Saturday, 11 August 2017
***
She wakes up with the sun
She asked me what is all the fuss
As she gave me more than she thought she would
(Song For My) Sugar Spun Sister - The Stone Roses
***
Graeme put the pillow over his head and mumbled an obscenity at his wafer-thin curtains. Their feeble resistance to the rising South London sun meant he was wide awake, and hungover, four and a half hours after going to bed.
Kicking off the duvet and wriggling free from his boxers, he stretches out and lets the sun warm his body. A softly spoken Scotsman from the Highlands, the heat's intensity surprises him and conjures up memories of holidays on the Med. And Graeme is on holiday - kind of. His second day living in London awaits him, a city of millions in which he only knows a handful of people. Revitalised by the promise of starting his life anew, he reaches down to discover he's knocked his glass of water over in the night. It was going to be that type of morning.
Reluctantly rolling out of bed and putting his feet on the sodden carpet, Graeme imagines walking to the kitchen nude and feels a surge of illicit, exhibitionist desire. Tying his dressing gown over his naked body, he heads downstairs. Swiftly drowning two paracetamol with a pint of water, he puts the kettle on and surveys the room. It is undoubtedly too small for the six people who share the house, and smaller even than the kitchen in the two-bedroom flat Graeme had all to himself in Scotland. However, it does have unmistakable signs - a lipstick-stained mug, kicked-off high heels under the breakfast table - that he will have female company in the house. He is grateful for this discovery as the possibility of sparks flying over the dinner table thrills him, and because living with five other men is a depressing prospect. Swiping a croissant on his way out, he heads back upstairs through the silent house.
He deposits the piping hot mug of tea and contraband pastry on the bedside table, clambers into bed and shrugs off the dressing gown. He's worked his socks off at the gym in the months leading up to the big move, and he's pleased with how muscular his arms, chest and thighs are - he even has 15% of a six-pack taking shape. Typically for a hangover, he is ridiculously horny and unable to focus on much beyond the thought of spending the day fulfilling the needs of a gorgeous, curvaceous and exceptionally demanding woman.
Picking up his phone and finding it dead, Graeme spends the next five minutes on his knees, ransacking his suitcase for his charger. Finally locating it already plugged in beside the bed - something he must have forgotten doing the night before - he collapses, heart thumping and light-headed.
He wakes 30 minutes later to a cold cup of tea and a rejuvenated phone. Graeme hoists himself up and logs into the dating app. It is still only 7.45am and, as he expected, there aren't many women showing up online. One profile, however, gives him a jolt. Cheeky, confident eyes gaze up at the camera, a knowing grin creeping across her face. Her hair is blonde and tied up, and she's wearing a faded pink jumper - the pic cutting off just below her shoulders. It's the classic girl next door look, and Graeme loves that.
Bringing up the profile, he is disappointed to find no other pics and scant detail. However, there are a few exhilarating tidbits: Lauren (35) lives less than one kilometre away and has specified herself as 'Curvy' in the obligatory body-type category. Deliberating, Graeme settles on a message that he suspects makes him sound like a huge dork, sinks his cold tea and heads for a cool, refreshing shower in the en-suite.
***
Lauren groans and pulls down her eye mask when her phone rumbles on the bedside table. Her plan to kick the weekend off with a big sleep has been ruined by an inconsiderate twat (Lauren is prone to swearing in the early hours) crashing around the house in the early hours. She'd slept fitfully afterwards, and even the eye mask and a herbal tea had failed to work their magic.
In truth, she is upset and pissed off with herself for being upset. Three weeks earlier, her boyfriend - a self-professed feminist - had called it off while they were lying in bed. He'd thoughtfully set out some of the ways she could have kept him, including wearing her scruffs less often and wearing make-up more often. By the time he'd finished, she felt furious and humiliated in equal measure. He had, of course, managed to get one last fuck out of her the day before his big reveal, breathing a heartfelt 'I love you' into her ear before shuddering and rolling over.
