Two things are very different at today’s Unmatchables meeting. First of all, we have an extra person, because Dean is here. Second of all, unlike during our first session where everyone was attentively watching me and hanging off my every word, today, so far, no one is paying much attention to me at all. Everyone is staring at Dean.
As far as the ladies go, I get it. Dean is undeniably handsome, and he’s definitely up there with Will on the list of Marram Bay’s most eligible bachelors (even though, so far, they seem like complete opposites). Dean is clearly Kim, Channy and Doris’s type. What I don’t understand is why Toby can’t take his eyes off him, although now that I’m looking more closely, I can see a harmless aggression in his eyes. I suppose he feels threatened.
‘Do you have handcuffs?’ Channy asks Dean, after he finishes telling us a bit about himself.
Dean – a local detective – was born and raised in Marram Bay. He looks and sounds like a real man’s man, from his manly good looks to his passion for rugby league. He mostly talked about his hobbies and his job, only briefly mentioning that he is divorced. It doesn’t sound like he wants to talk about that.
‘I do have handcuffs,’ he says with a chuckle. That cheeky glimmer in his eye sparkles.
‘Do you actually use them?’ I ask. ‘Is there any real crime in Marram Bay?’
‘Well, I cover a larger area than Marram Bay,’ he explains. ‘And if there isn’t any crime, then I’m obviously doing a good job.’
‘Anyway,’ I start, changing the subject. ‘Today we’re going to work on how to talk to members of the opposite sex. Build our confidence, work on our conversational skills … Toby, do you want to help me out?’
‘Oh, no, I couldn’t,’ he says. ‘I’m not ready yet.’
‘You don’t really need to do anything,’ I tell him. ‘It’s just to give an example to everyone.’
‘I can’t,’ he insists.
‘OK, no worries,’ I tell him.
For a moment, the function room is in complete silence. We’re all sitting in the middle of the big empty room again, in a circle on what is usually the dance floor area.
‘I’ll do it with you,’ Dean offers.
‘It’s OK,’ I start. ‘I’m sure I can do it alone.’
‘Well, that isn’t the spirit of this club, is it?’ he says. ‘We’re not here so we can keep doing things alone, we’re here so we can do things with other people.’
I can’t help but feel like he’s taking the piss out of me.
‘God, do it with him,’ Channy insists with a sigh. ‘Before I do.’
‘Young lady, he is far too old for you,’ I insist firmly. Where the hell did that come from?
‘Ah, so I’m old,’ Dean muses. ‘That’s why I’m single?’
‘I didn’t say you were too old,’ I reply, getting a little flustered. ‘I said you were too old for a twenty-two-year-old. Anyway, conversation.’
I take a few seconds to compose myself. Yesterday went so well and now, with Dean here, I can’t seem to get anything right.
‘OK, well, before I demonstrate how to talk to the opposite sex, it’s worth noting that, before you can get to know someone else, you need to know yourself.’
Dean scoffs. I shoot him daggers.
‘I know that it sounds cliché, but it’s a lot harder to be happier with another person if you’re not happy with yourself. And that’s not to say you need to change yourself, but you do need to know who you are, what you want – and you need to believe in yourself. Know your worth. If you know how amazing you are, how can anyone else possibly miss it?’
‘That makes sense,’ Kim says.
‘So, talking to people – and these rules can apply to anyone, really, male, female, just to chat, or if you want to make friends. These aren’t strictly romance rules. Dean, say you walk into a coffee shop and I’m standing there, what would you say to me?’
‘You have the right to remain silent …’ he jokes. The room roars. Everyone finds him so funny and so charming – everyone but me.
‘Assume you’re not there to arrest me,’ I point out. ‘How might you strike up a conversation with me?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t,’ he says. ‘You don’t look like the kind of woman who would appreciate a man cracking on to her while she’s just trying to buy a coffee, and even if you did, I can’t know that for sure.’
