by CJ Morrow
‘Have you told him that?’ she says, nodding at Phillip who has turned away, hiding his face from us, his shoulders going up and down as he laughs to himself.
‘Grimmy,’ I mutter.
‘Stand back,’ she says, gripping the remote control and propelling herself to an upright position in just seconds. The new chair is certainly faster than the old one. ‘Young man, if you’re not with her you can escort me.’ Cunning old great-grandmother, she doesn’t need any help getting around, unless it suits her convenience.
Phillip turns and smiles, first at me, then at Grimmy. ‘Love to.’
‘I’m like a queen with my young prince,’ she says to me, with another wink.
‘I I..’ I’m speechless.
Grimmy clutches onto Phillip’s arm and off they go, parading out into the garden.
‘Well, if you don’t want him, she’ll have him,’ a sneaky Cat says from behind me. ‘That’s how she snared all the other husbands.’
‘Stop it.’
‘Who’s a sly one then? Glad to see you brought him.’
‘We’re just friends.’
Cat narrows her eyes. ‘Shall we?’ She links arms with me and we follow Grimmy and Phillip.
‘How’s your management course going?’
‘Finished. I really enjoyed it. Just got to put it into practice now, turbo charge my career.’
‘Good. You’re your own woman, Lauren Nokes.’ She sniggers.
‘Shut up. Did you know Grimmy knows why we call her Grimmy?’ I watch Cat’s face for a response.
‘No, she doesn’t.’
‘She does, when I introduced her to Phillip she said “grim by name and grim by nature.” She seemed to think it was funny. I think.’
‘Ooops.’ Cat giggles.
‘Oh, Lauren,’ Grimmy croaks from the other side of the garden, when she spots us. ‘My old chair is in the garage, you can take that with you when you go, for your house.’
‘Nooo,’ I mumble into my chest.
‘It’ll fit a treat in your lounge. Just lovely.’ Cat nudges me.
‘What’s got into you?’ I unlink arms with my sister, she’s starting to really annoy me now.
‘I’m happy for you. I’m just pleased you’ve moved on.’
‘Phillip and I are just friends. I brought him here as a friend. I’m beginning to wish I’d come alone,’ I snap. And I’m not about to tell Cat that I brought him here so he wouldn’t be alone on the anniversary of his own misery.
‘Ahh, don’t be like that. Will you be able to fit that chair into your car?’
‘I haven’t brought my car.’
‘Never mind, Dad can drop it round tomorrow.’ Cat is so full of mischief now.
‘Shut up.’
‘Okay?’ Phillip asks five minutes later, after he’s deposited Grimmy in her garden chair. ‘Just been chatting to your brother Sam, he was asking about us.’ He rolls his eyes then smiles.
‘I’m sorry. I should have known better. I shouldn’t have brought you. I just thought it would be a distraction, you know.’
‘It’s fun. Your family are great. Grimmy especially.’
‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. She’s just so rude.’
‘No, really, she’s a character. It’s all quite amusing and it is a distraction. I’d almost forgotten the date.’
We exchange grimaces. It’s not actually Grimmy’s birthday for a few more days but we’re having her party a little early to fall on the weekend. And we’re lucky today, the weather is good, it’s both sunny and warm.
‘Let’s get ourselves a drink.’
After I’ve told every member of my family that Phillip and I are just friends, I start to relax and enjoy myself. By the time everyone is assembled in the kitchen to sing happy birthday, I’m feeling quite calm and jolly. As Grimmy attempts, aided by several of her great-great-grandchildren to blow out the candles – Mum has chosen candles in the shape of a nine and a five rather than ninety-five actual candles – I’ve had enough drink to have not a care in the world.
Grimmy shuffles back to her new chair after the exertion of the candle blowing.
‘Lauren, Lauren.’ She waves a crooked finger at me.
‘I’m being summoned,’ I say, giggling to Phillip. ‘Better go.’
I wander over to Grimmy and Phillip wanders along beside me.
‘What were you doing this time last year?’ Grimmy says, her dentures dropping slightly from her gums.
I feel my heart quicken pace; I also feel Phillip freeze beside me.
