Stand Up Guy, page 7
‘That was nice of her. Was that the girl who served us last night?’ There’s an unpleasant stirring in my gut as I ask this, though I have no idea why.
He shakes his head. ‘Nah, that was Jonie. It’s Kira who’s giving me the phone. She was off last night, but I’m sure you’ll meet her at some point, if you can bear to come along to my show again.’
‘Are you kidding? Of course I’ll come again. I loved it.’
I also want to check out this Kira, a rogue thought hijacks me out of nowhere, causing me to do what can be most accurately described as an inner double-take. Where did that come from? What do I care if there’s more than just kindness behind Kira’s offer of a phone? It must be the squealing piglet thing haunting me again. Clearly, I don’t want Shep for myself, but I also don’t want him hooking up with anyone else – because I’ve agreed that he can stay with me, not him plus one. Is that selfish? Or reasonable?
‘Earth to Lea?’ Shep nudges my elbow. ‘I said you should come again this week, then, if you’ve not already got plans.’
I drag myself back to the present moment. ‘Eh… sure, I can come on… um… Wednesday… Yes, that sounds good.’
‘OK, great. I’ll see you later then, unless you’re planning an early night?’
‘Early night?’ I scoff, feeling myself redden. ‘What do you take me for? I’ll see you when you get back. Break a leg, eh?’
‘Cheers, have a good one.’ He starts down the short garden path towards the street, then stops and turns back towards me as I’m about to head inside. ‘By the way, I’ve left you something on the kitchen counter.’
‘Oh?’ I throw him a quizzical look.
‘Just a wee token of my appreciation.’ He gives me a little wink then disappears off down the street.
My curiosity piqued, I quickly climb the stairs, unlock the door and go straight to the kitchen, where there’s a scrawled note lying on the countertop.
‘Hey, Lea. Thought you could enjoy these with your muckers (that’s your closest mates by the way),’ I read aloud, then look around me, puzzled. ‘Enjoy what? I don’t see anything.’
Aware that I’m missing something, but unable to put my finger on what it is, I pick up the note to see if he’s written anything on the back, and when I do, I clock the Fringe tickets hiding underneath.
‘Oh, wow.’ I pick them up and inspect them.
They’re for a comedy show at nine p.m. on Saturday night. The comedian is not a name I know, but I expect Shep will have chosen someone he considers to be good, given he’s in the business.
‘Well, you’re a bit of a sweetheart, aren’t you, Shep?’ I place a hand on my heart, deeply touched – and a little bit giddy? – by his thoughtfulness.
In fact, I’m so touched by this gesture that it takes a couple of minutes for my mind to catch up on the practicalities of the situation. There are three tickets, and while it was probably quite reasonable for Shep to assume I have friends I can invite along, the reality is that I don’t. I could ask Shep himself – but I am so not doing that, because that’s about the saddest thing ever. ‘Eh, thanks so much for the tickets, Shep. Can you also come with me so I don’t have to sit next to two empty seats?’ Ugh, no way.
Holding the tickets in my hand, I feel a sense of duty to at least try to use them in the way Shep intended, so I dig my phone out of my bag and ping a WhatsApp to Katie.
Hiya, don’t suppose you and Guy can find a babysitter for Saturday night? I have two extra tickets for a comedy show at 9pm if you fancy joining me? xx
She doesn’t reply immediately, which is no surprise, given she’ll be in the throes of pre-bedtime activities with her kids. Hopefully, she’ll get back to me later, when they’re asleep.
Setting the tickets back down on the counter, my next instinct is to thank Shep for such a sweet gesture, but as he doesn’t have a phone at the moment, I’m unable to do this. Instead, I get changed and make a poached salmon salad for my dinner, then settle down in front of the television and put on a new psychological thriller series that’s trending on Netflix. However, I only make it ten minutes in before my dilemma about Shep’s gift starts weighing on my mind again, making it impossible to focus on the plot. This, alongside Tanya’s suggestion that Shep could have ‘everything I never knew I was looking for’ – seriously? – and unexpected musings of who this Kira is, and whether she and Shep have a thing for each other. The latter is purely out of concern that there could soon be a woman I don’t know wandering around my flat, and I might become the third wheel in my own home. It’s nothing more than that – obviously.
