by Anna Maxted
In your head, I wondered, do you give a damn?
‘There was nothing in the drawer this morning. Okay?’
I know I was being grouchy but his gaze unsettled me. I felt like a germ under a microscope. You do something once, twice, suddenly it’s your trademark. No wonder people rarely change. They try in a tiny way and their friends and relatives go ballistic, as if they’ve broken a law. It’s as if, as long as you remain static, they feel safe. You’re less of a threat. Well, that’s their problem. That morning, I’d opened my wardrobe and the brown said pick me.
The second after I’d snapped I felt lousy. I decided there was no real reason for me to be acting the way I was. It was like waiting for your ears to pop. And waiting. Everyone treats you as normal so you resign yourself to the invisible barrier between you and the rest of the world. You hear your own voice trapped inside your head and it sounds unfamiliar. Other people sound far away. Normally, I’d be jabbing at my ears with cotton buds, pencils, drumsticks. But that day, I was happy to leave them blocked. A blissful disconnection, like the moment before you fall asleep and dream.
I grinned at Claudia and I made myself grin at Nige. ‘Brown in deference to the communal migraine, of course. I thought if I wore pink, one of you might start fitting.’
‘Angel child! I don’t dare look in the mirror in case my head has actually transformed into a watermelon and my eyes are nasty little black pips. Jesus, Claw, you’re right, why don’t these pills work, I’ve taken at least forty, oh, boo, I want my mummy!’
‘Well,’ I replied, wanting to make up for my own mean spirit, ‘could you make do with a doughnut instead?’
‘Holly, I didn’t know you’d met my mother,’ replied Nige, making me laugh before I could think about it. I undid the box and ended up eating three, because despite the fact that they were doused in sugar and haemorrhaging jam, the first two doughnuts didn’t taste. The third wasn’t much better but I thought I should quit before my heart did.
‘The phones are quiet today,’ I said. That apart, the place was the same as yesterday. I caught Nige glancing at Claudia, his mouth full of doughnut.
‘What?’
Claudia giggled.
Nige said, ‘I turng ga phones aghff because agh our heagachgs.’
‘Nige! How could you? What if people want to get through? Why didn’t you put on the answermachine?’
Nige swallowed the boulder of doughnut lodged in his face. ‘I couldn’t stand to listen to their high horrid voices. Don’t look at me like that, Hol. They’ll make it without you for a few hours. They must learn to wipe their own bottoms. This is a dating agency, not a kindergarten. If Sam or anyone needs to speak to you that urgently, they’ll try again after lunch. Talking of which. Anyone?’
Silently, I went around the office (or, to be more accurate, spun on my heel), switching the ringer tones back on. I also switched on my computer. I couldn’t speak to him. But I was thinking, I am the boss, remember, don’t you just assume you can take charge. A woman wouldn’t. Women are more considerate, they have more humility, a stronger sense of duty, that’s why they’re better workers. I glanced at Claudia. She was squinting into a vanity mirror trying to pluck a hair out of her chin. Most women. I coughed. She looked up. I raised an eyebrow.
She said, ‘Got a cough?’
‘Claudia, switch on your computer, I want us to get some work done today.’
‘Of course.’ She switched on her machine and winced. ‘Blinded by the light. I need a screen break, it’s making me nauseous.’
‘I think you’ll find those two doughnuts you just inhaled are what’s making you nauseous, love.’
‘Nige, you’re not funny. I’m getting my eyesight back. Jesus, Hol, now I can see, you look as rough as he does – hey, and you haven’t told us what happened with—’
Some people will do anything to avoid work.
Brrg brrg!
Nige picked up the receiver with a twirl. ‘Hello, lovely caller, Girl Meets Boy!’ After a brief pause, he transferred the call to me, adding loudly, ‘It’s the Great Unwashed.’
I glared at him, picked it up. ‘Rachel?’
‘Babes, how are you? You must tell Nigel to stop flirting with me. I’m out of his league. I trust you misbehaved with Stuart last night?’
I gripped the phone. ‘One sec, Rach. Are you two going for lunch then?’
Nige and Claudia stared at each other in glee. ‘Yes,’ said Claw quickly, wiping the sugar off her mouth. ‘We’ll be at Martha’s.’