When I don’t answer, Grimmy reminds me.
‘You were singing that awful song, do you remember? It was very funny though, until you fell off the stage.’ Grimmy starts to cackle.
I want to cry.
‘Grammy,’ says Dad coming up behind us, ‘That was cruel, bringing that up.’
‘Oh, was it? I didn’t mean it to be. I was just pointing out how far Lauren has come in a year, that’s all. Sorry, Lauren. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
I blink back my tears. I think that’s the first time that I’ve ever heard Grimmy apologise.
‘I didn’t mean any harm,’ she reiterates.
‘Not to worry, Grimmy,’ Phillip says, ‘Lauren’s over all that now, aren’t you?’ He turns to me and looks into my eyes. ‘You’re okay, aren’t you?’
‘I think I am. What about you?’
‘Getting there,’ he says. ‘Getting there.’ He links my arm and walks me out to the garden.
‘Trust Grimmy,’ I say. ‘Honestly, she’s just so tactless.’
‘I’m grateful she doesn’t know about me and my woes.’ He half laughs. ‘God knows what she’d make of that.’
‘She might have a bit of sympathy for you. She’s been through a lot of crap in her life too.’
‘Not quite like mine though.’
‘No, but she had her own daughter when she was very young, shotgun wedding and all that, though not actually with a shotgun, obviously. Then her daughter ran away when she was sixteen, came back pregnant at seventeen, father unknown. Then died when she gave birth to my dad. So Grimmy and her husband, who would have been my grandad except he died long before I was born, had to bring Dad up. She’s lost two other husbands since then too. So it’s not all been roses and lemonade for her.’
‘Ah,’ Phillip says, sounding pensive.
‘Yeah, that’s why she’s so grim.’ I grin and so does he, though our black humour is probably being augmented by all the Pimm’s and homemade elderflower wine we’ve consumed.
We start to sway together as soft music plays around the garden. We’re in our own little bubble. He moves in and places a brief and sweet kiss on my lips. I rather like it.
But this isn’t right.
‘Phillip, don’t feel you have to do that because you feel sorry for me.’
He laughs. Too long, too loud.
‘Because I’m not looking for a man.’
‘Good.’ He smirks. ‘And just so there’s no misunderstandings in the future, neither am I.’
The end, or is it just the beginning…?
If you’ve enjoyed Sooo Not Looking For a Man, you might also enjoy Little Mishaps and Big Surprises. Here’s the first chapter, so you can try before you buy. Happy reading!
One
As I drag my wheelie-case along Strand I can’t help smiling. I love this time of year in London: seven in the evening, in the middle of winter. The shops are shut but people are still around, some waiting to catch friends for dinner, others on their way to a West End show. There’s a sense of anticipation in the air, excitement, thrill.
It’s 28th December and I’ve made a lucky escape. Soon I’ll be back in my lovely room in my delightful flat in Covent Garden. Not, you understand, actually in Covent Garden, but in a hidden alley off a side street you’ve probably never noticed.
The air smells cold and I can see my breath. A lonely snowflake drifts across in front of me. Snow. That would be nice, especially since I inte
nd to squirrel myself away for a few days and just chill out. I’ve stocked the fridge with wine and food and I’ve promised myself some me time. I’ve earned it over Christmas and my vile train journey from Swindon has increased my need for peace and harmony.
Oh, I know they have to do maintenance on the tracks, and I know that public holidays are the best time to do this, but my journey has taken twice its normal hour and I’m tired. The train-replacement coach they laid on from Swindon to Reading would have been tolerable had it not been for the large, creepy man who insisted on sitting next to me and squashing me against the window. Only as we got off did I realise there were spare seats aplenty elsewhere. But he never spoke to me, so I suppose that’s a positive, and I made sure that I went into a different carriage when we finally got on the train.
From Paddington to Charing Cross Tube Station took a fast twenty minutes and now I’m nearly home, trundling three days of dirty clothes and the Christmas presents from my family along the street.
If it wasn’t dark I would probably be walking past St-Martin-in-the-Fields church, but further on the backstreets are more deserted and darker and a girl can’t be too careful.
