The Philosophy of Love, page 10
‘I mean,’ I carry on, ‘how will we even know that the other one is in love. We could just lie. You might be in love but not say and I could just pretend.’ I’ll be honest, I’m a little bit smug at this.
‘I’ve been thinking the exact same thing,’ Luke says.
‘You have?’
He nods. Once. ‘And the solution seems entirely obvious.’
‘It does?’ Jesus, brain, please try and muster something, anything that doesn’t make me seem like a completely useless person.
‘Yes.’ I feel like if Luke had a stack of papers, he’d straighten them. ‘The person we’re claiming to be in love with will need to love us too. Or not, if my theory is correct.’
I slam my cup down harder than I need to, making tea splosh all over and forcing me to borrow napkins from the surrounding tables to clear it up. By the time I look at Luke again, the table is covered in rapidly disintegrating soggy brown tissue.
‘Think about it, it makes perfect sense,’ Luke says. ‘In order for romantic attachment to fulfil its basic evolutionary principle… babies… feelings of attachment need to be mutual.’
‘It’s actually the same in philosophy,’ I reluctantly acknowledge. Doubly annoyed that Luke has just suggested that we make our bet even harder, but also that he might be right. ‘Aristotle said that true love amounted to two bodies and one soul.’
That at least riles Luke a bit. He starts drumming his fingers on the table, drum, drum, drum. I’m sure he’s doing it to try and break me, but I cannot be broken. I mean I can. Obviously. But not today, Satan.
I start my own tap back. We’re a symphony of table noise.
‘So, you agree that for you to win the bet, both parties would need to declare their love?’ he asks.
I throw my hands in the air. ‘Yes, fine, if you say so. This still doesn’t solve our other problem, the fact that you could just hide from women for six months.’
‘Five months and three weeks remain of the bet. And I told you, I’ve no intention of hiding.’ His gaze is so intense that I start to fan myself with the plastic menu. Why has God wasted eyelashes like that on a man like Luke? It’s quite frankly a travesty.
‘Yeah, but you’re never going to fall in love over a quick… you know, one-night thing,’ I say.
‘Who said anything about quick?’
I stop fanning. Luke, seemingly realising what he’s said, actually goes a bit red. ‘Sorry, that was inappropriate.’
And I can’t help it, I start laughing as Luke watches on horrified. There are tears rolling down my cheeks and I have to reassure the man at the table next to us that I’m laughing, not dying. It’s the same liver keeno who was here last week.
The thing is, I’d bet my life that Luke is a hit with the opposite sex. Because if there’s one thing that womankind is good at, it’s picking a man with the emotional range of a paper clip.
‘Anyway,’ I say, wiping tears from the back of my hand and having well and truly lost the plot. Luke’s expression is stony. In that he looks like he’s been carved from stone. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Another titter escapes me. ‘Plus, like I said, I’ve thought of a solution for this one.’
‘The dating app?’ He still looks a bit ashen.
‘Yep. You should sign up for one, actually go on dates.’
Luke leans back in his chair.
‘I’m on a dating app.’
‘Fuck off.’ Clearly, I’ve not yet regained my equilibrium.
‘It’s true. I’m on Tinder.’
‘Well, that’s where you’re going wrong. You want to get on Bumble or something like that. That’s where my Aunty Moira met her Fred. Everyone on there is serious. Tinder’s just for hook-ups.’
Another pointed stare.
‘Let me see your profile then,’ I say, making a grabbing motion with my hand.
‘Why would you want to see that?’
‘We can make it a bit more romance friendly.’
Luke rolls his eyes but reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out his phone, unlocking it and passing it to me.
I eye it warily.
‘You don’t have a dick pic as your profile picture, do you?’
Another Medusa-like stare. ‘No.’
‘No dick pics of any description?’
‘Jesus, Alice.’
I hold the hand not grabbing his phone up like I’m in a shootout. ‘Sorry just making sure, your bits are the last thing I want to see today.’
The man at the table next to us leans over to say, ‘I think his bits would be pretty lovely, myself.’
