Single White Failure by G. J. H. Sibson

Author:G. J. H. Sibson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Clink Street Publishing
Published: 2021-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

9

Speed dating

‘Hi Max, what are you doing tomorrow night?’ It’s Abbie, calling from work.

‘I was going to chill out at home, why?’

‘Forget it, you’re coming out with me,’ she declares, and I can tell by her tone that she won’t take no for an answer. Following my recent spate of late nights, I fancy a couple of evenings relaxing in the comfort of my own home, but I know it’s futile putting up a struggle. Perhaps, it could be fun.

‘There’s a friend of mine having a barbecue at his place up the road, he has some news I think you’ll find interesting.’

Abbie forms part of this interesting group of female friends who take it upon themselves to find you a woman as soon as you become single. Abbie is a little less theatrical in her efforts than Pippa. The moment some of them had learnt that I had called it off with Jessica, they were calling me up to arrange blind dates with their friends. It isn’t this Jewish mother syndrome that shocked me initially, rather the brutality they employ in their matchmaking. Often they were setting me up with some of their oldest friends. At first, I was expecting all kinds of pep talks about how I should be a gentleman etc. Incredibly it was the total opposite, more often than not they’d say things like, ‘All I’m doing is making the initial introduction, what you do with her is up to you.’

As it happens, on this occasion, it isn’t a blind date.

‘You haven’t met this friend of mine before, his name’s Gary,’ she starts.

‘Right.’

‘There’s a barbecue at his place, you’re invited,’ she continues. ‘He’s a TV producer, you’ll get on well, I’m sure he’d be entertained by your recent dating horrors.’

The stooge of the party, great.

We turn up to a plush dockside apartment the following evening. A tall guy with dark hair greets us at the door. He’s wearing a white Ralph Lauren shirt, tucked into faded blue denims which are slightly on the tight side – far too much on show. This is Gary.

‘High Max, come in, grab yourself a beer, we’re all on the terrace.’

Gary’s a proper Londoner, originally from Blackheath. A Malboro Red hangs from corner of his mouth. He’s the type of person who has lots of nervous energy, constantly fidgeting like a Peckham Market salesman. I’ve got my semi-cold bottle of cheap Belgian beer from the fridge and now I’m standing next to Gary on his terrace, keeping him company as he fails to get the charcoal lit.

‘So, Gary, Abbie was telling me that you’re a TV producer…’

‘That’s right, at least, I hope so!’ he says burning his fingers rather than igniting the fire-lighter. I give him that vacant-attentive-listener look, willing him to tell all. He gives up on the barbecue.

‘Well,’ he starts, an excitement has appeared in his voice, ‘we do mostly reality television. I work for Lion TV, have you heard of us?’

I haven’t.

‘Yeah, I think so,’ I say.

‘Cool, what have

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