Chapter 11
Tuesday passes more slowly than any day I can remember in my job. Or any job. Or actually any day in my life.
I’m all but totally absent during our morning session to map out the next stage of our research study, and my afternoon is taken up by a disproportionate amount of mind wandering and jumping to unvalidated conclusions about Shep. It’s really not like me and, whatever is going on, I need to get on top of it and back on my game before Tanya and the wider group of team members notice.
Except, if I’m honest with myself, I know exactly what’s going on. I did go to bed before Shep got back last night, but not because I had an early night as originally planned. No, I stayed up waiting for him to return from his performance because I wanted to thank him for the tickets and check he could actually afford them. I was keen to make sure he wasn’t skipping meals or sacrificing other life essentials in an attempt to make up for encroaching on my space. Because he’s really not. I also wanted to make sure he knows I don’t want or need anything from him in return – except maybe a bit of company, but I’m never going to say that out loud. Only, I never got to say any of it.
I waited up till ten thirty, by which point it had become blatantly obvious that Shep was not just delayed getting home from his show. He was probably out with people or another person – this Kira woman? – and my waiting up for him made me feel like an overprotective parent. So, I went to bed and it took way too long to fall asleep, because every time the door to the main building slammed shut – an annoying habit of some of the night owl-ish residents – I wondered if it was him. Then I would hear the door to one of the other flats close, making it clear it wasn’t.
Eventually, I did fall asleep, and was woken at around five a.m. by the sound of Shep tiptoeing around on the creaky wooden floorboards before heading for bed. After that, I lay awake for nearly an hour, wondering where he’d been. I wasn’t annoyed that he’d come back so late – how could I be? I’m not his mum or his girlfriend – but I was smarting a little over who he might have been with. Was it Kira? Was it one of his adoring fans?
‘Really, Lea?’ I’d then chided myself (quietly). ‘If you don’t want him in that way, you need to get the hell out of his business.’
* * *
That evening, I return home from work at my usual time, and while it’s no different to every other day, my flat feels empty, like something’s missing – or rather, someone – which is daft, because Shep’s only been staying with me for three nights. It’s not like I’ve had time to get used to him being around. And based on his movements last night, I probably shouldn’t expect to. This thought disheartens me a little.
While I’m pottering around, making my dinner, my phone lights up on the kitchen counter, alerting me to an incoming call. Tapping the screen to accept it, I switch it straight to speakerphone.
‘Hi, Mum. How you doing?’
‘I’m good, honey, how are you?’ Her soothing voice fills the kitchen. ‘Thought I’d give you a call as I haven’t heard from you in a week or so. Is everything OK?’
‘Yeah, sorry, I’ve had a lot going on.’
I normally call my parents every weekend, and also sometimes during the week, so I’m not surprised my mum has picked up on this anomaly. I’m probably more surprised that she’s waited until today to check in on me.
‘Too much to call your old mum?’ she queries, but I know she’s being light-hearted and her question comes from a place of concern.
‘You’re hardly old.’ I scoff. ‘No, I just had a full weekend and it totally slipped my mind to call. Sorry if I made you worry.’
‘I wasn’t too concerned. Well, maybe a little. It was your dad… He called and said he hadn’t heard from you either, so we thought it might be wise for me to give you a wee bell.’
Her tone is almost apologetic, as if she really didn’t want to chase me, but at the same time, her and Dad’s protective instincts have overridden any desire to leave me in peace and trust that I’d be in touch soon.
‘Mum, it’s fine,’ I reassure her, while stirring the pasta and sauce I have in separate saucepans on the hob. ‘I’m glad you called.’
‘Thanks, honey. That’s nice to hear. What were you up to at the weekend that kept you so busy?’
