Yours Remotely

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 13

It was an ordinary Saturday a week later and a quiet morning at work. I was organising phone covers on a rack next to the till. Kevin, our weekend sales assistant, was dealing with a customer who didn’t even seem sure she wanted a new phone. Linda was upstairs on her coffee break, and I was impatiently waiting for mine because my stomach was rumbling and it wasn’t even half-past ten yet.

It wasn’t quite an ordinary Saturday though; it was Gary’s birthday. I had known him almost two years, and even though his birthday the year before hadn’t bothered me, I was starting to get annoyed because I had no way to contact him, which seemed unfair.

It didn’t help that the radio reminded me of that day’s celebrity birthdays. The presenter informed the listeners that the 23rd August was, among others, Gene Kelly’s and River Phoenix’s birthday but reminded us that among those still with us was Gary Rock All, turning 22. The presenter thought it was also a good idea to mark the occasion with one of Gary’s songs, this being ‘A Series of Unfortunate Misunderstandings’. To make me even more uncomfortable, Kevin started singing along, having got rid of his tricky customer who had finally promised to ‘think about it’. Everybody who’s worked in retail knows that a customer who decides to think about it will never be back.

I spent a quiet evening with Suse, a pizza and a couple of films. We had a good night. Suse asked me about my love life, and I tried to convince her I had none. She wouldn’t believe me and threatened to ask Sinead, who usually knew better. I took note of reminding Sinead that she couldn’t say a word about Gary. I was sure I would never see him again if our fling became public.

I went to bed late and was still awake when my phone rang. There was an annoying glimmer of hope when I saw that the call was from a private number. Then common sense took over. As if Gary would spend his birthday in this small apartment with me. He was probably at some celebrity bash with Colin Farrell, Kelly Jones and a heap of beautiful women. Heather crossed my mind and so did many other famous women, from girl bands - surely Gary had better taste than that? - to models. Then I remembered that I was supposed to pick up the phone.

“Hey, Lea!” Gary sounded so excited at the other end of the line that, for a moment, hope reared its head again. “How are you?” He also sounded very drunk.

“Happy birthday,” I said without answering his question.

He responded with his sexy laugh. “Thanks. You should be here. The guys have organised a really good party.”

It sounded like there was a good party going on in the background.

“Great.” I didn’t understand where this was going. Maybe he was about to send a limousine or a private plane to collect me and then, in front of the party crowd, declare his undying love for me? Don’t be a fool, I reminded myself. That kind of thing only happens in films.

“I just wanted to say that I’ll come to see you when I have time. The album’s keeping us busy. It will be a few weeks yet.”

For a moment, I held my breath. My thoughts ran wild. Then I pointed out to myself that I would need to keep my feet firmly on the ground and remember who I was.

“I’m sure you won’t have to be alone. Sure there are women at that party.”

Gary laughed again. Every time I heard him on the phone, I understood why his singing voice had made The Remotes such a success. His voice really could make one weak at the knees – something I often forgot when I was face-to-face with him.

“Hey, can you hang on a moment?” he said. There was some background noise, then someone called for Gary. The voice got closer, and I recognised it belonging to Alex, who wanted Gary to get off his phone and return to his party. There was some shuffling, and then Gary was back.

“Lea, I have t-” There was more noise, and then the call ended.

I waited for my phone to ring again, but it didn’t happen.

* * *

September arrived. The holiday season was over, people went back to work, and children started preparing for another term in school. Summer was coming to an end, and sitting outside in beer gardens went back to what it had been like in May – very cool.

One lunchtime, I stopped at a newsagent for something to read before heading into a café. My eyes lazily scanned the rows of ladies’ magazines until I spotted one headline: “This is how you voted – the 50 hottest men in Britain.”

The corners of my mouth turned up. This had to be the vote that Gary had talked about. I couldn’t check because the magazine was wrapped in plastic, so I grabbed a copy and walked over to the checkout.

Once I was settled at a window table in the café, I unwrapped the magazine and browsed to the page where the poll results started. The first page was dedicated to the winners of the giveaway that had run in connection with the vote, and the first 40 men had been squeezed onto two pages. I glanced through them quickly. There was some eye candy among them, but my self-control didn’t allow me to linger. The top 10 men had been given a page each, and the magazine had tried to get a comment from each of them on their position.

