This time around, Gill was actually doing quite well. On her fifth frame, she already had ninety five points, a vast improvement on last time. She seemed to be getting the hang of it.
Deciding she’d be a little bit more daring, Gill thought she’d try the fancy footwork the father in the next lane favoured. Maybe it wasn’t that difficult after all. Concentrating hard, Gill swung and bloody hell, what’s happening? Gill’s right foot crossed the line, milliseconds before she let go of the bowling ball; she slipped on the waxed surface and both legs shot up in the air. The ball trundled happily toward the pins and unbelievably Gill scored a strike. Not that she was particularly caring about that. She was more concerned at having just flashed her knickers for everyone to see. Hurriedly she adjusted her dress so that it covered her. She made a mental note never to wear a dress when bowling again. Thank God she hadn’t been wearing a G-string. She tried to pick herself up off the greased lane, but kept slipping. Eventually, between sliding on her bum in the direction of the booth and Sean coming to her aid, a tad late in her opinion, Gill was able to stand up.
‘Are you all right?’ Sean asked; face half concerned, half amused.
‘Not really, no,’ Gill could already feel a bruise forming where she had fallen on her tailbone. She ran her hands gently over it, ‘Ow!’
‘Have you hurt yourself?’
‘Mainly just my pride, but I hit my lower back when I fell.’
‘Sit down a second.’
Gill tried, but it was too painful. ‘I can’t. It hurts.’
Seeing Gill’s strained face, Sean eventually said, ‘OK, game abandoned, let’s get you home.’
As they stood waiting for the taxi, Sean said, ‘Who knew ten pin bowling was an extreme sport?’
Gill threw him a warning glance which he ignored. Sean, not noticing, continued, ‘I mean, short of wrapping you in cotton wool, there couldn’t really be a safer sport than ten pin bowling. It’s not a contact sport, or rather, it’s not meant to be.’
Sean rambled on in this vein as they waited for the taxi to arrive. Gill was ready to throw a wobbler. She wished he would just shut the hell up.
The taxi drew up and Gill, assisted by Sean, got in. ‘Well, Gill, I hope you feel better soon. Sorry the night had to end like this. Put some ice on it and get some rest,’ Sean said, as he pecked her on the cheek, then patted the driver’s door, to let him know he could go.
‘Oh and Gill,’ Sean called to her just as the taxi started to pull away, ‘Nice pants!’
Gill sat thinking, What? Is that it? Wasn’t he going to come and make sure she was OK, prepare her an ice-pack? No, Sean might be cute and Irish, with a lovely lilting accent, but his heavy drinking and lack of sensitivity had finished him off as far as she was concerned. Boyfriend material he was not.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Wednesday 5th October
Next morning Gill sported a huge bruise, the size of the palm of her hand, on her left thigh. Her tailbone was a peculiar colour, starting to go purple and was particularly tender. Bloody ten pin bowling! Never again. Bloody Sean! Ditto.
As she eased on her dress, wincing at the pain, Gill smiled, remembering her impromptu date with Liam that night. At least she couldn’t injure herself in an art gallery, she thought, unless one of the exhibits fell on her. She shouldn’t tempt fate. Knowing how clumsy she was, anything might happen. Actually, she was kind of hoping anything might happen, or rather something. She chuckled to herself, as she checked her phone once again for news of Anton. Nothing. Nothing from Sean either. Screw Sean. He was history. She, Gill McFadden was going to stop taking shit from men.
She couldn’t have asked for a better day at the office, which was a relief, as the paracetamol from lunchtime hadn’t kicked in yet. Her mobile beeped and she picked it up. It was just a text from a client confirming their meeting. Still nothing from Sean, asking her if she was OK, but what had she expected? He was a fun guy to spend some time with, but not one you could rely on. A bit like some of the others she had met recently. Her thoughts turned to Anton. Just as quickly she dismissed them. No good came of going there. Gill made a few notes, then went out and asked Angus if he could join her in the conference room in fifteen minutes.
