Page 53 of The Gin Lover's Guide to Dating

There’s a short pause as a waiter clears our plates away.

‘It’s just so frustrating.’ My voice wobbles and I push my hands through my hair, suddenly succumbing to the stress of it all. ‘If I could even supplement the wage I’m on with something else, then I’d have a chance of keeping my apartment – as long as I budgeted hard in other ways.’

‘Like what?’ Dylan’s interest recovers.

‘That’s the problem. I’m keen to do something, but can’t think of anything. I’m a corporate monkey, not an entrepreneur. I don’t know where to start.’

‘No harm in throwing a few ideas around. Have you got a notepad and pen?’

‘Err… yeah. In my handbag.’ I reach down, dig them out and hand them to him. ‘So, wheredowe start?’

‘What are you good at?’ Dylan asks.

‘Not much. I have my professional skills, I guess. So… writing communications, managing client relationships, putting a good PR spin on things…’

‘OK, what else?’

‘What do you mean “what else”? That’s it. That’s all I have to offer.’

‘Widen your thinking,’ he encourages me. ‘Give me some off-the-wall stuff.’

‘What? Why? This is pointless, Dylan.’ Again, my voice breaks slightly. ‘I just need to accept that—’

‘Will you just do it!’ Dylan shakes his head at me in frustration. ‘You’re a bloody mare to work with, woman.’

‘OK, OK. Err… I’m good at… drinking champagne. And I know a lot about gin now…’

Dylan scribbles as I talk.

‘Oh, and I have a real talent for reading people – as long as I’m totally removed from the situation. I watch the couples in the bar and make observations about them – and I’m nearly always right. Reyes is well impressed.’

‘Ah, how is Reyes?’ Dylan’s eyes glaze over, leaving me in no doubt that he’s imagining her naked.

‘And you just gavemea mouthful for not focusing on this?’

‘Sorry, you’re right.’ Dylan gathers himself. ‘She is one sexy bit of stuff though.’

‘Onemarriedsexy bit of stuff,’ I remind him.

‘Yeah, I noticed that,’ he grumbles and taps the side of his head. ‘Can still enjoy her up here though. Anyway…’

‘Yes, anyway.’ I glare at him. ‘Did you get all that before mentally undressing my married friend?’

‘Sure did.’ He reads down the list. ‘Poncey corporate bollocks, champagne, gin, weird stalker shit.’

‘Doesn’t add up to much, does it?’ I sigh. ‘And don’t call me a stalker. It’s an art.’

‘You’re an idiot.’ Dylan shakes his head at me again, pulls out the piece of paper from the pad and screws it up into a ball. ‘Was worth a try.’

‘Wait a minute.’ A flicker of an idea suddenly flits through my mind. ‘Give me that piece of paper.’

He passes it to me and I flatten it out, reading the words, over and over.

‘I’m really enjoying working in the bar,’ I ponder. ‘But there’s an element of fulfilment that I just don’t get from it, that I got when I was working at McArthur Cohen. This job is not mentally stimulating; doesn’t challenge my mind…’

‘So?’ Dylan prompts me.

‘If I could choose to do anything from my old job again, it would be the writing. I loved nothing more than crafting and polishing the perfect article or communication piece. What if I tired some freelance writing again? But this time not in a professional context. On my observations of other people? Or I could write about gin. Or both? That could be fun! Although… I’ve no idea how I’d make any money from it. Who would pay money for that kind of stuff?’

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