You Can’t Hurry Love

Chapter Eight

Yesterday I went to a wedding fair with Leo, so today I am browsing for jobs online, because weddings are so expensive and my unreliable income isn’t making me feel confident about being able to get married next summer, like we planned.

Everything at the fair was just so expensive and, for the most part, so stupid. I appreciate that rings, venue hire, food and drink are very expensive but unavoidable costs of getting married. But things like giant chocolate fountains, men who pose as topiary and to-scale ice sculptures that look like the happy couple are just excessive.

To say that it was just a money issue would be a lie. The truth is that working from home is so boring, and I spend so much time alone, that I think it would do me good to find a job in a place where I could make friends and see people every day. On quieter days the only person I see is Leo, and if you knew what a social butterfly I used to be, you’d know how hard I’m finding spending so much time alone these days.

So far, I’m not having much luck. I’ve looked at all kinds of writing jobs, from journalist jobs to copywriting gigs, but there’s nothing. On the off-chance, I even looked at the film and TV section, just in case anyone was looking for a writer of any description, but the only two jobs that came up were looking for actors, one listing looking for movie extras and the other staff for an escape game – and neither of these things appeal to me.

I grab the Playstation controller and fire up Netflix with the intention of putting something on in the background, but you know how it is with Netflix – sometimes you’ll spend longer trying to choose something to watch than you will actually watching something. In the end it’s just easier to put Gossip Girl on for my third re-watch, because there’s no ailment that can’t be cured by a little exposure to Chuck Bass.

It only takes a few minutes of observing the lavish lifestyles of the Upper East Siders before I start feeling bad about my surroundings. Our living room has looked worse, much worse, but it definitely looks better now we have flooring down and clean white walls, just a blank canvas ready for us to make our own. But I’m surrounded by boxes, most of them being used as furniture, and it’s been so long since we moved in I couldn’t confidently tell you what was in them any more.

I look over the job listings in the area generally, running a hand through my messy bed hair as I rule out being an army officer (just try and imagine a girly girl like me doing a job like that), a code coordinator (I have no idea what that is) or a bartender (sadly, although I have many hours of experience, they’re all on the wrong side of the bar). My fingers catch in a knot in my hair, which I’m careful to untangle. I need to go and slather my locks in coconut oil because I’m fairly sure that’s what’s helping it grow back so quickly and so much stronger than it was. I’ll probably cover myself in coconut oil, for good measure, because I don’t think I know of a health or beauty problem that coconut oil hasn’t been hyped as the solution for. Chuck Bass and coconut oil – that’s all I need.

Once again, the listing for a ‘Games Master’ at Houdini’s Escape Rooms comes up. I don’t really know too much about escape games, but I imagine they’re exactly as they sound. You lock people up and they try and escape for fun, right? The listing says its minimum wage and zero hours, but this could be exactly the kind of gig I need to fit in around my writing commitments; it could be fun, and could make me the extra wedding money I need. The application says to send in a CV with relevant experience, but I don’t suppose I have any. I’ve just always been a writer, ever since I graduated.

I glance at my watch; it’s 17:35. Looking up Houdini’s, I see that they’re open until late, and it’s only a short walk away – why don’t I go scope the place out and see what I make of it?

After washing my hair and applying my make-up, I open up my wardrobes (cardboard boxes) and see what I can find. An oversize black jumper dress and a pair of black over-the-knee boots seem like the right kind of thing, given how cold it is outside. I grab my leather jacket, pile on the rose-gold accessories (and my engagement ring, of course) and I’m good to go.

I am just about to walk out of the door when my mobile starts ringing. It’s my agent, Lindsey.

‘Hello,’ I say, answering quickly, terrified there’s a problem with the manuscript I stressed myself out to finish on time.

‘Hello, Mia, how are you?’ she asks brightly.

‘Great, ta. How are you?’

‘I’m doing well, thank you. I just wanted to let you know that Tamara is reading your manuscript and she’s really enjoying it, and I’ve already finished it and I think it’s great – maybe your best yet.’

I let out a huge sigh of relief. I’m pretty sure Lindsey tells me every book I write is my best work yet, but I do feel like she believes in me, and it’s always good news to hear that Tamara, my editor, is enjoying it too. Having a strong team around you, rooting for you and doing everything they can to make your books a success, is just as important as the writing itself – what does it matter if you’ve written an amazing book if no one reads it?

‘That’s great news, thank you,’ I tell her.

‘So, what are you going to do now?’ she asks. ‘Take a little time off?’

