Right, where did I leave off? The party.
HarryPotter and I went back to the flat and in the short time we were gone a DJ had set up and someone brought in some pizzas, and someone else strung up fairy lights.
We spoke with Posh (who made me even more nervous about her mum flaking on the film deal than I had been before) and CoolTrous for a bit before Posh got bored and wandered off, and CoolTrous had some friends to attend to. The place was packed, and I didn’t see Fife. So I grabbed some more beers, and we wandered into the kitchen to see who we could find. There were a few people I knew from the days Pete and I used to hang out with CoolTrous, and I think a bunch of people at Posh’s party were at Pete’s birthday party a few months back. After having a bit of chit chat some few randoms, HarryPotter and I found ourselves with a slice of pizza in one hand, a beer in another, and standing in a corner like a couple of plebs. This is when HP decided that shots were a better idea than beer and went off to find us just that, but returned with an entire bottle of vodka.
Then this guy who I met when I first moved here — Pete and I were at that restaurant in Broughty Ferry with him. He came up to me and said, ‘You’re still here? I thought you would have moved on by now.’
‘Excuse me?’ I asked.
‘You’re travelling aren’t you? You’re on a gap year.’
Each time I see this guy he makes a mention about me being on a gap year, and I have to correct him by saying that I actually live here in Dundee. But, to be honest, I just wasn’t in the mood to deal with it, so I said, ‘Actually, I’ve left and come back, I’m on my way to France now.’
He said, ‘Cool’ and wandered off. What a dick.
Fife eventually turned up, and with out me having to ask he told me where he’d been. He was talking to someone and mentioned that he had an old Citroën, and the person went mental as he’s an ‘vintage’ (I use the term ‘vintage’ loosely as Fife’s car is a heap of shit) car buff. So they’ve been outside kicking the tyres of his car and talking Top Gear stuff.
I introduced him to HarryPotter. Fife stuck out his and said, ‘It’s about time I met you. Seems my girl’s always on the phone with you, texting back and forth.’
HarryPotter shook his and said, ‘It’s nice to meet you to, si…’
HP caught himself before he said the ‘Sir’ fully, but it was too late. It was already out there.
‘I’m not her father, you know. I’m her partner,’ he said.
The way he said partner made me uneasy. Maybe it’s because I am still young, and ‘partner’ seems like something older people say. Or maybe it’s because ‘partner’ sounds so business-like. But, I wasn’t a fan of how he said it. Plus, was he implying that I told HP that Fife was my father? Ick!
HP shuffled and mumbled and appologised a bit. Fife took the bottle from HarryPotter, and said he’d get us all glasses. He left for a moment and came back with three plastic cups and poured us each a shot. Fife took a sip of his, and HP downed his shot. I had a bad feeling about this, so I held off drinking. Fife poured HP another shot and asked, ‘I’ve never quite been informed as to how you two know each other? Is it from [MNM]?’
It’s true. I don’t talk about HarryPotter a lot to Fife. When Fife and I first got together, HP and I weren’t talking. And now that we are, I just didn’t feel like it is any ofFife’s business. Now that I type that, it sounds really bitchy, but I like keeping my friendship with HP private. HarryPotter’s my refuge for when things get crazy with the Fife Clan, and I guess I don’t want to ruin that. Yes, I know that’s ridiculous. Talking toFifeabout HP won’t ruin my friendship with him. But, well, all I can say is that I like my little HP secret.
HarryPotter said that yes we met at MNM, and that I lived with him for a while.
You could see the realisation form in Fife’s head, ‘Ah. She’s mentioned an old flatmate in Glasgow. For some reason I thought it was a woman.’ He paused then said, ‘I guess my presumption was rather sexist, wasn’t it,’ and he then gave HP a sly smile and refilled his glass with vodka. That smile bothered me. I’d seen it somewhere before…on LittleOne.
This sort of questioning continued, but it moved from my friendship with HP to HarryPotter’s work. Fife, his usual charming self, smiled graciously, continued to pour HarryPotter two drinks to his one, and ask him about his work, his life and his interests. I used to think that Fife was a grown geek, with his mythological references, his love of research, and his penchant for foraging for weeds for dinner. But as I’ve gotten to know him, I’ve come to realise that he’s actually quite suave. Smiling at the right times, and holding back when necessary. Yes, he loses his temper — a lot — and that’s when he seems more like a child than an adult, but the history geek I fell in love with — while not an act — may not be the larger percentage of the man.
Why am I bringing this up now? Because as Fife talked to HP. I realised that Fife was in control at all times: first he took hold of the situation, then HarryPotter was made to feel self conscious, then HP fell for Fife’s charms opening up and talking. HP mentioned that his dad had recently died…shot of vodka…his mum had temporarily moved to Italy, where she had family…Fife pours HP a shot…HP mentions that he’s happy that I’m back in his life, because the doesn’t necessarily have loads of friends…HP takes another shot…my god… what happened next is so painful to mention.
