Read Online Dan Taylor Is Giving Up on Women by Neal Doran - Free Book Online
Authors: Neal Doran
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congratulations, the four of us being cheered and bought drinks by strangers. After a wedding dinner of Abdul’s kebabs we went to an end-of-term indie night for what would be the evening reception. In the few months we’d been at university, Rob and Hannah seemed to have got to know everyone and were circulating sharing their news between rushes to the dance floor for their favourite songs.
Caught up in the romance and the all-day drinking, I remember I tried to get off with Hannah’s friend — Andrea! That was her name — but spent the next three hours talking about her boyfriend back home instead. She was worried he would think she’d changed too much since she’d gone to university, now she was drinking pints, and into indie and dance music instead of the chart stuff they’d both liked when they were kids — six months ago.
At the end of the evening Hannah charmed the DJ until he played their REM song again and, through a cloud of beer-mat confetti, Rob carried her in his arms to a cab, taking them back to halls for their first night together as a married couple. Then I walked Andrea home, reassuring her that ‘her Matt’ would still love her even though she wore boots instead of trainers, and was experimenting with dark, alternative-looking eyeliner.
From then on, the subject of the marriage was one that would come up regularly amongst our friends, and the consensus was that really they’d been quite immature and irresponsible actually. While Rob and Hannah were offin the flashy married couple’s accommodation they’d swung from the uni, assembled under-twenties would shake their heads sadly and say that they’d regret the decision when they were older and wanted to get married to their true life partners, starting out with a divorce already on their records.
They were also depriving themselves of the opportunity to really enjoy the university experience by tying themselves down, we’d concur as we sat dragging out a pint in an old man’s pub with an out-of-order pool table. But, as far as I could tell, all the rationalising was hiding the fact we’d have been too terrified to even think of doing something similar. The rest of us broke out in a cold sweat at the idea of explaining to our mums we’d got spontaneously married to a girl we barely knew.
I knew I was a bit jealous too. While outwardly toeing the party line that the grand old age of twenty-eight would be the right time to think about settling down to marriage, the idea of finding the person of your dreams at such a young age and being able to take on the world together seemed incredibly exciting and romantic — too many American sitcoms at an impressionable age, I imagine. From when I was fourteen I don’t think there was ever anyone that I fancied where I didn’t spend a lot of time daydreaming about how we’d be an old married couple together. If I couldn’t see that happening, I’d lose interest in them pretty soon. Oh, all the carefree short-lived sexual adventures I missed out on because of my overly idealised notions of love and relationships…
OK, there were none, but there might have been if I’d tried harder.
Rob and Hannah, with all the drama of big rows, threats of divorce, occasional drunken dalliances with strangers at parties, and emotional reconciliations that followed on from their big day at the town hall, had done what I wished I had the guts, and the opportunity, to do.
And here we were more than a decade later, Rob and I. Him still married, me, still a bit jealous and idealistic.
‘What kind of spats?’ I asked.
‘It’s the kids thing. I don’t think she’s going to shift on it.’
‘You don’t think a bit more time?’
‘We’ve been having this conversation for how long now? Three years? She’s getting more stubborn on it, not less. She doesn’t want them, she never has. And I knew all this when I signed up, she reminds me. Which is a frigging stupid thing to say. When I “signed up”, as
Caught up in the romance and the all-day drinking, I remember I tried to get off with Hannah’s friend — Andrea! That was her name — but spent the next three hours talking about her boyfriend back home instead. She was worried he would think she’d changed too much since she’d gone to university, now she was drinking pints, and into indie and dance music instead of the chart stuff they’d both liked when they were kids — six months ago.
At the end of the evening Hannah charmed the DJ until he played their REM song again and, through a cloud of beer-mat confetti, Rob carried her in his arms to a cab, taking them back to halls for their first night together as a married couple. Then I walked Andrea home, reassuring her that ‘her Matt’ would still love her even though she wore boots instead of trainers, and was experimenting with dark, alternative-looking eyeliner.
From then on, the subject of the marriage was one that would come up regularly amongst our friends, and the consensus was that really they’d been quite immature and irresponsible actually. While Rob and Hannah were offin the flashy married couple’s accommodation they’d swung from the uni, assembled under-twenties would shake their heads sadly and say that they’d regret the decision when they were older and wanted to get married to their true life partners, starting out with a divorce already on their records.
They were also depriving themselves of the opportunity to really enjoy the university experience by tying themselves down, we’d concur as we sat dragging out a pint in an old man’s pub with an out-of-order pool table. But, as far as I could tell, all the rationalising was hiding the fact we’d have been too terrified to even think of doing something similar. The rest of us broke out in a cold sweat at the idea of explaining to our mums we’d got spontaneously married to a girl we barely knew.
I knew I was a bit jealous too. While outwardly toeing the party line that the grand old age of twenty-eight would be the right time to think about settling down to marriage, the idea of finding the person of your dreams at such a young age and being able to take on the world together seemed incredibly exciting and romantic — too many American sitcoms at an impressionable age, I imagine. From when I was fourteen I don’t think there was ever anyone that I fancied where I didn’t spend a lot of time daydreaming about how we’d be an old married couple together. If I couldn’t see that happening, I’d lose interest in them pretty soon. Oh, all the carefree short-lived sexual adventures I missed out on because of my overly idealised notions of love and relationships…
OK, there were none, but there might have been if I’d tried harder.
Rob and Hannah, with all the drama of big rows, threats of divorce, occasional drunken dalliances with strangers at parties, and emotional reconciliations that followed on from their big day at the town hall, had done what I wished I had the guts, and the opportunity, to do.
And here we were more than a decade later, Rob and I. Him still married, me, still a bit jealous and idealistic.
‘What kind of spats?’ I asked.
‘It’s the kids thing. I don’t think she’s going to shift on it.’
‘You don’t think a bit more time?’
‘We’ve been having this conversation for how long now? Three years? She’s getting more stubborn on it, not less. She doesn’t want them, she never has. And I knew all this when I signed up, she reminds me. Which is a frigging stupid thing to say. When I “signed up”, as
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