I hesitate. Despite knowing what they’re like, I never really considered how my parents would react to me inviting a complete stranger to stay with me. It was an in-the-moment decision that’s now creating a dilemma for me. While I don’t want to lie, I know that telling them about Shep really isn’t a good idea either. If I do, they’ll be over like a shot, sniffing around him and causing me no end of embarrassment.
‘Sorry, give me two secs, I’m just making my dinner while I chat to you.’ I stall for time with more pot stirring, while considering the quandary I’m in. ‘I… um… My weekend was busy in that I was out and about at the Fringe. The city is hoatching right now.’
‘Of course,’ says my mum. ‘I forgot it’s that time of year.’
‘Oh, and things didn’t work out with the guy I was seeing.’ I drain my pasta and dump it in the simmering pan of tomato and basil sauce.
‘Did they not? You seemed to like that one… Paul, was it? I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I’m not. Well, I was at first, but he turned out to be a right piece of work…’
I fill my mum in on the cruel end to my fleeting relationship with Paul the wanker (the censored version, of course), which actually turns out to be a moment of enlightenment for me. It makes me realise that neither Paul nor any of the idiots that came before him would ever have surprised me with Fringe tickets – or even a cheap bunch of flowers, for that matter. Thankfully, this topic of conversation, along with some work chat, keeps her well occupied, meaning I don’t need to go anywhere near the whole broke-Fringe-comedian-in-my-spare-room thing. We continue to chat away while I eat my dinner, before eventually saying our goodbyes, with me promising not to miss another weekend call – or to message if I’m busy.
After we hang up, I read my book for a while, then resume the gritty thriller series I only got ten minutes into on my last attempt at watching it. It certainly seems engaging enough and is heralded as having an ‘enthralling twisty plot’, but despite this, I find myself twitchy and constantly checking the time on my phone.
‘Stop it!’ I eventually scold myself. ‘He might not be back at all this evening, so just get a hold of yourself.’
Hopping off the sofa, I take my phone into the hallway and ditch it on the table there to keep it well out of my sight and reach.
‘Why do you care so much anyway?’ I berate myself as I return to the living room.
‘Why do you care so much about what?’ a voice unexpectedly comes from behind me, making me jump.
Spinning round on the spot, I see Shep standing in front of the open front door, which I didn’t hear him open, due to being so lost in myself and my stupid thoughts. I really need to fit a bell on that, or something, so I can know when he’s there and stop embarrassing myself.
‘Eh… hi. I was… just talking to myself.’
‘I’ve noticed you do that. It’s kind of cute.’ He grins at me and I turn beetroot.
‘Perils of living alone.’ I try to wave off his comment, but my face is telling another story entirely. ‘How were your shows? Good turnout?’
‘Better. They’re picking up, but I’ve still a way to go to get a full house.’
‘You’ll get there. You want some pasta? I cooked extra in case you came back and were hungry. Or are you going straight back out again?’
Please don’t be going out. Especially not to meet Kira. Oh, shut up, Lea.
‘Pasta would hit the spot.’ He follows me into the kitchen and leans on the countertop. ‘I haven’t eaten since breakfast.’
I purse my lips uncomfortably on hearing this, sincerely hoping he didn’t go without food because he couldn’t afford any. Then I remember about his gift.
‘Thank you so much for the show tickets.’ I take the extra plate of pasta out of the fridge and put it in the microwave, then turn to him. ‘That was really kind of you but totally unnecessary. I want you to know that you don’t owe me anything, Shep, and I hope you didn’t—’
‘Break the bank?’ Shep finishes my sentence for me. ‘Don’t you worry about that. I’m broke, but I’m not that broke. And if you’re wondering how I paid for them – not having a bank card and all – Kira ordered them and I transferred the money to her via online banking.’
‘I wasn’t wondering that.’ I try not to have a visible reaction at the mention of Kira’s name.
‘Anyway, you’re welcome. I know you don’t want me to feel like I owe you for this, but I wanted to repay your kindness somehow. She’s a really funny comedian. Like take-a-change-of-underwear funny.’
