the man towering over me. He’s probably just shy of his mid-thirties, very tall and slender, with a cleanly shaven face and thick, dark-framed glasses framing his forest green eyes. His short, dark brown hair has a hint of salt and pepper, and he’s wearing a black suit with a shiny tie, slightly awkward in his demeanour. Suddenly, it clicks.

‘Aaron?’

‘Correct.’ He gives me an awkward grin. ‘It’s been a while. Ten, maybe twelve, years?’

‘Something like that,’ I mumble.

Great. Of all the days to bump into my ex-boss from my university days. From a different time, when I was waiting tables, supervising the breakfast and dinner shifts in the restaurant of the Old Town Hotel. Ordinarily I’d be thrilled to bump into him, and to be able to share how I’ve progressed since then – in some part thanks to him. He played an important role in my life at that time. But not today. Today I can’t face speaking to anyone.

‘What are you up to these days?’ Aaron asks.

There it is. The question that, for the last three months, I have dreaded every time I meet someone new, or someone I haven’t seen for a while. What do you do? What are you up to these days? Translation: where have you got to in life; are you successful; and sometimes, are you as successful as me?

‘Not much, really.’ I try for evasive, remembering he’s a bit awkward socially, so that should be enough to put him off.

Aaron isn’t remotely fazed. ‘You were always on about wanting to work in PR and communications before,’ he says. ‘How did that work out?’

‘You have a good memory.’ I try again to evade the question.

‘I remembereverything.’ Although he’s obviously joking, Aaron’s words hang in the air, almost ominously.

‘Err… right. Well, it’s worked out fine. I’ve been working in that area for nearly ten years now. Got a graduate role straight out of uni and went on from there.’

I hope that putting the focus on the past will deter any chat about the present, and help to wind up the conversation.

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