Ben had seen me in these horrors before. I got a wave of self-loathing at being clad in something so silly, sharing my bedroom with someone so good-looking. Child’s mittens, cartoon pants, toddler PJs. If you were my girlfriend, I’d be desperate for you to take them off. I cringed, rinsed, spat.
On my return to the bedroom, I crossed my arms and hurtled towards the covers, eager not to be seen. Ben had arranged a makeshift bunk-down. Increasingly, the wine ebbing away, the situation felt more intimate than I’d anticipated.
‘Can I borrow something to sleep in?’
I swerved off course and rummaged in my chest of drawers. I could only come up with a size XL grey t-shirt, creased from the cardboard insert, with a real ale festival advertised across its not inconsiderable width. I shook it out to its full proportions.
‘I won this in a pub quiz and haven’t got round to throwing it away.’
‘What did the losers get?’
‘OK, sleep in your clothes then.’
I threw it at him. He caught it.
‘No, no, beggars can’t be choosers. They have to be’ – he studied the back of the shirt – ‘hog wild for the hops.’
I switched the main light off. The room was lit by my rocket-shaped red lava lamp.
‘You gonna leave that on?’ Ben asked.
‘Usually, is that OK?’
‘Sure. Rooxxxaannnnee …’
I giggled, watched the globules of scarlet goo lazily separating, colliding and bouncing in the Martian water.
‘Shut your eyes then, I’m not changed.’
I obliged, slapping a pillow over my eyes so there could be no doubt I had, and heard the soft noises of clothes dropping on the carpet, the clink of a buckle, the sound of him pulling the t-shirt over his head. It was proof of our intensely platonic nature we could do this. I had a strong tingly impulse to look because, you know, it was only human.
‘Are you decent?’
I crawled across the bed and looked down. Ben was cocooned up to the armpits in navy blue nylon.
‘How is it?’ I asked.
‘Like lying on the floor, Ron.’ He shifted around.
‘We can swap if you want.’
‘No need.’
I wriggled over so I was lying on the edge of the bed, as near to him as possible.
‘What a weird day,’ I sighed. ‘I’m single. Best get used to it.’
‘Mmm.’
Pause. ‘Hey, d’you know, I’m absolutely terrified about being single again.’
I expected an avalanche of you’ll be fine platitudes and they didn’t come.
‘You’re so good at falling in and out of relationships. And then look at me,’ I said.
Still nothing from Ben.
‘I mean, you were prepared to let Pippa go,’ I blundered on.
‘What does that mean?’
‘Nothing, only, Pippa’s beautiful and bright and has that amazing Irish accent going for her, and she still got dumped. What are the chances of anyone persisting with me?’
Ben said, noticeably coldly: ‘I’m not following your logic, sorry. Different woman has different situation shock?’
‘She’s amazing. I’m less amazing. I’m hardly going to fare any better.’
‘What are you on about?’
‘And,’ I had a sense this was a very stupid thing to say and I’d regret it in sobriety, but the words were already tumbling out of my mouth, ‘back when we did that kiss in the Och Aye The No pub, you said yourself it was like snogging a sister. Shit. I’m going to be useless.’
A creaking silence ensued. What did I want or expect Ben to say? I knew I was being unfair and embarrassing us both. Nevertheless I suddenly craved the ego boost of a demonstrably attractive person of the opposite sex confirming I wasn’t at least revolting.
‘Stop pushing,’ he said, flatly.
‘What?’
‘Stop pushing me and fishing for compliments.’
‘I’m not!’ I wasn’t. Was I? Oh. Yes, I was.
Another funny pause.
‘There’s no need for the low self-esteem schtick.’
‘Easy for you to say.’
‘Why?’ Ben had an edge to his voice. I guessed I must’ve said something to particularly offend to him in all of this, I couldn’t put my finger on quite what it was. Perhaps it wasn’t very tactful of me to bring up Pippa when it was still raw.
‘You have naturally high self-esteem. The same way some people have good teeth or congenitally raised cholesterol.’
Ben sighed, exasperated.
‘I don’t understand you, sometimes. But I don’t think you understand me ever.’
I wondered why we were talking at cross purposes and when we were going to chat easily about how I would be fine as a single girl.
‘I’m being dumb,’ I said, and Ben grunted in assent. ‘But if you do have any hunting tips that I could apply to northern boys and enjoy the same success you’ve had with southern girls, I’d appreciate them.’
‘I’m not gonna do that.’
‘Why not? Selfish! From the Don Juan of Withington.’
‘What do you mean by that? I have no standards? I’m a slag?’
‘No! You’re just very popular with the laydeez. Hey, if you won’t help me score – fine.’
‘Ron, you’re a girl. You won’t have any trouble.’
‘Yeah,’ I sighed. ‘It’s meeting the good ’uns, isn’t it.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ he said, again.
‘If I do do any wildly off-putting stuff to a potential mate, as my best male friend, I’m counting on you to tell me.’
‘Do you actually want me to answer these questions? If you keep asking me them, I will. Final warning.’
‘Which questions?’
‘Questions about that kiss, my ex-girlfriend and
