Finding Mr Perfectly Fine

Part Two

Spring

Chapter 13

‘God, this place is a dump,’ Adam grumbles as he, Francesca and I walk into the creepy old church hall we’ve hired for tomorrow’s ‘We are Haringey’ bash. It’s six on Friday night, and while the rest of London will be gearing up to all sorts of debauchery to celebrate the start of the weekend, the only excitement I’m going to get is if a ghost from the adjacent graveyard pays us a visit.

‘It won’t be once we’ve finished with it,’ I reply unconvincingly, placing the cardboard box of supplies I’m carrying on a table. A cloud of dust rises from the surface and I cough. This place is a dump, but we’ve got a long night ahead of us and I’m determined to stay positive. Besides, I managed to get it for free which meant we had more money to spend on other stuff, like the entertainment and decorations.

‘What do we need to do tonight?’ Adam asks, glancing at his watch as though he has somewhere else to be. Francesca’s no better; she’s wrinkling her nose and looking down at her expensive ensemble in concern. I’m in old jeans and a hoodie because I knew what my Friday night was going to consist of, and I have no desire to ruin my good clothes cleaning a dilapidated church hall. She, however, is in a white silk shirt tucked into beige tailored trousers, more suited to a coffee shop in Milan.

I’m still a bit miffed with Francesca for being so flirty and tactile with Adam, although I know I’m being irrational. And it’s not just because of that cringey Instagram post. Ever since their night out, she’s been all over him like a rash; creating excuses to go up to him and touch his arm or leg, giggling at all of his lame jokes and constantly flicking her hair. I’ve never seen her behave like this, and I feel like I’m in a L’Oréal photo shoot half the time, the way she’s posing and carrying on.

As for how I feel about Adam .?.?. I’m still upset with him for the awful way he spoke to me, and to be honest, if he wasn’t my colleague, I would probably cancel him, but seeing as he is, I’m stuck with him for the foreseeable future.

‘We need to brush the floor and dust down all the tables,’ I begin, looking pointedly at Adam before checking my to-do list and rattling out the long list of things we need to get done.

‘All right, let’s do this,’ Adam declares once I’ve finished reciting, rolling up his sleeves gamely and marching off in search of a brush and mop, while Francesca and I get the balloon pumps out and start pumping air into colourful balloons.

‘How is it that you’re not even sweating?’ she asks half an hour later, her face pink and covered in a sheen of perspiration.

I shrug and blow up my fiftieth balloon. ‘It’s the gym life, babe.’

The night is long and tiresome and at some point, Adam has the genius idea of listening to music. He digs out his iPad and we take turns choosing songs on YouTube and singing along half-heartedly. Francesca bows out at eight, her usually fresh face looking weary and her clothes covered in dust, dirt and PVA glue. We’re almost done anyway, so for the next hour, Adam and I work silently until the hall is gleaming and looking festive.

‘This place looks amazing. Thank you, Adam, I really appreciate it.’ I beam, taking a long swig of water and wiping my wet mouth with my sleeve. I’m too tired to get up and look for some tissue.

‘Don’t be daft, you don’t have to thank me, it’s my job.’ Adam shrugs, looking bashful for a change. ‘Anyway, let’s get out of here. I’m starving. Do you wanna grab something to eat?’

‘I don’t know, it’s getting late.’ I get up and stretch out my stiff muscles, my back cracking as I do. ‘I don’t fancy getting the bus in the middle of the night.’ More importantly, things are going so well with Adam that I don’t want us to push it and end up arguing again.

‘I’ll drop you home, don’t worry.’ He looks at me with puppy dog eyes framed in long, thick brown lashes. ‘Go on, please. Don’t let me starve to death.’

‘Oh, all right then.’ I’m hungry too and could do with a good meal in me, especially as I was too busy to have lunch.

We make our way back to the office building which is halfway between the church hall and the restaurant, so we can dump all the bags and supplies until the morning. I don’t have the energy to go all the way upstairs with him, so despite it being dark and late, I wait for him down by the main entrance.

It’s actually been a really nice day and the first time in ages we haven’t bickered or fought. We’ve always had a bit of banter going on, but that’s all it’s been, innocent banter, nothing serious. Lately, however, it seems as though we’ve crossed the fine line from jokes to insults, and it feels as if all he does is jump down my throat at every little thing. I don’t know how our relationship degenerated so quickly but tonight it’s beginning to feel that perhaps it can still be salvaged.

When he returns, we walk towards my usual Turkish restaurant in Wood Green, and grab a small table upstairs, away from the raucous crowd on the ground floor. Unlike Hamza, Adam doesn’t pull my chair out for me, let alone attempt to help me with my jacket. In fact, he almost lets the door close on my face before he remembers himself and grabs it at the last second. A gentleman he most certainly is not, but it’s not like this is a date, so his bad manners are no skin off my back. He also orders a beer and I bite my tongue, not wanting to get into another argument over the topic of drinking. When it arrives, though, I think something changes in my expression despite my best efforts to keep my face impassive.

‘What? No comment on my choice of beverage?’ he asks, slightly confrontationally as he takes a long swig, staring me defiantly in the eye.

‘Nope,’ I say evenly, refusing to rise to the bait. We’ve had such a good evening and I’m not about to ruin it all now; especially when we have an event to pull off tomorrow.

‘You know, Zara, you’ve gotta realise that this whole religion thing is different for me,’ he begins. ‘For me and my family, religion is more of this old-fashioned cultural thing, you know?’

I bristle at his choice of words but still, I resist the urge to comment. It might be ‘old-fashioned’ to him, but it’s not to me. ‘OK. Got it.’

‘Come on, don’t be like that.’

‘Be like what? I’m not saying anything. How, why, or if you believe in God is not really any of my business.’

‘You don’t care at all?’

‘I don’t,’ I affirm. ‘Why would I?’ Then I realise that I do want to know what he believes, and I try and backtrack a little. ‘I mean, yeah, I’m curious to know your stance on it, but that’s it. It’s not going to change our friendship, is it?’

‘So whether I’m an atheist or agnostic makes no difference to you whatsoever?’ He narrows his eyes slightly as he says this, like he doesn’t believe me for a second.