I was just about to turn the page after number eight when my sandwich arrived. I waited for the waitress to go before I flipped the page, and that proved to be a good call.

I was surprised that Gary had agreed to such a photo. It was black and white and looked like – no doubt on purpose –it had been taken mid-move. He was dressed in jeans and a white shirt that had a print on the front and sleeves. A few top buttons had intriguingly been left open. The fingers of his left hand were in his pocket, and his right hand was raised as if to reach the hair falling on his face. His face was turned down, but he was looking into the camera from under his brows. His lips were slightly open.

I glanced around at the lunching people around me. I had imagined that the picture and the memories it brought on would have shown outward reactions in me, but clearly not. I had never believed in the power of pinching, but I found it hard to believe that this man I was staring at in the magazine had repeatedly been in my bed. It didn’t seem possible that he had seen me naked and smuggled me into hotel rooms only to make love to me. Perhaps in some corner of the UK some woman right now was looking at that picture and wondering what that would be like. She would never know what was hidden underneath that shirt and behind those inviting grey eyes.

I sighed and turned my eyes to the comments at the bottom of the page. Gary said he was very taken with his position and asked who was number one. Then he had laughingly said he would aim higher the following year. Nothing new; he had already told me all this.

I stared at his picture a moment longer and then sighed again. I had a feeling that this magazine would not end up in a recycling bin. I would probably hide it in a drawer on my bedside table where it would warm me on those nights when Gary didn’t.

I browsed to the winner. Orlando Bloom. Nice, but I still preferred Gary, no matter what the majority of British women thought.

* * *

October arrived with its gloomy, dark nights. My social life had been quiet recently, but I was happy to spend my nights at home. I hadn’t heard from Gary after his birthday, and I tried to tell myself that I didn’t sit at home waiting for him to call, but even I didn’t buy that. Sinead didn’t either, but she didn’t drag me away on nights out. She knew better; I wasn’t much fun in a foul mood. Long-distance relationships are a law unto themselves, but not being in a relationship with someone who is always far away is another matter entirely. I couldn’t believe I had been so stupid that New Year’s Eve when I deleted Gary’s phone number. All I could do was follow the band online, and that was frustrating because they spent almost all their time in the studio.

In the middle of October, the band released their first single from the upcoming album. At first, I did too good a job of avoiding ‘Favourites’ on the radio; I wanted to hear it. The fact that I hadn’t bought a copy of ‘Rushing Forward’ didn’t mean that I didn’t like the band’s music. I finally got lucky one Friday night when I was sitting at home watching a late-night entertainment programme. The Remotes were that night’s musical guests. The band and their instruments had been squeezed onto a tiny stage; it looked like Alex was in danger of poking a much shorter Mick in the eye with his bass, and Jamie was barely visible behind his drum kit and the other band members. Gary, being the singer, was in clear view and eye-catching. He was dressed in black trousers, a red t-shirt underneath a light, black jacket and bright red canvas shoes. The song was upbeat and humorous. The band enjoyed performing it, and I couldn’t help noticing the grin on Alex’s face when Gary sang the verse, ‘I’ve had my favourite first kiss, my favourite teacher was a Miss.” No doubt the lyrics were based on someone’s personal experience, and in all likelihood, Gary’s. His eyes glistened with irresistible, boyish naughtiness when he sang the bridge preceding the chorus: ‘And my neighbour’s wife, she’s my favourite best ride, yeah, she’s my favourite pastime, yeah’. I was starting to understand what he’d meant when he said that the lyrics were naughty.

While the audience was still applauding, the camera switched to the presenter and to the band trying to fit themselves onto the couch. Jamie was still swigging water from his bottle, and Mick was trying to free the hem of his jacket where Alex had sat down on top of it.

