With their tandem drinks in place, the girls took up residency in a small leather booth. Molly cleared her throat.
‘Oh God,’ Rach said, sipping her way through a forest of mint leaves. ‘You’ve got that look in your eye again.’
Molly laughed as Josie asked, ‘What?’
Rach nudged their new amigo and staged-whispered, ‘She gets this unnatural gleam in her eye when she’s on to something. Usually something profit-related. Her peepers shine like Cheryl Cole’s extensions after she’s been at the L’Oreal. What is it, Cooper? Found a way to charge a tax on Ugg boots?’
‘Better than that. So much better,’ her grin spread from ear to ear, ‘and we’re all going to be a part of it.’
‘All as in the world all? Like Coke wanting to teach the world to sing?’ Josie pitched her head to one side and gave a slightly worried frown.
‘No, much smaller and less evil. “All” as in us three.’ She reached into her bag under the table and pulled out three slim A4 plastic folders in red, green and purple. She handed the green one to a still-bemused Josie and the purple to Rach. ‘These folders lay out what I think is an important public service we need to provide the world at large. And if we happen to back a very nice margin while we’re at it then I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.’ She winked as a laugh bubbled up in her throat. Molly was like a kid on Christmas Day, except she already knew what was under the tree and it was a pony.
Just under the wooden table, Rach was fiddling with her phone.
‘Hey, don’t interrupt my monologue – I’m just getting to the good bit about world domination. James Bond would never check his iPhone at this point.’
Rach flushed and tapped the screen. ‘Just … er … putting it on silent.’
‘Um, you’re so not,’ Josie said kindly. ‘What’s the deal?’
‘All right, you got me.’ Rach put her phone down and held up her manicured hands in surrender. ‘This bloke I met jogging in the park said he was going to call but … well, whatever, he hasn’t. I’m not bothered.’ Rachel looked sideways at the little blank screen again.
‘You were jogging?’ Josie asked, with an encouraging tone.
‘No, he was. But he tripped over my handbag while I was buying a hot chocolate from the coffee stand. I said sorry and bought him a skinny Americano.’
‘Isn’t that how An Affair to Remember starts?’ Molly asked in mock-seriousness.
Josie laughed as Rachel stuck out her tongue in reply.
‘You are feeling perky, Mols. Sorry I stopped your evil genius flow. Ignore me, and let’s get back to it.’
‘In a weird way,’ – Molly took a long suck from her straw and geared herself up to make the pitch of her life – ‘it has to do with your jogging man.’
‘Pete? What? Is he Richard Branson in disguise or something? If so, he covered up the beard well. And made a convincing Irishman.’
‘No, no, no. Forget him for a moment. This isn’t just about him; it’s about all men. It’s about men not calling women; it’s about men always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time; it’s about men eating pies and watching sport while we obsess over rice crackers and pilates. In short, it’s about putting things right.’
‘What is? I’m lost.’ Josie stuck out her bottom lip a little.
‘You know we were joking around about the boyfriend bootcamp?’
‘Yup.’ Rachel chomped on a mint leaf.
‘Well, I’m not joking any more. I’m going to make it happen. It’s my new enterprise!’ Molly held her glass up for celebratory chinks but didn’t find anyone else there to meet her.
‘How does that … what will you … huh?’ Josie asked, her bottom lip now definitely protruding in puzzlement.
‘OK, here’s the skinny: I’ve found two men who desperately need relationship advice and I wasn’t even trying to find them. If that’s not demand outstripping supply, I don’t know what is. How many hopeless men do you both know? Men that, even with the best intentions, end up single, time and again?’ Molly looked to both of her friends.
Josie gazed up at the ceiling, her eyes ticking from side to side as if following an unstoppable metronome. Rachel was counting off on her fingers, reaching ten and then going back to her first little finger again and counting off all over again.
‘OK,’ Molly broke in after two minutes’ silence, ‘how about you add up all the men you can think of that don’t desperately need a diploma in emotional intelligence? How many completely wonderful and satisfying men do you know?’
Rach’s eyes lit up. ‘You bloody genius! This is going to be huge.’