‘I wish,’ I reply. ‘I’ve got a wedding to pay for – I’m actually job hunting.’

‘What?’ Lindsey squeaks. ‘Mia, you’re an amazing writer, so early in your career as a novelist. The money gets better.’

‘In time for my wedding or my next cripplingly expensive trip to Ikea?’ I laugh awkwardly. ‘It’s not just that; I get so bored between books. Everyone is at work and there’s no one to have any fun with…’

‘Listen, Mia, I’m putting forward a few of my clients for a job – it’s nonfiction, but I feel like you could be great for it. Shall I put you forward?’

‘What is it?’ I ask.

‘It’s a ghostwriting job,’ she tells me. ‘It will pay very well – two authors have dropped out already, so it won’t be easy. Let’s leave it at that – I don’t want to get your hopes up.’

I can’t help but pull a face. There’s no way a romcom writer like me is going to get a nonfiction gig that two other authors have already dropped out of, and even if I could, why would I want to work with someone who sounds so difficult? It would have to pay really well.

I finish my call and head for the door. Obviously I’d much rather have a writing job but I’ve got a wedding to pay for – and maybe the way to do this is by locking people up.

Chapter Nine

It turns out that Houdini’s has always been under my nose, but – funnily enough – has always escaped my attention. It’s right in the town centre, above a sports bar I’ve been in a couple of times. You can’t really tell too much about it from the outside so I’ve popped inside to have a look, but the room I’ve walked into looks like a dentist’s waiting room.

‘Hello?’ I call out. ‘Hello…’

A young girl pops out from around a corner, causing me to jump out of my skin.

‘Welcome to Houdini’s my name is Jezebel how can I help you?’ she sings, without a single pause in her sentence.

‘Er, hi,’ I start, unsure what to say.

‘Do you have a game booked?’ she asks.

Jezebel is an interesting character. She’s rocking a scene-queen look I haven’t seen since 2005, with her big, black hair complete with side-swept fringe, punky, ripped clothing and multiple facial piercings.

She has her septum pierced, you know, kind of like a bull has, and I can’t stop staring at it. It must get in the way, surely? It works with her look, though. I’m not sure I could pull it off. When I was younger I was desperate for a nose ring but my mum wouldn’t let me have one. That’s why, the second I turned 16, I went to the local piercing place with my best friend so we could get matching nose rings done. It was all going so well until I watched my friend get hers done and passed out. I soon changed my mind.

‘I just popped in to have a look. I saw the listing for the Games Master job online and I…’

‘Oh, sweet,’ she says. ‘I’m the manager, at the mo. The previous guy had to leave, we had to get the police involved – major drama in the office. So I’m just kind of winging it, but we’re short-staffed and looking for cool new peeps. Do you live nearby?’

‘Yeah, just up on Prince Street,’ I tell her.

‘No way, me too,’ she squeaks, giving my arm a playful punch. ‘What you studying?’

‘Erm, I’ve already graduated,’ I tell her honestly.

‘Ahh, right. This summer just gone? I’m only a second-year. Wouldn’t have pegged you as much older than I am.’

If Jezebel is a second-year, that makes her 20 years old, maybe? I know I look young for my age, but if I’m passing for 14 years younger than I am, I’m on to a winner.

‘How about I introduce you to the others in the office and then show you around, see if you dig the place?’

‘Erm, OK, sure,’ I reply. I’ve only ever had writing jobs where I had to submit my portfolio or a pitch beforehand, but is this how job hunting goes in the real world? You just show up at a place and they start you off, no questions asked. She hasn’t even asked me my name yet…

‘Follow me, doll,’ she says, taking me by the hand as she leads me into the office.

Inside the office is a long, banana-shaped desk with five people sitting at five computers, all wearing headsets. Some are engrossed in the games they are spectating, others are chatting and messing around.

‘That guy down the end, that’s Rich. He’s a music student – don’t worry, you don’t have to pay as much attention to the games as he is. Oi, Rich.’

A skinny, dark-haired guy with thick, black-rimmed glasses looks up to wave at me before instantly getting back to his game.

‘Hi,’ I say, but he’s way too busy to give me too much attention.

‘These two in the middle, practically smashing at the desk, are Bully and Hayley. Guys, this is… did you tell me your name?’ she asks me.

‘Sorry, it’s Mia,’ I say, bemused by it all. I really didn’t expect to just waltz in here and be given a job.

