‘I haven’t seen you for weeks, so what brings you up, babe? Don’t tell me you’ve met a man at last?’
I giggled. ‘Yeah, in a way. I’ve met a guy, or at least I think I have.’
Hayley shook her head and sipped her wine. ‘Well, you either have or you haven’t.’
‘I don’t know if he likes me. He probably doesn’t.’
‘Then you’ve not really met anyone, have you?’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘It always is with you, Kat,’ she said with kindness in her voice. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Nathan, but he’s married.’
‘That’s not good.’
‘I think Nathan’s a nice name.’
‘Yeah, it’s fine; it’s the married bit that bothers me.’
‘He’s cute, especially when he’s sleeping.’
‘Yeah, you probably shouldn’t tell him that, and how would you know that if you’ve not been … with him?’
‘That’s complicated too, and why shouldn’t I tell him that?’
‘It’s not the sort of thing I’d want to know.’
‘You’re not a guy.’
‘No, but I’m a human and I wouldn’t like it.’
I thought about that for a moment. ‘Maybe I’ll leave it for a while.’
‘Has he got kids?’
I bit my lip and nodded slowly.
‘That’s even worse, Kat. Is he on Facebook? Can I get a look-see?’
‘I don’t know, he might be.’
‘Let’s see, shall we? Do you want more wine?’
‘Yeah, might as well. I’m not driving.’
Hayley booted up her iPad and opened the Facebook app. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Nathan Jones.’
‘How did you meet?’
I hesitated. ‘Err, I met him at work.’
‘Oh, he’s not a doctor, is he – not another Dr Dave?’
I laughed at the horrified expression on her face. Hayley hated Dr Dave. ‘No, I met him in the morgue.’
‘So, he does what you do?’
‘No, he’s a … actually I’m not sure what he does; he’s quite evasive about his occupation.’
I watched as she wrinkled up her nose in puzzlement. ‘I don’t understand, then. What’s he doing in the morgue if he’s not working? It’s not the sort of place anyone has on their bucket list to visit before they have to.’
‘He was dead.’
‘Dead?’
‘Yep, dead.’
‘I don’t understand – did you give him the kiss of life? Is he a zombie?’
‘No, he woke up on his own. I heard a noise from one of the drawers. I opened it up and found him just lying there.’
‘Gross. How did he end up in there?’
‘He got hit by a bus.’
‘Ouch. And you’ve fallen for him? I’ve always wondered about your taste in men, Kat, but going for a married dead guy, I don’t know, that’s stretching it, even for you. You’re really living up to your high-school nickname.’
‘He’s cute.’
‘Okay, let’s see … there’s a Laura Jones married to a Nathan Jones.’
‘That’ll be his wife.’
‘Wow, look, she’s in a bikini on here; a dark Latin type. Hard to believe that body’s squeezed a kid out.’
‘Three kids.’
‘You’re joking? That’s worse. So, your best-case scenario is that you’ll end up a surrogate mother to three brats while the father pines after his beautiful ex-wife.’
‘Well …’
‘You’ve not even thought that far ahead, have you? You’re hopeless, Kat, hopeless.’
I pointed to Laura’s Facebook page. ‘There’s a picture of Nathan there, down in the bottom corner.’
Hayley enlarged the image and examined it closely. ‘Well, he doesn’t look like a zombie, I must admit. Mm, he’s cute, but you’d expect that, given the wife. I’ll maybe give him … eight out of ten. He might have squeezed a nine if he’d been single.’
‘As I said, he looks even better when he’s sleeping,’ I said mischievously.
Hayley shook her head. ‘You’re weird, Kat. I think maybe working with all those dead bodies is getting to you. There must be a better way to meet a man than hanging around waiting for a stiff to wake up.’
‘You’re not doing any better.’
‘This isn’t about me. You hardly know the guy, by the sounds of it, and I just don’t want you getting hurt and disappointed again. I know our thirtieth birthday alarms are going off …’
‘Even my dad mentioned that.’
‘Yeah, well, my mum goes on about it as well. Look, Kat, I know you want the whole white wedding and the 2.3 kids thing, but—’
‘Black wedding maybe.’