By early evening, when she packed her staff off home, Gill was feeling better. Another few painkillers had helped. Since the exhibition was in a gallery, Gill felt it appropriate to dress up. She shrugged out of her shift dress, freshened up and wiggled with difficulty in to her clean dress, cursing at the pain as she zipped it up. She thought about how much use she was getting out of this green silk sheath, that she’d originally bought to go out with Anton. Thank goodness for twenty-four hour dry cleaning.
As Gill changed her jewellery and brushed her hair, she realised how much she was looking forward to her date with Liam. It also dawned on her, that unlike her recent dates, she didn’t know very much about him. No profile. She was almost flying blind. But, he’d rescued her in Barcelona and hadn’t chewed a piece off her yesterday when she’d hit his car, so he must be one of the good guys, she reasoned.
Gill called a taxi and ten minutes later arrived at the Lambkin Gallery.
Standing uncertainly on the pavement, Gill glanced around for any sign of Liam. It was seven thirty five. She was getting better at being late. She’d certainly learned some things from this dating caper. Just then, Liam’s frame appeared in the doorway and he came down the steps.
‘Hi,’ he smiled, kissed Gill on the cheek and said, ‘Shall we?’
Gill nodded and let him escort her upstairs into the gallery, the palm of his hand resting lightly on her lower back, as he ushered her into the exhibition.
As they entered the room, Gill saw perhaps ten people in addition to the serving staff.
‘These are great,’ said Gill truthfully. ‘I mean, I know nothing about photography, but I know what I like and these are pretty amazing.’
‘They are, aren’t they?’ said a voice behind them.
Gill turned around and came face to face with a small man, about five feet four, with ginger hair and the most freckles she had ever seen on one person. She looked at him enquiringly and, just as Liam went to intervene, the man said, ‘Julian Summers. Pleased to meet you. Thanks for attending my exhibition.’
‘Ah,’ said Gill, understanding, ‘Very nice to meet you, I’m Gill, Liam invited me,’ she turned to Liam for affirmation.
‘And I’m very glad he did, too. Liam, how are you, my friend?’ Julian clasped Liam’s arm with one hand and shook his hand with the other.
‘Very good, Julian. The exhibition’s amazing.’
‘Thank you. It’s been a long time putting it together. Walk with me and I’ll explain my thoughts, then I will leave you to yours,’ he smiled charmingly at them both.
Gill and Liam followed him to the opposite end of the gallery.
‘Here we begin, with my Asian section, photos taken in Hanoi, Phnom Penh and Ho Chi Min City, before moving on to Cambodia. This one is the Mekong River in Laos; what a beautiful country. This is Muang Ngoi Neua. Anyway, I digress. I wanted to point out simply that we have structured the exhibition by continent, and where there are too many exhibits for one continent, we have sub-divided it by region. So for example Russia and the Urals, the Nordic countries, and Southern Europe are classed separately.’
Julian turned on hearing his name and, waving to the caller, he rested his arm on Gill’s and said, ‘Please excuse me. I hope you have a lovely evening. Liam, make sure this young lady gets a drink,’ gesturing to the waiters circulating with canapés and glasses of champagne.
‘Will do. I’m sure tonight will be a huge success – enjoy it,’ Liam clasped Julian’s hand briefly, before he headed off to catch up with the lady smiling expectantly at him.
‘He seems nice,’ said Gill.
‘Yes, he is,’ Liam said distractedly, as he tried to attract a waiter’s attention. Two glasses of champagne soon found their way into Liam and Gill’s hands
and, raising his glass, Liam toasted, ‘To Julian’s success.’ Gill raised her glass and uttered the same words. She had just lowered her glass to take a sip, when Liam raised his again, as an afterthought and said cheekily, ‘and to bumping into people – literally, in your case!’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Gill, feeling a warm glow that she couldn’t attribute to the champagne.
They walked around the gallery, Liam adding a bit of history which the placards below the photos didn’t tell. It became clear that Julian and Liam were good friends. He knew when Julian had shot many of the photographs. Gill felt as if she understood a lot more about the photographer, from the commentary she received from her date.