To say that Bully and Hayley were smashing would be classed as an exaggeration. Hayley has her chair to one side, with her legs draped over Bully’s. He keeps running his hand up her leg, from her ankle all the way to her inner thigh, but that’s as close to smashing as it gets.

‘This beautiful lady here is Lea, she’s a student too – we’re all students. Well, except for you, Mia.’

‘What did you study?’ Lea asks me, effortlessly multitasking chatting to me, texting and running a game.

‘English literature,’ I tell her.

‘I nearly picked that,’ she tells me. ‘I went for film in the end. I just prefer movies to books, y’know?’

‘Yeah, me too,’ I reply.

‘Why’d you choose lit then?’ she laughs.

I just laugh it off, rather than explain that I mean I prefer writing movies to writing books.

Lea has her long brown hair wound up in a bun on top of her head. She’s definitely dressed casually; in fact, I think it would be fair to say that she’s wearing her pyjama pants to work today.

‘And last but not least, this is Sam. He’s a first-year, studying PE, which – is that even a real subject? I don’t think so.’

Sam gets up from his seat to shake my hand. He’s tall and skinny with messy blond hair. He’s wearing shorts, even though it’s November, but he’s had the good sense to pair them with a jumper, just in case he gets cold.

‘Hello, beautiful,’ he says as he shakes my hand.

‘Hi,’ I reply, stifling a laugh. I’d be old enough to be his mum, if I’d been more interested in boys than getting good GCSEs when I was fifteen.

‘Are you the new girl?’ he asks. ‘It’s about time we got some talent. No offence, ladies.’

‘None taken, you little creep,’ Jezebel laughs. She grabs me by the hand again, leading me out of the room. ‘You’re so far out of his league, it’s hilarious.’

She plonks herself down on one of the sofas in the waiting room, pulling me down with her.

‘So, we’ve got five rooms here: Zombie Apocalypse, Houdini, Illuminati, The Hole and Candy Land. There’s something for everyone really. So we greet customers, shove them in a room, lock the door and then we watch them on the computers and send them hints if they need them. Have you played before?’

‘I haven’t,’ I admit, suddenly very curious about how it all works.

‘So, the rooms are full of locks – padlocks, key locks, number locks – on doors, cupboards, drawers and boxes. There are all kinds of different puzzles and riddles. People just figure shit out and it unlocks a thing, and then that gives them more clues for another thing, and next thing you know they’re out here and we just take their picture and send them on their way.’

‘Does it take a long time to learn the games?’ I ask.

‘Nah,’ she replies casually with a bat of her hand. ‘It’s an easy gig. The owners never bother with the place. Your girl Jezebel is running the show now. You interested?’

‘Erm…’

Now that I’m here, I’m not sure what to do. The place seems very relaxed – a little too relaxed, though. It’s being run by a bunch of students, only a couple of years off being actual children. They do all seem really happy here, though, so maybe I could be too. Maybe working here would be fun, a great daytime distraction and a bit of extra money for this wedding I haven’t started planning yet.

‘Tell you what, why don’t you let me show you the ropes, and then a few of us are going to the bar downstairs after, so come for a drink with us and get to know the others too.’

‘OK, sure,’ I say. ‘That’d be great.’

‘Awesome-o,’ she replies. ‘Think about which game you wanna run first and we’ll train you up on that one. I’m going to grab my phone, tell the others we’ve got one more for Beer Pong tonight.’

Jezebel runs off excitedly.

Well, Leo is working until late, so I might as well go out, rather than just sit at home alone, just waiting for him to come back. I feel like I never see him any more, but I know it’s only temporary. Before we know it the house will be done and then we’ll be married and then we can spend more nights just curled up on the sofa together.

I’m not going to get ahead of myself here, I’m just going to see how tonight goes. I just feel like getting a real job, of some description, will be good for my mental health. It’s not good for a girl to be at home all the time, just making up fake worlds full of fake people, all having fake conversations and fake feelings.

I could just do this for a bit, even if it’s just until it’s time to start work on my next book. And I can still plan my wedding while I’m working here. How hard can planning a wedding be?

Chapter Ten

Staggering out of the bar with my new potential colleagues, I don’t have any idea what time it is, but I know I should probably head home. The good news is that everyone who works at Houdini’s is a student, so we all walk home the same way. It’s like I’ve found my perfect friends and colleagues in one neat little package. It’s funny that they’re, like, ten years younger than me – at least – but we seem to be on the same wavelength. Plus, they think I’m their age, which is a huge boost to my thirty-three-year-old ego.

