The Bad Boyfriends Bootcamp

by The Bad Boyfriends Bootcamp (retail) (epub)

  ‘Ah, that I can’t tell you, because so far he’s keeping it low on the radar, which is wise in the early stages, as we know. But I can assure you he is now completely over his ex and is moving on with his life. With a better haircut to boot.’ Meena and Molly shared a brief little laugh.

  ‘Excellent. Well, we won’t keep you, will we, bro?’ Again, Sachin needed a poke to bring him back to the present.

  ‘Give me a call, Sachin, so we can arrange another session. Obviously, I won’t charge you for this one.’ In fact for the free publicity, you can pretty much have my kidney, she wanted to add.

  ‘And I might be giving you a call, if there’s anything I’ve missed. I should get this into our May edition – we’re just a tad late for April but I’ll drop you a line when I know for sure,’ Meena added cheerfully as Molly saw them out to the hall. Sachin started his descent down the stairs, but his sister hung back, pretending to do something to the strap of one of her rather fabulous purple kitten heels. ‘He’s rubbish at birthdays, needs help with conversation starters and doesn’t know how to make even an omelette,’ she said under her breath to Molly, finishing with a wink. With another swish of her super-shiny hair, Meena quickly nipped down the stairs after him.

  * * *

  Molly wasn’t just content with sorting out how the bootcampers dressed, exercised and flirted: she was determined – in true army style – that they should be the best that they could be. The hottest they could be. They needed to be boy candy; they needed to be delicious. Seeing as her diary was fast filling up with one-to-ones, Molly figured another group session, like Rach’s fashion show, was the solution. She’d get the message out on a grand scale and kill a lot of lazy birds with one stone. Seeing as so much of the field research at Chop Chop Suey had returned phrases like ‘domestic nightmare’, ‘can’t cook toast’ and ‘bloody cave man idiot’ Molly decided that her cadets could do with some honing of their kitchen skills. They should literally be delicious to the opposite sex. After all, who didn’t love a man who could cook?

  All of the posh day cookery schools that Molly had researched on the Internet had rather posh price tags and she wasn’t prepared to fatten her overheads for the sake of a good fattening Hollandaise sauce. Instead, Molly had the nifty idea of batting her lashes at the owner of the local French restaurant and offering him a reasonable sum to lend out his top chef on an otherwise quiet late afternoon, after lunch and before dinner service. The guys could learn to whip up a few classic French dishes in a professional kitchen, to be ready to woo any lady in their lives when it came to cooking them dinner at home. So one Saturday at 4.30 p.m., Molly assembled eight of her bootcampers for a culinary master class. In the fervour of pulling together a genius little money spinner, though, she had sort-of forgotten to give Josie and Rachel much notice. If a text the night before could be considered notice at all.

  Rachel bustled through the stained-glass door, taking in the sight in front of her: the low mahogany dining tables had been pulled together in one long row and Molly was centre-stage, flour on her cheeks and a bright flash of excitement in her eyes. Bowls, chopping boards, measuring jugs, tall pepper mills and onion skins littered the table. The bootcamp cadets hovered around her on all sides, clad in white aprons, swallowing every word as she quickly explained how impressed women are by matching plates and bowls. The head chef James deftly cleared his throat and took back the attention of the room. When he spied Rachel he drawled in a thick French accent, ‘Sorry, Madame, we are closed for zis private function. Open to ze public at 6 p.m.’

  Molly looked up from the potatoes she was trying to thinly slice, without losing a finger, and smiled. ‘Oh, hey! Not to worry, James. She’s with me.’

  James, which when he introduced himself sounded more like Shames, rolled his eyes and went back to step three of the perfect Dauphinoise. ‘Hurry, men! We need to get zese in the oven so we can move onto pastry. I will show you tarte tatin – your lives will never be the same again!’ With a determined strike of his hand into the air, James signalled for the bootcampers to get back to chopping and layering. He was obviously channelling quite a lot of Michel Roux Junior.