‘She left me, you know,’ HarryPotter said slurring and pointing. ‘Twice. Once to go travel around and meet dirty Canadians who and old men obsessed with myths and lies. Lies!’
I momentarily covered my face with hands hoping to would all go away. Fife didn’t say or do anything. He just stood there, calmly with a half empty glass of vodka and an empty bottle.
‘Then she turffed me out of her life because she assumed I was like very other dick she’s ever dated. And I’ve forgiven her. And why have I forgiven her?’
Oh sweet Jesus this wasn’t happening.
‘Because I love her.’
Holy fucking cheese and rice.
‘Not like that mate,’ and he slapped Fife on the shoulder. ‘As a friend. As a soul mate. As a best friend. Not like a lover. We’ve only shagged once.’
I looked at Fife for a further reaction, but wasn’t the one I expected. He wasn’t mad or angry with him for never telling him any of this. Instead Fife laughed. A bit of a hardy laugh. ‘And I think we’ve snogged even less,’ HarryPotter added.
That was it. It was time for him to leave.
I put my hand around HP’s waste and said it was time to go. He was too drunk. Fife put his hand on HP’s shoulder and we pulled him out of Posh’s flat and into our apartment. HP protested the entire way, ‘I’m fine, I’m fine’, but his legs kept on moving.
Fife pulled out the sofa bed and I got HarryPotter a huge glass of water. He took one sip, convulsed a little, covered his mouth with his hands and ran to the bathroom and heaved in the toilet.
‘Yeah, I think I need to lie down’, he said when he came back. He kicked off one shoe, took an arm out of one side of his jumper and passed out on the sofa half undressed.
Fife stood over him and said, ‘Should we leave him like this or get him undressed?’
‘We shouldn’t leave him like this,’ I said.
‘Fine you deal with him. You seem to have plenty of experience getting him out of his clothes.’
Fife then left the room as I shouted back to him, ‘Once. Really once. That was it.’ (Although, we all know that’s not exactly true. We shagged quite a bit, but it was all concentrated to about 36 hours. So, it should only count as once.)
Fife went back to the party. I pulled HP’s other shoe off and his jumper, then I put the extra duvet over him and went back to the party, where I found another bottle of vodka and a bottle of coke and made myself a V&C with so much vodka it was hardly brown at all.
The rest of the night was a bit of a blur. Although, I wasn’t that bad as I didn’t have another drink that evening — the super v&c was enough for me. I remember talking to CoolTrous quite a bit, and some random girl about how she was spent her entire childhood training to be a ballet dancer, then she hit puberty and got boobs and had to give it up. Now she’s an accountant.
I also remember Fife and I tumbling back into the flat. Fife insisting we have sex, me not being much in the mood because I was sleepy as fuck, but him being a bit of a sex pest about it, so I agreed. And he was really, really loud. Like more than normal and a little more vocal than normal as well. But I was so knackered I may have fallen asleep during it, but I’m not sure if he noticed, because I woke up as he was finishing. Early Saturday morning, I heard HP leave. He didn’t say good-bye, he just left not so quietly. It’s not middle of the night on Sunday, Fife’s asleep, and I’m wide awake. I slept all day on Saturday which completely threw off my sleep cycle. So I was up late last night. Posh and CoolTrous were supposed to have left on Saturday, but the all night party threw off their plans. So, they were still around on Saturday night, so they came over and we drank some red and had curry take -away. And talked to the wee hours, and then I slept all day again today.
Posh and CoolTrous left while I was asleep, but Fife said he saw them and passed along my ‘good byes’. It’ll be weird not having them next door.
A full weekend later, and not only is my sleep cycle thrown off, but I’m still hungover. Feeling quite ill lately. Although, it may not be a weekend of drinking that’s got me feeling rough, as I think my period is about to start. And stupid Sarah, planting that idea in my head that she kept thinking her period was about to start when actually she was pregnant. This has gotten me way too paranoid, and just before I started to write this blog post, I flipped through the last few weeks of the blog trying to figure out when I had my last period. It’s been over five weeks ago, which isn’t a big deal as I’m NEVER regular. You know how some girls will mark their calendar with the date when their next period will arrive so they can plan? Not me. It’s always somewhat of a surprise and turning up at the most inopportune times.
Anyway, I don’t know why Sarah got me all paranoid, because Fife’s had the snip. So, I’ve got nothing to worry about. I just wish this fucking hangover would go away.
Oh, and of course, I texted HP a few times over the weekend to see if he’s okay, but he hasn’t texted me back. I hope he’s not embarrassed. I mean we all get drink and act like arses. I’ll give him a ring tomorrow.