Jezebel hooks her arms around my neck with the familiarity of someone who has known me all my life. In fact, the entire Houdini team seem to have fallen in love with me.

It’s been a great night. I’ve really enjoyed hanging out with new people, making them laugh, playing Beer Pong with them – even if I am terrible and I hate the taste of beer.

‘I don’t wanna call it a night,’ Jezebel whines, her breath smelling so strongly of beer I hold my own, so I don’t have to endure her secondhand beer fumes.

‘Let’s go upstairs,’ Sam suggests. ‘Ring of Fire!’

‘Yeaaaah, Ring of Fire,’ Jezebel replies. ‘You’re coming up, right, Mia?’

‘Erm…’

I suppose I could hang around for a bit… well, it saves me making my own way home, especially seeing as I’m a little tipsy. Plus, I’m enjoying bonding with my new teammates.

‘Come on,’ Sam insists.

‘OK, sure,’ I reply.

‘Let’s do this,’ Sam yells meaningfully as Jezebel removes the office keys from her bag and unlocks the door.

‘So, you guys are allowed to hang out here after work?’ I ask cautiously.

‘Not really,’ Jezebel replies. ‘But no one will ever know.’

Once we’re inside Houdini’s, everyone works together to clear a space in the centre of the room, just like they did when they were showing me how to reset the game rooms earlier. Bully disappears inside the Houdini room and remerges with a deck of cards. He spreads them out in a circular shape in the middle of the room while Jezebel places an empty cup in the middle. As we all take our places in a circle around the game set-up, Hayley and Lea walk out of the offices with two bottles of various spirits each.

‘Ring of Fire!’ Sam screeches excitedly.

‘I don’t know how to play this one,’ I admit. I thought about pretending I did, but I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of my new friends. There are eight of us sitting on the floor, ready to play – Jezebel, Sam, Hayley, Bully and Lea from earlier, along with two guys whose names I don’t remember.

Everyone in the room cries out in shock.

‘What? You don’t know how to play Ring of Fire? And you went to uni?’ Sam says in disbelief.

I don’t even know if this game existed when I was their age, but even if it did, I had other things on my mind back then. Even though I went to university, I never really did the student-life thing. You know, living on a diet of nothing but noodles and cheap booze, doing minimal studying on minimal sleep – that sort of thing. Studying always came before socialising for me.

‘Sorry,’ I laugh.

‘It’s OK, she’ll pick it up as she goes along,’ Jezebel insists. ‘Let’s just play.’

‘Basically, we all have a drink in our hands, and we take turns at picking up a card, and what everyone does depends on what card is pulled out. You go first, Mia.’

This sounds like a very confusing game for drunk people to play. Too much to remember.

‘OK,’ I say confidently. I reach out and carefully select a card, turning it over to show the room what it is. ‘Four of hearts.’

‘Fours are whores, so all the women have to drink,’ Sam tells me.

I laugh as I sip from my plastic cup. Oh wow, it’s neat, cheap vodka. I’ve already had a few tonight, and I don’t think I’m the seasoned drinker I used to be.

Sam goes next.

‘Eight,’ he announces as he flips a card over, ‘Eight is mate, so Mia, I choose you. Every time I drink, you have to as well.’

‘OK,’ I laugh.

A few other people take a turn, with a variety of consequences. If someone gets a two, two is you, so they pick a person to have a drink. Three is me, which means the player drinks. Seven is Heaven, which means the last person with their hands in the air has to drink – which is me, every time, because I keep forgetting what all the numbers mean. The worst one of all is when a king is drawn – each time someone has turned over a king, they’ve poured a little bit of their drink into the cup in the middle of the ring, making one nasty-looking cocktail.

I take my turn, turning my card over to reveal the fourth and final king from the deck. I go to pour some of my drink in the cup, but Sam stops me.

‘That’s the fourth king, Mia – that means you’ve gotta drink the king’s cup.’

‘I’ve gotta drink that?’ I squeak in shock, because it looks disgusting. But put it down to how much I’ve had to drink already, put it down to the fact everyone is chanting my name, put it down to peer pressure, put it down to whatever you want, but I grab the cup and chug the contents, draining every last drop to a room full of cheering and applause. As I finish, Sam launches himself across the floor, throwing himself at me for a celebratory hug. I quickly wriggle free from his grasp and fix my dress so I’m not flashing my underwear.

As Sam sets up the next game, I can’t help but notice that Jezebel is looking upset. I scoot over to her, talking quietly so only she can hear.

‘Do you like Sam?’ I ask her.

