The others decided that wasn’t quite right.
After another few of Arthur’s suggestions, all involving him ending up with a girlfriend, I grabbed the marker pen and scrawled:
The Boys to Men Project
‘What?’ Isaac pulled a face. ‘That’s the worst yet.’
‘Maybe so, but it’s the most accurate. Not everyone involved is doing this to get themselves a girlfriend.’ I nodded at Elliot.
‘Elliot?’ Isaac asked. ‘What do you think?’
Elliot slumped back in his gaming chair, shaking his head in resignation. ‘I think that seeing as no one –no one –is ever going to find out about this, it makes no difference what we call it. It’s nearly eight. Can we sign this thing so Penny and I can go for our run?’
Decision made. The Boys to Men project was all systems go.
Task one: teach them how to cook a simple, three-course meal, this Friday, which they would then each individually replicate for a guest at a later date.
That was the official task one.
It was in reality task two.
Task one was to teachmyselfto cook, well, anything apart from poached eggs and toasties, and then fake that I knew what I was doing when I tried to teach them.
It wasn’t modesty that meant I questioned whether I was the most suitable – or in any way suitable whatsoever – to carry out this project. Prior to meeting Seb, I’d spent my entire adult life fumbling along, too often leaving a trail of destruction in my wake. Since meeting him, he’d pretty much taken charge of the adulting, while I managed the fun. This was going to be one long lesson in faking competence, which thankfully I’d had plenty of practice at.
14
Monday morning meant heading back to the Barn. While I still had a huge amount to do, and a lot to learn before I could do it, I thoroughly enjoyed the day. Working in such a gorgeous place, spending time chatting to people, plenty of whom were fascinating, being part of what – with a few tweaks to the programme – would be an extraordinarily special community. What was not to love?
I was starting to appreciate why my parents were perpetually cheerful.
After a positive phone conversation with a man about some genealogy sessions, I decided to call it a day.
‘Are you coming for dinner?’ Mum asked, spotting me packing up my things.
‘Not this evening, but thanks for asking.’
‘But it’s Monday,’ Dad said, trying not to sound crestfallen.
‘Did we arrange something? I must have forgotten.’
I hadn’t forgotten. My social life was still pathetic enough that I’d not forget a momentous occasion like a meal at my parents’.
‘Well, no.’ Mum looked at Dad. ‘We’d sort of assumed, after last time, that it would be a weekly thing. Mondays with Mum.’
‘And Dad,’ Dad added.
‘But you didn’t say anything to me. I’m really sorry, I can’t come. If you wanted to, though, we could start Mondays with Mum next week.’
‘And Dad.’
‘Why can’t you come?’ Mum asked, eyes widening with hope. ‘Have you made plans with someone else?’
‘Nothing to get excited about, but yes.’
‘Too late, I’m already excited!’ Dad grinned.
‘I’m having dinner with my housemates, that’s all.’
