No-One Ever Has Sex On A Tuesday: A Very Funny Romantic Novel

by Tracy Bloom

  “But you have such experience in relationships,” drawled Drew.

  She turned to face him wondering what on earth made him think that sarcasm would be appropriate in this conversation.

  “Really,” she said. “So that’s why at the grand old age of thirty six I’m alone again is it?” Suzie grasped one of the several toy trolls lined up on her desk and began pulling violently at its electric blue hair.

  “What’s happened this time?” asked Drew with a sigh. He turned towards her and assumed the position. A way too familiar sight during the last five years that he had occupied the desk next to her, always in the direct firing line of her relationship traumas. Arms crossed he painted his best you’re-an-idiot-for-putting-up-with-all-this-bullshit look on his face before he glanced down to check his watch. She knew she didn’t have long until he pointed out that he had a deadline to meet so she quickly picked up her phone in order to present him with the facts.

  “I got this text from Alex ten minutes after he left my flat this morning,” she told him as she thrust the phone in his hand.

  SORRY SUZE BUT THIS ISN’T WORKING OUT FOR ME. LET’S CALL IT A DAY WHILST WE CAN STILL BE FRIENDS AND IT DOESN’T GET AWKWARD AT WORK. ALEX XX

  “Oh dear,” said Drew not looking the slightest bit surprised or sympathetic.

  “And…and…” continued Suzie fighting off hot tears. “We had sex before he left.”

  There was an awkward pause as Drew took in the depth of information provided. Finally he muttered under his breath, “Bastard.” Then he sighed, unfolded his arms and put his hands on his knees. “You can do so much better than him,” he offered. “Just forget about Alex and have patience that someone better will come along.”

  “I’m thirty six Drew. I don’t need patience, I need Botox,” replied Suzie, successfully managing to pull a chunk of blue hair out of the trolls head. “And it’s all very well for you to say when you’re engaged to the love of your life and not walking around with TWAT MAGNET tattooed on your forehead like I am.” She threw the tortured troll to the floor in fury.

  Drew started to speak but she had things to get off her chest that would wait for no-one.

  “I’ve had enough,” she interrupted grabbing another troll off her desk, this one dressed in a football kit. “Look at this,” she said holding it up for Drew to see. “My first ever true love bought me this when we were fifteen, then he dumped me in front of all his mates and told me I was boring.” She let go of the troll and watched it bounce twice on the desk before it fell to the floor careering off the partially bald, blue haired troll loitering next to the rubbish bin. “And as for this one,” she said holding up yet another troll, this time with bright yellow hair. “This one I found in bed with one of my best friends after we’d been together for ten years.” She dispensed with the desk this time and sent it straight into free-fall to join the sorry looking duo on the floor. “And this one,” she continued holding aloft a Spanish, guitar-playing troll. “Well, let’s just say his life was a lot more complicated than he led me to believe,” she trailed off unable to look Drew in the eye. Amigo troll landed head first on top of footie troll and stayed there as if they were practicing position of the fortnight.

  “Those trolls are for every boyfriend you’ve ever had?” asked Drew. “And I thought you just had terrible taste in executive toys.”

  “They’re not for every boyfriend I ever had,” she protested.

  Drew raised his eyebrows.

  “Just the ones I fell in love with.” She bit down hard on her lip willing her eyes not to spill.

  They both stared at her broken-heart graveyard grinning gormlessly back up at them from their bed of dull green nylon carpet.

  “Why?” asked Drew shaking his head in disbelief.

  Suzie knew there were no words that could convince the all too rational Drew that her kooky collection was anywhere near sane. She sighed and felt her whole body sag as she resigned herself to the fact that she was about to sound exactly like the desperate middle-aged woman she was fast becoming. “Because I need something to remind me after twenty long years of dating that there have been at least some moments of love in my life,” she said.

  Drew stared back at her and she braced herself for an onslaught of meaningless sympathy. She should have known better.

  “But you just said what twats they all were to you, to quote you in your own words Suzie.”

  She looked back down at the troll pile-up on the floor. She’d read in a magazine somewhere that she should be positive about her past significant relationships. She should remember the good times and learn from the bad. Maybe it was time to see them for what they really were. A horrifying reminder of the men who’d carved her romantic history into the disaster it was, leaving her fast approaching forty and doomed to a barren spinsterhood.

  Between them they had ruined her one and only love-life.

  “Bastards,” she said giving them a half-hearted kick with one of her deadly black stilettos, part of the man-trap uniform she was forced to continue to wear given her ongoing unmarried status.

  “Oh for god’s sake,” said Drew, his patience all used up. “You can do better than that. If they were all standing in front of you now, what would you do?”

  If they were actually all here now? In the flesh? She flinched at the thought. Memories of horrific mourning periods came flooding back. Hours spent trying to work out where it had all gone wrong. Desperate attempts to get them back usually during lonely taxi rides home at the end of fruitless Saturday nights out when she was powerless to stop her fingers sending drunken, shamelessly begging texts. All attempts were ignored of course which stirred up the misery until it escalated into fury, and dreams of retaliation and revenge for what they had put her through. A wave of regret threatened her with either sorrow or anger. She chose anger.