The presenter asked all the usual questions – how the band was doing and when the new album would hit the stores. The band replied in chorus that it was out in early December, and Mick reminded that ‘Favourites’ was available from Monday. Then the unabashed presenter asked what the song was about and if it was based on personal experience. The sofa quivered almost visibly while the band laughed at the question. Finally, Gary put his hand up and announced that some of the lyrics were based on his experiences. The presenter pressed for more information, and Gary stretched the sleeves of his jacket, looking bemused and lovable, before he responded.

“When I was a teenager, maybe not quite that either… The age that I started kissing girls,” the audience erupted in wolf whistles and cheers that made Gary smile, “I had a habit of telling them that it was my first kiss.”

The female presenter looked horrified.

“It made them relax and, I suppose, made them feel important. It also had the advantage of not giving them such high expectations.”

The presenter said that was obviously no longer a problem and asked who his actual first kiss had been.

Gary looked shocked but laughed. “I can’t say now, can I? She won’t know after this if she was my first kiss or not.”

“So, who was your favourite of these first kisses?” the presenter kept asking.

Gary shook his head. “It’s just a lyric; there’s nothing more to it.”

The presenter waited for the audience to stop sighing in disappointment. “What about the line about the teacher in the same verse? Who’s guilty of that, and who was the teacher?”

Gary put his hand up again. “I had a favourite teacher in school. It had nothing to do with the subject or her teaching methods. She was really good-looking, young, blonde, every schoolboy’s dream. Jamie will remember her.” Gary glanced at the drummer at the other end of the sofa. Jamie nodded enthusiastically, but despite the presenter’s attempts, neither would divulge the teacher’s name.

“And what about the neighbour’s wife? Should-”

She couldn’t finish her question before Alex interfered. “That’s made up. It has nothing to do with anybody’s neighbour.” He grinned playfully.

“Neighbours’ wives are completely safe,” Gary said unconvincingly.

The presenter ended the interview by turning towards the camera and saying that neighbours’ wives would never be safe from this lot. Then she turned back to the band who were giggling on the sofa and unable to keep a serious face in front of the camera.

They had put me in a good mood too. This was The Remotes that I knew - entertaining and cheeky, full of good intentions but unruly, and yet very professional on stage.

* * *

It was December and Christmas party season. When we had stuffed ourselves full of pizza, pasta, baguettes, salad and wine in an Italian restaurant, we moved to a bar. Keith, the shop’s owner and our boss, left early with his wife, laughingly saying that they were too old to be up after midnight. Sharon, who had had too much wine early on, stayed out and convinced us that she was ready for a long night although, as a mother of young children, she was not used to nights out. Linda, Kevin and I were joined by friends, acquaintances and family members. Kevin muttered something unhappy to me when he noticed his older brother, Sean, getting on well with Linda. I thought of my own older brother who still hadn’t made a move on Helen although they saw each other casually. Poor Helen probably thought that Ben just wanted to be friends.

Sinead was out and in a good mood. She was nearly always in a good mood when she had no man in the picture. She had remained single for a long time and hadn’t ranted about any men after her lack of success with the workmate.

The night was coming to an end, and last orders had been taken when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I was alone because Kevin, who I had been chatting to, had disappeared to the toilets. I presumed that he was back until I turned around and found myself looking into Joe’s brown eyes below his ridiculously spiky hair. I wanted to flee in guilt. I hadn’t seen him since that embarrassing night in May. I had avoided his workplace as best I could. I simply didn’t know how to act around him or talk to him, and now I was going to have to figure it out.

“Hi, Lea,” Joe said, looking serious.

I responded and took a swig out of my practically empty glass of cider.

“Haven’t seen you around recently,” he pointed out.

I shifted on my stool. What was I supposed to say?

“You hardly stopped buying music.”

I shook my head. I had bought very few CDs in recent times. It had nothing to do with Joe as I could buy music elsewhere, but it had a lot to do with Gary. Music had not been the same since I had got to know him. Being around Gary, I realised that someone made those songs – wrote them, sang them, played them, lived with them from day to day, not only until they were recorded but also after that, from one show to another.

Joe looked awkward. “Lea, I just wanted to talk to you… About that night. Where are you heading now?” He pointed towards a bouncer who had started to guide people out. Kevin came back from the bathroom and hurried to help a swaying Sharon onto her feet while giving his brother a cross look when he took Linda’s hand and started walking out.

