Meeting

I've been thinking a lot today about how Martin and I met. I've got a friend who reckons she can pinpoint the specific moment when she decided that she would marry the man who later did become her husband. [In fact, I think I may have written about her in this blog already.] But I've been going over and over this question in my mind all day today, and I don't think I can identify a similar moment for myself. [In fact, now that I stop to think about, I think I may have written about this very subject not long ago. It's obviously playing on my mind at the moment.]

Put simply: Martin and I met at Uni. We were both in our second years. He was studying architecture. I was studying psychology. He was a friend of a friend. He may even have been a friend of a friend of a friend. I'm not sure of the exact number of the levels of separation that existed between us at first. I didn't find him in the least bit attractive. In fact, I think I thought of him as a bit of a pathetic hanger-on who always seemed to need to be around other people who were doing interesting things.

I remember he had a very annoying laugh. I suppose what I didn't like about it was that I found it nervous. And I was quite unforgiving in those days. Nervous meant insecure which meant pathetic which meant 'Sorry, haven't got any time for you in my life.' Even now, there are still moments when he can be a bit goofy-looking, but for some reason, that was the only side of him I noticed when we first met. His hair's quite curly, but he wore it quite long then, which meant that his eyes were nearly always covered by these ridiculous ringlets which he kept pushing across one side of his face or the other. He liked to think of himself as being a bit 'indie' when it came to his sense of dress, so I never saw him in anything other than tattered trainers and orange-and-brown-striped jumpers. He's always had a nice voice - gentle without being unmasculine - but I didn't realise that at the time either.

One thing I do remember was that the first time I met him, I was convinced he was gay. As I said, he was introduced to me as the friend of a housemate. I walked into the kitchen one day and there he was, having a cup of tea with Zoe. There were no sparks, no instant fireworks. "Martin, this is Pauline. Pauline, this is Martin." That was the sum total of Zoe's introduction. I nodded, said Hello, made myself a cup of tea and walked out again.

I remember that whilst I was waiting for the kettle to boil, the two of them were chatting about some film they'd been shown during a lecture which contained some of the best footage of the buildings of pre-war Berlin, or something along those lines.

After he'd left, I marched back into the kitchen, looked Zoe straight in the eyes and said, "Another one for your fag harem?"

She opened her eyes wide. "Who? Martin?"

I smiled and turned away, pretending I'd only walked into the kitchen to get some milk. Zoe laughed. "No! Come on! D'you really think he's gay?"

I looked at Zoe again and shook my head knowingly.

Zoe opened her mouth and laughed again. "But..." she said, "but, there isn't anything in the least bit gay about him... is there?"

"Why, d'you fancy him?" I asked.

She looked away instantly. "Oh, please! I hadn't even asked him to come round. He's just a friend of En's. En told Martin it would be all right to pop by and borrow a book off me. We're on the same course."

"Yes. I gathered that from the intellectual conversation you two were having."

"Oh my God, tell me about, what a load of bollocks! I didn't understand half the things he was going on about anyway."

At this point, I felt like I'd done my bit, so I just smiled again and turned around, ready to walk out.

"Hang on, P, wait." I stopped and looked at Zoe. "D'you... d'you really think he's gay?"

I laughed and walked out of the kitchen, calling out "What difference does it make, anyway?" as I went.

---

Later that evening, Zoe and I were sitting in our lounge watching TV, together with another friend of Zoe's, Mike.

I stretched out my leg and tapped Mike's knee with my toes. "Has Zoe told you about your new admirer?"

Mike smiled. "Eh?"

Zoe turned to look at me and I managed to give her a quick wink. "Haven't you told him yet?" I asked.

"Umm... no, not yet," she said. "I was gonna... I was gonna do it later."

Mike furrowed his brow. "What admirer?"

I turned to Zoe. "I can't believe you haven't told him yet."

"Well..." she said, "why don't you tell him, then?"

My smile widened and I turned to Mike. "Zoe's got this new friend, right?" Mike nodded. "He's called Martin and he's on the same course as her. Except that she can't quite work out why he's tagged on to her, 'cause all he ever seems to do is keep asking questions about you."

"Eh? What d'you mean?" Mike asked.

I nudged Zoe with my elbow. "Go on, tell him."

Zoe nodded and cleared her throat. "Yeah, yeah... it's a bit weird, really. He keeps asking how you and I met and are you enjoying the course and what are your plans after you finish Uni and are you into Spanish cinema, 'cause if you are, he's always on the look out for someone to go to the CineHouse with him."

"You're fucking having a laugh," Mike said, leaning back in his seat and scratching his chin.

"No, it's true," I said. "He keeps asking when you're going to be around here, but Zoe keeps putting him off by telling him she doesn't know."

"Well... what the hell does he want from me?"

I raised my eyebrows. "What do you THINK he wants, Mike?" I paused. "He's gay and he fancies you. Simple as that."

"What? Is he really?"

Zoe turned to look at me, giving me a steely stare. I ignored her. "Oh yeah," I said. "But don't worry, he's completely okay about and everything. He came out when he was 13. He was telling Zoe about it the other day. He obviously just finds you very attractive, that's all."

"Bloody hell," Mike muttered, shaking his head.

"I'm surprised Zoe's not told you this already," I said.

Zoe's voice became an undertone. "Yeah... can't imagine how it could've slipped my mind..."

"Anyway," I said, "it's no big deal. He fancies you and that's that. It's not like he's gonna get anywhere, is it, so there's no point thinking about it." I turned back to the television.

When Mike wasn't watching, Zoe reached across and pinched my arm. I managed to turn my squeal of pain into a loud cough.

A few hours later, after Mike had gone home, Zoe turned on me, demanding to know what I'd been playing it. "Oh, for God's sake, it's just a bit of fun," I said. "It's not like anyone's getting hurt, is it?"