shambles. Confident, yes, but the Cinderella of Stoke Newington constantly looked as though she’d just got out of bed to sign for a delivery, and yet was still ridiculously hot. She was always wearing yesterday’s t-shirt, which raised the question of when she ever got around to changing it. She drank like a fish, she sometimes dyed her hair, played in a band and was amazing at video games.
Guy was in love with her from about three seconds after he met her. “Can you believe this girl?” he hooted. “She’s just such fun.”
“Yeah,” I said. I was pleased we were talking again (Amber’s idea). I was pleased he’d moved on. I just... well, why did it have to be with her? All of a sudden, I was having no trouble remembering her name.
Amber made Guy so happy. Almost without trying. Which was a complete contrast to Saint Danielle, who had made him miserable by either clinging to him or belittling him. Danielle had constantly told Guy what he couldn’t do, but Amber was delighted by what he could.
“He is an amazing cook,” she told me one evening, which was a bit of a bombshell. She caught my glance before I could hide it. “Augh! I know what you’re thinking. Malaysian girl, brilliant cook. But I’m not a walking takeaway. I can turn on the rice cooker and that’s about it. At home we had people to do that. No, seriously. Staff.”
That was Amber’s issue. She just couldn’t help reminding you about her family life back home. It sounded pressured. “Such a big house! So many Aunts! All of them with a different lecture about eligible young accountants or the even more eternal torments of pincers in hell. You should come out and visit. Dad loves to have the driver take visitors through the slums. Just to show what it’s really like. I’m not sure what they think when a limo comes crawling through their shanty town with tourists taking pictures. But la! Anyway, all that family pressure’s eased off now that my three lovely brothers have got married to rich girls. That’s the line taken care of, and so I’m free to come to London and get a little job and stay out of the way.” She rolled her eyes. She’d tried working for a proper global firm, hated it, and was now someone’s PA. She just liked the irony (“I’m someone’s staff!”). “It’s handy for them, me being in London. It means I’ve always got a cousin somewhere in my flat. But that’s okay. So long as they don’t ask too many questions or finish off my scotch.”
It was one of those evenings—Guy had got in from work shattered, found the energy from somewhere to cook dinner, and had then fallen asleep on the couch. So it was just Amber and me, talking over his snores. I liked it when this happened.
Yes, I can see what you’re thinking. But she was so bloody cool. I couldn’t help having a tiny crush on her. More than a tiny crush on her.
The thing was, not everyone loved Amber. Guy hadn’t changed his Facebook relationship status, but she had started appearing in pictures. And madly, people started to object to this:
Didn’t take you long to move on lol. 2 hours ∙ Like
NO RESPECT :(:(:( 1 hour ∙ Like
Mail order? 52 mins ∙ Like
She’s Not even cold. 46 mins ∙ Like
Disappointed. 15 mins ∙ Like
Looks foreign. 8 mins ∙ Like
Little snide comments from friends of Danielle’s who were Facebook friends with Guy, and seemingly unable to cope with the idea of him moving on, of being happy. He did what he did when Danielle was alive, and knuckled down to ignoring it all very hard, like a well-trained old hound who didn’t put up a fuss when someone kicked it.
One evening it all got a bit much for him. I don’t like drinks after work—I’d far rather rush home, have some food—but Guy had asked. He looked a mess, his hair all-over-the-place and his eyes baggy. “People are mental,” he said, taking a drink of what was clearly not his first pint. “Mental. Right. I mean, I get that not everyone is
Guy was in love with her from about three seconds after he met her. “Can you believe this girl?” he hooted. “She’s just such fun.”
“Yeah,” I said. I was pleased we were talking again (Amber’s idea). I was pleased he’d moved on. I just... well, why did it have to be with her? All of a sudden, I was having no trouble remembering her name.
Amber made Guy so happy. Almost without trying. Which was a complete contrast to Saint Danielle, who had made him miserable by either clinging to him or belittling him. Danielle had constantly told Guy what he couldn’t do, but Amber was delighted by what he could.
“He is an amazing cook,” she told me one evening, which was a bit of a bombshell. She caught my glance before I could hide it. “Augh! I know what you’re thinking. Malaysian girl, brilliant cook. But I’m not a walking takeaway. I can turn on the rice cooker and that’s about it. At home we had people to do that. No, seriously. Staff.”
That was Amber’s issue. She just couldn’t help reminding you about her family life back home. It sounded pressured. “Such a big house! So many Aunts! All of them with a different lecture about eligible young accountants or the even more eternal torments of pincers in hell. You should come out and visit. Dad loves to have the driver take visitors through the slums. Just to show what it’s really like. I’m not sure what they think when a limo comes crawling through their shanty town with tourists taking pictures. But la! Anyway, all that family pressure’s eased off now that my three lovely brothers have got married to rich girls. That’s the line taken care of, and so I’m free to come to London and get a little job and stay out of the way.” She rolled her eyes. She’d tried working for a proper global firm, hated it, and was now someone’s PA. She just liked the irony (“I’m someone’s staff!”). “It’s handy for them, me being in London. It means I’ve always got a cousin somewhere in my flat. But that’s okay. So long as they don’t ask too many questions or finish off my scotch.”
It was one of those evenings—Guy had got in from work shattered, found the energy from somewhere to cook dinner, and had then fallen asleep on the couch. So it was just Amber and me, talking over his snores. I liked it when this happened.
Yes, I can see what you’re thinking. But she was so bloody cool. I couldn’t help having a tiny crush on her. More than a tiny crush on her.
The thing was, not everyone loved Amber. Guy hadn’t changed his Facebook relationship status, but she had started appearing in pictures. And madly, people started to object to this:
Didn’t take you long to move on lol. 2 hours ∙ Like
NO RESPECT :(:(:( 1 hour ∙ Like
Mail order? 52 mins ∙ Like
She’s Not even cold. 46 mins ∙ Like
Disappointed. 15 mins ∙ Like
Looks foreign. 8 mins ∙ Like
Little snide comments from friends of Danielle’s who were Facebook friends with Guy, and seemingly unable to cope with the idea of him moving on, of being happy. He did what he did when Danielle was alive, and knuckled down to ignoring it all very hard, like a well-trained old hound who didn’t put up a fuss when someone kicked it.
One evening it all got a bit much for him. I don’t like drinks after work—I’d far rather rush home, have some food—but Guy had asked. He looked a mess, his hair all-over-the-place and his eyes baggy. “People are mental,” he said, taking a drink of what was clearly not his first pint. “Mental. Right. I mean, I get that not everyone is
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