  “I’d want to make them suffer like they made me suffer,” she spat out, hands clenched around her chair arms. “Like I should have done at the time. Too late now.” Everything was too late recently. Ever since she’d decided she was on the fast track to forty it was too late to get married, too late to have kids and too late to make a career change and extract herself from the slow and painful death of local newspaper journalism. Fatally she’d started to look back and consider how she’d arrived at this point in her life. Unmarried, no kids and writing a ridiculous agony column for a local rag. If only she could go back and do things differently. Too bloody late now.

  “Not too late for Alex though,” said Drew interrupting her thoughts. “I’ve heard it time and time again. You let them get away with treating you like nothing Suzie. For once just tell him exactly what you think of him and move on. Then ditch this ridiculous troll thing.”

  Susie stared at him for a moment before she picked up the partially bald blue-haired troll.

  “You’re right,” she said finally looking back at Drew. “He can’t get away with treating me like that. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”

  “Now that’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all morning,” said Drew.

  “I’ll text him,” she said picking up her phone. “What should I put?”

  “Don’t text him,” said Drew grabbing the phone back. “Confront him. Call him a dickhead to his face for goodness’ sake. It makes you as bad as him, just texting him.”

  “Okay,” said Suzie. Icy nerves threatened the bravado she’d built up only moments earlier. “I’ll tell him to his face. Of course I will.”

  “Good,” said Drew. “As soon as he comes in. No running off to cry in the toilets as soon as you see him.”

  “Of course not,” replied Suzie trying to sound more sure than she felt. “As soon as I see him I’ll give it to him straight.”

  “Excellent,” said Drew turning back to face his computer his hands poised over the keyboard ready for action. “Now I’ve got to inject some enthusiasm into a story about our rubbish bin service in Manchester. I suggest you find something equally exci
ting to focus on.” With that he began furiously typing, relationship consultation clearly over.

  By 3pm Alex had failed to appear no doubt out schmoozing potential advertisers in an excuse to buy lunch on expenses. Suzie had spent the day nervously glancing at the corridor behind her, see-sawing between desperation to see Alex and dread at how she would react. She tried to focus on finishing her agony column which was due in that afternoon but couldn’t seem to summon up the words to soothe the downhearted when she was in such a state. She had just started reading the angry reply she’d written that morning to Trish’s problem when Drew tapped her on the shoulder.

  “You’re on,” he said, nodding over her shoulder.

  “What?” she shrieked, knowing instantly that Alex must have finally arrived. The colour drained from her face. She sat frozen, unable to look round, staring nervously at Drew as a familiar jaunty whistle came floating across the office. When Drew nudged her arm she forced herself to turn her head slowly in the direction of the corridor. Alex was striding at a confident speed wearing an immaculate navy suit, the very expensive shirt and tie she’d bought him for his birthday and wafting an all too familiar smell of heady aftershave. He immediately caught Suzie staring at him. He flicked her a casual wave and walked straight past her in the direction of the meeting room.

  Suzie’s shaking hand hovered in mid-air and a weak smile sat frozen on her lips. She stared after him in a daze.

  “What was that?” cried Drew. “Go on. Go after him now. Tell him. I know you can do it.”

  She turned her head to meet his incredulous face.

  “I can’t,” she whispered shaking her head slowly.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “Because,” she said looking away in shame. “Because,” she tried again knowing she was about to look ridiculous.

  “Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say,” pleaded Drew.

  “Because I love him,” she blurted out unable to look up and endure Drew’s reaction. What was she supposed to do when she’d been ambushed the minute she’d set eyes on Alex. All the anger and hurt had been kicked into touch by a full on attack of longing and desire.

  She forced herself to look up only to be met with a look of total bewilderment on Drew’s face. The last thing she could do was explain it to him. She couldn’t even explain it to herself.

  “Sorry,” she muttered as she rose unsteadily to her feet and reached for her coat off the back of her chair.

  “Sorry,” she said again as she stumbled against her chair and set off across the office. She couldn’t bear to look at Drew’s disbelief any longer. She knew he was right but she loved Alex which somehow did not allow for angry confrontations over an entirely unacceptable, unceremonious dumping. She loved Alex which meant that all she could deal with right now was a moody post-mortem to work out exactly where she had gone wrong and more importantly, whether she could do anything about it.

  Chapter Two

  Dear Trish,

  I envy you I really do. Your husband clearly still loves you or else he wouldn’t be offering to come home and re-create what you once had by playing out his sexual fantasies, would he?

  Of course you shouldn’t do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable but I suggest you sit down and talk to him and agree what you are both happy with. I must also point out that PVC is not flattering to the fuller figure but I can recommend Marks & Spencer’s thongs, generally available in a size 18, along with matching large-cup-size bras. I would also recommend that you attend a spinning class with your husband but maybe choose a different gym this time.

  Take this chance Trish, because if you really love someone they are worth fighting for.

