Page 14 of Wish You Were Here

Ben

‘What about this one?’ I say to Flatmate Simon, holding up a light blue denim shirt.

‘I mean, it’s FaceTime, mate. I hardly think a shirt is going to make it or break it, to be honest,’ replies Flatmate Simon, a cup of coffee in his hand, while he watches something on YouTube.

He calls it ‘market research’, but to me it seems like he’s just been watching YouTube for the past two hours.

‘Although that’s better than the last one. ’

We’re in the living room and I have been going through the depths of my wardrobe, trying desperately to get the best look for my FaceTime with Saskia.

I need the right shirt, the perfect setting, my hair needs to behave, hopefully we click, and it’s not just really awkward.

To be honest, I think that’s the thing I’m most worried about rather than my sartorial choices.

I can control how I look, the shirt, my hair and the setting, but what I can’t control is how we actually get on.

I think a part of why I’m so good at my job is that I love structure and control, and it’s so much easier with financial markets and property acquisition because I can look at statistics, analyse graphs and make considered choices based on knowledge and experience.

However, with love, it feels like a complete shot in the dark, and you never know how it’s going to go.

You could do all the research in the world, and they could still turn out to be mind-numbingly dull, or with Saffy, a complete basket case.

I return to my bedroom and get ready for the call.

I decide to go with the denim shirt and then I set myself up at my desk.

Fortunately, it’s a bright, warm day outside, so there’s a good amount of natural light coming in through the window.

I open my phone and check how I look using my camera, and it might not be the best, but it’s about as good as I can look.

Then it happens. I have a FaceTime request from Saskia!

It’s crazy to think that she is all the way across the world in Australia and I am in London.

It feels like a date. I’m nervous like it’s a date, yet we are 10,000 miles apart and romance isn’t on the cards. I take a deep breath and then I answer.

It takes a moment for it to connect, and then there she is.

Saskia is in her bedroom, and she looks beautiful.

I don’t know if she, like me, has spent the past hour getting ready, but whether she has or not, and maybe she just dashed into her room after a night out, she is stunning.

I know that if we are just talking about a physical attraction it is definitely there – at least from my side.

‘G’day!’ I say, like an absolute fool, and she laughs. I adore her laugh.

‘You know Australians don’t always say G’day, Beno.’

‘Wait, what? Neighbours lied to me?’

‘You’re a Neighbours fan?’

‘I was a huge Neighbours fan at university. I used to watch both episodes if I could, but not so much anymore, especially after it left the BBC,’ I say, and then there is a pause and we both look at each other and smile.

I think we both realise how strange this is.

As I’m looking at her, I think to myself that she is actually even more beautiful in real life than the photos I have seen online.

The way she smiles is so adorable because she has small dimples in her cheeks, her eyes light up and there is just something magical about her that sends shivers of excitement and attraction shooting through my body.

‘This is so weird, isn’t it?’ she says.

‘It is, but also not weird at all, if that makes sense.’

‘I know what you mean. It’s like you’re basically some rando stranger, but I also feel like I’ve known you my whole life.’

‘A rando stranger? That makes me sound like a weirdo on the bus. The sort of bloke who sits next to you despite there being loads of empty seats, and talks to you the whole time about how he could have made it as a footballer, had trials at West Ham, but broke his ankle in a freak bathtub accident and now he’s working at Lidl. ’

Saskia laughs. ‘That sounds exactly like the sort of thing a rando stranger would say in London.’

‘Then lucky it feels like you’ve known me forever.’

‘Lucky.’

Saskia is wearing a yellow top, and has her hair loose, which she has tucked behind her ears, and after a moment she offers to give me a quick tour of her home.

I sit back as she wanders around her house, pointing out interesting things and telling me facts about the house she grew up in.

She asks if it’s weird that she’s still living at home at twenty-nine, and I tell her it isn’t, but it’s obviously something that niggles her.

I’m just interested in seeing her house in Sydney and how different it is from houses in London.

The house is lovely with some interesting decor, and when she shows me outside, despite it almost being sunset, it’s still warm and bright.