Once they had toured the entire exhibition, stopping only once or twice, to sample the canapés, Liam asked Gill which was her favourite exhibit.
‘I think the black and white photograph of the little girl in the strawberry field in Korea, with her face covered in strawberry juice.’
‘Yes, I liked that one, too.’
‘What about you?’
‘Funnily enough, another one of a child. The little Cuban girl sitting in the window of her apartment, drinking from a bottle of water, as she watches the children in the school playground below her.’
‘Yes, that’s an incredible photo. He really does have a way of capturing the moment, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes, but then I wonder how many shots he has to rattle off, before he gets the one he wants.’
‘True. Thank goodness for digital, eh?’
‘Yeah. It must have cost photographers a fortune, back when they had to develop almost every photograph.’
‘I know. I can remember having to put in my twenty-four and thirty-six exposure films. Now you can get everything straightaway.
‘It’s certainly convenient, but not all of those photos in the exhibition were taken digitally. In fact probably only about half.’
‘Oh?’ Gill raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘Yes, some, due to when they were taken, were shot with a 35mm SLR and others simply because, as Julian tells me, he doesn’t get the same level of satisfaction when shooting with a digital. With a traditional camera, more skill’s involved, you have to create the picture; adjust the shutter speed, you have more control, whereas with a digital it can be done pretty much automatically. Julian swears his best photos are those taken with a medium format camera, when the conditions, subject and moment are right.’
‘I didn’t realise that. So do you know all this just from talking to Julian, or do you dabble in photography yourself?’
‘I dabble. I’m nowhere near as good as Julian, but I’ve entered a few photos in National Geographic and won a couple of prizes.’
‘Wow, that’s amazing!’
‘Thanks,’ Liam grinned. He glanced around the gallery, which now held around two hundred people. ‘There’s the Press,’ he pointed out a tubby, short man with greying hair, to Gill.
‘How do you know?’
‘Press pass around his neck. They reckon Julian’s the next big thing, so they wouldn’t want to miss this.’
Gill watched as the man stopped a waitress and piled a selection of canapés onto a plate, before swilling back some champagne.
‘Would you like to go somewhere else? We’ve probably seen all there is to see here, and I’ve done my good friend bit, too,’ his smile revealed small, even, almost perfectly white teeth.
‘Sure,’ Gill was delighted. She’d had a lovely time; Liam was charming and great company.
‘How about coffee at My Place?’
Gill, taken aback, didn’t know how to respond.
Liam laughed, ‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I’ve wanted to say that, ever since it opened two months ago. It’s a new coffee shop on Great Western Rd.’
‘Ah,’ Gill regained her composure.
‘Is that a yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘I wish I hadn’t explained now. I’d have loved to hear your response to what you thought I meant,’ and with a wicked grin, he clasped her hand and headed towards Julian, who was explaining to a minor celebrity, the significance of the photograph of the fruit pickers in Poland.
At a suitable moment, Liam jumped in, ‘Julian. That’s us off. Great exhibition. Even better than I’d hoped, and busy,’ Liam opened his arms in a gesture which included the whole room.
‘Yes, I’m really pleased. I’ve already had some interest in five of the photographs. Three are already sold – deposits taken.’
‘That’s brilliant, Jules.’
‘So, where are you two fine people off to now?’
‘My Place.’
Julian raised an eyebrow then looked approvingly at Gill. ‘This man moves fast.’
As Gill made to correct him, Julian stopped her, ‘I’m joking. I introduced Liam to My Place. I practically live there. Have the double shot caramel latte, if you dare,’ he winked at Gill.
‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
They said their goodbyes and collected their coats.
‘Do you want to walk or take a taxi?’ Liam asked.
‘Let’s walk. If my feet get too sore, we can take a taxi then.’
‘Done.’
They walked along Byres Road, and up towards the Botanic Gardens. Gill noticed Liam was only a couple of inches taller than her, so around six feet, considering the heels she had on. As she openly appraised him, it struck her that recently she’d taken a liking to men with blond hair. She’d never really thought about it before she started this dating agency lark. Liam’s hair was longer than Anton’s – kind of fluffy. There she went again, drawing comparisons. Would this ever stop? Wrenching herself back to the present, Gill listened to Liam’s voice. Its timbre was surprisingly deeper than Anton’s, whose English, although notably foreign, was quite melodic to listen to.