‘Thank you.’ Luke tilts his head in the man’s general direction and I go red for the second time. Getting a cup of tea with Luke is like one long stress test.
We order another round of drinks as I settle down to look at Luke’s Tinder profile. The signal in Easington is patchy, so it takes a while to load. But finally, I’m on Luke’s profile and…
‘That’s the picture you use?’ It looks like a mug shot. He’s much more handsome in real life.
‘Yes. Why?’
‘No reason.’ Poor guy must just not be very photogenic.
‘There must be a reason, otherwise you wouldn’t have mentioned it.’ Luke is back to drumming his fingers on the table.
‘It’s just… are you sure you want something so… severe?’
In the picture, he’s glaring face-on at the camera. A plain white wall behind him. Like I said, mug shot.
‘What would you suggest?’ His tone is the one he does so well. Neutral with undertones of scathing.
‘I don’t know, maybe one where you’re laughing or something more relaxed? Laugh now and I’ll take a candid shot.’ I open his camera, noticing the vein pulsing in his forehead. ‘Okay… three, two, one – now, laugh!’
Luke clenches his jaw. He’s gone from mug shot to predator. ‘Maybe you should just stick with the original,’ I say as our second round of drinks arrives. A muscle in the side of his jaw twitches again.
I recommence scrolling. ‘Okay, so under interests, you’ve put the word biologist.’
‘Have I?’ He stirs more sugar into his coffee. ‘Damn it, I thought I’d changed that. It was supposed to say “biologist, former Satanist.” ’
Tea sprays out of my mouth. This meeting is wetter than I thought it would be.
‘No one is going to go out with a Satanist.’
‘I was joking.’
‘Oh, right… I didn’t know you did that.’
He glares at me.
‘So just biologist then?’ I ask, earning another glare over his coffee cup. ‘Concise, to the point, I like it.’
I scroll down the rest of Luke’s profile.
‘And under occupation… again, the word biologist. You can’t put that twice.’
‘Why not?’ he asks.
‘Because one hundred per cent of your answers are the word biologist. It makes it look like you’re married to your job.’
‘What if I am married to my job?’
‘Then lie. What sort of music do you like?’
He looks like he’s thinking for a minute. ‘I listen to Radio X in the lab.’
‘Right, so go for something like this… my work is my passion,’ I think off the top of my head. ‘But I’m also interested in indie rock music. I enjoy exercising and I’m close to my parents, but I’d love to meet someone to share it all with. Do you want me to write it down for you?’
Luke’s angry vein is back. Actually, I think it’s found a friend. ‘I would never say that.’
‘Which part don’t you like?’
He shakes his head. ‘The whole lot. I’ll add music to my interests if you’re so bothered about it.’
I have a drink of tea.
‘So, you really don’t date?’ I ask. He shakes his head. ‘Not even the odd sexy séance?’ I ask.
‘No, Alice, I don’t date. I don’t do well with… people.’ He shifts in his seat and starts to look a bit uncomfortable. I’m transported back to Easington High. Luke had maybe one friend at school, and a whole bunch of people who picked on him. He kept to himself as much as possible. I remember one time in maths, I asked if I could borrow his pencil sharpener. He looked so shocked at being spoken to that he just slid it across the table to me and mumbled ‘thanks’ when I passed it back. In fact, whenever I spoke to him in school, he barely answered.
Maybe Luke really isn’t good with people.
I don’t want to make him feel bad about that, so I just start talking.
‘I used to love dating. For our first date, Charles took me on the London Eye. And we went to the zoo this one time too. It was so much fun.’
I try to inject a healthy dose of cheer into my voice, but it falls a bit flat. I’d always thought that the time I spent with Charles was exciting. But now the word doesn’t feel quite right. Intense, yeah that’s it. It was intense with Charles. I close my eyes for a second, just for a mini regroup. When I open them, Luke looks to be mid eye twitch.
‘At most, a walk is perfectly adequate to ascertain how compatible you are as a couple.’
I give him a long stare. ‘And they say romance is dead.’
‘They say that romance is a societal construct.’
I hand back his phone.