I definitely feel a little jealous. It’s incredible how loud the birds are in Sydney, and I hear them whistling and chirping in her garden, which isn’t big, but it’s a beautiful space with a small pond and a cool hammock slung between two trees.

After her tour, she asks for a tour of my flat, which only takes about five minutes, and mainly because she says hello to Flatmate Simon.

I have to leave when she asks him for any embarrassing stories about me, and I know he has many, and so I quickly take my phone back.

Eventually, I am back in my bedroom, sitting on my bed and looking at Saskia.

‘I have a confession to make,’ I say.

‘Oh God, what is it? You’re a convicted stalker, aren’t you? A sex offender? You have an Aussie fetish, and this whole thing wasn’t a mistake at all, was it? You’ve been grooming me!’

I laugh. ‘No, nothing like that. Definitely not a sex offender, stalker, and before our little email thing started, I hadn’t once thought about dating someone from Australia.’

‘What is it then? A weird third nipple?’

‘That’s a very niche answer. Do you have a third nipple you want to get off your chest, pun intended, obviously?’

‘Hilarious, and definitely not. Plus, I’m pretty sure if I had a secret third nipple, I wouldn’t have brought it up on our first date.’

‘Date? This is a date?’

‘You know what I mean,’ she says, and I notice her cheeks turning a subtle shade of pink.

‘I do.’

‘So, what is it then, Beno? Spill the beans. What’s the big confession?’

‘Truth is, Saskia, is that I really like you. From the first email, I felt a connection with you, but obviously being so far apart I know that nothing can happen, so it’s sort of weird.

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to tell you that, like this, and now you’re probably wishing you hadn’t FaceTimed me at all, which is totally fine because—’

‘No, it’s fine. I get it. I feel exactly the same.’

‘You do?’

‘Yeah, it’s weird, eh? You’re in London, I’m in Sydney, we’ve never even met, but just emailing each other, I feel like I know you. Like you’re an actual real person in my life, and now it’s hard to imagine a life without you.’

‘It’s crazy, isn’t it?’

‘Defo.’

‘So, the question is, what do we do about?’ I say, not really knowing where this conversation is going, but I can’t help myself. It feels like we’re on a slide together and we’re going faster and faster, and as much as we know we need to slow down and get off, we can’t.

‘I have a confession too,’ says Saskia. ‘I’m currently off men and relationships. I was on this slippery slope of having awful one-night stands with total losers, and I’m tired of being with the wrong person all the time. So, I made the decision to stop dating and to focus on my career.’

‘Good for you.’

‘Yeah? You don’t think it’s a bit desperate?’

‘I think you’re taking care of yourself, which is never a bad thing.’

‘So, in relation to us, Beno, I think that right now, whatever this is, whatever it might become in the future, I love having you as a mate.’

‘Me too. I’ve never had an Australian friend before.’

‘Not even in London? I’ve heard there're tons of Aussies over there.’

‘There are, and I’ve met a few, but I’ve never had an actual Aussie friend before, and especially not one as hot as you.’

‘Oh, stop it, and great, now I’m blushing.’

I laugh. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s okay. So, mates?’

‘Mates,’ I reply, which is nice, and talking to her feels so natural.

If only I could meet someone like that in London.

I feel like every time I meet someone here or go on a date, it’s awkward, difficult and I’m never sure what to say, but with Saskia it’s so easy and we just get each other.

Maybe with her being so far away, it means that nothing can happen, so there’s no pressure, or perhaps I should actively start trying to date Australian women in London because perhaps they are better.

Either way, we are going to be friends, and that’s probably a good thing.

‘Although when I mentioned this to my best mate, Jess, total babe, you would love her, she said we could have FaceTime sex.’

‘Oh my. What exactly would that involve?’

‘Honestly, I have no idea, but she does it with her husband when he’s away with work. I’m not sure it’s something I’m quite ready to explore yet, Beno.’

‘Me either. Just getting ready for this took me an hour of changing shirts and getting the right location with the perfect amount of light. Imagine if we were going to partake in a little online sex, then we’d be talking about hair removal, new underwear and I’d have to really think about camera angles. ’

‘Don’t worry, Beno, it’s not happening anytime soon.’

