Page 12 of Wish You Were Here

Ben

It is a bright Sunday morning, and I am having brunch with everyone at a hip cafe in Clapham.

It is loud, chaotic, there are children running around, tables of trendy twenty-somethings taking photos of their plates like they’re works of art, a mother is breastfeeding, waitresses are scuttling between tables delivering orders with impressive speed and the food is to die for.

I love brunch and think it is the best meal of the week.

I think it’s because you eat brunch later than breakfast, and so by the time you actually get your food you are starving and desperate for coffee like a crack addict searching for their next fix.

The menu is packed full of brunch classics like smashed avocado toast, ricotta pancakes, acai bowls, homemade granola and the classic full-English.

All of this is washed down with top-notch coffee and conversation, which is currently centred around my disastrous date with Cressida.

‘I can’t believe she just left like that,’ says Poppy, before shovelling a forkful of ricotta pancake into her mouth.

She is sitting next to Hugh, who went for sourdough toast with poached eggs.

Next to Hugh is Will (full-English), opposite is Flatmate Simon (brunch burger), who is next to Abigail (Acai bowl), and then me (avocado toast with poached eggs).

‘I think she was probably just embarrassed,’ I reply.

‘She was,’ says Abigail. ‘I saw her the next day, and she felt awful. The poor thing just wasn’t ready for it. It had nothing to do with you, Ben.’

‘Anyway, mate, onwards and upwards!’ says Will in typical positive Will style. ‘What’s next? Who’s got a date for Ben?’ Will looks around the table to see if anyone else has a date lined up for me, but it’s crickets. ‘Oh.’

‘It’s not all bad,’ I say quickly to fill the awkward silence.

‘Oh yeah?’ says Poppy.

‘It’s Saskia. She wants to FaceTime.’

I am aware that Saskia lives in Sydney, and so the prospect of us FaceTiming isn't as thrilling as an actual date in London, but it’s exciting for me.

‘This is your Antipodean friend?’ asks Hugh.

‘Yes.’

‘Riiiight,’ says Flatmate Simon.

‘Sounds good,’ says Will.

‘That’s interesting,’ says an unenthusiastic Abigail.

‘Okay, look, I realise Saskia and I FaceTiming isn’t quite as deliciously exciting as me going on a date with a real live human being in London, but I’m looking forward to it.’

‘We’re excited for you,’ says Abigail, who nudges Flatmate Simon in the ribs.

‘Yes!’ says Flatmate Simon. ‘Super excited for the FaceTime thingy.’

‘It’s just, we want to find you an actual girlfriend here in London,’ says Poppy.

‘Before your thirtieth,’ chips in Hugh.

‘And you still can,’ I reply. ‘Obviously nothing romantic is going to happen with Saskia, so please go out and find me a life partner!’

There is a brief pause and then Flatmate Simon says.

‘Does anyone else think the term ‘life partner’ sounded weird?’

‘It definitely did,’ says Will.

‘I have to agree,’ says Poppy.

‘Me too,’ says Abigail.

‘Fine! Go out and find me a girlfriend,’ I say, and everyone nods in agreement.

After I read Saskia’s email, I spent about half-an-hour just staring into space and thinking.

A FaceTime with Saskia. Would it be weird?

Uncomfortable? What was the point? Where are we going?

Somewhere? Nowhere? I really didn’t know, but we have emailed every day since my original mistaken email, and it does feel like we need to take the next step.

So, after an hour of thinking, I replied to her email and agreed to FaceTime.

I am waiting for her reply to arrange a time.

In the meantime, I still need my friends to find me a proper date.

Regardless of what is happening with Saskia, my search for love continues unabated.

‘What about dating apps?’ suggests Will. ‘When I was hiking Ben Macdui, I got talking with a couple who met through a dating app. Now they’re happily married and living together in Dundee.’

‘I’ve tried them before, and from my experience, it’s a no,’ I say.

‘Agreed,’ says Abigail. ‘All the men I’ve met on dating apps are only after one thing. Dating apps are just the modern version of someone coming up behind you on the dancefloor and attempting to grind their penis into your lower back to ‘Mr Boombastic’ by Shaggy.’

‘Definitely not ‘fantastic’,’ says Poppy.

‘But that’s the thing,’ says Will. ‘Ben is actually after love and commitment. Maybe he will stand out from the one-night stand crowd. He’s happy to keep his penis firmly in his pants!’

‘I didn’t agree to that!’ I say.

‘Ewww,’ says Poppy.

‘Anyway, no offence to your Ben Macdui friends, but I don’t want my meet cute to be dating app. It just doesn’t scream romantic comedy, does it? Coming soon from the writer of Love Actually , starring Keira Knightley and Ryan Gosling, We Met Online !’

‘I’d watch that!’ says Hugh. ‘I love Ryan G!’

‘So,’ says Poppy, ignoring Hugh and his slightly too eager enthusiasm for Ryan Gosling.

‘Unless you meet because of some sort of classic miscommunication, or you hate each other and then love each other, she’s a time traveller or a film star searching for love away from the limelight, you can’t be together?