‘Yup! At least, I hope so. I’m going to set up a website – probably something like www.badboyfriendsbootcamp.com. I’ll offer advice on dating in very practical ways: decoding communication – the joy of text – how to impress parents and best friends, ideas for gifts, and tips for actually remembering birthdays and anniversaries in the first place. And that’s just the start. All for a small, reasonable fee per month. I’m going to run seminars in the flat for developing interpersonal skills, send out text and email alerts with daily hints. Those things will cost extra. It’s going to be an all-round service. I’m going to whip these boys into shape and turn Daniel Cleavers into Mark Darcys all over this fair city.’
‘Amen!’ Josie hooted. ‘That’s an awesome idea. You were born to do it, Colonel.’
‘Aha – but I need my privates! So to speak. You see, it’s not just about the inside with these boyfriend wannabes. They need some serious work on their outsides, too. So if you look inside your information packs,’ – Molly pointed at the folders on the table – ‘you’ll see the Vice-Chairman roles I’d love you to play in this exciting venture. Rachel, you’ll be our fashion expert in charge of wardrobe overhauls and new purchase advice. Perhaps a bit of skincare direction if you think it’s relevant. Josie, I’d love for you to make room in your sweaty schedule for a weekly all-male session. You’ll be putting them through their paces so that their new, attractive bodies will match their new, attractive minds. We all know a toned man is an appealing man. The earlier the sessions the better, so they can all make it before work and don’t have to miss dates after work. We’re going to do to men what Changing Rooms did to interiors. But with nicer fabrics and fewer frilly shirts.’
‘No frilly shirts at all!’ Rachel corrected.
‘Thank you, Private Fabulous, that’s exactly why you’re here. You know, if we pull together we could offer a truly unique and life-changing service. That might just lead to many many happy couples out there and many many happy bank balances around here.’
Josie chewed the inside of her lip for a moment then asked, ‘But will men really pay? For advice, I mean?’
Molly didn’t break her stride. ‘Absolutely. They want satisfying relationships just as much as us, they just don’t know how to go about it. Just look at Sam – the minute he had all his cogs in alignment, the machinery really kicked into gear and he found The One. Everyone wants The One. And I won’t be the first person to try and find a chunky profit margin in that.’ Molly straightened her shoulders and flipped her hair behind her neck with a happy sigh.
Rachel’s eyebrows rose a centimetre as an idea hit her suddenly. ‘Hey, just think: it won’t just be guys signing up for bootcamp. For every rubbish boyfriend there’s a disgruntled ex, even a current girlfriend who’s still on the ropes. It could be the hip new gift voucher of choice! Plus, don’t forget the fed-up mums and sisters. They’ll want these young bachelors turned from Men Behaving Badly to Men Washing-up Properly too.’
‘You, Vice-Chairman, have a lot of brain along with that beauty. All that and you’re a natural blonde. If I didn’t love you so much, I would hate you.’ Molly smiled across the table. ‘So, you’re in? Both of you?’
Josie and Rachel exchanged looks. And held up their glasses in a toast.
‘Too bloody right!’ Rach toasted. ‘Here’s to The Boyfriend Bootcamp!’
‘Yesss!�
�� Some of Josie’s Long Island Ice Tea sloshed into Molly’s June Bug but no one really cared. There was a buzz in that small dark booth that they could all feel prickling the hairs on their arms. This was going to be big.
A loud squeal of feedback sliced through the room. Josie winced. ‘I think that means the karaoke is starting.’
‘Oh boy.’ Rach knocked back her last minty mouthful with a panicked gulp.
‘Girls,’ Josie began, ‘you know I don’t like to sit and watch. If nothing else, I am a participator. A participator who must always win. When I broke my leg in Junior High, I insisted on being the first less-than-able-bodied football mascot in West Field High’s history. I wore that badger head with pride. So we are singing.’
‘You’ll get no insubordination from me; I have no problem upsetting others with my lack of vocal skills. Bring on the Abba!’ Molly laughed.
‘Right, then. A song to celebrate our new venture.’ Josie picked up the laminated song list, now decorated with a sticky cocktail straw and some mint leaves Rach found too tough to chew. ‘Hey! How about “Sisters are Doing it For Themselves”? That would suit us down to the ground right now.’