‘Phew. Although you know, maybe one day.’

‘You never know,’ says Saskia with a salacious grin.

For our first FaceTime, it is almost perfect.

In the end, we talk for just over an hour before it is time to say goodbye.

We look at each other. Saskia in her bedroom in Glebe, me in my bedroom in Clapham, and there is clearly a spark of attraction between us.

An unspoken feeling that if we lived closer, or even in the same country, we’d be taking this further.

‘This was pretty amazing, eh,’ says Saskia.

‘Yes, it was,’ I reply. I don’t want to say goodbye, but I need to get to my parents’ house for Mum’s birthday. ‘I wish you were here.’

‘Wish you were here,’ she replies, and we share another moment before I have to end it.

‘When can we do it again?’ I ask.

‘I’ll message you, but definitely in the week if you can.’

‘I’ll make sure we can. So …’

‘So …’

‘I guess I’ll speak to you during the week then.’

‘Okay, mate.’

‘Bye then, mate.’

‘Bye.’

‘Bye.’

We look at each other, both burst out laughing, flushing red from either embarrassment or attraction, and then we finally say goodbye.

When she is gone, I fall back on my bed and look up at my ceiling.

How inconvenient is this? I finally meet a girl I really like, could see myself dating, but she lives so far away.

I am well and truly fucked. However, sexually frustrated or not, potentially falling for a girl I can’t be with or not, I have to get in my car and drive to my parents’ house in Marlow.

Poppy has already texted me twice to make sure I haven’t forgotten.

It takes just over an hour to drive from Clapham to Marlow with a quick pit-stop at Beaconsfield Services for a coffee.

I finally pull up to my childhood home, and immediately I feel a good ten years younger.

There is always something strange about going home because I am approaching thirty, I’m an asset manager at a top company in the city, and for all intents and purposes, I am a proper adult.

However, five minutes back at home and all semblance of adulthood vanishes and I am just my parents' youngest child and my sister's little brother.

My parents’ house is a three-bed detached property on the edge of town.

There is a gravel driveway out front, a garage on the side of the house and at the back is a large garden.

Inside, it’s just my parents’ house. There have been some modernisations over the years, and recently, according to Dad, Mum has been on a bit of a decluttering drive.

When I walk up to the front-door, I already know it will be open, and when I push it, it opens and I walk inside.

‘Hello?’ I say, walking into the hallway.

‘In the kitchen, Ben!’ says Dad.

I walk past the first of two reception rooms, the downstairs loo, which has recently been decorated, and now has some lovely floral wallpaper, new tile flooring and a grey vanity unit with gold taps that’s pretty jazzy for my parents.

I walk into the kitchen to find Mum, Dad, Poppy and Hugh, and they’re standing around the kitchen island. Something is clearly afoot.

‘Get him a glass!’ says Mum excitedly.

‘Hi, Mum. Get me a glass of what?’

‘Champagne!’ says Poppy, passing me a glass.

‘Is this for Mum’s birthday? Happy birthday, Mum.’

‘Thank you, love,’ says Mum. ‘But this isn’t about me. Pops has news!’

We all look towards Poppy and Hugh, and then they say in unison like a well-rehearsed double-act.

‘We’re pregnant!’

As soon as they say the word ‘pregnant’ – with Hugh doing jazz hands – it’s absolute chaos.

Mum is crying, Dad is shaking Hugh’s hand, I’m hugging Poppy and we are all so happy.

I didn’t even know that Poppy and Hugh were trying, and from Mum’s response, I’m not sure she did either.

It’s fantastic news, but at the back of my mind, it’s also another reminder that I am almost thirty, and I am so far behind my sister.

Admittedly, Poppy is two years older than me, but I still need to meet the right person, date them for a while, move in together, get engaged, get married, buy a house, start trying for a baby and then I’ll be where Poppy and Hugh are right now.

I am no expert, but I imagine all of that will take about ten years, by which time I will be forty.

A thoroughly depressing thought, and one which puts a dampener on my spirits, post chat with Saskia, and now with the news I am soon going to be a fun uncle – or funkle.