Ripping off the eye mask and throwing it across the room, she picks up the phone. She rolls her eyes at a notification from the dating app she'd joined the minute her ex had skulked out of her life. Since then, she'd received scores of messages running the gamut from bland to lewd while skipping interesting and charming. It was exactly as her friends had warned her, but still utterly depressing.
Opening the message, she is surprised to find that a modicum of effort had gone into it and that the author is semi-literate.
'Hi Lauren, up with the morning sun too? I'm Graeme and new to London - it's literally my second day here. I'm Scottish so if you like incomprehensible accents and men in skirts, I'm the man for you! Expect you're ready to embrace the weekend rather than lolling about in bed like me - what do you have planned?x'
Pulling up his profile, Lauren finds herself looking at a man in an anorak, beaming ear-to-ear on top of a mountain. His glasses are partially steamed up and he is wearing a woolly hat, so she can't really tell if she fancies him or not. However, the puppy-like joy emanating from the photo is endearing - albeit unlikely to survive repeated jostling into assorted armpits by arseholes on the tube.
There are three other pictures - a good sign - featuring Scottish Graeme: in an old man's pub, on a field having a picnic on an overcast day, and taking a selfie of himself in his bedroom (fully clothed - again, a good sign). Each photo displays the 'I've just won the lottery and as I'm such a nice guy, I'll donate half to charity' smile and round John Lennon glasses that he just about pulls off. He has a dark and rigidly gelled block of hair on top of a rather square face, and the overall effect is of a benign Lego man.
She sends a message back and regrets chucking the eye mask.
***
Towelling off, Graeme returns to a room that is at least 5 degrees hotter than he'd left it and stinks to high heaven of excreted booze. Instantly clammy, but feeling surprisingly perky, he throws open all the windows. He picks up his phone to find a message.
'hi Graeme, welcome to the city - I can picture you now - shorts, socks in sandals and camera round your neck, ready for ur open top bus tour. am also a little insulted - do I look crazy enough to be out of my bed before 8 on a saturday'
Stretching out on the bed, he crafts a reply and presses send just before his glasses steam up completely.
***
Graeme's reply pops up as Lauren is lusting over Dyson fans and contemplating adding to her credit card debt. The bedroom is disgustingly hot already and her twin hand-me-down fans, despite their whirring, barely ruffle her hair.
'Thanks for the reply Lauren and I'm glad you're still in bed, an early start 5/7 days of the week is surely enough! Socks in sandals is a great look, thanks for helping me choose today's outfit 🤓 Tbh, my biggest challenge today is meeting my new housemates without smelling like a brewery (night out with new team from work last night). How are you coping with the heatwave? G x'
Again, top marks for effort, although, like the John Lennon glasses, she can't quite reconcile the breezy 'G x' with the goofy guy she is sure is behind the profile. Or maybe she is overthinking things? Besides, something else has piqued her interest, and she decides to investigate.
***
Trying and failing to pay attention to his book, Graeme pounces on the phone as soon as it pings.
'am coping OK thnx - i have a fan either side of me and a man wafting me with a palm leaf. ur housemates are in for a treat, did u move in yesterday, is it a big house?'
Sitting up, Graeme tries to decipher how suggestive the message is. On the one hand, Lauren may be wittily planting a seed that she'd like a submissive man in her bedroom - possibly wearing a toga. On the other hand, she's fired off a two-sentence reply to be polite, and Graeme is, as usual, getting much too excited.
Deciding to risk being risqué, Graeme presses send and wonders how to make a toga out of bedsheets.
***
As expected, her message was read on arrival, and a reply sent in a matter of minutes - Graeme is certainly enthusiastic.
'Lol, I love the set-up you have going on there, is he peeling grapes for you too? And how can I apply for the job?! Yeah in yesterday and then straight out with my new team so today's going to be interesting 😅 And yeah it's a big house, why do you ask? G x'