‘I am always traumatised by karaoke – my singing as much as anyone else’s. Please don’t make me attempt Aretha. I would need an IV drip of sambuca before that can happen.’ Rach peered over Josie’s shoulder at the list. ‘But I could handle “Womanizer” by naughty old Britters – all the words sort of blur into one anyway and I can just give an “oh-uh-ha” when I get lost.’
‘Nope, it’s got to be bigger than that, privates. If we’re waging a new battle on bad, lazy boyfriends – if we’re attacking crap Valentine’s presents and toilet seats left up and stubble rash on a school night – then there’s no time for the softly, softly catch a blokey style. We’ll have to fight dirty, use all the female weapons at our disposal, hit them hardest where it hurts. Though, not literally. We’re going to form the first ever relationship counter-terrorism group. It’s war, ladies.’
Josie and Rach smiled in unison.
‘No, really. The song: it’s “War”.’ Molly slipped into her best gravelly-voice Motown impression, ‘Huh! Good God, y’all. What is it good for? It feels only right. And the “Huh” bit is really fun!’ Molly leapt up from her stool and dashed over to the DJ booth.
‘Cripes. I need another.’ Rach headed to the bar.
Chapter Sixteen
As soon as they all had a free weekday morning the next week, the bootcamp trio met in Taupe for their first official company meeting. Molly was taking minutes as fast as she could tap them into her BlackBerry.
Josie put down a Cath Kidston sewing kit on a display table, after casually checking the price on the bottom. ‘Sheesh. I was thinking I needed a little sewing set to patch up some of my clothes but buying this would be halfway to a new hoodie, so I might just pass. No offence, sweetie,’ she shrugged apologetically at Rach.
‘None taken, Jose, none at all. Martin’s got this new thing about upcycling and wants us to get in on the sewing trend. I did point out that it was about saving money mostly, but with revenue down he’s pretty gloomy about making our budgets, so everything has a juicy mark-up on it now. Some of the yummy mummies have fallen for it though – bless them! They keep me in coffee and hair straighteners.’
‘I suppose we’re sort of upcycling blokes, aren’t we?’ Josie ventured, enjoying the feel of the English slang as it popped out of her mouth.
‘Oh, I like that, very nice.’ Molly said, head bent low over her phone as she made a note under Marketing Angles. ‘So, just to recap on this morning’s meeting: Josie will be taking Kurt and John out for the first bootcamp physical training session early next week, when she’s had a chance to plan a fitness programme.’
‘Whoop!’ The Californian punched the air and wiggled her bum. ‘I’m going to go for abs, bums and abs again. It is going to rock!’
Molly felt a warm glow radiating from Josie’s million-watt enthusiasm. Funny to think she once was a bit terrified of this toned lovely. ‘And Rach, you’ll go through the wardrobes of our first two cadets and assess what they’ve got and what they need?’ She looked to her best friend.
‘Absolutely. I’m already picturing John in a lovely dark grey leather bomber we’ve just had in. He’s got a fairly stable job, right, that’s well-paid?’ She smiled sheepishly. ‘Martin is going to thank me for selling one of those.’
‘I’ll thank you to sell one of anything right now.’ Martin came onto the shop store from the storeroom/office at the back. ‘Oh, hey Mols. I hope I’m just having a stress-induced bout of hysteria and you’re not actually sitting in my six thousand pound antique leather armchair? Again.’
Molly went white with the thought of paying for it if she broke it and stood up in a shaky heartbeat. ‘Ha ha ha. Nooooo, as if. How are things, Martin?’
‘Oh, you know, recession-y.’ He ran a hand through his slightly-too-long straw-blonde hair and over his peppery stubble. ‘Rach, I need to sit down with you later, maybe after closing, to talk about A/W next year.’
‘Sure,’ Rach called over her shoulder as she looked through the male coat rack for a jacket in John’s size. She was pretty sure he’d be a large. Plus, it made her look busy while Martin was around. He’d been so touchy recently and making her stay for all these meetings after work that she was half-convinced he thought she was a slacker. He could be quite cynical for someone not even thirty-five.