I massage my temples. This isn’t even sincere; he’s just doing it to screw with me because he doesn’t want to be here.
‘Am I annoying you?’ he asks.
‘No,’ I lie.
‘I’m a detective, remember, I can tell if you’re lying.’
‘You’re a Marram Bay detective,’ I remind him. ‘The only thing you investigate is which goat ate the flowers in the school garden.’
‘Probably Phillip,’ he replies, as though I’m just supposed to know the local goats.
‘Oh, that Phillip,’ Doris says with a knowing laugh. ‘Did you know he’s from France? You have to speak to him in French.’
‘Je sais ça,’ Dean replies.
‘Wait, sorry,’ I start, going off course. I can’t let this pass me by. ‘Phillip is a goat and he’s from France?’
‘Yes. Alfie Barton, the farmer up at Westwood Farm, bought him on the internet,’ Doris explains. ‘He’s a pygmy goat, so only small, but he’s mischievous.’
I can’t help but stare for a moment.
‘I used to be his cleaner – Alfie’s not Phillips’s,’ she says.
‘Alfie is my mate,’ Dean tells me. ‘He runs the farm, makes posh fruity ciders. We go to the rugby together – his lad loves it. You’ll be amazed how much random French you can learn from a man constantly screaming at his goat.’
I just don’t know what to say. I feel completely lost.
‘Ah, Alfie Barton, there’s a man I wish was single,’ Kim says with a sigh.
‘Oi,’ Channy says angrily. ‘That’s my boss’s fella you’re talking about.’
‘I know, I know,’ Kim insists. ‘Lily is lovely. But still …’
‘OK, I feel like we’re way off track,’ I say loudly.
‘You’d like Lily,’ Dean tells me. ‘She’s a cockney too.’
‘OK, I’m clearly not a cockney,’ I point out. ‘I was born here.’
‘Sorry,’ Dean says with a cheeky smile. ‘I just thought you sounded like a Londoner.’
‘To talk to people in public,’ I say loudly, hopefully overriding everybody else’s voice. ‘Start by making normal conversation – ask them if they’ve eaten here before, what drink do they recommend. Compliment them on something – nothing weird, nothing sexual. Just, you know, I like your watch; that’s a cool phone case – something like that.’
I look over at Dean, waiting for him to say something mocking. He doesn’t say anything. He just grins.
Everything, from his outfit to his attitude to his bad-boy good looks remind me of Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s character in The Walking Dead. The only thing he’s missing is the baseball bat.
‘Once you’re chatting to people, you have to give them your undivided attention,’ I continue. ‘It’s important to—’
‘Lola,’ I hear my mum call out from a different room. ‘Lola.’
‘Just one second,’ I tell the group before wheeling myself over to the door.
‘What’s up?’ I ask her quietly.
‘I need to talk to you,’ she says. ‘It’s important. It’s about your dad.’
‘Oh God, what’s wrong?’
‘We’ll talk when you’re done here,’ she says. ‘I didn’t realise you were still going.’
‘Mum, you can’t do that – I’m worried sick now.’
‘Just finish up,’ she says. ‘I’ll make us some lunch and we can chat.’
‘Is Dad OK?’
‘He’s fine,’ she reassures me. ‘Talk soon.’
As I wheel myself back over to the gang, I can’t stop worrying about what she’s going to tell me. Is something wrong with my dad? Is he ill? Is this why he’s on a health kick? Oh my God, is that why he’s lost weight, because he’s ill?
‘You OK?’ Kim asks me.
‘Yeah, sorry,’ I say, trying to get back on track. ‘Where was I?’
‘Something about how, when you’re talking to someone, you need to give them your undivided attention,’ Dean reminds me smugly.
I think I’m supposed to find that funny, but I don’t. All I can think about is what is going on with my parents. The sooner I get the session over with, the sooner I’ll know. I don’t know if that makes me want to hurry up or slow it down.