From Strand, I take a sharp right and see the bright lights of Covent Garden. Every year we have a different Christmas display, one year it was barrels stacked in the shape of a Christmas tree, another year a giant reindeer; it’s something different every year and it always makes me smile.
I veer off and scrabble down the side street. It’s definitely getting colder and more snowflakes are falling even though they fade away as they hit the pavement. I wonder if it will settle? In Swindon and in Aston Bassett it was raining when I left. Here the ground is dry so if enough snow falls it might stay. A blanket of snow would look so pretty on my favourite cobbled streets.
Down the alley and I reach my front door; solid and wooden, innocuous with its faded green paint, you’d never notice it if you ever walked past. I love that about London; the hidden places. You could live here all your life and never discover them all. I always marvel at the vastness of London after I’ve been to visit my parents.
Key in the door, up the stairs, clomp, clomp, clomp – my case on the treads. The optician below is shut, my flatmates are away, so I’m disturbing no one. I’ll be alone. Solitude. Just what I need after Christmas with my family.
As I round the top of the stairs the smell of toast hits me, it even makes my mouth water – as though I haven’t had enough to eat after four days of my mum’s cooking.
Is someone here?
The kitchen to my right and the bathroom straight ahead, are in darkness but as I start up the next flight of stairs, my case clomping behind me as a warning – because a squatter, or worse a burglar, might just think there were several of us coming up the stairs – I notice a chink of light coming from the living room.
I have a horrible feeling, a twisted sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I know I’m not alone but I wonder which of my flatmates is here. I could just carry on up to my bedroom, ignore whoever it is. But I don’t. I balance my case on the bottom step of the next flight of stairs and turn back just as the living room door opens slowly, almost tentatively.
‘Hi Charlie.’ It’s Yan’s sleepy face that greets me. ‘You’re back early.’
‘Hi. No. I’m not.’ I hadn’t actually told Yan or CeCe when I would be back; it’s none of their business. ‘When did you get back?’ I fight to control my irritation.
He grins, glances to his left. I follow his eyes and see CeCe flopped on the sofa; her face too is pale from sleep.
‘We never actually went home,’ she says, stretching her arms out in front of her; she reminds me of my mum’s cats.
‘Ah.’ Realisation dawns rapidly. I can’t believe this has happened again. They have become a couple. Right under my nose. Oh shit.
‘Would you like a drink? We’ve got wine on the go.’ Yan opens the door wider so that I can step into their secret, cosy nest.
‘Yeah, why not. It is Christmas.’ I force a smile as CeCe jumps up and gets a wine glass from my old painted sideboard, and Yan pulls a bottle of white out of an ice bucket on the coffee table.
‘Ice bucket. Wow.’ I try to keep my voice light.
‘Yeah. Should still be cold.’ Yan pours wine into the glass that CeCe holds in her tiny little hands before passing it to me.
‘Pinot?’ But I know the answer.
‘Yeah.’ CeCe looks sheepish. ‘We borrowed one. We owe you.’
‘What the hell,’ I say as I knock it back and grab the bottle for a refill. There’s plenty left so they haven’t drunk much. Then I notice the empty bottle of red on the floor, my red – no wonder they were sleepy.
‘Have you eaten?’ CeCe asks. ‘We had toast earlier; I could do you a slice. If you’re hungry.’ She smiles the smile of the guilty, caught red-handed and I wonder if they’ve had my pâté or soft cheese to go with their toast and wine.
‘No, you’re all right.’ I flop down onto the sofa, as does CeCe; there’s only room for two. Yan sits on the arm of the chair in front of us.
‘So, you didn’t go home for Christmas?’ I take another large gulp of the wine, my wine.
They shake their heads in unison.
‘Why not? I thought you were.’ They were both supposed to be away until the thirtieth, or that is what they told me. I wonder how long they have had this planned.
‘Chinese don’t really celebrate Christmas,’ CeCe says, her eyes cast down.
‘My dad was going to my brother’s, so…’ Yan’s voice trails away and he shrugs.
‘So how long has this been going on?’ I smile my encouragement.
‘What?’ They cast furtive looks at each other, exchange shy smiles.