‘Not anywhere else?’
Claudia looked at me. ‘Actually, we thought we’d go to Paris. There’s nowhere to eat round here.’
‘What I mean is, stay where I can find you.’
I waved them off. They’re such babies, I only stop short of handing them a pound each and saying, ‘Buy yourself some sweets’. Then I locked the door.
‘Sorry, Rach. So what did you get up to after I left? Did everyone look happy? Did Sam seem okay, the woman in the dungarees? Were people talking to her?’
Rachel laughed a hollow laugh. ‘Bor-ing! Answer the question, babes. Did you score?’
I’ll say one thing about Rachel. She doesn’t hint. But then, why shouldn’t she ask me straight out? I am, after all, in the business of pairing penises and vaginas. (Girl Meets Boy does have platonic facilities but they tend to be underused.) And why should I be coy? All the weirdness I felt was pure guilt. I’d been in a relationship for five years, of course I was going to feel odd the first time I slept with another man. This unease was down to misplaced loyalty, me dreading that in some way I’d cheated on Nick.
‘Yes, I did. Did you?’
‘She shoots, she scores! Oh no, babes, we’re not talking about me. I want a blow-by-blow account. What school did he go to? Was his pecker of a satisfactory girth? Don’t bore me with length, length is a red herring, I’ve no time for it.’
When Rachel said that, I fumbled for an answer but I couldn’t find one. I giggled, trying to feel the giggle, and yes, I nearly felt it. This was more like it. This is what happens when you get laid. Your nosiest friends smash through the boundaries that maturity is meant to bring and ask you cheeky questions they know are none of their business. I’d been with Nick for so long I’d forgotten the routine.
‘I’ve no idea what school he went to, Rach. Hackney Comp, for all I know. You’re the only person I know who’d ever ask that.’
‘It’s important, babes, it’s his pedigree.’
A query that would have been more relevent had I slept with an Afghan Hound and I was about to say so, but Rachel interrupted. ‘Ask him next time. Now, about his pecker.’
I was a blank.
‘I feel quite, quite . . . hurty today, so, so that must mean something.’
Rachel cackled. I tried to dig up more information for her. But I couldn’t. I had a picture in my head of watching a big man on top of a woman on a kitchen floor. Was that me or did I see it on television? If it’s you, you’re hardly likely to remember yourself from across the room! It must have been on Casualty or ER. My brain refused to give me access. Hell knows what I drank last night. I said, ‘We did it in the kitchen.’
‘That is terribly sexy! I’ve worked out that it takes the average couple six months to relegate sex to the bedroom, so I bin ’em after five. Well, babes, I’m pleased. I detained Nick for as long as I could. You know, he was desperate to follow you home and kill the moment.’
I remembered. ‘Nick did come in the front door at one point but I think he heard us and went straight out again. I felt terrible about that. I still do.’
‘You mustn’t, it’s not fair of him to make you feel that way. Don’t let him spoil this for you. You should be high on the lust hormone, what is it, you remember, the same as whatever’s contained in chocolate.’
‘Cocoa?’
‘Don’t be facile. Seriously, babes. Don’t let him stand in your way. Has he called?’
‘Nick?’
&nb
sp; ‘Stuart. Stuart!’
I swallowed. ‘Not yet. Rach. Do you think that sex with the same person gets better? If it’s not that brilliant the first time.’
‘Now we’re getting somewhere. Why, wasn’t it?’
‘I don’t think so. He was a bit . . . clumsy.’
‘Nerves. He was shy! That is so sweet. An inconvenience, a huge bore and a waste of your precious time, but so sweet.’
I nodded. I liked that idea. It made sense. I put down the phone, relieved.
The first time Nick and I had sex it wasn’t great. I think we both knew that we’d found each other, that this could be the start of It. So the other It had to be perfect. As Nick says, a one-night stand is little more than an elaborate wank. If you impress the other person, it’s probably because you want to satisfy your ego. It’s because you don’t care that you can put on a decent show. Because we did care – so we consoled ourselves – our first fuck was appalling.