‘Whatever, the point is you’re not going to get either with him, are you? Well, you’ll end up with the kids by default but there must be easier targets.’
‘I’m not targeting anything.’
‘Exactly, you don’t have a man-plan.’
‘A man-plan?’
‘Yeah, you don’t want to be on your own, but you don’t do anything about it. I mean, you’re a sexy lady, but you don’t really push it out there, do you? Your clothes could be a bit … I don’t know, tighter?’
‘Tighter?’
‘Go to Topshop; everything they sell is tight, especially the tops.’
‘That’s down to your boobs, Hayley. Mine aren’t as big as yours.’
‘You’ve got great boobs, a tight tummy and lovely arse but nobody can see it.’
‘Are you coming onto me?’
Hayley giggled. ‘If I don’t get a shag soon I might.’
‘I never blossomed like you did.’
‘You never needed to. You’ve always been pretty; you’ve just never made the most of it. You undervalue yourself even now, throwing time away on a married man. Kat, I just want you to be happy and find the right guy.’
‘How do you know Nathan’s not the right one?’
‘Because he’s someone else’s right one already.’
‘I don’t think he’ll be married much longer.’
‘Like I’ve never heard that before. Remember Chris, the bloke I met on the beach in Crete, and how he told me he’d left his wife? As you know, it turned out the only time he ever left his wife was to come and shag me and the “getting over her” holiday in Crete turned out to be his brother’s stag do. You can’t believe a word a man says to you.’
‘Hayley, that’s just one example. You just need to get out more as well.’
‘Yeah, maybe, but it’s harder when you get older. My social circle has reduced so much. You remember my twenty-first birthday? I practically filled a nightclub. For my thirtieth, it’ll probably be me, you, Liz from work and maybe my dad. How sad is that?’
‘Aw, Hayley, that’s not true; you’ve got lots of friends, but I suppose you could always try internet dating again.’
‘I don’t think I could. It just feels like an interview for a shag every time you meet someone, plus the last date I went on put me off forever. The guy looked great in his picture and even better in the flesh, and you know how often that happens, but, God, it was hard work. The problem is, any guys that are still single in their thirties or, God forbid, their forties are single for a reason.’
‘Maybe you should join a divorced dating site.’
Hayley groaned. ‘Then you’ve got to listen to them prattle on about their ex-wives and their kids and all the baggage that comes with that, like your bloke will do, and there’s the small point that I’m not divorced.’
‘You could lie – everybody lies online.’
‘I could but I won’t, not if I’m ever going to meet “the one”. I’ve got to at least start out honestly.’
‘You’re such a romantic, Hayley. Your “one” has probably got side-tracked and married someone else by now.’
‘That’s a depressing thought but, yeah, you’re probab
ly right. I can live in hope, though.’
‘Aww, sweetie, you could just go out and meet someone for meaningless sex, you know, in a nightclub or something.’
‘Maybe five years ago I would have, but I can’t be bothered, getting all dressed up and spend the night being chatted up by blokes to maybe find someone I like enough to drag home. It all feels kind of desperate.’
‘You are desperate.’
‘Not that desperate – in fact it makes waiting around the morgue waiting for some dead guy to wake up seem pretty attractive. Does that happen often? Maybe I could come and hang out one day with you, see what pops up?’
That reduced me to a fit of giggles. ‘It doesn’t happen often. Nathan’s my first but sometimes … you get what we call “Angel Lust”.’ I giggled again.
‘Right,’ said Hayley in a commanding voice, ‘no more wine for you. What is “Angel Lust” exactly?’
‘Sometimes we wheel a corpse out and it’s got a huge erection. It’s a symptom of rigor mortis – even though it’s pretty rare, I’ve still seen quite a few. So, if you fancy it, next time I get one I’ll phone you and you can nip over and … hop on.’
Hayley laughed. ‘Well, at least I wouldn’t have to make small talk afterwards.’
We were both silent for a moment, staring at the picture of Nathan Jones, before Hayley squealed.