‘You two.’
‘Um, about a month.’ Yan doesn’t even look at me.
‘Yeah, beginning of December. When my iPad stopped working and Yan fixed it.’
‘Oh, I see.’ I don’t, because I didn’t know anything about CeCe’s iPad or Yan’s ability to fix it because I thought he was a builder not an IT specialist. I take another gulp of wine and we sit in awkward silence.
Finally, Yan breaks it.
‘Did you have a good Christmas with your family?’
Was it good? Hard to say, really.
∞∞∞
arrived on Christmas Eve, just before eleven, and it cost me fifteen pounds to get a taxi from Swindon station to Mum and Dad’s place in Aston Bassett. Fifteen pounds. I could have called them, I know that, but it would have meant a thirty-minute wait before they even got to me, and that’s assuming they can find their keys and the traffic obliged. I suppose a sensible person would ring them from Reading and give them the half-hour warning they need to arrive on time. But, I’ve done that in the past and then the train has been delayed and Mum has sat in the car park seething about wasting her time when she could be getting on with the Christmas baking, so I don’t bother anymore. I don’t even tell them what time I’ll arrive.
I burst into their place without knocking and they pretended they were excited to see me and I pretended I was so glad to be home, even though their house has never actually been my home. Then, once my stuff was stowed away in the granny annex where I have to sleep, it was sleeves rolled up so I could help Mum with the Christmas food – we make what seems like hundreds of mince pies and sausage rolls that no one really wants to eat. As with every year, it was non-stop prep until the proper guests arrived late afternoon.
The proper guests are my brother Joe, his wife Marlene and their children Benjy and Kiki. I adore my niece and nephew so it’s always a delight to see them. However, I have to control my irritation because no one ever suggests that Marlene helps with the cooking.
At just turned forty, Joe is eighteen months older than me and I love that he is also much taller than I am. At six-foot-two he makes me my five-foot-nine feel quite petite. We have the same thick, dark hair and dark eyes, as well as the same build which on Joe look
s manly and strong and on me looks ungainly. But, such is life. There is no mistaking us for anything but brother and sister; one idiot I once went out with even asked if we were identical twins. I declined his offer of a second date.
We get our height from Dad, he’s as tall as Joe; Mum, however is barely five-foot-four. When we pose for family photographs, I like to stand between Dad and Joe so that I look normal. I look like a giantess if I stand next to Mum, or Marlene, who is even shorter than Mum. I like Marlene, I really do, but we don’t have a lot in common.
Marlene is German and uses that to excuse her sometimes blunt turn of phrase. The first thing she said to me on Christmas Eve was typical of her.
‘Darling, you’re looking a bit loose. You should do a class with me. I will create one just for you. We start tomorrow.’ Loose is Marlene’s euphemism for fat and flabby. Marlene is a gym instructor; she has toned muscles where I didn’t even know muscles existed. She’s wire-thin and super bendy and at thirty-six and a mother of two has the body of a twenty-year-old. I hate her for that sometimes.
‘Not over Christmas, eh,’ Joe cut in, watching me shuffling and smiling before trying to decline her offer.
Marlene narrowed her eyes at him before she turned to me. ‘I write out some exercises to take home. You do them. Yes.’
‘Thanks Marlene,’ I said, but we both knew full well that I wouldn’t. I don’t think I’ve even brought them back to London with me. Oops.
Benjy and Kiki were then hovering, fresh from the smothering welcome of my parents and it was my turn to hug them to bits.
‘Benjy, Kiki. Happy Christmas. You’ve both grown so much.’ I hadn’t seen them since the summer and they seemed to have leapt up inches.
‘It’s Ben now,’ Benjy said, his tone flat.
‘Oh. Okay. Ben.’
‘He’s so grown up now he’s at secondary school.’ Marlene’s tone screamed annoyance. Ben, flicked his eyes in her direction before disappearing upstairs to claim the top bunk before his sister got any ideas.
‘Are you still Kiki?’ I bent down to hug my niece. Her real name is Catherine, but Benjy – excuse me, Ben – couldn’t say it when she was born, calling her Kiki instead and it stuck.