Fish Needs a Hug

Having successfully battled our way through the masses to the bar, we retired to one of the couches by the window to watch as people milled about, armed with two large glasses of sauv blanc. The members of the dining party had already lost any inhibitions and awkwardness incumbent in the wearing of the masks, but it was entertaining to see the others trying to work out how to interact with unidentified individuals. Certain unspoken rules seemed to apply; clearly it was a social faux pas to ask any identifying questions. Names were off-limits, as were questions about occupation if they might give away the person’s identity. For some time as people continued to arrive, Faye and I played a game of ‘spot the ring’, which grew more entertaining as we began to spot those individuals guiltily sneaking their rings off their fingers and into their pockets once they realised others had already done so. Emboldened by the anonymity afforded by the masks, there were several bold flirtations occurring, several of which involved individuals who were very definitely married, and not to each other.

Eventually Faye grew bored of people-watching and sprawled back on the couch. She eyed up a passing man, her eyes lingering on his arse, and then asked abruptly, “Do you think if I shaved my head Simon would notice?”

Bollocks. We were back to Simon. We always came back to Simon. If I’d had a choice, I would have challenged him to a duel—not to the death, but rather to the pain. (Thank you, Princess Bride.) I’d take off his dick to start with…

“Probably not a great move, babe,” I said, ruffling her hair. “I have a feeling he’d probably run from Britney as fast as he could.” I considered. “Actually, on balance, that’s a brilliant idea…”

Faye swatted my hand away. “Maybe if I went ginger…”

“Oh good, now you’re willing to give up your soul,” I teased. “Well, I guess to be fair I always knew Simon was the devil…”

“I could find myself another man?” She stared intently at the mask of someone standing in the doorway to the lounge.

“Definitely the best idea you’ve had all day,” I said cheerfully. “Far sight better than bald or ginger. And definitely better than baiting Sarah.”

“But baiting Sarah is so fun.” She sulked for a moment. “Anyway, I mean to make Simon jealous. He has to notice if other men suddenly want me, right?” She considered and grinned. “Although a bit of man fun wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Oh.” Rats. We were still hung up on Simon, although far be it from me to object to man fun… “Well, if it’s to make Simon jealous I have to disapprove. He is a selfish, emotionally manipulative prick who’s only interested in himself and what the rest of the world can do for him. And you know as well as I do that dragging Simon’s attention back to you is a bad, bad idea. By all means go for a bit of man fun…but for god’s sake, Faye, please don’t do it because of Simon!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Faye muttered, pulling herself up off the couch. “We can’t all have the perfect relationship.” She tapped her glass. “Another?”

“Please,” I said fervently.

When she returned, I took the glass of wine she handed over and said, somewhat guiltily, “You know I haven’t told Nate about St Andrews job yet, right?”

Faye stopped with her drink hovering before her mouth. “What do you mean, you haven’t told him?” she demanded. “I thought you accepted the job already!”

I winced. Yeah. There was a reason I felt guilty. “Yes. Sit down before you fall down.” I leaned on the armrest and sighed. Humbug. I seemed to be doing a lot of sighing this evening. To be perfectly honest, I wished I hadn’t mentioned the St Andrews job; I was excited about it, but the fact that I hadn’t told Nate about it yet had been bothering me for weeks. If I’d stopped to think about it I probably would have clocked that it was because I couldn’t figure out why I hadn’t told him yet. I mean, why not? “I haven’t found a chance to tell him. Nate hates Scotland.”

“Yeah, but it’s only for a year, right?” Faye said. “Anyway, you better tell him soon. Aren’t you guys thinking about buying a house?”

Don’t remind me… “Yeah…kind of…” I frowned. “Well, he wants us to buy a house.”

“Well, you don’t want him to start looking for one—or, you know, put down an offer—if you jetting off to Scotland might put that on hold for a year.”

“True…” I looked down at my wine glass and discovered it was empty. Shit, how had that happened?