  Molly wiped her hands on her apron and came around the table to talk to her gorgeous blonde friend. ‘Isn’t this great? Sorry that it all came together so quickly – I had the idea and George, the owner, said this would be the only spot he’d have open for months. So I went for it! And,’ she leant in closer to Rach so she could lower her voice, ‘it is really helping that bottom line. The guys are paying eighty quid each and I’m splitting it fifty-fifty with George. Good, huh? So I think that next we’ll be taking turns at pastry making on the marble block in the kitchen. Shames said something about keeping everything cold.’

  ‘Right,’ said Rachel, still clearly trying to take in this frantic scene. ‘Where’s Jose?’

  Molly flicked her head around and pursed her lips. ‘Oh, good point. She went out with Kurt earlier to get some double cream – we were running low. They should be back soon, I imagine. So,’ Molly clapped her hands once, like a cheerleader about to bark out a cheer, ‘do you want to take one of the guys out back and help them through the pastry bit? Shames will show you the ropes.’

  Just the briefest wave of annoyance passed over Rachel’s face. ‘Mols, you do remember my dad’s a chef, don’t you? I mean, I’m kind of surprised you didn’t ask me to get him in to do all this, at your flat.’ She waved at the now floury-floorboards and up to the potato-skin dotted surfaces.

  Molly bit her bottom lip and pinched her eyes closed. ‘Oh, I am such a knob!’

  Rachel stayed conspicuously quiet, without volunteering a rebuttal to that statement, and only lifted her eyebrows as she visibly relaxed, letting her crossed arms fall to her sides. She didn’t like to point out her friend’s mistakes, but …

  ‘If I’d remembered about your dad I would have saved myself loads of costs! I could have got him in to do it for absolutely nothing.’ Making an exaggerated ‘Duh’ face, Molly shook her head and looked over her shoulder to the industrious bootcampers. She missed Rach’s now unrelaxed-again glare hitting the back of her neck. Catching sight of Pavel’s rapid-fire chopping on a thick wooden board, Molly turned back to Private Fabulous. ‘It turns out Pavel was a chef in the Polish army for five years. His juliennes are quite breathtaking,’ she laughed. ‘I think he’s put our grande chef Shames’ nose out of joint, actually. So, who do you want to take into the back?’

  Rachel tucked her hands under her elbows again. ‘Gary.’

  As Rach strode to the back of the restaurant, Rob sprung up at Molly’s side. ‘There you are, Mols. I’ve got something very tasty for you over here.’ He put his hand on the small of her back and lead her towards the table. ‘And you’ve got parsley in your hair.’ He smiled fondly as he picked up the stem from just behind her ears and held it up to her before blowing it with a warm breath to the floor.

  ‘Hmmm.’ Molly’s heart did a weird flutter, before her brain kicked into gear and she realised there was more than just one man here who should get her attention. She side-stepped away from Rob’s touch and got back to masterminding her mini empire. ‘Shames, I think you were talking about the best kind of apple to cook with?’

  As Mols carried on in her combination impression of Nigella and Deborah Meaden, Rob went back to his chopping with a small but determined smile.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Rachel chased a watercress leaf round her plate with her fork, resisting the urge to sneakily fish her phone out of her Prada-imitation Peacocks handbag. If she could just get it out and put it onto her lap without Molly seeing … but who was she kidding? Molly would notice and Rachel still wasn’t ready to share all the details of the new bloke in her life. When a fledging relationship was this young, even the smallest puff of air could knock it off course.

  ‘Hello? Rach? I was just asking how your diary was looking bootcamp-wise for the next week. With it being all spring-like, I thought our men could do
with a pre-summer wardrobe focus group. You know, how women really feel about Birkenstocks with hairy toes; why you should never actually put anything in those mad pockets that they have on combat shorts. You’ll know better than me, of course, but it would fit nicely with a string of dating seminars about the best opportunities for summer dating.’

  Rachel pulled herself back from reveries about her new man’s suggestive looks and definitely more suggestive hands, to the table in front of her. Josie, Molly and Rachel were having lunch at an organic cafe in the heart of East Dulwich, with plenty of pulses at less than generous prices. Rachel and Josie would have preferred to have dinner in order to catch up – both women having full-on work days and bosses to report to at 2 p.m. on the dot – but with Molly’s one-to-ones always scheduled for bootcampers to attend after the working day, this left just lunchtime slots. They were all so busy these last few months. In fact, Rach realised, though they’d all benefited from the bootcamp in lots of ways, they had less time to hang out and just, well, talk.

