The Cupid Effect by Dorothy Koomson

in your grip. But, like I said, that’s just my opinion. My last relationship that lasted longer than three weeks was two years ago. I know very little about very little.’
    Claudine swirled her wine a bit slower and stared into her glass, as though hypnotising herself.
    I often did this to people after a blurt session. I often made them think about something so deeply they checked out of the conversation and became sad. Upset that there was something they could be doing but weren’t. An option that was staring them in the face that they couldn’t see. It was all right for me, I could come out with these theories, because it wasn’t my life. I could see what to do clearly if it wasn’t my life. Couldn’t everyone? One step removed you had twenty-twenty vision.
    However, the result of my clear-sightedness sat opposite me, swirling pale wine around her smeared glass, looking so forlorn, she probably qualified to have her picture beside the entry for ‘forlorn’ in The Oxford English Picture Dictionary .
    If there was one thing I shouldn’t do, it was offer my opinion. I was getting better, though. Better at not saying everything I thought, even if others had started it by telling me far too much, way too soon. There was a time when I would’ve said all that stuff about people leaving on a whimsy to Claudine, thereby totally alienating her. Whilst now, there was only about seventy-five per cent alienation going on – if you factored in the lunch thing.
    â€˜What would you do?’ she asked me.
    â€˜Me?’ I replied.
    Claudine nodded vigorously. ‘In my situation, what would you do to “press play”?’
    â€˜To be totally honest, Claudine, I don’t know. I don’t have all the facts, because I wasn’t there. I don’t know how Mel acted afterwards, how he’s acted since. I don’t know if Kevin’s noticed a change in you, if you’ve been off with him or trying too hard. Like I said, I’ve not got all the facts so I don’t know what I’d do.’
    I’d actually forgotten what a mind terrorist I was. I came wandering in, lobbing confusion grenades left, right and centre and then when I was asked how to disarm them, I shrugged and said, ‘dunno mate’. I should be locked up.
    â€˜Thanks Ceri,’ Claudine said as I stumbled out of the taxi an hour or so later. ‘Thanks for listening, you were a great help.’
    â€˜Any time,’ I slurred.
    She grabbed my cuff before I reeled away from the open door and fell into the house. ‘Don’t tell anyone what I told you,’ she said, frantically searching my face for understanding.
    â€˜About what?’ I replied.
    â€˜Me and Mel,’ she said.
    â€˜I know. I was being funny.’
    â€˜Oh. Ha ha. That wasn’t very funny.’
    â€˜No, I guess not. Bye.’ I shut the car door before she took that the wrong way too.

chapter eight
    Copying
    Apparently, photocopying was an ordeal round these parts.
    Either you spent hours camped out in the photocopying room situated in the furthest, darkest corner of the social sciences department, waiting your turn to watch lights flash back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth; battling with toner and collating and getting the book to lie flat enough to get a good copy. Or, you took it to the reprographics department and had them do it. Because that’s what they were there for. They worried about getting good copies and stapling and other stuff like that. Our department just paid for it.
    The whole reprographics department was situated just opposite the library, had swing doors and a photocopied, laminated sign outside that said: REPROGRAPHICS in block capitals. The whole demeanour of the place said, ‘Don’t come hither. And if you do, expect to be insulted’. Sally had warned me about them. Said to not go there if I was sensitive. But I wasn’t