We kept bumping teeth. Nick’s zip got stuck and I ripped a nail trying to prise it open. And I don’t mean boohoo, I broke a nail, I’m not a nailsy kind of girl, I mean ripped as in torn away from my bleeding skin. I was just about weeping with pain and frustration. We finally got there, but tempers were frayed and it was hard to concentrate. I can only explain it by asking you to imagine having sex with Maximus, from Gladiator. (Not Russell Crowe, please, what do you take me for?) You’d be so delirious and disbelieving that you and Maximus were actually getting it on, your hour of triumph would be a shambles.
That was me and Nick, the first time. It was supposed to be an erotic ballet, it felt more like bumper cars. Then I realised I needed the toilet. I tried to ignore it, but it was like he was poking my bladder with a stick. Eventually I had to decide between a toilet break or weeing on him. Which I’m not into. When I sped back from the bathroom, I found Nick’s penis asleep. The wretched thing was as limp as if it were lounging by the pool on a sunshine holiday. All attempts at resuscitation were useless. Its owner lay face to the pillow and wouldn’t speak or look at me. Call me Sherlock, I detected resentment.
Frankly, I felt the same way. I’m quite demanding. My belief is if you say what you want, you have more chance of getting it. I’m not a mind reader, I don’t expect men to be. If the word clitoris doesn’t roll off your tongue, chances are it won’t be rolling off his either. I’m not saying I bark orders like a sergeant, rather that I know to show a man what I want instead of forcing him to guess. But with Nick, our connection was such, I’d hoped for telepathy. And got a crossed line. I felt angry, then I looked at his back, smooth and tanned, and I thought how fragile he was. It’s hard for men, being unbreakable.
I wriggled closer, and I said, ‘Do you remember that chant, at school?’
‘No.’
‘“First the worst, second the best.”’
‘No.’ Muffled into the pillow. Then, ‘Maybe. Yeah.’ He rolled over so he was half on his side. ‘Third the one with the hairy chest.’
I pouted. ‘Ye-es, but maybe we should worry about that when we get to it.’
Nick smiled and grabbed me and we spent a long time proving that second was, indeed, best.
Maybe, I thought, it would be like that with Stuart.
I spent two hours responding to joyful emails about the party before Claw and Nige rolled back from lunch, thumping on the locked door and frightening the life out of me. I said I hadn’t wanted to be disturbed, then got back to the post. I love this about our members. They’re paying us to provide a service and yet they’re appreciative of the tiniest frills. Well. Most of them are. I was on the last email when Elisabeth Stanton-Browne rang to complain about last week’s date night. Elisabeth S-B is high maintenance. And that’s an understatement. To describe Elisabeth as ‘high maintenance’, is to refer to the Alps as ‘hilly’.
I didn’t mind. I saw her as a challenge. I just hoped there was a man in the world who was good enough. This time, she was sour that I’d put her with Martyn for her last date of the evening. I didn’t tell her – there was no excusing such stupidity – but I thought I was being clever, putting her with Martyn for her last date. I hoped they’d hit it off and go for a drink. This is how it works. We dissect everyone’s applications, speak to them on the phone to find out more about them, and then, simply, we match. We meet at a bar every Tuesday and/or Wednesday night – each member attends one night a month – and every person is assigned four dates, each of which lasts twenty-five minutes.
Originally, we had them lasting fifteen minutes, but it didn’t work. The pressure to impress was impossible, like having to justify your existence to an egg timer. Even the sweetest members came across as unbearable, ‘I earn six figures I scaled Everest with one foot taped to a coffee table my other watch is a Rolex I live in a townhouse in Chelsea and holiday in Cannes’.
Twenty-five minutes is perfect. Enough time to relax, not enough time to go mad if you loathe someone. After every date, members tick their card, indicating whether they’re interested in seeing that respective date again as a friend or as a partner. At the end of the night, Claw, Nige and I conduct debriefing sessions. Although some members sneak off for debriefing sessions of their own.
To me, debriefing was the most rewarding part of the job – it was when I discovered how wrong or right I’d been in my assessments. If a member was blushing and fluttery about a date, my heart cartwheeled, it was a glorious vicarious thrill, second only to when people fell in love. We hadn’t had a wedding yet, but we had a bunch of lasting relationships, and a slew of friendships. That made me proud. Making people’s lives. As yet, I hadn’t made Elisabeth’s life.
