by Matt Dunn
She took a few seconds to compose herself, then walked back into her office. As Sophie looked up expectantly from her desk, Julie smiled reassuringly.
'You don't have to worry.'
'I don't?'
'Nathan's not gay.'
'Great. Thanks.' Sophie breathed a sigh of relief, then her face fell.
'What's the matter?'
'So why hasn't he responded to my card?'
'Does he know it was you who sent it?'
'Well, possibly not, no.'
Julie folded her arms. 'And what would happen if we sent a brochure out to someone without any contact details? Do you think we'd get a reply?'
'I suppose not.'
'And someone like Nathan, well, he's bound to have been sent a few cards today, right?'
Sophie tried not to entertain the possibility. And failed. 'Maybe,' she said, glumly.
'First rule of marketing, Sophie.'
Sophie stared at her boss, hoping her last statement wasn't a question. 'Is?'
Fortunately, it wasn't. 'Get yourself noticed.'
And as Julie sat down at her desk and tried to stop thinking about Mark Webster, Sophie stared out of the window and wondered exactly how she was going to do that.
Chapter 5
Instead of spending the usual fifteen minutes out of her lunch hour working out the lowest-calorie combination of sandwich, drink, and snack from Boots' meal deal selection that still included some form of chocolate, Sophie was on a Central Line train heading west, cursing the fact she'd put on her oldest M&S underwear today. If everything went to plan this evening - and she had to believe it would - the last thing she wanted was for Nathan to see her wearing 'smalls' that didn't quite match the description. Besides, Julie had told her she needed to 'get herself noticed', and what better way for Nathan to notice her than a flash of something exotic and lacy every time she bent over to pick up her bowling ball?
She'd popped into the Top Shop at Oxford Circus in the hope of finding something appropriate (and appropriately-priced), but the only sexy bras there appeared to have been designed for Kate Moss's flatter-chested sister, and Sophie had soon realised she needed more of a big top shop, though when a woman she'd met in the changing rooms had suggested some range in Selfridges called 'Hanky Panky', Sophie had felt her credit card do a back flip in shock.
Jumping off the tube at Bond Street, she made her way out of the station, dodging around the lunchtime shoppers as she crossed Oxford Street, feeling the usual buzz of anticipation as she entered the store. Sophie loved Selfridges. Everything about the place summed up the reason she'd come to London - it was stylish, cool, chic, and expensive, much like she aspired to be. Most Saturdays she'd come back into town and window shop here, or try on dresses she could never afford, or treat herself to a free makeover from the vividly-lipsticked girls that worked for Mac, or Bobbi Brown, or the other labels that - before she'd moved here - she'd only ever read about in magazines.
She rode the escalator up to the first floor, taking in the deep brown and cream décor, marvelling at the view of the seemingly endless number of designer brand concessions that occupied the whole of the street level. So many things to buy, so little time, she thought, before remembering her problem was more to do with having so little money.
Sophie stepped off the escalator and made her way over to the lingerie department, which was full of awkward-looking men buying last-minute Valentine's presents, and allowed herself to daydream that maybe next year Nathan would be one of them as she surveyed the various brand names. Of the ones she recognised - and could pronounce - 'Triumph' would be strangely appropriate if she did get intimate with Nathan this evening, although Sophie couldn't help feeling that 'Dirty Pretty Things' might be more appropriate (after all, that was what they'd be tomorrow, if she got her way tonight). She bypassed the 'Spanx' rail without giving it a second glance, then picked up a barely-there pair of knickers from the 'Ell & Cee' range and nervously looked at the label. Forty-two pounds! The Zara suit she was wearing hadn't cost that much, and these... There was hardly anything to them.
In need of some assistance, she looked around the department, but all the staff seemed to be busy, so she carried the knickers over to the mirror and held them up to her hips, thinking she might as well wear nothing. As she studied her reflection, she caught sight of a black-clad male assistant walking past, so Sophie beckoned him over. He looked at her in surprise, then pointed at his chest, and Sophie nodded.