I jumped out of my skin. ‘What is it, Hayley?’
She bounced up and down in excitement. ‘Guess who came into our office today? God, I can’t believe I forgot. I meant to tell you as soon as you arrived.’
‘Who?’
‘Guess.’
‘Err, Brad Pitt?’
‘Don’t be silly. Why would he come into our office?’
‘Is he not in Glasgow filming again?’
‘Is he?’
‘I think so – I read it in the Metro.’
‘Oh, it must be true, then. No, c’mon, Kat, guess.’
I tried to think of someone who would make Hayley so excited. ‘Give me a clue.’
‘Someone we hated at school.’
‘Mm, that doesn’t narrow it down all that much, to be honest … Mrs Brock?’
Hayley shuddered. ‘God, no; I would hope that evil old witch is dead by now. Honestly, Kat, if I saw her I’d probably run away and hide. I wouldn’t have survived school without you with me in her classes.’
‘Sharing the abuse.’
‘Yeah, you scared her. She just hated me for some reason.’
I stared at her. ‘Scared of me? I hardly think so.’
‘Uh-huh, because you were happy being different. I couldn’t help it.’
‘I can tell you I was far from happy.’
Hayley squeezed my arm. ‘I know, sweetie; that isn’t quite what I meant – you’d chosen to stand out from the crowd, express your individuality, and she didn’t like that. She liked everyone to be quiet little sheep. Anyway, you’ve got me off subject. You’ve got one more guess.’
‘I can’t, Hayley – apart from you and Mr Dobbie, the PE teacher who always let me skip his class, I hated pretty much everyone at school.’
‘I’ll give you a clue: The Fluckers.’
I squealed. ‘Not James Cochrane?’
‘The very same.’
‘My God, we haven’t seen him since prom night.’
Chapter 12
The end of year prom became a watershed moment for Hayley. Like me, she usually endured such events by hiding in the toilets or hanging around outside. Our school had the unusual practice of having one combined prom for the 4th, 5th and 6th year kids. The idea belonged to the penny-pinching headmaster Bill White and probably had more to do with saving money than, his claim that it “brought the school together”. This year the pupils of the senior years had predictably voted James Cochrane ‘King of the Prom’. An archaic practice that only further raised the confidence and expectations of a kid who needed very little of an ego boost in the first place. Then on the night of the event the king had to choose his queen from the assembled gaggle of giggling sixteen, seventeen and the few eighteen-year-old girls – most of whom had been slugging cheap cider behind the gym block. It did nothing to further the ambitions and confidence of already angst-ridden teenage girls, but state education didn’t really seem to take any account of that.
We were sitting in a corner watching the proceedings with a detached air, laughing at the three or four meringue-dress-wearing blondes, limbs lathered in St Tropez burnt orange and desperate to be picked so they could live off the experience of being selected Prom Queen for the next twenty years.
I’d managed to squeeze into a black frock I’d picked up in a charity shop on Byres Road. My mother bought me a pair of black kitten heels, even though I’d insisted I would be quite happy wearing my Dr. Martens with the dress. After staring at myself in the mirror for a few minutes I eventually decided that the Dr. Martens and strapless black dress didn’t quite measure up, especially with the black tiara I’d spent so much time on. Black tiaras were hard to find, or at least they had been back then, so I’d painted a cheap silver one jet black with a tin of gloss gutter paint I’d found in the cupboard under the stairs. It had needed three coats and the smell of the paint remained quite overpowering. I spent more time than usual on my make-up and hair so that when I eventually appraised myself in the hall mirror I felt quite pleased. It must have been good because my mum shook her head and tutted the whole time. She wanted me in a meringue.
My efforts, however, paled into insignificance when I met up with Hayley. She’d gone for a figure-hugging blue pageant dress that pushed up her already generous boobs. The tight waist gradually tapered outwards once it passed her hips until it reached the floor. The sweetheart neckline showed off her shoulders and, with her blonde hair piled on top of her head in what Hayley had described as a ‘messy updo’ (which I think meant she’d done it herself), she looked stunning. An overused description, even back then, but in this case, given the transformation Hayley had undergone in the months leading up to this evening, it felt appropriate.