‘That advertising guy, with the shaved head and trendy glasses, Michael—’
‘Martyn?’
‘Martyn, whatever. He was so strait-laced he could have been a priest. I have to say, Holly, I’m offended that you put me with him. I do have a sense of fun, you know. I do have a zany side. He had no side apart from a boring side. We had zero in common, it was painful. Occasionally a word was said that we both related to, and we clung to it. Travelling. Clubs. Air hostesses. We clung to those words for dear life!’
I was intrigued to hear about her interest in air hostesses, but held back from enquiry. I said, ‘I’m sorry you feel like that, Elisabeth. I did notice there were no ticks on your card and I did want to discuss that with you, but as I remember you had to rush off—’
‘I hope you’re not suggesting it’s my fault. Did anyone put a tick for me? Not that I care.’
‘Yes, actually, you had one friendship tick, and one relationship tick’ – a lie, but you never tell a member that no one’s ticked them, it’s too hurtful – ‘but as you know, because you didn’t put any corresponding ticks, I can’t reveal who.’
‘Well, I’m not satisfied. I’m paying you and I expect results. What are you going to do about it?’
I could feel Elisabeth’s hostility heating my brain. I wanted to soothe her but Nige was having a showcase conversation with, presumably, another member.
‘So,’ he boomed, his voice filling the small room. ‘You wouldn’t kick him out of bed? Well, only to finish him off on the floor, heheheh!’
I frowned. Nige was annoying me. You couldn’t breathe without him being there, it was invasive, like someone stamping around inside your head.
‘Hello? Hello? bashbashbash!’ – I realised with a start that Elisabeth was banging the phone receiver on a hard surface – ‘Is anyone there? Do I get an answer?’
I rubbed my ear.
‘When you ask nicely,’ I said and cut her off. ‘Yes, what, Claudia?’
Claudia had paused from neatening her eyebrows. Her mouth was agape. ‘Who was that?’
‘Elisabeth with an “S” Stanton-Browne with an “E”.’
‘But you were, you were . . .’
‘I was rude to her because she was rude to me. When she’s recovered her manners, then we’ll talk.’ Fact was, I didn’t have the strength to deal with Elisa
beth just then. I felt exhausted. I didn’t know how to help her. I’d probably ring her later and apologise.
‘Flairs for ya.’
All heads swivelled greedily towards the door. A guy in a cap and blue overalls was standing there, bored, holding a spectacular bouquet. This thing was out of control, red furry exotic blooms the size of soup bowls, lush green jungle leaves, trailing vines spilled from the cellophane, sleek slender yellow lilies stiff and haughty, scarlet petals curled to elegant tubes, this was more than flowers, it was a gift from nature and she was showing off.
I’m not sure that Nige didn’t cut off his caller. ‘Pleasebemineohpleasebemine.’
Claudia placed her tweezers on the desk.
I stayed where I was. There’s something wonderful about being sent a bouquet. The implications are marvellous. This is what you deserve. This is how I think of you. I hoped they were for me.
Nige lunged at the delivery man, whipped the flowers. He peered at the name on the envelope and snorted. ‘Bloody hell, I organised the venue.’
Claudia swallowed. 2-1.
Nige grinned. ‘Someone likes you, Holly.’
Claudia sighed and picked up her tweezers.
I took the bouquet from Nige, placed it gently on a chair and opened the card.
Sexxxy Holly,
Thanks for a truly special evening,
big kiss,
Stuart
He’d drawn a smily face in the ‘o’ of Holly.
‘Who? who? who?’ cried Nige. Claudia flared her nostrils.
I shook my head. ‘It doesn’t say.’ I smiled. ‘I’m going to the shops to get a vase and a jumper.’
Chapter 7
I ALWAYS THINK that bad things happen to other people. Which reflects well on my capacity for hope and not so well on my sense of compassion. Once, Nick and I booked a romantic weekend (or rather, we booked the weekend, we hoped to supply the romance ourselves) on the Isle of Mull. I set the alarm wrong, giving us fifteen minutes to make the hour journey from our house to Heathrow. Even as I watched 11.39 flick to 11.40 in fluorescent green on the driver’s dashboard I couldn’t believe that we would miss our plane, take-off time: 11.40. That such a thing would happen to me was, literally, unthinkable.