'Can I have some help?'
The man glanced around, hesitated for a moment, then walked over to where she was standing. 'Sure,' he said. 'What do you need?'
'Can I just check the price of these, please?'
The man looked at the label. 'Forty two pounds.'
'Even though they're pants?'
'I wouldn't say that.'
'Pardon?'
'I think they're quite nice.'
'No, I meant, well, not that they were pants pants. Just that there's not exactly a lot of material there. Given that they're, you know, pants.' She held them up again, shocked to see how transparent they were. 'Is there?'
The assistant smiled. 'Well, they say less is more.'
'Right.' Sophie smiled politely at his joke. 'And are they...' She stopped short of asking whether they were sexy. She didn't want a man she'd just met imagining her wearing them, even though she was hoping another man she hardly knew would be actually seeing her in them later, maybe even peeling them off with his teeth. 'What do you think of them? As a man, I mean.'
'They're very sexy,' he said, as if reading her mind. 'Why?'
'I'm just not sure they're me.'
The man peered at the knickers, then looked her up and down. 'Are you after something specific?'
'Hanky Panky,' said Sophie, then she giggled nervously at how that sounded. 'I mean, I'm looking for something from your Hanky Panky range.' She carefully placed the hanger and its expensive cargo back on the rail. 'For...'
'Tonight?' suggested the man.
Sophie nodded.
'And what stage is the relationship at?'
Sophie opened her mouth, then shut it again. 'Well, it isn't really. We're going out tonight, and...'
'On a first date?' The man raised one eyebrow, and Sophie blushed.
'Well, strictly speaking, we're not really going out. There's a few of us. I just thought... I mean, I'm not planning to do anything. You know, it's just in case...'
'In case you have a car accident, you want to make sure you've got nice underwear on?' The man smiled again. 'Mother's advice?'
Sophie laughed. 'Yes! Well, not really, of course.'
'Say no more.' The man looked her up and down. 'I'd say you're about a, what, 32E?'
Sophie nodded, impressed he knew his stuff. 'You've got a good eye.'
'Thanks. So...' The man looked through the nearest rail, and selected a black lace combination. 'What about this?'
'I'm not sure. Isn't black a bit...'
'Tarty?'
Sophie nodded. 'Something like that,' she said, though she realised that planning to flash her underwear at Nathan tonight might be considered tarty too.
The man shrugged. 'Only one way to find out,' he said, nodding towards the changing room.
'Haven't you got something a little bit less... I mean, a bit more me?' she asked. 'And perhaps a bit cheaper? Not that I'm, you know, cheap.'
'Hold on.' The man glanced around the shop floor, then led her over to a different rail. 'What about something like this?' he said, handing her a red bustier
Sophie took the hanger and held the garment up against her, then studied her reflection in the mirror. 'But red's a bit...'
'Sexy?' The assistant nodded encouragingly. 'Isn't that the effect you're trying to achieve?'
'Well, yes, but perhaps not quite so...'
'Blatant?'
'Exactly.'
'Blatant isn't necessarily a bad thing. Remember, we men aren't all that sophisticated.'
'Even so. I'd like something to compare it to.'
'Okay,' said the man. 'Follow me.'
Between them, they scoured the rails until Sophie had a cross-section of all Selfridges had to offer. As she made her way to the changing room, the assistant followed her, and for a second, Sophie thought he was going to follow her inside.
'Thanks for all your help,' she said, pausing at the curtain.
The man shrugged. 'No problem. Let me know if you want a man's opinion once you've got them on.'
Sophie felt herself start to blush. 'I think I'll be fine.'
Drawing the curtain shut behind her, she checked both sides for gaps, and stepped out of her business suit. Despite the harsh light of the changing room, she wasn't too disappointed with her figure. She could only hope Nathan would feel the same way later.