‘Aren’t you setting up a dating profile?’ he asks, draining the last of his coffee.
I shake my head. ‘I’ve got Dwaine remember. If it all goes tits up, I’ll think about it.’ I pause a second. ‘Obviously, you’ll be my go-to person if I do need to set up a profile.’
‘Fine,’ Luke says.
‘Fine.’
‘So, what are you and Dwaine doing for your second date?’
I had seriously been considering calling off my exercise date with Dwaine. He’s a nice enough person but… there’s just something missing. Plus I don’t actually want to exercise. Things are bad enough around here without adding exercise into the mix. But now maybe I’ll have to go, just because I’ve gone on about it so much to Luke.
‘Exercising on the beach. It’s no bubble pod but you have to compromise in relationships. And anyway, a beach is a beach. I can’t wait.’
‘A bubble pod?’
‘All the influencers are going in for them. Like a pod that you put in the garden full of fairy lights and flowers and stuff.’
A dark shadow passes over Luke’s face. So, he’s mortally offended by the concept of a bubble pod. Big surprise.
It’s so obvious that I’m annoying him. I’m loving it.
I offer up a whimsical sigh. ‘Are you okay, Luke?’
He pulls a hand over his face. ‘I just don’t understand how you believe in all this, after everything that’s happened? I knew you were a philosopher, but still.’
‘I don’t know what you could possibly mean.’ I stick my little finger out as I take a sip of tea. Just to really bother him.
‘And anyway, one year of a philosophy degree does not a philosopher make,’ I say.
‘I thought you were going back to uni?’
‘I’m still weighing up my options,’ I declare grandly. Because now is not the time to be disclosing to Luke that whenever I looked at Durham’s philosophy course, I was hit by the memory of what it was like in London the first time round. How I’d been expecting it to be, if not easy, manageable. Only to feel like I was way out of my depth the whole entire time. I am terrified at the thought of putting myself through that again.
Luke’s phone vibrates on the table between us and he reaches for it. Whatever is on there makes him do this small smile, where the corners of his mouth turn up just a smidge.
Luke is distracted by his phone as I keep talking. ‘You’re right though. Philosophers aren’t exactly known to be lucky in love. Sartre had a ton of affairs and Nietzsche proposed to the same woman three times and got turned down.’ Maybe it’s the same for me and I’m doomed to be unlucky in love.
No, get it together, King. That attitude will not help me to win this bet.
Luke finishes up on his phone.
‘We done here?’ I’m slightly snappier than I planned to be.
‘Yep. Enjoy exercising with Dane.’
‘Dwaine.’
Luke’s phone vibrates again.
‘Dwaine,’ he says, ‘that’s the one. I presume you’ll let me know if he makes you swoon.’
‘Did you just say the word swoon?’ I pause mid putting my coat on.
‘Apparently.’ He looks positively murderous.
I laugh.
‘Right, well I’m going to go work out right now. And buy some whey.’ I stand up. ‘As always Luke, it’s been real.’ I’ve literally no idea why I’m talking like an American.
He’s distracted by his phone again.
‘Sorry,’ he says, ‘I’m just messaging Lucy on Tinder. Clearly my profile is just fine. She has such kind eyes.’ His voice drips with sarcasm.
I lean over his shoulder. He smells irritatingly nice. ‘Let me see her, then.’
Luke flashes his phone. There’s something prominent about Lucy, and it isn’t her eyes.
‘Oh yeah, sure it’s the eyes.’
I scoff in a way that I hope says Men.
‘Well, enjoy Lucy.’ I pause. ‘That sounds weird. Let me know if you have any tummy flutters.’ Another pause, ‘Okay, I’m going.’
Luke doesn’t even look up from his phone.
Insufferable man.
Chapter Eleven
‘Now, squat!’
I want to yell at the woman in matching workout gear to fuck off, but screaming at the TV is not going to make me feel any better about my life. Instead, I snatch my phone off the mantelpiece, clicking off the YouTube fitness clip because it’s not exactly brilliant is it? Discovering that you’re weak of both mind and body.