  She racked her brains for the week ahead. There was the date on Saturday night and then a family Sunday lunch, but she was sure she could arrange another late-afternoon session in at Taupe next Sunday afternoon. If it meant shifting some summer stock before the sunshine actually made an appearance, Rachel didn’t think Martin would be too annoyed. Though he had been especially grumpy of late, heaving great, annoyed sighs every time her new man sent her a tiny text during the working day. She was hardly likely to miss out on the sale of an antique lampshade in the time it took her to read and smile over a text, but that didn’t seem to be Martin’s reasoning. Oh well, sod him. Rach was too loved up to give it much thought.

  ‘A week on Sunday?’ she offered, pouring more water into all three glasses on the scrubbed pine table.

  ‘Great. I’ll let the guys know and see if we can’t drum up another wave of extra session fees.’ Molly held her tongue between her teeth as she made a note on her BlackBerry.

  ‘Count me in.’ Josie beamed at her friends. ‘And can I count you in to a DVD night at mine this Thursday? I thought with all this romantic talk we could do with some no-nonsense action thrills, so I’ve got Lethal Weapon, Die Hard and Terminator lined up by my TV set. No sequels, only the original and best. Just bring popcorn and we’re done!’ Josie did a little chair dance of happiness. It was so nice to spend time with her new London friends – all the sporty types she’d met through her job would balk at the very idea of an evening in spent in front of the TV, without so much as a Thigh Master in sight.

  Molly went into the diary function of her phone. ‘Sorry, love, I’m down to practice my big “Fourth Date” seminar session that night. I’m presenting it on Saturday.’

  ‘Are you?’ Rachel asked, with a sharp note of surprise. ‘You didn’t say.’

  ‘Didn’t I? Sorry, girls. It’s just been really manic, what with doing justice to our cadets and fielding the new applicants. They’re trickling in, but it’s really promising.’

  ‘But that’s such a crucial subject,’ Josie ventured. ‘Absolutely crucial. We could have helped.’

  ‘I thought I would have been contributing,’ Rachel added, ‘I worked on some notes and suggestions and everything.’

  Molly noticed a tiny drop in temperature around her shoulders. ‘Of course you could, I’m sorry. But we did agree, right at the start, that this would be my area. And I’ve got it covered. Thanks for the offer, though.’ Molly dug into her quinoa with new energy, as if to help move things on. There was a brief silence. ‘Hey, so how are the new men in your lives? Greg and Kevin. Still going to keep their vital stats a secret from me? You guys are such teases!’ The forced note of jovial banter stuck in Molly’s throat as she said this, but she was suddenly aware that her two friends would rather inspect their vegan lunches than look her in the eye.

  ‘Early days,’ Rachel muttered, just as Josie said, ‘I’d rather not,’ with an unusually flat tone.

  ‘Right.’ Molly chewed a dry mouthful of peppery salad and washed it down with some cloudy apple juice.

  Rachel reached for her handbag, picking out her mobile – which she slipped into her back pocket – and her purse. She fished out a note and tucked it under her plate. Then she visibly brightened, as if remembering herself, and said to Molly, ‘Hate to run off, but Martin will get even eggier if I’m late back from lunch. Let’s talk more about the summer outfitting special next time, hmm?’ With a half-smile that left her lips still-closed, Rachel shouldered her bag, kissed both friends on the cheek and left the cafe for the short walk back to Taupe.

  ‘Sorry, Mols, not that I’m trying to split and leave you with the cheque but …’ Josie held up her hands, her normal ray of Californian sun beaming from her smile once again. ‘I should get to the gym for my next class – if I’m late how can I bark at them for not being ready to rock on the dot?’ She briefly laughed and fished some change out of her shiny red purse. ‘That should do it. I’ll see you soon, huh?’ With a squeeze of the shoulder, Josie was also gone, leaving Molly with three empty plates and two empty chairs. Not the sort of lunch she was used to.

  To: thecolonelbb@gmail.co.uk

  From: sandifreerange@hotmail.com

  Subject: RE: Oh brother, where art thou?

