‘Three of Beverley Cleverley’s novels have been made into films, you know. One won an Oscar.’
‘For what?’
‘Best Make-up and Hairstyling.’
The woman snorted. ‘Anyone would think you’re her publicist, the way you’re carrying on. Christ, is that bell going to ring anytime soon? BONG!’ she roared at the top of her voice, making everyone else in the room turn to stare at her. ‘BONG!’
And then the bell did go off and on they moved.
Nelson now found himself seated opposite a young man of around his own age. His sticker said Number 18 – the famed Number 18! – and he had to admit, the two women had been right earlier, for he was very good-looking, with a boyish face, thick brown hair, kind eyes and excellent stubble. He was wearing scrubs, the same type that Nelson himself had been wearing on the day that Dr Oristo told him that she was retiring, but he knew better than to trust that this meant anything. It was entirely possible that he worked in H&M, or was the Foreign Secretary.
‘Nice to meet you,’ said the man. ‘My name’s Shane.’
‘Nelson,’ said Nelson. ‘Names are easier than numbers, aren’t they?’
‘I don’t know why they don’t let us use them,’ replied Shane, lowering his voice. He had an Irish accent, which Nelson had always been drawn to. He’d read somewhere that Irishmen made the best lovers. ‘It’s awkward enough without adding to it. How are you getting on so far? I don’t mean to be too personal, but are you interested in men or women? Or both?’
‘Women,’ said Nelson. ‘You?’
‘Men.’
‘Right.’
‘Shame. I had high hopes when I looked down the line.’
Nelson smiled and stared down at the floor, feeling a little embarrassed but also hugely flattered. This was probably the nicest thing that anyone had said to him in years.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘No bother.’
‘I liked a girl once, but she got eaten by a lion.’
Shane burst out laughing and Nelson looked at him, appalled. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Shane. ‘I thought that was a joke.’
‘No, it really happened.’
‘Shit. Sorry. My bad.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘I feel like a right twat now.’
‘Don’t. It’s an easy mistake to make.’
‘So how about you? Any luck so far?’
‘Not really. I’ve been sexually assaulted by the cashier, talked to a woman who refused to give me her phone number even though I didn’t ask for it, a football hooligan, a woman who accused me of fetishizing female writers who share a Christian name, and an elderly lady who, now that I think about it, might be into a rather unhygienic sexual practice.’
‘Impressive,’ said Shane. ‘I’ve been asked what my favourite Gilbert O’Sullivan song is, whether I’d be interested in being a sperm donor and, if so, do I know what the motility rate of my sperm is. Also, which Game of Thrones character I most relate to and how often I work out.’
‘I’m surprised you’re here at all,’ said Nelson. ‘You’re … well, if you don’t mind me saying so, you’re very good-looking.’
‘I don’t mind you saying it at all. Say it again if you want.’
‘You’re very good-looking.’
Shane smiled and cocked his head a little to the side, as if he wasn’t sure whether Nelson was messing with him or not.
‘Well, thank you,’ he said. ‘Anyway. Yeah. I don’t seem to have a lot of success in love. Not sure what I’m doing wrong, to be honest. I have a good job. I’m kind, I’m considerate. At least, I try to be. I have a family who loves me.’
‘That’s a nice thing to be able to say,’ said Nelson, feeling an unexpected urge to take Shane’s hands in his own.
‘But, I don’t know, I’m just not great at talking to guys and I don’t feel comfortable in clubs. You’ve probably never been to a gay club, but they’re full of totally ripped guys with perfect skin and hair, and if you don’t impress them instantly, then they’re on to the next one. And my problem is, I get nervous and start saying stupid things.’
‘I once asked a girl in a pub whether she preferred bras that went over the shoulder or around the back,’ said Nelson.
‘I took a guy to a funfair and threw up on his face while we were on the roller-coaster.’
‘I asked out a nun.’
‘I told a guy that he looked like Donald Trump Jr.’
‘Oh, that’s bad,’ said Nelson.
‘Tip of the iceberg,’ said Shane.
They remained silent for a few moments and then Shane leaned forward. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Assuming we both crash and burn at this, do you fancy a pint after? We could compare notes on our mutual disasters. I could do with a drink, if you could. And I’m off tomorrow so …’
Nelson thought about it and nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘That sounds good. It’s a date. I mean, not a date, but—’
‘I get it,’ said Shane, laughing and, before things could get any more awkward, the bell rang.
They moved on again and, over the next twenty minutes, Nelson chatted with a female wrestler, a card sharp and a man who twisted balloons into animals at children’s parties. Time was getting on and he could see that there was only one person left to talk to and, as the bell rang, a middle-aged man moved into place opposite him. He glanced back down the line and saw Shane talking to the water-sports enthusiast and hoped that he’d meant it when he said that he’d like to go for a drink. It wasn’t often that Nelson made new friends and he felt that they might get along well.
‘Looks like we’re stuck with each other,’ said the man, who seemed friendly enough, extending a hand. ‘My name’s Jeremy.’
‘Nelson,’ said Nelson.
‘Last of the night.’
‘So it would seem.’
‘I hope this isn’t a rude thing to say, I certainly don’t mean it to sound that way, but I happen to be straight.’
‘Oh,’ said Nelson. ‘That’s fine.’
‘I just didn’t want to give the wrong impression. Although it’s not like I’m much of a catch anyway.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ said Nelson, warming to the man’s obvious discomfort. ‘We’re all here for the same reason. That we find it hard to meet people.’
‘True.’
‘And have you been single for long?’
‘Since my wife died three years ago,’ said Jeremy. ‘It’s not been easy. She was a wonderful woman.’ He rotated the wedding ring on his finger. ‘It was my niece who suggested I try an evening like this. She looks out for me.’
‘She must be very kind.’
‘She is,’ said the man, smiling proudly. ‘It must be interesting being a policeman,’ he added after a moment.
‘It is, yes.’
‘Did you always want to be one?’
‘Not always, no,’ admitted Nelson, feeling a little guilty for deceiving the man. ‘Can I ask what you do?’