I go to make up a couple of shakes. Having discovered that whey protein powder costs a small fortune, relative to my wages at least, I’m now committed to upping my protein intake whether I’d like to or not. Though the less said about the keto pancakes I attempted the better. They’d turned into a sort of cheesy scrambled egg and attached themselves to the bottom of the pan.
Shake in hand, I hurry onward for my second date with Dwaine.
Obviously we’ll be exercising so I’ve had to factor that into my outfit choice. As I have the fact that it’s as balmy as the North Pole outside. I’ve gone for my workout leggings and then a couple of T-shirts and a hoodie. The bobble hat that had hidden my hair through its orange ringlet era is back in the game too.
Dwaine texted me last night, telling me to meet him at the steps to Hartlepool beach. And I have to say, so far, points for being an unproblematic date. In a rare moment of good fortune, Dad said that he didn’t need the van this morning, meaning I can avoid getting the bus. Though as the van shudders along the A19, the windscreen alternating between fogging up and dripping with condensation, I wonder how much of a good turn this really is.
We used to come to Hartlepool beach some weekends when I was little. Admittedly, it’s seen better days. My favourite former arcade is a pile of rubble with a barbed wire fence around it.
I feel a stab of annoyance at the politicians who have so obviously abandoned this corner of England.
I mean, I’d abandoned the area, but that’s different.
There’s a long winding promenade with quite a few sets of steps down to the beach. But aside from a couple of brave (or foolhardy, depending on your perspective) dogwalkers chasing their dogs along the wet sand, the place is abandoned. So it’s easy to spot Dwaine off in the distance.
I rush over, careful not to spill my shake.
‘Morning!’ I smile, waving my drink at him.
‘I tried chocolate like you suggested,’ I say.
‘Great!’ He looks pleased. And I aim to please. Unless it’s Luke, then I aim to irritate.
I give my head a little shake. Not literally, that would be weird. Internally. Because Charles had invaded my first date with Dwaine, I’m not having thoughts of Luke bother me on this one.
I try to have a drink but it’s sort of a congealed mass at the bottom of the cup I’d also had to buy. Blowing a tub of whey-sized hole in this week’s budget.
‘It’s so cool that you were psyched for this. I love working out with a partner.’
I get a flicker of a warm glow at the word partner, it nestles itself somewhere in my chest. It’s a good job too, seeing as it’s freezing. ‘It’s so important to share hobbies and interests, you know?’ I say, thinking that ‘psyched’ is pushing it.
‘I do. You ready to get started?’
I nod. Even though I’d been hoping for a little more small talk to avoid the actual workout part of our date. Still, probably best not to start complaining just yet.
‘We should warm up.’ Dwaine promptly begins jogging on the spot. I follow his lead, trying to hide how hard I’m breathing.
‘You look good.’ Dwaine nods towards me. It’s reassuring, because I don’t feel good. I seem to be out of breath already, and sweat is pooling in strange places – like behind my knees.
We’re only on the warm-up and this already seems a bit more hardcore than the jazz hands and high kicks routine he’d led us in down the Welcome.
‘Thanks, I need this. My diet hasn’t been great lately and my ex used to say I’d put on weight looking at a chocolate bar.’ I try a sort of self-deprecating laugh that doesn’t quite ring true. And even though I’ve made that half joke hundreds of times, I feel flat. Like I’m realising that was actually a crappy thing for Charles to say.
‘Shall we head along the beach?’ Dwaine doesn’t seem to notice that I’m in the middle of a revelation.
‘Okay.’ I smile, shaking out my fingertips to dispel the noise in my brain. And to get a bit of blood into them.
We descend some partly eroded and therefore mildly perilous steps to the beach. The sky is a jumble of grey clouds, and sea fog hovers in the air, so it’s not exactly the romantic beach setting, but beggars can’t be choosers. Like I said to Luke, a beach is a beach.
And anyway, no date is enhanced by running.
Despite what Baywatch implied, sand is actually a very unforgiving surface to run on. Every step I take seems to slide backwards, meaning that it takes more effort than it should to propel myself forwards.