‘I hate him, he’s such a sleaze,’ she replies quickly.

‘Yeah, but do you like him like him?’ I ask.

‘Is it that obvious?’ she replies. ‘He’s not interested in me. I’m ploughing my way through Matcher at the moment. Not having much luck there either.’

Ergh. Matcher is a dating app I researched for a book not too long ago. I feel so lucky I’ve never had to put up with the crap women get on those things.

‘So you need to be very critical of potential matches,’ I advise. ‘Don’t just look at their photos and read their bios, look in the background of their photos and read between the lines of their bios. Keen to seem like more than just your average beardy, buff, banterous Matcher boy, blokes will use euphemisms – sometimes without even realising it. Like, if they say that they “live for the weekend” then they’re probably boring on the other five days of the week. Those who are “brutally honest” are probably just rude. People who “tell it how it is” generally have no filter.’

As Jezebel starts laughing, I realise I’m babbling.

‘Sorry.’

‘No, tell me more,’ she insists. ‘You’re so much wiser than all of us.’

That’s because I’m old.

‘If they insist their mates made them sign up for the app, they’re too proud. Worst of all, if they say they’re looking for an “open-minded girl” then run a mile because what that really means is that they’re looking for 50 shades of wehey! – like, they’re the kind of guy with a very particular set of skills… no… wait… that’s from Taken…unconventional desires, that’s Fifty Shades, right? I haven’t read the book, or watched the movie, but I know the meme.’

‘You’re so funny,’ Jezebel insists. ‘I really hope you take the job.’

‘I’m really thinking about it,’ I tell her, hiccupping loudly at the end of my sentence. It’s been so long since I drank this much.

‘So, if we can get Hayley and Bully to stop getting off with each other for, like, ten minutes,’ Sam yells for the benefit of the happy couple in the room, ‘we can play Spin the Bottle: Truth or Dare.’

Oh God. I’m an engaged lady. I can’t play Truth or Dare with a bunch of kids.

Before I know it the game is underway. I just need to hope and pray it doesn’t land on me.

It’s amazing how many rounds I get through unscathed, while other members of the group reveal a series of embarrassing facts, take off random items of clothing and swap saliva with whomever they are told to.

Sam spins the bottle, which, thankfully, flies past me, landing on Bully, who is sitting opposite me.

‘Truth,’ he says.

‘OK,’ Sam starts, a cheeky glimmer in his eyes. ‘If you and Hayley had to have a threesome with one of us, who would it be?’

‘Mia,’ he replies. His answer takes me aback, causing me to spit my drink out.

‘Huh?’ I say, wiping vodka from my chin with the sleeve of my dress.

‘We both think you’re really fit,’ Bully tells me. ‘We’d love to get together with you sometime.’

‘I’m flattered,’ I laugh, unable to hide my awkwardness. I don’t care if I have to drunkenly make my own way home, this is definitely when I leave.

‘Mia, I dare you to bang Bully and Hayley in The Hole,’ Sam says.

My eyebrows shoot up at his words, until I remember The Hole is a room here.

‘It’s not my turn,’ I say, laughing it off.

‘Come on,’ he insists. ‘We can all watch in the office.’

‘I’m an engaged lady,’ I insist, waving my left hand around like a dancer from a Beyoncé music video so they can see my ring.

‘Of course you are,’ he laughs. ‘You all just need a little encouragement.’

Sam ushers Bully and Haley into The Hole before picking me up, throwing me over his shoulder, plonking me down on the floor next to them and running out, locking the door behind him.

‘I’m not having sex with you,’ I tell them, very matter-of-factly, just in case they thought I might. ‘Do you guys come up here and play games often?’

‘Yeah,’ Hayley replies. ‘Ever since the manager got the sack.’

Wow. These guys are like teenagers with free house while their parents are away for the weekend. They just get drunk and get off with each other – I’ve heard of close friends, but this is ridiculous.

‘Let me out, please,’ I shout, waving my arms at the CCTV camera. I wait 30 seconds, but no one comes. ‘I said let me out you little cu—’

Jezebel opens the door.

‘Come on, Mia,’ she insists. ‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to.’

How very kind of her.

‘Come on,’ she says, ushering me out. ‘Have another drink with me.’

‘No, thanks,’ I tell her, refocusing my eyes, trying to determine if I’m sober enough to walk home. I grab my phone from my bag to see a couple of missed calls from Leo, and the fact that it’s 3:02 a.m. Shit. I’d better get an Uber and get myself home to my fiancé.