Page 98 of The Gin Lover's Guide to Dating

‘That’s all in your head.’ Dylan shakes his head.

‘Is it?’ I look him straight in the eye. ‘Why would they welcome me? I abandoned them. Left them thinking that I thought I was too good for them. You always make comments like that about me, so why won’t they?’

‘I do that to keep you grounded.’

‘Well it’s effective, I’ll give you that.’ I feel myself starting to sweat. ‘Dylan, it’s not just them. It wasn’t a happy place for me.’

‘I know,’ he soothes me. ‘I get that. But why not be brave? Give it a go. For me?’

I stare at the floor, mulling this over, sorely conflicted. The last thing I want to do is put myself in yet another a vulnerable position, but I do owe Dylan for everything he’s done for me. And then there’s the progress I’ve made with getting over my past. As much as I want to run screaming at the thought of returning to Ridgemore Estate and the Broken Arms pub, and feeling all those unpleasant feelings again, maybe this is the final step to rid me of my demons: to go and face them head on.

‘I… err…’ I look up at Dylan. ‘OK, I’ll do it. I’ve hidden away for long enough. Maybe I’ll even get some blog material there. You’ll need to buy my drinks though – I can’t afford to go out anymore.’

‘Deal.’ Dylan sticks his hand out and I tentatively shake it.

‘And you’ll need to give me a bit of time to sort out this mess I’m in first too.’

‘Fine by me.’ Dylan shrugs. ‘But, Squirt?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I’m gonna hold you to this.’

‘Oh, I know you are.’ I laugh. ‘I’m well aware of that.’

A few hours later, once Dylan has left, I’m sitting at my breakfast bar trying to keep myself busy by composing my next blog post, using some ideas I had scribbled down previously. But with everything that’s happened, I’m struggling to concentrate. I’m plagued by memories of this afternoon’s disaster, guilt and sadness from how I messed things up with Josh; as well as worries about how I’m going to stay afloat financially. Eventually, deadlocked, I get up to make myself a snack.

As I’m buttering my toast, it suddenly dawns on me that my phone has been uncharacteristically silent. I’m not aware of having received any new messages since the early afternoon. Understandably, there have been no texts from Josh. But I’ve not heard from Graham either since my last message to him. With everything having gone south earlier, I hadn’t clocked his lack of response. I glance at my watch and see it’s ten-thirty p.m.

Abandoning my tea and half-buttered toast, I pad over to my handbag and grab my phone. I’m hoping I’ve accidentally switched it to silent, and that there’s a whole raft of messages from him asking where I am, and if I’m OK. I press the home button and my screen lights up, but all I see is my wallpaper image staring back at me; no alerts or messages dominating the small space.

Just to be sure, I open up my blog chat app, but all it shows me is the last message I sent to Graham. There’s been no response. A sinking feeling immediately engulfs me. Where is he? Why has he not answered? We’ve had unanticipated pauses in our conversations, but not for this long. I had asked him a question. He couldn’t have mistakenly regarded my message as the end of a conversation.

Don’t blow this out of proportion, I coach myself. You’re just feeling vulnerable. Maybe something came up. Just like it did for you. Do I have any real reason to think that there’s anything wrong? No. He did say he had some complications in his life right now. Maybe it’s connected to that. Shaking my head at myself for being so paranoid, I decide there’s only one way to solve this. I tap out a short message.

MissGinFizz:You had as crazy a day as me? I almost forgot I was waiting for you to reply!

I place my phone on the breakfast bar, and return to my half-made tea and toast. My ear remains continuously tuned to my phone, waiting for that all-important message of reassurance. It’s still my focus as I switch on the television and flick absently through the channels, then give up and switch off the television. Finally, I shut down my laptop, wash my face and brush my teeth, and head to bed.

As I lie there, my phone sitting mutely beside me on my bedside table, I’m consumed with anxiety and sadness – knowing I’m not just being paranoid. If he was busy, or just temporarily forgot about my message, he would have answered by now. He wouldn’t just not reply. I may not know what he looks like or where he lives, but I do know how he interacts. Something’s wrong. Something’s very,verywrong.

Chapter 28

Two weeks later, I’ve started frequenting several different bars to get my blog material. This is so I’m not always seen in the same one – a lone person nursing a single soft drink for hours does stand out a bit. Having learned the hard way about regular customers and their distaste of being mocked while simply going about their business, diversifying my territory has been a priority. I’ve also added fiction in each of my posts to ensure no one recognises themselves in my work again.

I push open the door to The Green Room, a trendy gin bar in the West End, where – no surprises – the décor and furniture display different and complementary shades of green. I walk inside, immediately hit by their moreish signature apple scent. Even though it’s a Wednesday evening, there’s a lively buzz about the place and I can immediately recognise a potentially rich source of material. Having used the time I’ve gained from being sacked from the hotel productively, I’ve started a second, sister blog, focusing on the wider spectrum of human interactions and behaviour; as well as a broader range of alcoholic beverages. So, I know I’ll get something from this visit.

I carefully select a table that offers a good view right across the bar without me having to move or change my sitting position. Taking a seat on the comfortable armchair-style seat, I read through the menu, reminding myself of the range of gin-based drinks available. My taste buds tingle.

‘What can I get you?’ A surly-looking waitress has approached without me noticing.

‘Oh, err…’ I put down the drinks menu guiltily. ‘Can I just have a mineral water, please?’

‘A mineral water?’ She looks at me as if I’ve grown a unicorn horn.

‘Yes, please.’

‘Right. Still or sparkling?’

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