She’d finished off the look with a smear of Charlotte Tilbury Red Vixen across her lips and added Eye Candy 50’s style lashes to her eyes. Although she’d gone to great lengths to get ready, she remained oblivious of the reaction she got from those around us. I’d noticed both sexes nudging each other and pointing as we walked past.
We found a quiet corner and tuned out of the long boring speech from the head teacher, who waxed lyrical about how this had been the best group of seniors he’d ever known – something he said every year. We only started listening when he introduced this year’s King of Green Park’s Prom, James Cochrane. James swaggered up and accepted the cheap plastic crown, shoved it onto his head, and, as instructed by a beaming Bill White, set off across the dance floor in search of his queen.
I laughed when he completely bypassed the expectant pouting face of Lyndsay Crowther, one of Green Park’s premier bitches who had been one of my and Hayley’s chief tormentors over the years. He then turned and headed towards our corner. I wasn’t surprised as sitting two seats down from Hayley happened to be Carly Boyd, a beautiful redhead who James had been ‘going out with’, as the kids called it, for most of the summer term. She smiled as he approached, stood up and pushed some imaginary creases from the hem of her fabulous coral dress, touched the side of her hair to make sure the matching flower hairclip remained secure and stepped forward in anticipation. A wave of shocked mumbles passed through the hall when James brushed past Carly and instead knelt in front of Hayley.
‘Hayley Dunlop,’ he said into the microphone as he began to recite a speech he’d obviously been rehearsing all day, ‘Tonight I have chosen the most beautiful girl in the whole of Green Park High School to be my queen. Will you join me on the dance floor?’
Hayley and I stared at the kneeling figure of James Cochrane with our mouths hanging open. In the tradition of the prom, James then placed the microphone into Hayley’s hand. I wonder
ed for a moment if this might be another cruel joke as handing a microphone to a stammerer like Hayley would be akin to dropping a tarantula into the lap of an arachnophobe. Initially my fears were justified as a shocked Hayley stared at her hand as if he’d just whipped out his willy and slapped it down onto her palm.
I became acutely aware of the open-mouthed staring from most of the school year but particularly the venomous glare from the red-haired and now very red-faced Carly Boyd.
The room hushed as everyone waited for Hayley to speak. Normally the lucky girl just mumbled some inane nonsense and joined her king on the dance floor but tonight Hayley delayed speaking.
She stared down at the expectant gorgeous face of James Cochrane, his long, gelled hair styled perfectly by his hairdresser mother, his pressed suit immaculately tailored to his toned frame and she began to speak, not taking her eyes off him. It became the most wonderful and memorable moment of my young life.
I was pretty sure that necking at least three bottles of Bacardi Breezer before arriving helped get her going – that and the fact she’d endured six months of speech therapy. ‘James Cochrane, I have to … to … say that this is a huge surprise.’ Oops, Hayley – you need to avoid the Ts if you can, I thought.
James beamed and relaxed.
Hayley continued, warming to her task, spurred on by alcohol and four years of indignation. ‘Who’d have guessed “Dunlop Girl”, the Michelin Man’s girlfriend, would ever be selected as Prom Queen?’
There were a few nervous laughs amongst the girls in the hall and I noticed the forced grin of Bill White begin to slip.
‘Now, my experience of boys, as you will all know, has been … well … very limited, if I’m honest, for obvious reasons.’ She paused, and a few laughs greeted her self-deprecation. ‘However, I’m not completely naïve and I suspect that James choosing “Dunlop Girl” for his date has more to do with him hoping I’ll be so shocked and grateful just to be picked th … th … that I’ll do just about anything to reward him.’
James’s face fell as his ulterior motive, which he’d thought so subtle nobody would ever guess, had suddenly been exposed to the whole of the senior school. Just to avoid any doubts whatsoever, Hayley raised her voice and said, ‘I’m sure th … th … th … the King would expect, at the very least, a post-party blow job behind the gym block.’
The Second Life of Nathan Jones Page 9