Martin ambled back into the office, just as Josie whispered to Molly, ‘Are A/W the car breakdown people or like a bank?’
‘It’s autumn-winter, love,’ Rach nodded knowledgeably, ‘but we say A/W so we feel like we’re on Project Runway. Well, I can’t actually speak for Martin, but that’s what’s going on up here.’ She tapped her head with two fingers, dislodging a neat strand of shiny blonde hair from her loose bun.
‘Aha!’ Josie strolled over to Rach and dropped her voice to a hoarse whisper. ‘You know, if he wasn’t so grumpy he’d be quite the hottie.’
Rach’s laughter peeled out like a loud church bell. ‘What?!’ She managed to bring her volume down to match Josie’s when her laughter stopped clanging. ‘Um, if you say so, Jose.’
‘No, I sort-of see it too.’ Molly tipped her head to one side. ‘If he had a total attitude transplant and shaved once in a while. Hey, maybe he might like a few sessions—’
Rachel cut through Molly’s hushed chat with her own. ‘No, no, no! I’m pretty sure Martin is single in a very big way, but let’s not risk offending him to the point of reaching for the P45s, OK? Not until we’ve made out first million or so.’
‘Fair enough.’ Molly went back to her notes, sneakily adding, Talk to Martin about membership (with discount?!) further down the line, if you can persuade R.
Josie put one finger in the air. ‘P45! I know that one – it’s what you get when your skin is all dry and stuff. Right?’
‘Not quite,’ – Molly picked up her red wool coat and slipped it on – ‘but I’ll buy you a coffee and explain the difference.’
Molly bounced all the way home, and not just because of her double shot. Her task, as laid out in their first meeting, was to get started on finding new cadets to sign up. They would need more than two if the bootcamp was ever really going to get off the ground. So Molly needed to find a place where men met and where they’d be thinking out their single status and how to fix it. And it hit her, reluctantly: the gym. So she threw on her best grungy clothes and pounded out twenty minutes on the treadmill. A Lucozade Sport and a chat with the head personal trainer later, she had wangled permission to have ten big posters put around the gym and in the male changing rooms. The forty-something muscle cake started to make a rather creepy comment about Molly putting up a poster in the shower room herself and so she figured her work was done and escaped back to the flat. Bounding up the stairs and quickly chucking her gym bag into her bedroom, she hurtled into the living room.
‘Oh, Johnny Boy,
have I got a—’ Molly almost skidded to a halt. If this was a cartoon, a cloud of dust would have sprung up at her feet and her eyes would have boing-ed out in front of her. There, on the sofa, in John’s usual slobbing position − but definitely not John and definitely not slobbing − was perhaps one of the loveliest men she’d ever seen. Lovely was the only word for him.
‘Uh, oh, um.’
Quick Molly, say something before this gets weird. Just ignore his crystal blue eyes and say something. Try not to get lost in that thick, honey-coloured hair swept back so nonchalantly from his face. Oh, his face …
‘Ha, hmmm, eh, hoo.’
Oh God, he’s gorgeous. Why aren’t you talking? Say something! Anything!
‘Hello, Molly. How are you?’ John appeared from the bathroom.
Molly swung round with relief and just a touch of hysteria in her eyes. ‘Yes! Great! Fine! Why wouldn’t I be? Never better. Just been,’ Molly looked down at her present ensemble and wanted to burst into spontaneous flames on her Ikea rug, ‘at the gym. Obviously. Ha ha.’
‘Giving out free Ritalin, were they?’ John took the other seat on the sofa, next to Mr Lovely, and Molly felt an irrational surge of hate-filled jealousy. He’s within touching distance.
‘So …’ Molly waited for an introduction, sucking in her stomach and calculating how quickly she could shower, blow-dry her hair and chuck on her best jeans and top combo while still seeming nonchalant in front of this piece of scrumminess.
‘Sorry, this is Simon,’ John said. Mr Lovely waved. ‘We went to university together. He dropped in to see the new place, check it out. We’re going to head over the road for a curry later, before the rugby. Fancy it? Patrick’s coming.’
The Bad Boyfriends Bootcamp Page 12