On Saturday evening, after a lazy morning in bed and an afternoon on the sofa, guffawing at back-to-back episodes of Superstore, Shep and I get ready to go to Tanya’s place. Having never been invited to dinner at a proper grown-up’s house before (my parents don’t count), I’m a bit lost on what to wear. After pretty much emptying and trying on my whole wardrobe, I eventually decide on an outfit similar to the one I wore on my ‘first date’ with Shep – though I opt for a dress that won’t give Tanya or her husband an eyeful of my arse if I bend the wrong way. I also tong my hair again, pleased to note that I do a slightly better job than last time. And with my makeup, I stick to nude shades, my aim being to look like I fit in with a more mature demographic.
Click-clacking my way across the creaky floorboards to the living room, where Shep’s glued to the TV, having spent all of five minutes getting ready himself, I do a little pirouette.
‘Does this say first-dinner-party-at-older-and-slightly-inappropriate-colleague’s-house?’
‘To the letter.’ He gives a chef’s kiss to punctuate this, then switches off the TV, gets up from the sofa and puts his arms around me. ‘It also says: “Shep, I want you.”’
‘No, it doesn’t.’ I wriggle out of his grasp. ‘Not when we’re already going to be late.’
‘And whose fault is that?’ He grins at me while I stick my tongue out at him.
‘Come on, funny guy. Let’s go.’
Thirty-five minutes and two buses later, we approach a stylish new-build apartment block in the Roseburn area of the city. It’s one of those complexes that seem to be made mainly from glass, with endless – and immensely sturdy-looking – floor-to-ceiling windows positioned next to roomy balconies and terraces, which are framed by (yet more) glass balustrades. My assumption is that this is to provide its occupiers with panoramic views and optimise the light for an exclusive city-living experience; however, I’ve seen enough of them streaked with nausea-inducing amounts of bird crap to think that maybe they’re not quite living up to those intentions. Though that is perhaps a small price to pay, and one I could definitely bear if I ever had the chance of living somewhere like this.
‘This is nice.’ I raise my eyebrows at Shep. ‘Tanya must be on good money to be living here.’
I locate and press the buzzer to her apartment, then we wait patiently until someone answers.
‘Hello?’ It sounds like it might be one of Tanya’s teenage kids.
‘Oh, hi. It’s Lea and Shep. Your mum’s expecting us.’
There’s no response other than the click of the door being unlocked, followed by the intercom handset being dumped clumsily back in its cradle.
‘Thank you,’ I call into the intercom, despite knowing I won’t be heard.
Shrugging at Shep, I push the main door open and we enter the building foyer, which is a damned sight more inviting than the claustrophobic musty-smelling stairwell where I live.
‘I am so jealous that they have a lift,’ I practically moan as I hit the button to call it.
‘Lifts are for lazy people,’ says Shep. ‘And people who need them, obviously. Your stairs will keep you fit and healthy.’
‘Yeah, let’s see if you feel the same after several years of climbing mine.’
The moment this comment is out of my mouth, I instantly regret it. It was intended as off the cuff and light-hearted, but it was also carelessly shared, and its insinuations (i.e. that I’m starting to hope for something longer term) are clear. I can tell that Shep is trying to pretend he hasn’t noticed, but his expression and body language leave me in little doubt he’s interpreted it in the way I’m fearing.
We take the lift to the fifth floor in silence, me stewing over my cock-up, and Shep… well, who knows what he’s thinking. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. When the lift doors ping open, we step out into a small corridor with just three doors, one of which is wide open, allowing us to see a long spacious hallway with expensive-looking laminate flooring.
Approaching the open doorway, I double-check the apartment number, then I hesitate and look uncertainly at Shep.
He raises an eyebrow. ‘Hope we’ve got the right place, or someone’s about to get one hell of a surprise.’
Suddenly, the door at the very end of the hallway is yanked open and Tanya bustles through it, wearing a floaty pastel-coloured summer dress.
‘Jacob, I thought I told you to let our guests in,’ she hollers to what seems like no one in particular as she strides along the hallway towards us.
‘I did let them in,’ the same voice we heard through the intercom yells from behind one of the doors.