She took the black bra-and-knickers set off their hanger and, trying to ignore the price, slipped them on over her existing underwear. As she'd feared, she looked like one of the Spank-o-rama girls - though they didn't have a pair of big pants on underneath, of course. She peeled them off and tried on the rest of the outfits in turn, only to get more frustrated with each one. Only the red bustier seemed to do the trick - the effect it had on her cleavage meant it lived up to its name - plus, Sophie realised, it just about covered her belly, which she knew wasn't quite the flat stomach the models she admired in the magazines she devoured every month all seemed to have. She looked at the label - a hundred and thirty pounds - and when she removed her credit card statement from her handbag to check her balance, Sophie was relieved to see she could just about afford it.
Sophie stared at her reflection again, and decided she had to buy the bustier. It did make her look, for want of a better word, sexy - the assistant had been right. And besides, you couldn't put a price on that, Sophie thought, until she realised that actually, you could, and that price was a hundred and thirty...
'How are you getting on?'
The voice from just outside the cubicle surprised her. 'Okay, I think,' she said, anxiously staring at the curtain, fearing the assistant was going to barge in any minute.
'Remember, if you want a second opinion...'
'I'm fine,' said Sophie quickly, then she stuck her head cautiously through the curtain. 'Although I was wondering whether you had anything like this, but...' She swallowed hard. 'Less expensive.'
'Like what?'
Sophie thought for a second. Surely all the male assistants in this section had to be gay, otherwise it'd just be too awkward. 'Like this,' she said, deciding to trust her instincts, before sweeping the curtain back to show the assistant what she was wearing.
'Wow!'
Sophie blushed for about the tenth time. 'Thanks. So do you?'
'Do I what?'
'Have anything like this, but cheaper?'
The assistant shrugged. 'You'd have to ask someone who actually works in this section.'
Sophie's mouth fell open. 'But...'
'I'm from the Hi-Fi department downstairs. I was just on my way to lunch.'
'Hey!' Sophie grabbed the curtain and pulled it tightly around her, then glared at him. 'Are you some kind of pervert?'
'You asked for my help, remember?'
'You could have said you didn't work here!'
'I do work here.' The man grinned sheepishly. 'Just not, you know, here.'
'Even so.' She peered crossly around the department, unable to spot another member of staff. 'Can you go and find me someone else?'
The man shrugged. 'Sure - if you want someone who'll try to sell you the most expensive thing in the shop. Or you can stick with me - someone who can give you a man's opinion, and tell you what looks nice on you instead.'
'Well...'
'What's it to be?'
Sophie rolled her eyes. 'The last thing, I guess.'
'Okay.' He smiled. 'Well, that last thing looks nice on you. It fits in all the right places. And whoever he is, he's a lucky man.' He glanced at his watch. 'So if you don't need me for anything else...'
'No.' Sophie glared at him again, but this time, with half a smile on her face. 'Thanks.'
'My pleasure.'
I'll bet, thought Sophie.
As the man left, she disappeared back behind the curtain and inspected her reflection one last time. Even though the episode had been a bit creepy, the assistant had been right. The bustier did fit in all the right places. And while she'd perhaps never seen herself as the kind of girl who'd wear something like this, she'd also never seen herself as the kind of girl who'd be with someone like Nathan - and things had to change. Carefully undoing the various fasteners that kept the bustier (and her) in place, she put it back on its hanger, then got dressed again, trying her best not to worry about the cost. Sure, it was expensive, but if it did the trick, Sophie suspected it might be the best money she'd ever spent.
She emerged from the changing room and made her way over to the cash desk, then stood in line behind a shifty-looking older man who was buying two different-sized but identical sets of underwear with the air of someone involved in a back-street drugs deal. When her turn came, she handed the bustier to the girl behind the till.
'Nice choice.'
'Thanks.'
