The Pursuit of Emma, Dave Moyer [best contemporary novels txt] 📗

say another word. Water under the bridge. I’m just glad you're feeling better,’ he replied, seemingly more relaxed.

We chatted for a while and I was eventually left with considerably more work than I was doing minutes before. Case loads of work were dumped on my desk; some I had been working on before Emma left and some I did not recognise. It was a Wednesday when I had gone back to work and I promised to catch up before the weekend. Jack was right: the more work I had, the more my mind would be off situations I couldn’t avoid and the more normal I would appear if someone was watching me.

*****

It’s amazing how life really does go on. By Friday things were feeling more and more normal. Of course, my mind still obsessed over her ever ten seconds, and I was still having terrible nightmares, but I was coping at last. Something about going to work was calming me. Perhaps it was the routine and structure that was helping. I was waking up early. I was showering. I was shaving (every other day.) These may seem fairly mundane to you but there were times when I thought I would never bother to be clean again.

Friday was passing amiably enough. The whispering had stopped and what has caused such a furore two days ago was now old, forgotten news. People greeted me as I entered, some of the women smiled sympathetically and lazy-eyed Doug even tried to talk sports with me. I normally could talk with authority to most people about any sport but right now I was completely out of the loop. I had no clue where Arsenal were in the league and made a mental note to check, before realising it would only be disappointing and decided against it. I didn’t think I could take any more bad news.

I was pretty swamped with the work I was catching up on and had decided to push on through lunch. My appetite still hadn’t returned fully and it didn’t bother me either way whether I ate or not. I felt adequate at work, which was nice. I had spent the last month asking questions my brain was too stupid to comprehend and came up empty handed every time. Finally here I was, solving problems and having a purpose again.

I was interrupted momentarily by Jenny, the young new temp who had started the week before. She came bearing gifts (a cup of tea and a biscuit) and some forms for me to sign. As I checked through the forms she perched on the edge of my desk, swinging her legs seductively. Was she flirting with me? She was certainly showing all the signs. There was definite extended eye contact, soft giggling after everything I said (when most of the time I hadn’t intended it to be funny) and the good, old-fashioned squeeze of the arm as if to say ‘oh you’re so funny’ when really it said ‘I want to touch your body.’ Can I just clarify here that I’m not an expert in this field but I think those are all positive signs of the female mating ritual. I handed the forms back to her and she thanked me, before slinking out of the room slowly.

It may sound strange but I’d never really looked at her before. Sure, I was never going to follow it up; she was far too young and I couldn’t even think about women right now, but it felt good. It was nice to feel wanted, attractive. Perhaps I wasn’t quite as dishevelled as I thought. Perhaps I was one of those men that looked better a bit rugged and scruffy. Catching a glance of myself in the computers reflection, I decided not. Maybe Jenny had problems.

*****

It was late into the afternoon when I received Jack’s text. If truth is told, I had half forgotten my invitation for the weekend but was glad to be reminded of it. The text read:

‘Rach and I will be with you by 11 on Sat. We alright to stay over? Got some news... J’

Typical Jack. It was short and formal, despite being friends for years. I was delighted to be seeing them and momentarily got that same excitement in the pit of my stomach I would get when we were kids. Jack is coming over! Good times. But I was distracted by the last sentence. ‘Got some news.’

Immediately the world I was trying to avoid hit me in the face. What exactly did ‘news’ mean. Did he know something about Emma? What if he knew where Ems was? Oh God, what if she was hurt or... No she won’t be. Somehow I knew she would be OK.

As hard as I tried, work had fallen from my list of priorities and it wasn’t coming back. I grabbed my coat and bag, logged off the new computer and paced out of the door. I slipped out of the building and decided I could explain why I was behind on the work on Monday. I was desperate to phone Jack but knew he would be busy. It surely couldn’t be that important or he would phone me, wouldn’t he? How was I going to take my mind off worrying for a whole night? Then the sudden realisation dawned on me that I had guests coming over and my flat was disgusting. I had work to do. Chapter Seven

‘You don’t look like shit like Jack said!’

Promptly on the dot of 11am, Jack and Rachel knocked on my door. I knew Jack too well to know he would never be anything but on time and luckily had prepared the flat early. Sleep had been limited the night before but, looking at the flat, it was a sacrifice worth making. It scrubbed up pretty good.

