The Planner(24)

James nodded sadly. Somebody like this couldn’t be placated with a polite conversation or a perfectly friendly and meaningless letter. Like looking into the eyes of certain dogs, engagement meant escalation. Unless James left for Nottingham, it was likely that the two of them would now spend a great deal of time having lengthy telephone conversations, combative meetings and curt email exchanges. James may even come to like him by the end of it – that did sometimes happen.

Rachel returned half an hour later. She had been shopping, she had bought something, and she was happy. For many people, it really was that simple.

‘I bought myself some new bed sheets,’ she said. ‘You know, it’s a real shame we’re knocking this shopping centre down.’

‘We’re not knocking it down. It’s going to be refurbished. Have you even read the masterplan?’

‘It’s not my project – I’m just here for the moral support. Anyway, while you were dealing with the nutter, I’ve been doing some big thinking on your behalf. What you need is a girlfriend. It’s actually quite urgent.’

‘Do you think so? I mean, more than anyone else does?’

‘Much more than most. It’s practically an emergency. You need someone to organise your life for you.’

‘But I am organised. I’m a town planner,’ said James.

‘Yes, but you’re no good at making plans for yourself,’ said Rachel. ‘You’re actually really bad at that.’

Rachel probably wasn’t as clever as Felix. It had taken her longer but she had come to a similar conclusion. Should he now tell her about the job in Nottingham? No – she would only agree with his mother: tell him to take it, to leave London, to get promoted and earn more money. Ultimately, her worldview was far more hard-headed, far more than useful, than his would ever be.

‘Look, it really is as simple as that. All you need to do is get a girlfriend and most of your problems will just disappear. It shouldn’t be difficult – you look half-decent.’

James nodded. Yes, he was tall, that still helped a bit, but there were other, more substantial issues. There was where he lived, what he did for a living, how much he earned, the quality of his book collection and the prints on his bedroom wall.

‘It’s not hard,’ said Rachel. ‘There is a well-established format. All you need to do is take one out for a date, buy her a drink and a meal, try not to stoop too much, and take it from there.’

‘Oh Christ – dates. I thought you might say that.’

‘Oh, my dear boy,’ said Rachel, who was actually the same age as James. ‘What on earth has happened to your confidence? You know it’s easier to date girls now than ever before in history.’

But James wasn’t so sure. Yes, there was the Internet now and feminism and sexual liberation, but none of those things had done him much good. Women were better informed and could make more choices, but it didn’t follow that they would choose him. In fact, what he could really do with was for the whole marketplace to become a bit less efficient, for people not to be able to see how many friends he had on Facebook, or find his job title and salary band on the Southwark Council website.

‘I think,’ said James, ‘that the historical circumstances aren’t necessarily to my advantage. I’m a town planner, remember. Most women I know have better paid jobs than me.’

‘Well, that’s true,’ she said. ‘It would probably help if you didn’t work for a local authority. But not every girl wants to go out with an investment banker or architect. And at least you’ve got a proper job with a pension – you’re not a poet or a skateboarder or anything.’

‘Don’t couples meet normally any more? Like at work or something?’

‘It’s all right. You’ll be able to handle a date. They can’t be any worse than all the other meetings you fill your life with. At least there won’t be any PowerPoint.’

Just then two more people approached with a speed and purpose that James knew could only mean trouble. A couple – a bony white man and a larger, more classically unattractive woman. These were the authentic voice of the South London suburbs. They looked ten years older than they actually were, owned a house and a car, had incomes that had failed to keep up with the cost of living and were tremendously angry. Of course, everyone in London was angry, but the fact that they possessed things gave their rage a particular focus and power.

‘Are you from the council?’ said the man.

‘Yes,’ said James. ‘We’re from the planning department and we’re here to talk about—’