Faye frowned suddenly. “You don’t seem all that excited about the idea of buying a house with Nate. I don’t know, isn’t it kind of a big deal? It’s like you’re turning into a grown-up.”

“Hah,” was my intelligent response.

“Come to think of it, you weren’t exactly leaping for joy when you two got the dog, either.”

“Bad back, you know,” I drawled.

She ignored the reference and poked me in the arm. “Are you happy?”

My eyes flew to her face. “Of course I’m happy! I love Nate! Why would you think I’m not happy?”

“Jeez, no need to get defensive, Fish, it’s just a question,” Faye said. “Just sometimes you don’t really seem like you particularly want to be with him.”

I scowled down at my empty wineglass. Surely it had been full only a minute ago. “We’ve just been so busy lately and things are really tight so we’ve been stressed. I’d say you know how it is, but since your relationships are more of the ‘hit ’em once and run for the hills’ kind…”

“Oi,” Faye said. “I resemble that remark.”

Frowning, I continued, “Nate’s been trying to find a permanent job, but you know, he’s been commuting to Leeds and back every day for that teaching position and so he’s tired and irritable all the time. And I have my part-time post at Trent, which is, you know, fine, but Nate keeps pushing and pushing for me to find something full-time because our finances are so tight.” I paused. “Which means that really he ought to be thrilled about the St Andrews job, because even if it’s not permanent it’s at least full-time.” I sank further back into the sofa and turned the wine glass in my fingers. “That’s why I didn’t want the dog. But Nate really wanted her, so we went ahead and got her, and of course dogs cost money to keep, and you have to walk them, and since Nate has to leave early in the morning for work and doesn’t get back until late, I’m the one who ends up walking Gatsby… I mean, I love Nate, of course, it’s just that I feel sometimes like I’m the one who ends up having to do everything with the house and the dog and everything else because Nate is never home, and when he is he just wants to crash. Of course he’s working really hard and he’s exhausted so it’s fine, it’s just…” I trailed off and shook my head, feeling miserable. Which was stupid. I was in a committed relationship with a wonderful man. Misery should not be coming into the picture.

“Hah,” Faye said. “I’d attempt to offer some sage advice regarding where Nate can stick it, but we’ve had this disagreement before and I know you’ll only defend him, so…let’s talk about this St Andrews thing instead.”

I blinked furiously, pushing back the tears threatening to spill over. No, I was not going to cry. Back, you bastards! “I kind of assumed, since it’s only a fixed-term post, that I’ll go up for the year and find a place to let while I’m there, and come down as often in the meantime. And hopefully in the meantime he’ll find a permanent position somewhere, and we can move there and maybe buy that house he wants so much, and then when this St Andrews post is up I’ll look for a permanent position that’s within a commutable distance from where we’re living.” I sniffed. “That sounds good, right? I mean, I’m not being unreasonable?”

“Come here,” Faye said, taking my wineglass and putting it on the table. She flung out her arms. “Fish needs a hug.”

When I resisted, she dragged me over until I was half on her lap, cuddled me until the tears had dried and I no longer felt like crying, and then proceeded to tickle me until I was giggling and breathless and we’d begun to attract attention from several other guests.

“Fuck men,” Faye said eventually, resting her head on my shoulder. “You and I can run away together and live on an island and be lesbian lovers. Except for the sex part, because I love you but not like that.”

I laughed. Oh yeah, I loved Faye. “Deal.”

“You know,” Faye said, eyeing the buffet just visible around the corner, “I think they just put out ice cream. You want?”

I hesitated. Dammit, I loved ice cream. Like, a lot. Like I’d go through 500ml in one go. I’d got that from my dad, who did the exact same thing. “No,” I said. “I really shouldn’t. I’m supposed to be dieting.”

