Normal Service Resumes

J had her flat warming party on Friday night. I was busy filling in my job application for 'elsewhere' and got a panicked phone call from her at quarter to eight, as she was by herself in pub. Dashed down the road, with no time to do hair, make-up, or put on my party glad rags. I was indeed wearing the big grey jumper of my weird dream (see previous post). When I arrived at the pub, J was sat with two men - one, G, is the brother of a mutual acquaintance of ours, who was a teaching assistant last year; and the other was his friend, R. G and R were out for a few quiet pints but we soon persuaded them to join us at the party. In fact, as soon as I arrived, I started flirting with R (my lines included - what would you do if you were ruler of the world? if you had to lose one limb, which one would it be? if Malcolm Rifkind or Norman Tebbit were to be Prime Minister, which one would you chose? do you not feel guilty that your job contributes to a massive carbon footprint [he works in advertising, and his main client is Honda cars]? Do you write poems that rhyme? Would you rather be Superman or Spiderman?) Have realised my 'flirting' consists of bombarding people with stupid questions. At the party, R and I sat on the sofa together, and I managed to regale him with my knee story. Indeed, that was slightly embarrassing, for just as he was asking "And how does your knee feel now?" and I was giving the entirely predictable response "If you play your cards right, you might get to find out later", the room fell weirdly silent and everyone listened in. At around midnight, R invited his friend P over. P turned up with tequila. At half midnight, R and I were stood by the fridge. R lent over to me. "I'm sorry, F, I've just emerged from something really really serious and heavy...I'm not looking for anything right now. I had a terrible Valentine's Night." At this point, I was abit non plussed, as we were still in the friendly chat arena. I responded "But that's fine, we're just having a chat." He leaned closer, so close that his tongue is practically in my ear. "I feel guilty. I've been leading you on." I looked at him. "Maybe I've been leading you on." Then, his "nothing serious" caveat in place, he lent over and started snogging me. Men never fail to amaze me with their chutzpah. By this point, his friend P was utterly blasted. He was being aggressive about the music (he wanted the Smiths) and out of nowhere he and J were shouting at each other. He was calling J an English cunt and saying how much he hated us colonialist bastards. At which point J asked him to leave (I think one can be a colonialist bastard in one's own flat). He then locked himself in the bathroom and began hitting things. R broke off our mammoth snog to whisper romantically in my ear, "I really want to have sex with you, but I have to get P home." I said to put P in a taxi, so he headed off down the street, poured him into a taxi, and came back to the party. By this point it was half three, so we left. We went home via the 24 hour Spar, where I bought (to the amusement of the man at the kiosk) a pack of condoms, 20 Marlboro Lights, and a pint of milk.
The next day, sat at 4pm in Cafe Paul Rankin, feeling slightly nauseous, forcing down a latte and a raspberry and almond slice, I felt how strange life is. It is as if the last seven months haven't happened, and here I am back in Belfast again, and nothing has changed - well other than visiting my friend S in the evening, and seeing her seven months pregnant.