Crisis Point - scene 3

By lunchtime my chore was done and I was in need of a drink. Fortunately my friend and colleague Sabrina was available for lunch. We met up in reception and walked down the road to Brown’s restaurant. It was the first real opportunity I’d had to tell someone all about my eventful morning, so I seized it with both hands.

“Boring!” she butted in before I’d finished.
“It’s hardly an every day occurrence.”
“Sure, but you’re describing it as if it’s the event of the year,” she replied in an accusing tone, with a facial expression to match. “What else have you been up to lately?”

The question appeared to fly straight out of left field, smashing me right between the eyes - the second thing to do so that day. My mind was a complete blank; she’d rendered me totally speechless. What had I been doing? Evidently nothing worth mentioning.

“And I can’t believe you had the opportunity to reconsider your outfit, and you came to work in.... that!”

Says she, who was, come to think of it, the same colour from top-to-toe. Her hair was always bright red, but she’d gone somewhat overboard by teaming it with a red suit, shoes, bag, nails... and sunburn.

And what have you come as today? I wanted to ask her. The Devil? But I never said things like that aloud, I just thought them.

“No bloke’s going to talk to me if I don’t show a bit of leg and cleavage, are they?” I said.
“Someone with a bit of taste might.”

Fat chance. Nobody had shown the slightest bit of interest in a long time, proof that, if nothing else, one needed to try harder. Presenting oneself provocatively was a tried and tested method of attracting attention wasn’t it? Why else did girls wear skimpy outfits all year round?

“There’s such a thing as subtle you know,” she said.

What? I was being subtle. By means of wearing a short-ish skirt with a figure-hugging top. It wasn’t as if my arse was hanging out, or I was flaunting a bust crack one could park their bike in. And what the hell was going on anyway? I’d been banking on the usual innocuous chit-chat, not a slagging off. Sabrina was always very opinionated, but she’d never let rip on me before. Obviously I should’ve seen the excessive rouge get-up as a stern warning - red symbolising danger.

“I’ve been single for about a year now and frankly, I’m starting to despair.”
“That’s no excuse for looking desperate!”

It was alright for her. She lived with someone. She didn’t have a clue what it was like to be single and live alone. In fact I didn’t know anyone that endured the kind of empty, lonely existence that I did.

“OK,” Sabrina continued, getting serious. “This is exactly why we need to talk.”

The conversation was put on hold as we arrived at the restaurant and were shown a table.
“I’m really worried about you Madeleine,” she went on as we took our seats.

I didn’t regard Sabrina as a close friend, more of a lunch partner really, so her apparent concern was somewhat over-familiar, and really annoying.

“You don’t appear to have much of a life at the moment. You’re not seeing anyone. You don’t go out much. You don’t…”
“I go swimming sometimes,” I said, cringing at how futile it sounded.
“On your own!”

Yep, she was the Devil alright. Far from rushing to my aid, she was just attacking me. Seeking out my weak points and prodding them viciously with her sharp, red pitchfork. Why was she making me feel like Billy-no-mates, a social outcast? And what made her think she knew me so well? We’d never spoken in depth about anything.

“I just think you could do with a bit more social interaction.” She pulled out a Marlborough Light, lit it and took a drag. “A bit more adventure.”
“I’m quite happy you know,” I lied, maintaining my defence.
“No you’re not,” she muttered, as she artfully created smoke-rings, examining them as they drifted towards the ceiling.

If this ear-bashing was to continue I needed more than alcohol for comfort.
“Give us one of those will you?” I motioned towards the cigarettes.
“I thought you’d given up, haven’t seen you smoking for ages.”

I had given up some months ago, given up for something like the eleventh or twelfth time. So perhaps it was truer to say I’d just taken a break.
I lit the cigarette, took a puff, and bravely endured the initial vile taste, head-rush and surge of guilt.

“I’ve got something up my sleeve that’ll sort you out.” Looking very pleased with herself, Sabrina watched me intently. I looked at her blankly.
“You could pretend to be a bit interested?”
“Go on then.” I stubbed out my cigarette and took another mouthful of wine.
“Are you ready to order?” enquired an alarmingly handsome waiter.
“Give us a couple of minutes would you?” I asked, trying to make eye-contact with him. To no avail I might add, despite much craning of the neck.
“Chicken salad please,” said Sabrina. “Come on Maddy, what do you want.”

He took our orders and walked off in the direction of the kitchen.
“Nice arse!” Sabrina exclaimed, vocalising my thoughts.
“Yeah he’s nice.”
“You wouldn’t be his type.”
“Why not?”
“Too old.”
“I’ve just turned 29.”
“Exactly!”

Jesus! Not only was I socially-challenged, and a strumpet, I was also shockingly way past my sell-by-date - all without me having the faintest idea. Suddenly feeling rather exposed, I pulled my jacket off the back of my chair and placed it across my lap.

“Whereas the little gem I’ve earmarked for you would be perfect.”
Wearily resting my head in my hands, I dreaded to think what she’d conjured up.
“Do you remember John Lewis?”
“Owner of a rather large shop?”
“Predictable as ever.” She was clearly unimpressed that my playful sarcasm might dare to compete with her serious matchmaking.
“John’s one of Steve’s friends. He was at my birthday party in January. He’s about five foot ten, blonde, brown eyes, lovely smile,” she explained hopefully.
“Was he with a pretty girl with long brown hair? A bit quiet?” I asked, gesturing excessively as I was talking - in order to appear as vivacious as possible, just in case the waiter was looking in my direction.
“Probably,” she said. “They were both a bit quiet that night.”
“Think I know who you mean.”

I remembered exactly who he was. I remembered him as being pretty forgettable in every way.

“Well he’s single now. He was round at ours the other night - him and Steve were having a few beers to help him drown his sorrows. We were going through a list of potential girlfriends and your name came up. He said he liked the sound of you and I put in a good word for you of course.”

I wasn’t sure whether to feel grateful or pathetic. On the one hand it was always nice to be pointed out as an attractive option. On the other, she made it sound as if I was literally desperate. It was like waving a banner with the slogan ‘Madeleine‘s always a good bet, she’s ALWAYS single.’ How unappealing can one be?

“Oh, but John’s lovely. He’s so sweet,” she purred, tipping her head to one side.

Why are you purring? You’re the Devil, not some cute pussycat.

“I don’t really go for sweet guys though,” I said, praying that would bring the conversation to a neat and timely conclusion, since I was determined to enjoy my lunch without getting indigestion. I mean, the proposal of a man you’d never contemplate could be far more depressing than no man at all.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to be fussy.”

Hang on a minute... I thought friends were supposed to be sensitive, helpful and positive, not tell you the truth without sugar-coating. Her wild and abrasive statements were making me feel completely miserable.

“I didn’t fancy him Sabrina.”
“You would if you got to know him.”

Yeah, I know she was trying to help, in her own special, insensitive way, but I wasn’t quite ready to accept paltry hand-outs. I wanted to find love the normal way, like everyone else.

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