“No need to give me a hand,” Kevin muttered although Sharon was a lot smaller than he was. Kevin was probably more annoyed that his brother had got lucky and he hadn’t. Sharon was 12 years older than Kevin, married and hardly able to stand up. Sinead kept a close eye on my conversation with Joe although she couldn’t hear it from across the table.

“Home, I guess.” I picked up my handbag. How would I get rid of him this time?

“Can I walk you home?”

I got into my coat and tried to ignore Joe’s curious eyes on the hem of my mini dress.

“I was going to take a cab.”

“Oh.” He looked disappointed, and I was exasperated. Had things been different, Joe would have been just my type.

“Why not share one?”

I was mildly flattered. Joe could be a bit of a leech; he didn’t give up easily.

“Where’s that friend of yours?”

“Tim? He went off some time ago with some chick.” I thought there was a hint of pride in Joe’s voice for his friend’s achievement – typical man.

“About that cab…”

“Just don’t tell me that you need money.” I gave him a warning glare. A man begging for money would not impress me.

“No, no, it’s not that. But could we really not share one?”

The bouncer arrived and practically pushed us towards the door where Sinead was already waiting, wrapped up in her coat. A little distance away, I spotted Linda with her new man. Kevin and Sharon had disappeared. Sinead explained that they had hopped into a taxi and gave Joe a searching look.

“Give me a moment,” I told Joe and left him standing at the door while I spoke to Sinead.

“He just wants to share a cab.”

“Yeah, right,” Sinead laughed, “don’t they always.”

I was getting tired of this. “No, for real. I’m not one bit interested, and it’s going to be an awkward ride, but he probably wants to apologise.”

Sinead rolled her eyes. “Oh, Lea, if only you’d understand that men can actually be interested in you. He seems nice. A perfect toy boy for you.” She grinned.

I sighed. I’d had this conversation with her before, and she was partially right. I never realised when a man was interested – and when a man wasn’t, for that matter. For a moment, I wondered which category Gary fell into, but I pushed the thought to the back of my mind. I would have to make up with Joe.

“Well, I guess I’m about to find out. I just have to get into that taxi.”

Sinead nodded. “I’ll take one with Linda and Sean.”

I said goodbye to her and walked back to Joe with a heavy heart. This was going to be a disaster.

Or maybe not. We had a couple of minutes’ walk to the taxi rank, but Joe behaved himself. He didn’t try to hold my hand or anything else. He talked about ordinary stuff, his Christmas party, work, Christmas and – to my horror – the new The Remotes album, which was due out a week later, just in time for Christmas. Joe said he was disappointed in the band for being so commercial but realised that it was the label’s decision, not the band’s. He was just about to tell me when the next single was due out when a taxi turned up. I was relieved to get in as the wind was cold outside and my short dress and sandals didn’t do much to keep me warm. I gave the driver my address, and Joe gave his. He lived closer than I did, so we agreed to drop him off first. It was still almost a 15-minute drive, so I was prepared for many awkward moments.

At first, we sat in silence. The taxi driver was of the quiet sort and was more interested in the classical music on the radio than us.

“Lea, about that thing…” Joe turned towards me.

I sighed internally. Here we go.

“I’m really sorry. I wasn’t thinking… I really like you.”

Fuck. Sinead was right again, and I had put myself in a tricky situation. I realised that Joe was expecting an answer. What was I supposed to say? Why did men have to be so complicated?

“I guess I just thought you might be interested. But clearly not.”

I felt bad. Joe was 20 and well capable of finding himself a nice girl - and he decided to fancy me. It was ironic. Joe didn’t know that I was wasting my time on Gary, who was Joe’s idol. An unlikely love triangle.

“That’s not quite how it is. It’s complicated.” I shouldn’t have said that. What an i***t.

“What’s so complicated about it?”

I shook my head. “It just is.”

“Well, could I see you sometime? I mean, agree to meet up instead of by accident.”

The conversation was off the trails. He was about to ask me out, and I was about to accept. Then I was giving him my number. Then he got out at his front door – he still lived with his parents – and handed me a twenty-pound note. The radio was playing one of the four seasons.