“Ooooooh, okay.” I thought through all the hundreds, possibly thousands, of films I’d watched, thinking it would be easy. Two minutes later I had nothing. Nothing but a dawning realization of how broken the world was. “Hang on…umm…surely…surely there’s got to be some?” I said to them, feeling like my whole love of cinema had just dissolved around me, seeping into the plastic chair I was sitting on.
Lottie shook her head. “There are some films, but barely any; it’ll take you ages to work them out. Like none of the Lord of the Rings films pass, and none of the original Star Wars. Even the last Harry Potter film doesn’t have two girls having a conversation in it. It’s screwed up, isn’t it? Like, women aren’t worth a storyline unless they’re discussing men and what men do.” She wrapped her arms round both of us, dragging our heads towards the table and dangerously close to our remaining breakfast. “Still so far to go, ladies, still so far to go.”
I mulled it over some more whilst removing myself from her embrace. I didn’t like my face being so close to a dirty plate.
“Okay, I get it. But we’ve just spent half an hour discussing the best way to eat eggs. And before that, we argued about which song from a musical best sums up our lives. And, just yesterday, you were explaining The Female Eunuch to me…so, surely we’ve earned the right to discuss your new boyfriend?”
“Ahh, yes,” said Lottie, patting my head, like I was the dunce student. Which I was, compared to her, who basically snorted academia in her spare time. “But if we were in a movie, then they wouldn’t show any of that. They would just cut straight to this breakfast, to the moment you guys ask me about Tim.”
Whilst I sat there with my brain still throbbing, Amber reasoned with her.
“Come on, Lottie. We’re your friends, we care about you. We’re interested in Tim because he’s something in your life, not just because he’s a guy. I promise that you can tell us how deliriously happy you are without pooing on the sisterhood.”
“Eww.”
“So…is it love?”
Lottie visibly melted before us, her face softened around the edges like she was in a dream sequence. “He’s…he’s…” She went quiet and started playing with the bottles again. “He’s really thick…”
“Umm, Lottie?” I said. “That’s not very loved-up sounding.”
“But he’s totally cute with it,” she protested. “And I’m not being a bitch – he told me himself he’s a bit thick. Everyone at my old school calls him ‘Tim Nice But Dim’ from that old TV show or whatever…but he is very sweet and I’m smart enough for both of us anyway. And…oh God, this is going to sound REALLY bad but he’s a proper man’s man, you know? Like HURR, or something. He’s all muscly and protective and macho and sporty and everything I am technically really against, but actually, am annoyingly attracted to.”
“I hate that,” Amber said, nodding. “I know I’m supposed to fancy nice guys who only watch Ethical Porn or whatever, and will never treat you badly blah blah blah…but then…well, I fell for that football standerupper twat, didn’t I? Because he made my loins go fluttery.”
Lottie and I sniggered at the use of the word “loins”. I turned to her.
“You seem really happy, it’s nice. I can’t wait to meet him properly.”
She pulled a face. “I guess. But it’s early days, isn’t it? And I’d much rather spend this wonderful breakfast time chatting to you guys about stuff other than my boyfriend.” A grumpy waitress came over and took our empty plates. “Anyway, what’s going on with Joel and Guy’s band then?”
“You’re talking about men again,” I pointed out, as I rummaged for a tip in the depths of my purse.
“Damn it. This Bechdel test is harder than you think.”
Twelve
The following lunchtime, I found myself alone.
Jane and I were supposed to be going for a coffee, but she’d once again cancelled. And Lottie and Amber both had an art coursework deadline and had holed themselves up in the studio. I went to the cafeteria and plonked some food on my tray, wondering how embarrassing it would be to eat it by myself. Very, I reckoned. But I was hungry.
I paid and stood with my tray, scanning the place for somewhere to sit. There were clumps of people everywhere, almost all the tables were busy and would therefore involve me perching at the end like a huuuuge loser.
Panic panic panic panic…
And then I saw Oli sitting in the corner. He had a whole table to himself, with his knees resting up on it. His headphones were plugged into a small screen balancing on his lap. I grinned – something about him just made me feel all…cute. I walked over.
He looked up when I put my tray down.
“Hey,” I said. “I’m friendless today. Can I sit here?”
His head jerked backwards, making his headphones fall to his chest. “Bollocks,” he said, and went to grab them, his screen sliding off his lap. “Ahhh, nuts.” I smiled as he collected up his things, muttering swear words under his breath. Finally he gestured to a chair near him. “Of course. That would be…erm…great. Sit down. Sit, sit.”
Seriously, the guy could be awarded a medal in Shyness.
I sat and watched him watch me with his nervy jumpy eyes of basily goodness.
“You’ve got a nice spacey table here,” I said to him.
He looked round at it, almost in surprise. “I guess… Nobody ever sits in the corner. Have you noticed that?”
“Not until now.” I took a bite of my sandwich, chewed for a bit, then pointed to his technology. “What you watching over here, all by yourself, anyway?”
Oli turned the screen round and I saw Jack Nicholson frozen in his iconic white hospital costume. “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest,” he said, though he didn’t need to. I’d watched it countless times, comparing it to my time spent sectioned. Thankfully, things had changed since then.
“Classic,” I said, impressed.
“You wanna watch some with me?” he stuttered.
I put my sandwich down. “Sure.”
I budged over to the seat next to him and he handed me one of his earphones. The intimacy of it made me all quivery. There was something about sharing headphones, creating your own auditory world together that others couldn’t hear, that I thought was so romantic. It helped that we had to practically rest our heads on one another, restricted by the short cord between each headphone. I tried to concentrate on the film, but Oli’s close proximity was distracting. He was so twitchy! His leg jumped up and down, making the screen rock. He also smelled amazing which didn’t help my attention span. We sat like that for ten minutes or so, watching Jack Nicholson’s amazing performance, until my tummy grumbled and I flicked the earbud out so I could concentrate fully on my sandwich.
Oli paused it. “You like the film then?” he asked.
I took a sip from my Coke bottle. “Yeah, I do… I like all that ‘what is madness?’ stuff.”
I didn’t tell him why, obviously.
But he gave me a huge cheekboney smile, like he totally got it. “Me too, me too. There aren’t enough films about it. Being mad, I mean.”
I returned his smile. “There so aren’t. And the movies only focus on the really ‘exciting’ mental illnesses, like schizophrenia or personality disorders where the main character needs to have sex a lot.”
“Where are the boring ones about depressed people who just don’t get out of bed?”
“Exactly! They should make a film about depression where it’s just one person, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling for an hour. Then it’d be authentic.”
“Yeah…” Then he went quiet.
I took a bite of my sandwich, struggling to digest as being around him made me feel all warm and cottonwoolly. Though his nervousness did make me more nervous. I wondered if he liked me. He certainly looked at me a lot during lessons. He wasn’t looking at me now, rather scrunching his hands up in a ball, squeezing his fingers one by one. I was about to try and break the silence but he spoke.