Because that might severely hamper your search for true love. ’

‘Which is already down to just nine women,’ says Abigail.

‘What does that mean?’ asks Will, and Abigail explains my theory about the potential number of eligible women in Greater London.

‘That’s bonkers!’ says Poppy. ‘Nine? In all of London?’

‘There must be literally thousands,’ says Hugh.

‘You’d think so, but there just isn’t,’ I reply, and after that bombshell, everyone is quiet for a while, probably trying to do the sums in their heads.

I can almost hear them trying to work out how in the hell I arrived at the figure of just nine women in a city of ten million people.

‘And it isn’t that I need some incredible love story for the ages, but I draw the line at online dating.

For now, at least. Perhaps if I get desperate. ’

‘So what, a few weeks then?’ says Flatmate Simon, and everyone laughs at my expense.

As with most of our brunches, it lasts about two hours before we all have to head off.

Poppy and Hugh have something wildly boring and married to do, like go to B&Q and get some drill bits.

Will has an afternoon ramble with a girl he met at his gym, but it definitely isn’t a date, he clarifies, and then something strange happens.

I am going back to the flat and I imagine that Flatmate Simon is going to come with me, but Abigail says, ‘I’m heading into town, there’s an exhibition at the Tate,’ which is fine and definitely like the sort of thing she might say, but then Flatmate Simon says, ‘Oh, really, I heard about that exhibition at the Tate, and it’s something I’d really like to see too,’ which is definitely not like something he would say, and then Abigail replies, ‘Why don’t you come along?

’ Flatmate Simon says he will, and then they leave together and presumably head off to the Tate Gallery.

This is strange for a number of reasons, but mainly because one: Flatmate Simon has zero interest in art galleries.

Two: Abigail and Flatmate Simon don’t, as far as I know, hang out together, and three: The entire conversation felt like they were reading from a carefully worded script. I wonder what is going on.

‘See you next weekend?’ says Poppy before she leaves.

‘For?’ I ask, trying to remember what it is I’ve forgotten.

‘Mum’s birthday? We’re having lunch at their house. It’s been arranged for weeks. It’s in the family calendar. I sent you two messages on WhatsApp.’

‘Oh, right, yes, of course. Mum’s birthday.’

‘You had no idea, did you? I’m buying a card and flowers. Want to go halves?’

‘As always, yes,’ I reply because this means I don’t have to do anything or think about it.

This happens every year on both of our parents’ birthdays.

Poppy will get them a gift, a card and I will chip in some money.

Earlier in the year, ‘we’ got Dad a bottle of his favourite Scottish whisky. We are good children.

I am back at the flat food prepping. It’s something new I am trying.

I eat the worst lunches at work, and often I get home late, so I grab something quick on the way – usually fast-food – microwave something, or just graze on processed rubbish all night until I am full.

This method of living seemed to be fine in my early to mid-twenties, but over the last year or so, I have seen a gradual weight increase, feelings of sluggishness and a general malaise creep into my consciousness.

I realised I had to do something different, and so now I am the sort of man who spends Sunday afternoons food prepping for the week ahead.

It is boring, time-consuming, and not very exciting, but it makes my week easier and healthier.

I am slicing carrots when my phone rumbles with a notification, and when I look down, I see an email from Saskia. I excitedly open the email.

Dear Beno,

Do you mind me calling you Beno? In Australia, we like to put an o on the end of everything so it sounds more endearing.

Here are some of my personal favourites: Ambulance = ambo.

Bottle shop = Bottle-o. Devastated = Devo.

Documentary = Doco. Musician = Muso. Relative = Relo.

Salvation Army = Salvo. Vegetarian = Veggo. So, Beno? What do you think?

I am excited about our FaceTime. I was thinking that because of the time difference, it’s either a night for you and a morning for me or vice versa.

What works better for you? I am definitely not a morning person and work better at night, but happy to work around your schedule. Maybe next weekend? Does that work?

I have a gig this week at a pub in Sydney. It should be to a pretty decent audience, so we’ll see how it goes. Let me know about FaceTime. Okay, off to practise some songs for the gig. I’m trying out a new one.

Sas (muso) x

I immediately reply.

Dear Saso,

Is Saso a thing? Thingo? I think I might need to work on my Aussie slang a bit – o. I’m definitely more of a morning person, so that’s ideal. How about Saturday at 8am my time, which is 7pm your time? Does that worko?

I had brunch with my friends and my sister Poppy, and I told them about us FaceTiming, but they weren’t very excited about it. They’re more interested in finding me a date, although after my last one with the girl who went to the toilet and vanished, my hopes aren’t high.

I am currently food prepping for the week.

That’s right, I am now the sort of man who food preps!

Is this a big turn-off? Food prepper, probably boring in bed, likes to schedule dates, sex and fun, or is being practical and healthy a turn-on?

Surely being into health and organised shows I am the sort of man ready for a serious relationship, right?

I suppose what I’m asking is, should I brag about it on my next date or never mention it? Why is dating so fucking hard?

Let me know about FaceTime – o?

Beno x