‘I meant greet them at the door and bring them through to the sitting room,’ she barks back, then turns her attention to us. ‘I’m so sorry, you two. Honestly, you would have thought they were raised by wolves. Come on in. I’ve got the fizz – and the whisky – ready.’ Her gaze lands on Shep. ‘It’s lovely to meet you…’
‘Ciaran,’ he quickly supplies, which is helpful as Tanya clearly doesn’t want to address him by his nickname, and it seems she’s forgotten his real one.
‘Ah, of course. Ciaran.’ Tanya gives him a sparkling smile. ‘Lea’s told me such wonderful things about you.’
‘Has she now?’ He obediently plays up to Tanya’s effusiveness, but doesn’t look at me, which I take as another bad sign.
‘Oh, yes.’ Tanya’s totally oblivious to the unfortunate dynamics at play. ‘And I’m hoping you’ll be telling me equally wonderful things about her tonight.’
I wince at this remark, while Tanya beckons for us to follow her into the living room, which is huge, with the biggest corner sofa I’ve ever seen and the same floor-to-ceiling windows I was admiring from outside. There’s also a set of French doors that open onto a sizeable garden terrace, complete with elegant outdoor furniture and planters bursting with a kaleidoscope of colourful summer flowers.
My jaw drops in astonishment. ‘Wow, Tanya. Your apartment is incredible.’
‘It is a lovely aspect.’ She hands me a glass of fizz and Shep a whisky, and we thank her. ‘Ciaran, my husband, John, suggested you start with a Ballavulin. I’m supposed to give you some story about it being the malt he cut his teeth on, but I suspect it’s his way of testing if you’re a real whisky drinker. As far as I’m concerned, any peaty malt tastes like I’ve landed face down in a bog.’
‘So not a fan, then?’ Shep grins at her and I can tell he’s filing all this away as inspiration for future show material.
Still stuck on how amazing the apartment is, I wander across to the window to get a proper look at the view.
‘Oh gosh, you’re overlooking the Water of Leith. Tanya, this place is stunning. It’s like something out of a luxury lifestyle magazine.’
‘It certainly didn’t come from a paltry university salary, before you get ideas.’ She winks at me. ‘John used to work in academia, like me, before he went through an early midlife crisis and sold his soul to the finance industry. Not that I’m complaining. It means I get to live here, and I hardly see him due to the ridiculous hours he works. That’s what I call win-win. Ah, here he is, the apple of my eye…’
Shep and I share a look roughly translated as ‘did she actually just say that?’, as Tanya’s husband, John, enters the room, and I have to look away to avoid laughing out loud and giving the poor man a complex.
‘Evening.’ He nods politely at us, then Tanya does the introductions, and we respond with the usual pleasantries and chit-chat.
John is exactly what I’d imagined as a partner for Tanya. He’s tall, slim and balding, with glasses and crinkly eyes that put you at ease with one look. And he’s wearing jeans, a plaid shirt and a tweed jacket.
‘Why don’t the two of you head out to the terrace with your drinks while John helps me with the starters,’ suggests Tanya. ‘There are some nibbles on the table, provided those ruddy seagulls haven’t already eaten them or shat on them.’
She all but shoos us through the French doors while dragging her protesting husband, who’d clearly rather be relaxing with a malt, off to the kitchen.
Stepping out onto the terrace and into the warm(ish) evening air, I breathe deeply and give a laboured sigh. ‘Isn’t this the life?’
‘It’s not bad at all,’ says Shep, but rather than joining me where I’m leaning on the balustrade, he makes a beeline for the snacks on the table, which fortunately seem to have escaped the attention of the gulls.
I try to stay in the moment, enjoying my fizz while taking in the view, but of course, my brain won’t let me. Not when there’s a lingering awkwardness between us. Though the last thing I want to do is make things worse, I also can’t bear the idea of this becoming a thing. Turning away from the view, I join him at the table.
‘That comment I made before… about how you’d feel after climbing the stairs in my building for some time. It was just banter, you know? I didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘I know.’ He pops a couple of cashew nuts in his mouth and parks himself on the cream outdoor sofa.
‘You know?’ I frown. ‘Then why did you go all weird when I said it?’
Shep looks like he’s contemplating how to answer this, perhaps trying to decide how to respond in a way that gets him in the least bother. Just as it seems he might be about to say something, Tanya and John appear through the French doors.