‘Right. Noted.’ I grate some cheese on his pasta then hand it to him.
‘Cheers for this.’ He grabs a fork out of the drawer and we go through to the living room to sit.
There’s a natural lull in our conversation while he tucks into his food, so I switch off my paused thriller and put on Friends instead.
‘This show’s great craic.’ Shep is immediately engrossed and I can’t help smiling to myself as I watch him guffawing loudly at Ross and Chandler’s antics.
This is why the place felt empty. It may only have been three days, but Shep’s personality and presence is so big that it fills a room – and it leaves you wanting more when he’s not there. It’s such a stark contrast to the world I was living in, and if I’m honest, I already never want to go back.
‘What’s up?’ He picks up on me watching him, even though his eyes are still on the TV.
‘Nothing.’ I bite my lip, becoming aware for the first time that there’s a teeny-tiny chance the pull I’m experiencing towards him is about more than just enjoying his company. ‘You… um… just have an infectious laugh. I expect that’s a helpful characteristic doing stand-up.’
He looks at me. ‘Very shrewd. You’ve spotted my secret weapon.’
‘I have?’
‘Nah. Though I do turn up the funny when I’m in front of a tougher crowd and it does seem to help. Laughter is infectious, generally, so by enjoying myself while doing a routine, I engage better with my audience and they’re more likely to respond positively to my jokes.’
‘Really? Is that scientifically proven?’
‘Check you, Miss Scientist. Straight on to the validity of my statement.’ He gives me a little wink and I blush.
‘I’m not doubting you. I’m genuinely interested.’
‘Let’s say it comes from a single subject study.’
‘You mean it’s your opinion.’ I raise an eyebrow.
‘Based on my many years of experience in the field, you cheeky mare.’
‘I’m not sure that would withstand much scrutiny, though there have been studies that show that laughter is actually “contagious”, so to speak.’
‘See, I’m not talking shite.’ He holds up his cutlery-wielding hands as if to punctuate this statement.
‘I never said you were, and I was only kidding. I get what you mean. The likes of Kevin Bridges and Romesh Ranganathan, they laugh a lot during their stand-up routines. It’s almost wicked laughter – and it does draw you in.’
‘Two legends. Role models of mine, all right.’
Falling silent again, our attention returns to the TV, and while Shep becomes immediately re-immersed, belly laughing at the comical goings-on, my mind starts to tick over. It’s so lovely, sitting here like this, hanging out and sharing a bit of banter. So comfortable and companionable. It feels just right. Almost like we’re a perfect match – as roomies anyway.
Where were you last night, Shep? my brain suddenly asks out of nowhere. Were you with a woman? Was it Kira? Will this be a regular thing?
‘You’re still looking at me,’ says Shep out of the corner of his mouth.
‘Oh… uh… sorry.’ I give my head a little shake to dispel my renegade thoughts which, to my chagrin, seem to deepen my earlier moment of confusion about how I view Shep. ‘I’m obviously tired.’
‘Maybe get an early night, then? I’m sure me staying here will have knocked your routine a bit.’
He drags his attention away from the screen and as his gaze locks on mine, something seems to pass between us that throws me off course even more: a sort of turbo-charged look that, if I didn’t know better, I could mistake for a moment.
‘I’m OK.’ I break the eye contact between us and tell my befuddled brain to shut the hell up, then I settle back on the sofa beside Shep. ‘All I need is a relaxing evening, exactly like this.’
Chapter 12
On Wednesday morning, I find another handwritten note on the countertop when I go through to the kitchen to make my breakfast. This time it’s Shep asking if I want to meet him before the show for a fish supper, which makes me smile, because now he has a phone again and we’ve swapped numbers, he could have just messaged me. Nevertheless, I’m delighted by this invitation, which – not being one for early rises – he must have left there the night before, and I leave him one in return, saying I’ll meet him outside The Canongate Tavern at 5:45p.m.
After what feels like the second longest day ever at work, I take the bus into town as planned and arrive at the pub nearly ten minutes late.
