Page 8 of The Gin Lover's Guide to Dating

I flinch at this observation, more at the reminder of my roots, than from the suggestion that I might consider Dylan to be less than able.

‘I know that, Dylan. OK, so you bumped into Anya, and she told you I decided to leave. So what? I realised the promotion wasn’t quite what I wanted after all, so I decided to take a bold decision. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Everything’s wrong with that.’ Dylan regards me with frustration. ‘Firstly, it’s a stupid thing to do, throwing in a job like that without something to move on to. And second, I just don’t buy it. Yesterday you were all about getting a bigwig job in that place; it’s all you’ve talked about for months, and now, just like that, you’ve decided it’s not good enough for you?’

Dylan fixes his defiant gaze on me. Unable to bear the scrutiny, and with my defences still weak from the earlier events of the day – plus the alcohol – I don’t have the fight in me to try to keep my charade going. Not with Dylan. He knows me too well. I pad across to the large charcoal fabric sofa and slump onto it.

‘I’ve been let go.’

Dylan leaps off the bar stool and joins me on the sofa. ‘What happened?’

Defeated, I tell him everything; the whole humiliating truth. I don’t cry. I never cry. I learned a long time ago that crying doesn’t help anything. Especially with an emotionally stunted mother and a father too loose with his tongue – as well as his fists. Dylan listens quietly, saying nothing until I’m done.

‘Bastards,’ he mutters eventually, his face etched with concentration as he rolls himself a cigarette. ‘They’ve really messed things up for you.’

‘Roll me one too?’ I ask.

‘No way. You haven’t touched a fag in years. I’m not letting you start again. Anyway, doesn’t fit your new image.’

‘Dylan. Roll me a cigarette.’ I command. ‘According to you, I’ve pretty much just had the worst day of my career. I don’t need you looking out for my health right now – or making snide comments about my lifestyle.’

Dylan looks up at me and smiles. ‘There she is. The ice queen returns.’

‘Stop it, would you?’

Dylan just chuckles, hands me his cigarette and rolls another.

We put on our jackets and head out onto the balcony, drinks in hand, and take a seat on my patio furniture. It’s a warm, sunny evening, with just a spattering of white fluffy clouds moving slowly across the horizon. The early evening Edinburgh traffic hums away rhythmically below. Dylan offers me a light and then sees to his own cigarette. I watch him blow smoke rings, remembering how I used to want to be able to do that myself, but could never master it.

‘So, rough day then,’ he says. ‘Sorry, Squirt.’

‘It’s fine. I’ll be fine.’ I take a puff of my roll-up and immediately start to cough; ignoring the knowing look Dylan gives me. ‘Before you arrived, I had already decided it was for the best. Now I realise I should have gotten out months ago. It’s the fact that they got one up on me. I was unwittingly led into that situation and I didn’t catch on quick enough. It’s my fault.’

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘But, thankfully,’ I continue, ignoring him, ‘because of the settlement agreement they can’t tell anyone what really happened, so my reputation shouldn’t be affected by it. Dylan, this is actually a good thing. It’s my chance to go out and grab what I want.’

‘Here we go again.’ Dylan sighs. ‘Itwillprobably work out for the best in the long run. You don’t want to work for a company that can ditch you so thanklessly after you’ve given them so much. All the having to act a certain way, the power grabs, the knife in the back when you’re not looking. When you gonna accept that this just isn’t you?’

‘It’s totally me.’ I sit back, lift my chin and offer a deliberate pout. ‘Why wouldn’t it be me? I’m as good as everyone else there.’

‘Wrong.’ Dylan looks me straight in the eye. ‘You’re better. Talking corporate bollocks and going to poncey bars isn’t a measure of anything. It just makes you a bit of a twat.’

Used to Dylan’s straight-talking approach, I’m unfazed by this comment.

‘I know you’re putting on a brave face,’ Dylan continues, his tone softer. ‘But I think you’re hurt and in shock. I think your confidence will have taken a knock. And you know what? That’s OK. It’s totally normal to feel that way. What’s not normal is to deny that it’s had any impact; and to act like some kind of indestructible ballbreaker.’

‘I’m not.’ I watch my cigarette burn slowly, having already abandoned the idea of smoking it.

‘Yes, you are. It’s me you’re talking to. How long have we known each other? You used to share everything with me: your dad’s rages; days of no food in your house, because your mum had spent her dole cheque on vodka. You’ve always been tough – you had to be to get through that. But you still felt it – and you let me in.’

‘Are you finished?’ I’m staring straight ahead of me.

‘I’m finished.’ Dylan shrugs his shoulders resignedly.

‘Good.’

We sit in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth of the evening sun on our faces, listening to the sound of the traffic below. The predictable drone of engines is temporarily drowned out as an ambulance races by, siren blaring, then gradually fading away.

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