I took a deep breath, tried to put my best ‘I’m fine honestly’ look on my face and opened the door. I can’t explain how good it was to see them.

Rachel stood there first, looking fantastic and holding a bottle. At first I assumed it was a bottle of wine but when I gave it my full attention I was corrected. Tequila. They were here to party. Rachel must have been 4 inches shorter than me, but certainly tried to close the gap with amazing heels. She looked well, no scratch that, she looked great. I had always been really fond of Rachel. When your best mate meets a girl and it looks like they could get serious it is natural to get a bit defensive around her. It hadn’t lasted long though. Rachel was strong and forceful but her personality suited me down to the ground and we had spent countless nights with Jack and Emma, laughing and drinking and feeling alive. It was good to see her.

She stepped up into the apartment, hugged me tightly and kissed me on the cheek.

‘You don’t look like shit like Jack said!’

I laughed, probably for the first time in a month. ‘You’ve looked worse I suppose,’ I replied.

Jack followed her into the flat, pretending to punch me in the stomach before hugging me as well. They were familiar; a memory of happier times and something I needed right now. Gone were the worries of following dead ends and getting upset. For one day I was going to be happy and smile and laugh and...drink.

I put the kettle on and we settled into the lounge with warm drinks and warm conversation. They were almost over-friendly. I guess they must have been worried about me. Seeing me smile and laugh seemed to calm Rachel’s fears and she settled down more and more. Jack still looked concerned and was studying me like Dr Davies. Had I really looked that bad when we last met? Thinking back, almost definitely.

The day passed far too quickly for my liking. As lunchtime approached I offered to make them lunch but after minutes of their laughter, Rachel took over and somehow made us omelettes and chips for lunch. I wasn’t aware I had either eggs or chips in the house, but I loved her cooking and was too hungry to question it. We wolfed the food down and began drinking before two o’clock, just because we could. I had remembered to get beers in and we made our way through those handsomely. By the time the evening arrived, I wouldn’t say we were drunk, but we had certainly begun our journey there.

*****

‘What are we doing tonight?’ Rachel asked. She was beginning to get restless and wanted to go out. Dancing, ideally, but that idea was soon quashed by both Jack and myself. I may have been happier than I had been for a while but I certainly wasn’t ready to go out clubbing. Baby steps.

‘We could go out for some food,’ I said. Now I had started eating, my body was starting to remember how good food could be.

‘BORING,’ shouted Rach.

‘OK, you choose,’ I replied, opening another beer. It went silent for a second while we all thought. Despite living in London and having every entertainment available to us, we always struggled to come up with ideas. We must have spent hundreds of nights together but they usually consisted of eating food, drinking alcohol and making fools of ourselves. So trying to come up with a new idea now was proving more difficult than you would think.

‘I’ve got it.’ Jack finally broke the silence. ‘What about Plateau 64?’

Plateau 64 was a club Jack and I used to go to when we were younger. It must be a chain although I have only ever seen two. In Birmingham (the biggest major city near to where we grew up) we found this small club that had good beer and a lax attitude towards age restrictions on drinking. Looking back I’m pretty sure it was a gay club. There were certainly a lot of butch men and Jack and I were always incredibly popular. I barely remember having to buy my own drink once. At the time we just thought they were being friendly.

However, in the last few years it had turned into a comedy club and Saturday nights were ‘open mic’ nights. I assumed this was more what Jack was referring to. I hoped, at least, he wanted to watch people try their hand at stand-up comedy.

The day I moved in with Emma, I got a little lost and found myself driving around the back-streets of North London. I eventually found her place but before I did I spotted another ‘Plateau 64’, sticking out of the grey scenery like a sore thumb. I immediately took a photo of myself outside it and sent it to Jack. Since then we have sporadically visited the club watching various stand-ups, with varying degrees of success.

‘You up for it, Rach?’ I asked. She never replied but was jumping up and down with excitement. She seemed up for anything.

‘Alright, let’s do it!’

*****

The club was particularly busy that night. Occasionally it hosted acts you had seen on the telly and I could image those nights being packed out, but I was surprised to see it that busy for an ‘open mic’ night. We even had to queue! Luckily the queue didn’t last long and I’m British