  Hellooooo sis,

  OK, OK, fair point. I have been lame with the emailing. But sometimes, halfway up the Himalayas, carrying your own bodyweight in thermals and tinned mackerel, there isn’t the spare five minutes to email your big bossy sister. But, regardless, I beg for your forgiveness!

  So, what’s new? I just got an email from Patrick – he said you all went speed-dating together?! Blimey, what’s he taking these days? I’m pretty sure he’s described those things as purgatory with overpriced wine before. He’d never go with me back when I was single.

  Speaking of my non-single status, Iris is well and loving all the wedding stuff Mum is sending through. She says thanks for going to the wedding fair with Cleo for us. Apparently, she went to a big one in Earl’s Court with her best mate last year and had to buy a bag of confetti just to empty it and use the bag to control her hyperventilation. She’s so cute. My likkle wifey.

  You said you were really busy with work – but not what kind of work. Didn’t the cactus thing go kaput? Anyway, glad to hear you’re getting your head down and keeping out of trouble, Mollypops. How’s John? I’ve not heard a peep out of him since I’ve been gone. Make sure he’s not just being a Sad Sack in his room, OK? I can’t imagine you’d let him get away with that, but just in case …

  It’s not that long till we’re back, I suppose, in the scheme of things. We’re both really missing you all. Loads.

  Sam

  Xxx

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ‘I can’t say this enough: location, location, location.’ Molly tapped the word in triplicate on her A1 whiteboard. Above the repeated words was a heading: The Fourth Date – The Big One.

  Molly’s living room was wall-to-wall with XY chromosomes: she’d managed to squeeze in about fifteen or so of her bootcampers, but had had to turn away the rest. It seemed like a lesson of the fourth date, i.e. the sex date, was in popular demand. Damn, she thought to herself as she scanned the rapt faces, I should have charged more for this extra seminar. Each cadet clutched his handout with white fingers: this was the stumbling block they’d come up against, time and again, and more often than not fallen over.

  ‘Please, put lots of thought into the location of your date. Whose flat is it nearest to? If it’s your flat, consider the standard of living there, the standard of flatmates you might bump into and what your plan will be for The Morning After. If you’ve got a clapped-out single mattress, a flatmate who likes Celine Dion at all hours and nothing for breakfast but old kebabs, it’s best to angle for an invite for hers through picking a location that suits her postcode.

  ‘Something else to consider: will you be drinking a lot? Of course you’re going to be nervous, everyone is for the first time,�
��– Molly caught some audible relieved breathes being released around the room – ‘and some Dutch courage can help, but don’t let the Dutch courage go to your head and not your … well, too much of anything can be bad when it comes to booze and sex. I think you all get the drift.’ The speed of male heads nodding about the place told Molly it was best to swiftly move on.

  ‘The classic fourth date move – and I think it’s a classic because it just seems to work – is the DVD night route. Even if your date has lived in a cave all her life, even if she’s never watched an episode of Friends or never had so much as a sniff of a women’s magazine, she will know that the suggestion of “just staying in and watching a film” is code for just one thing. And it isn’t cuddling. Well, that can come after. The DVD and the nice bottle of wine and the dimmed lights; guys, this is all good, this is so much better than taking her to a slightly smelly pub, buying her three pints and trying to cop a feel in a cab. Trust me. Plus, it’s more economical! Win win.

  ‘If you’re hosting the evening and cooking for your date, then don’t over-reach. Pick something simple that you’ve cooked – successfully – before, which won’t take an age and keeping her tummy rumbling for hours. We want the physical sensations that night to be something altogether different, right?’ There were a few good-natured chuckles at this.

  ‘So, do remember those amazing dishes James taught us at the restaurant. Other than that, your best bets are lasagne, roast chicken, stir-fries, something pasta-ish. But do check for allergies or intolerance before the date – you won’t sound matronly, just kind and considerate. Pick a movie that will appeal to women generally, but don’t feel you have to plumb for an all-out chick flick fest. Your date will 1) see through your very obvious plotting or 2) assume you are a bit of a wet blanket at heart. If you are clueless as to what film to pick still, check out the bootcamp website – we have a list of suggestions in our FAQ section.