“Bullshit. You stay right there,” Faye commanded, hopping back up. I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could think of anything to protest with, she was back with two bowls of mint chocolate chip ice cream and another two glasses of wine. “Here,” she said, thrusting a bowl and a glass at me. “Eat. And drink. Ice cream and wine: balm for the tormented female soul.”

“I really shouldn’t,” I protested half-heartedly, licking mint off the spoon. “You’re a bad influence on me.”

“Only in the best ways,” Faye said cheerfully, catching a drip on her finger. “Anyway, everyone knows that women, when upset, must have ice cream. And those calories definitely do not count. Besides, you don’t need to be on a diet anyway. The only person fussing about your weight is Nate.”

True, I conceded silently, digging my spoon into the ice cream. Although it was something I tried really hard to ignore. Two weeks earlier, Nate and I had gone out for dinner and I’d put on my favourite dress—black, square-necked, nipped in under the bust, floaty skirt. I always felt like, I don’t know, udrey Hepburn in that dress—elegant and classy. I’d had it for years, since my uni days at least, if not longer, and the thought of having to try to find another little black dress when this one was (I thought) so flattering was a headache that I was determined to avoid as long as possible. I’d traipsed downstairs in the dress and kitten heels, preparing to flirtatiously finagle a kiss out of my boyfriend, but Nate had looked up from a bowl of ice cream and commented, “Don’t remember that dress being so snug, babe. Guess you’ll be leaving off the pudding tonight, eh?” Desire for flirtatious kiss murdered, just like that. I’d dashed back upstairs and given myself a once-over in the full-length mirror, but I’d thought I looked fine. And then Nate was shouting at me to hurry up or we’d be late for our reservation and it was too late to change anyway. But I’d been too self-conscious at dinner to eat much—nothing like essentially been told you’ve got a wee bit chubby to curb your appetite—so I only had a salad and refused dessert. And then when Nate hadn’t wanted sex that night, pleading absolute exhaustion and yet another early start the next morning—fair enough, but the man always wanted sex—I’d begun to re-evaluate my opinion of my weight, which I’d never really thought much about before. I’d gone on a diet the next day, despite objections from Faye, Alex, my mother, and my own niggling conscience.

Faye poked me again, bringing me back to the present, and I realised my ice cream was melting. I regarded it for a moment, and then took a defiant bite. What Nate didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And I really, really wanted the ice cream.

“Right,” Faye said a few minutes later, setting aside her ice cream bowl and standing up decisively. “Operation Man Fun has begun.”

“Oh god,” I said, standing up at the same time. I suddenly realised I was actually really tipsy. What was that, three glasses of wine in an hour? Four. Bollocks. Always a bad sign when you can’t remember… “Plan of attack?”

Faye clambered up on a table and peered over the heads of the crowd. I grabbed her hand and pulled her back down.

“What are you doing?” I hissed, avoiding the eye of the woman behind the bar.

“Well, how are you meant to pick a target?” she demanded, wobbling slightly on her stilettos. “How are you supposed to tell what’s behind the mask? I was trying to get a bit of a vantage point!”

“What, were you going to try to peer down their masks?” I rolled my eyes. “I think you’re probably just going to be stuck with actually talking to someone. God forbid. Remember, you were after an attractive personality, right?”

Faye gave me a withering look. “Oh, yeah, god forbid I actually have to talk to someone.” She draped her hand dramatically over her forehead. “My life is so haaaaaard…”

“Sob, sob,” I said. “Poor baby.”

She stuck her tongue out at me and then said, “Ooh. That one has definite potential…”

I followed her eyes to the bum of the man in question and laughed. “Not bad,” I said.

Faye squared her shoulders and arched one eyebrow, putting on a mock-serious face. “How do I look?”

“Like you’re about to pounce on someone and eat them whole.”

“You’re so nice to me.”

“Shoo,” I said. “Go wow someone.”

“Oh, you know I will.”

“Just try to make sure he’s not married,” I offered to the back of her head as she swaggered off into the crowd. She sent me a little wave over her shoulder and disappeared.

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