'Just one thing,' said the girl, as she wrapped the lingerie in tissue paper, and placed it carefully in a yellow Selfridges bag. 'There's a 'no returns' policy on all underwear once you've worn it. Just so you're aware,' she added, sweetly.
'No problem,' Sophie said. Hopefully, if she did get to the stage where Nathan saw her dressed in the bustier, then there'd be no going back for her either.
'That'll be a hundred and thirty pounds,' said the girl, and Sophie swallowed hard.
'Here,' she said, handing over her credit card, then punching her PIN into the terminal, and as she prayed under her breath it wouldn't get declined, Sophie almost laughed. She'd be hoping exactly that about herself later.
As Sophie was exercising her credit card in Selfridges, Calum was walking towards the other end of Oxford Street, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. He knew going for a quick lunchtime workout probably wouldn't make the difference between Emma falling for him or not later, but it certainly couldn't do any harm. Whereas the Big Mac Meal he'd spent the last hour dreaming of almost certainly would.
Swiping his way in through the gym turnstile, he found a dry spot in the changing rooms, and changed self-consciously into his workout gear. Today's session shouldn't be too strenuous, he decided, carefully hanging his suit in his locker and setting the combination on his padlock. After all, he didn't want to tire himself out for this evening. Just in case.
He'd told Emma he worked out during live chat one evening, and had regretted the words as soon as he'd typed them, fearing she might expect him to be some muscle-man, and given the size of the weights he struggled to lift, Calum wasn't even as strong as that skinny Mr. Muscle man from the TV adverts. He'd even mentioned which gym he went to, and when Emma said she knew it, Calum hadn't gone for a week, just in case she was a member there and might see just how pathetically unfit he actually was, until the scary run he'd taken through the council estate had encouraged him to go back in.
He strolled through to the gym, nodded an embarrassed hello to the impossibly-fit-looking girl on the desk, then chose an exercise bike in front of the TV. Calum loved watching TV, and found it ironic how he managed to combine one of his least-favourite activities with his most favourite, or rather, second-favourite – give him one of his mum's fry-ups and a can of lager and he'd be in heaven. But this was all about finding himself a different kind of heaven, he reminded himself, as he adjusted the saddle and the foot straps and climbed awkwardly on. With a final check that he was as comfortable as he could possibly get on a machine seemingly designed for torture, he set the bike's timer for twenty minutes, cranked the resistance down to six, and began pedalling.
Calum hated the gym. But he hated being single more, and that was why almost every day for the past six weeks he'd done
some sort of exercise. Even if it was only going for a short run across Clapham Common and back when he got home, he'd locate the 'Rocky' theme tune on his iPod Shuffle (the name of which pretty much described his running style), set it on 'repeat', grit his teeth, and head off until he'd worked up a sweat. And while sometimes that happened before he'd even reached the end of his road, it was the only thing he did where he worked up a sweat. Which was motivation enough for him to do it.
He'd tried to avoid actual exercise at first, and instead had bought some of those 'Masai Barefoot Technology' trainers he'd read about on the bus one morning in a discarded copy of Metro. The moment he'd got in to work, he'd googled 'Masai Warrior', seen pictures of tall, skinny men, assumed the shoes would be the answer to his prayers, and had all but run to the shop that lunchtime. At a hundred and twenty-nine pounds a pair they'd seemed expensive, but the gym had been forty pounds a month, so Calum reasoned he could give them a go for three months first - if they didn't work, he'd simply join the gym then, and he'd have a pair of shoes into the bargain.
After a couple of weeks of walking about in them, and with no discernible difference in his weight, Calum had begun to believe he'd made a mistake. While the shoes had indeed made him taller, this had primarily been due to their extra-thick semi-circular soles, which actually made them look like something prescribed for people with one leg shorter than the other - except on both feet. In addition, the rocking motion they'd made him walk with had made him feel a little seasick, not to mention ridiculous as he'd lurched along the street like a drunk. After a further frustrating week, he'd given up on them.