Five minutes later, they reached My Place. Gill loved it immediately. Bookcases lined the walls and patrons relaxed in plush sofas and overstuffed armchairs, sipping coffee and reading or chatting with friends. The décor gave it a lovely, homely feel.
Interestingly, it appeared to be table service, unlike the majority of trendy coffee shops. Liam secured them a table and said, ‘Are you hungry?’
‘Well, I could eat,’ she admitted.
‘Good. I was hoping you’d say that, because I’m starving.’
They pored over the menu together, with Gill deciding on a Brie and Cranberry Wrap and Liam on a Steak Baguette. They also ordered a glass of wine for Gill and a Guinness for Liam.
‘So,’ Gill asked, when their drinks had been set in front of them and she’d taken a sip, ‘how’s your car?’
‘Fine, thanks. My friend checked it over and as I suspected, it’s only superficial damage. A hundred and fifty pounds for the bumper, even though it’s colour coordinated, which I thought wasn’t bad.’
Gill agreed. She’d been envisaging about eight hundred pounds for a respray and repairs.
‘Is a cheque OK?’ she asked.
‘Are you good for it? It won’t bounce?’ Liam teased her.
‘I think you’ll be fine. Should I make it out to you or your company?’
‘Just me. The car’s mine, not the company’s. We use vans at the firm.’
Gill had brought her cheque book with her, so she could settle her debt this evening, never one to be beholden to others. When she reached for her bag, Liam stopped her,
‘Leave it for now. I want us to enjoy our evening. I’m not here because you owe me money,’ he said pointedly.
Gill reddened and Liam smiled.
‘You’re even prettier when you blush, did you know that?’
Not knowing how to answer that, Gill said nothing.
‘I like you, Gill,’ Liam lowered his voice.
‘I like you, too,’ Gill was quick to reply.
‘No, I like you.’
Now Gill really did turn red. Inside she was pleased, but she was unaccustomed to men being so forthright, particularly G
laswegian men, who were renowned for their reticence in discussing their feelings.
Liam stared at Gill intently, but not in a way that made her feel uncomfortable; just long enough for her to realise he meant what he said.
Then, without warning, he changed the subject back to Julian. He talked of the importance of this debut exhibition, the kudos it could bring his friend, and more importantly the visibility it would give him in the photographic world.
‘That’s really good, isn’t it, that he’s already sold several photographs on the opening night?’ said Gill.
‘Yes, that’s not as common as you’d think. Many buyers wait until the last minute to see if they can pick up a bargain, but with those pieces that he’s sold, he clearly has buyers who think waiting’s too risky.’
The conversation halted when their food arrived. Silence reigned for a few moments as they tucked into the food with gusto.
Gill realised just how hungry she was. It was nine thirty and except for a few blinis and a vol au vent, she had eaten nothing since lunchtime.
‘So, why did you choose Maryhill?’ Gill asked, after dabbing her mouth with her napkin.
‘Actually, it kind of chose me. It was my brother’s flat and he went off to America to work. In the beginning I rented it from him. Then he made the decision to stay there, so I bought it from him, so he could afford the deposit for a condo in North Carolina.’
‘Sounds great. Do you visit him?’
‘I’ve been a few times. Not as much as I’d like, but it’s difficult when you have a business to run.’
Too true, thought Gill. ‘So why tiling?’
‘I was always good with my hands,’ he looked meaningfully at Gill then grinned, ‘and since I didn’t have any qualifications, I decided to go for a trade. Tiling appealed more than others. I quite enjoy it, actually.’
‘That’s the main thing. So, do you still tile now? You said you have a few warehouses.’
‘Yes, I only really do it for close friends and family, now and again. Even then, sometimes, I get one of my guys to do it. I’m just too busy.’
The Dating Game Page 28