‘How are you two getting on?’ She beams at us expectantly.
She obviously isn’t asking this with any deliberate intent, but with my unanswered question still hanging in the air, her words have the effect of reigniting the stiltedness between us. Thankfully, Tanya and John appear oblivious to this, and she seems to read our tight smiles as genuine.
‘It’s not a patch on the Med.’ Tanya waves her arm theatrically. ‘But it’s our little paradise spot, isn’t it, John?’
‘So you keep telling everyone who visits.’ John winks at us, while Tanya pulls a bored face.
‘Don’t mind him. You’ll eventually forget he’s there.’
Stifling a giggle, I steal a glance at Shep, who seems to be doing the same.
‘The starters won’t be long,’ says Tanya. ‘Jacob is going to keep an eye on them. In the meantime, Ciaran, we’re fascinated to hear about your experience at the Fringe. I’ve never met a comedian before.’
From the way she’s watching him, you’d think Tanya had discovered a novel fragment of genetic material – and from the way Shep responds, it seems he’s also picked up on this.
‘We’re a fairly unremarkable species, really,’ he says. ‘We eat, sleep and shit the same as everyone else.’
I blanch at this remark, my panicked eyes darting to Tanya and John, who thankfully seem quite amused by it.
‘No, it’s great being a comedian in many ways, but it’s tough too. Like it is for so many creatives – actors, writers, artists. We’re all chasing the dream, hoping for that big break, but the reality is: for most of us it’s a penniless life in pursuit of the Holy Grail.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Tanya nods. ‘We don’t value our creatives enough in this country.’
‘But you’re doing well with your show, aren’t you?’ I’m keen to throw in some supportive words.
Shep nods, taking my cue. ‘Aye, it’s going OK. It’s a free show, in case Lea hasn’t mentioned it.’
‘Everyone’s got to start somewhere.’ John sips at his whisky reflectively. ‘How’s the Ballavulin?’
‘Rich and peaty. Just how I like it.’
‘Good man.’ John tips his head in approval. ‘So, your show is being received well, it seems.’ He says this as a statement rather than a question, which catches my attention.
‘It is,’ says Shep. ‘I’ve had a full house for several days now. I’m chuffed about that.’
‘And he got a positive write-up in the media,’ I can’t help pitching in.
‘I saw that,’ says John. ‘In one of the broadsheets. Tanya had mentioned your stage name, so it jumped out at me.’
I furrow my brow. ‘No, that was online. On the Main Attraction site.’
Tanya and John scoff in unison and I give them a bewildered look.
‘Apologies.’ Tanya reaches out and touches my forearm. ‘It’s just that there’s no way John has been on the Main Attraction website. He’s a literature snob in the same way that I am an intolerant mother. Darling, why don’t you see if you can find the paper you saw it in?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ He playfully salutes her and disappears inside, returning a minute or so later holding a newspaper folded open at the Culture section. ‘Here we are, Ciaran. Your name in lights.’
Shep and I huddle over the short article, which mentions ‘razor-sharp wit’, ‘a refreshing approach to stand-up’ and Shep doubtlessly returning in the future as a paid act.
‘Shep, this is amazing!’ I beam at him. ‘You’ve been endorsed by a broadsheet now too. That’s a big deal.’
I can see he’s trying to play it cool because of the company we’re in, but from the twinkle I can see in Shep’s eye, he’s clearly buzzing.
‘Thanks a million for sharing this, John.’ He passes the paper back and John holds up his hand to stop him.
‘Keep it as a souvenir. It would only end up in the recycling.’
‘Well, I think this calls for a celebratory toast,’ declares Tanya.
She plucks the bottle of fizz from the cooler on the table, quickly tops up her glass as well as mine, then pours some fizz for Shep and John, handing them each a flute.
‘To a bright future in the funny industry.’ Tanya holds out her glass and we obediently follow her lead, clinking and saying ‘cheers’.
Just as we’re leaning back in our seats with contented expressions, a deafening beeping from inside the apartment rips through the pleasant ambience.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, that child of ours can’t be trusted to wipe his own backside.’ Tanya thrusts her flute in John’s free hand and dashes indoors to deal with what are probably now very burnt starters.