  Good luck

  Suzie

  Suzie had been on the bus home desperately mulling over her relationship with Alex when she realised her early exit from the office meant she was about to miss her 4’oclock deadline to submit her agony column. She only had to finish the reply to Trish’s problem but she knew now how ill-advised her initial response had been. The last thing Trish needed was to be told to take a blowtorch to her husband. Trish had a chance at rekindling her love and you had to make the most of your chances. Trish needed encouragement, not to have her hopes shot down in flames. She tapped out a revised response on her phone and forwarded it to the office just in time, hoping she’d told Trish what she needed to help save her relationship.

  No longer distracted by the task in hand she gazed through the toddler-snot obscured windows of the bus at the grey dripping streets of Manchester and wondered what on earth she could do about her own love life. Gloom engulfed her as they hissed to a stop on the high street outside the brightly-lit windows of McDonalds and she did what she always did at this point in her journey home. She couldn’t help herself. She looked over to the table and chairs nestled in the corner of the left-hand window and re-lived the moment. The moment when Alex had first kissed her.

  It had been all of six months ago at the end of what she’d felt was one of the happiest days of her life. After all you don’t often get to pull the man at the top of your list do you? Number five maybe, if you’re really lucky, but a number one – when does that happen? She and her best mate Jackie had started doing TFLPBs (Top Five Lists of Possible Boyfriends) way back in their teens, mostly so that they could laugh hysterically at one another’s taste in men (although Jackie never found it funny that Suzie gave Rick Astley a run at number one for eighteen weeks). Jackie no longer needed a list, being happily ensconced in her second marriage but Suzie still had one, updating in her head almost as regularly as the London Stock Exchange. It was her security blanket, essential to reassure herself that she hadn’t yet reached the bottom of the dating pit. Sadly she had been forced to make the list more realistic as the years passed by. Famous people fell by the way side in her twenties, highly attractive men were struck off in her early thirties and now, quite frankly, her list mostly consisted of men who were single and didn’t repulse her. This was why Alex had been such a revelation. A single man, in his thirties, and absolutely gorgeous. He’d gone straight to the top of her list when he’d arrived at the paper at the beginning of the year to head up the sales and advertising team.

  She’d tried not to stalk him like a love-struck teenager but if she happened to go to lunch at the same time as him then so be it. She had to talk to him; she couldn’t just ignore him. And for some reason she genuinely drank more coffee on the days he worked in the office meaning she had to make more trips to the kitchen that was co-incidentally opposite his desk.

  In the end she had Gareth the new editor to thank for getting them together. Gareth had thrown them all into a room on his first day and demanded they each come up with at least three ideas to boost sales of the struggling paper. When she’d flippantly suggested an agony column he pounced on it.

  “Brilliant,” he said, flashing his best thirty-year-old, hot-shot Londoner smile at her. “Particularly as the dating section on the website currently gets more hits than your entire Lifestyle section,” he’d continued cuttingly. “I want it in by next week and liaise with Alex on what advertisers it can bring in. Viagra, Tampax, whatever – just make it pay.”

  “You work on the content baby, I’ll bring Durex,” Alex had whispered that night during an extensive and drunken post mortem of the new editor in the pub with the rest of the team. Later he told her they needed to discuss the new column at length and could they do it in McDonalds because he was starving.

  She’d told herself sternly as she staggered after him through Piccadilly that going to a fast food restaurant after a works drink did not constitute a date. However she couldn’t help but feel some excitement at the romantic potential of sitting next to him alone in a restaurant albeit surrounded by obese teenagers and anorexic looking tramps.

  She could still taste that first kiss. Cheese with a hint of gherkin.

  After he’d satisfied his appetite, to her absolute astonishment, he’d pulled her onto his knee in t
hat very window and snogged her face off.

  She could picture them now giggling like naughty school children oblivious to their abusive audience.

  “I think you’re lovely,” he’d said when they finally came up for breath and a table of spotty youths had cheered.

  She was practically swooning as a chorus of “Give ‘er one for me,” came from the next table.

  “I’d like to,” Alex had whispered in her ear and she’d swooned again.

  She’d taken him home to bed of course. She really didn’t see why not. She’d been stalking him for a few months so why waste time? And time was something she didn’t have the luxury of anyway. Long courtships were for twenty-something’s. Post thirty and you had to cut corners to find out fast whether he was going to be in it for the long haul. Delaying sex until after they’d dated a while was an indulgence she couldn’t afford.

  Luckily their post McDonald’s consummation marked the start of a beautiful relationship and not a drunken shag between colleagues never to be repeated. It was with great delight that she had rung Jackie to announce that she was dating a number one off her list of possible boyfriends. An absolute first. Nearly twenty years it had taken her to bag a list leader. Now finally here she was, convinced it meant that he was the man she had been waiting all her life to live happily ever after with.

  “Calm down,” Jackie had said. “I know what you’re like. You fall in love and you stop seeing sense. You watch way too many of those stupid romantic comedies. As I’ve told you time and time again, stop at the bit where it all goes wrong. They’re much more realistic that way.”

  But this time she was convinced it was different. She was so happy she almost felt like she could be Meg Ryan. Before plastic surgery obviously. And before all the dodgy stuff with Russell Crowe. Really what was she thinking?