The Hopeless Romantic's Handbook

by Gemma Townley

  Kate’s eyes narrowed. Carole had to be double bluffing—maybe she was saying all this to get Kate to admit that she had cut corners, and then there would be a lawsuit wending its way to her before she knew it.

  “We do have to stick to a budget,” she said, feeling her way. “So we do focus on the areas that will get maximum benefit. …”

  “But you wouldn’t know from looking, would you? I mean, none of my friends know about the bits under the furniture. At least they didn’t until I showed them. No one else will do that, you see. They don’t like cutting corners. They don’t understand that every penny matters.”

  Kate took a deep breath. She was thoroughly confused by this conversation. Either she was being hoodwinked by a very sharp operator, or …

  “Mrs. Jacobs, why did you call Future: Perfect?” she asked.

  “Oh, to ask you to help,” Carole said at once. “You brightened up my life, dear, and I thought, well, if you can brighten up my life for less than seven hundred fifty pounds, then you might be able to brighten up the hospice, too. I work there, you see. Next to the hospital. And it’s ever such a dull place—really not conducive to recuperation. So I thought I’d call. But you’re ever so busy, dear. Terribly hard to get hold of.”

  Kate stared at the phone.

  “You don’t want to sue me?” she asked.

  Carole gasped. “Sue you? Why on earth would I do that? Oh, dear, you’re not in any trouble, are you? Oh, I am sorry.”

  “Right. I mean, no, I’m not,” Kate said awkwardly. “Sorry, did you say you wanted to talk to me about a hospice?”

  “That’s right, dear.”

  “What kind of hospice?” Kate asked. She had no idea if there even were different kinds. She wasn’t even sure that she knew what a hospice was.

  “Cancer patients, mostly. They have treatment at the hospital, and then they come to us. Like a halfway house between hospital and home. It can be ghastly, you know, cancer. People don’t always want to go home. Others need constant medical care but don’t want to be in hospital any longer than absolutely necessary. Now, we don’t have a great deal of money, but we’ve been raising funds for a while now, and I thought, If anyone can make our money go a long way, it’s that nice girl from the television with all the wonderful colors she uses. Oh, it is good of you to call, you know. I know that you people do have very busy lives. My niece is the same—always rushing about, never time to stop for a cup of tea, let alone a visit.”

  “You want to renovate it?” Kate asked, her interest piqued.

  “Oh yes. It would make such a difference, you see. To so many people.”

  “How … how big is the hospice?”

  “Oh, let me see, we’ve got thirty people at the moment. Some of them share, of course. But I would think there must be about twenty-five rooms. And the television room, too. And the dining hall, although people do tend to eat on trays in the television room these days. I’m not sure I really approve of it, but there we are.”

  Kate gulped. “So we’re talking twenty-seven rooms?”

  “Or thereabouts, yes. It’s a lot, I know. But just the smallest changes would make such a big difference.”

  Kate frowned, but already she was getting excited. In her mind she was imagining a sweep of the paintbrush bringing joy to all those poor cancer patients, beautiful window treatments giving them hope and optimism for the future. But then again, she’d been reading too much Elizabeth Stallwood lately. “It sounds amazing!” she said cautiously. “I’m honored. You know, that you want my help.”

  “Perhaps you’d like to take a look at the place,” Carole Jacobs suggested. “See what can be done?”

  “I’d love to,” Kate said. “I mean, obviously I’ve got a full-time job, so I’d only be able to help out a bit, you know, weekends and stuff. But I’d be really happy to get involved. So, what’s the budget?”

  “Fifteen hundred pounds.”

  Kate stared at the phone. “Sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly. I thought you said fifteen hundred pounds.”

  “That’s right,” Carole said brightly. “I know it’s not much, but what do you think you could do with that?”

  Kate swallowed. “That might… buy the paint,” she said. “You’re serious? That’s your entire budget?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Carole said, cheerfulness unabated. “But I’m sure everyone will pitch in and help.”

  Kate bit her lip. She didn’t know what to say.

  “Come and see us,” Carole said into the silence. “Just come and see the hospice and you can give me your honest appraisal. Everyone will be so excited. We’ve never had a real celebrity visit before.”

  “I’m really not a …” Kate started to say, then shrugged. She didn’t suppose it mattered if thirty hospice residents considered her a celebrity. And didn’t true hopeless romantics say yes to new things, after all? “Fine,” she said. “I’ll come tomorrow.”

  Putting the phone down, she couldn’t work out whether she was more relieved or terrified by her conversation with Carole. Just what was she getting herself into?

  But before she could delve too deeply into the answer, the doorbell rang.

  14

  Sal wished she could stop thinking about Kate having sex with her new boyfriend. Not that she was actually thinking about them; it was more the idea of it. Of Kate having the excitement of sex with a new boyfriend. Sal could barely remember the frisson of the first shag with someone. Those intense glances, the brushing of skin on skin, the exploration …

  The trouble was, however much you told yourself that sex improved as a relationship developed, nothing could ever replace the fever with which you jumped on someone for the first time. The way you needed them, right then, that instant.

  Married sex had loads going for it—comfort, confidence to try new things (that only happened in the first few weeks, of course), the in-depth knowledge of how to achieve mutual orgasm as quickly and efficiently as possible so that you didn’t miss out on precious sleep and/or the final fifteen minutes of Prison Break. But it didn’t make your body tingle, didn’t leave you with a glow that people could still pick up on a whole day later. And it certainly wasn’t mind-blowing.

  Still, good for Kate. It was great news, her having a boyfriend and everything.

  Well, it was kind of great news. Sal just hoped it wouldn’t change things too much. That Kate’s new relationship wouldn’t make her too sickeningly happy.

  She sighed. Oh God, what kind of friend was she? She should be happy for Kate. And she was. Really she was. At least, she thought she was.

  It was just that… well, it was all a bit sudden. Would this Joe character start expecting to come along to their cozy nights out at the Bush Bar and Grill? Would Kate start lecturing her on what made for great relationships, stealing Sal’s only real thunder? Would the whole dynamic of their friendship change? Change meant upheaval, uncertainty, and lack of control. Change meant… well, change.

  Had Ed ever told her she was special? she wondered.

  Not that it mattered. Tom was right—she had a great marriage.

  Although what would he know? He didn’t see what her marriage was like every minute of every day. And he didn’t exactly have a great relationship of his own to compare it to.

  Perhaps she had settled. Perhaps if she’d waited, she would be going out with someone who thought she was special. Maybe if she’d waited, she wouldn’t get those pangs of loneliness that resulted in those desperate moments when she let the tight control she held over her life slip and she ate copious amounts of chocolate whilst tears fell from her eyes, when she allowed herself to think all the thoughts that she suppressed the rest of the time: that she was unlovable. That Ed didn’t enjoy spending time with her. That in spite of her lists and tick boxes and spreadsheets, her life was slowly but surely spiraling out of control.

  Sal shook herself. Of course she wasn’t a failure. She was just a happily married woman with a lovely big house.


  In fact, she would prove just how happy and lovely things were. She would have a dinner party. Invite Kate and her new boyfriend. Tom, too.

  Suddenly Sal got a vision of the five of them, Ed bringing up wine from the cellar as candlelight flickered on their faces and they discussed old times and teased one another. Joe would easily become a part of their group, and he would insist on buying a place in the area, and nothing would change at all, except that they would now have a more glamorous addition and might occasionally get invited to film premieres. And in no time at all, Kate and Joe’s relationship would be just like hers and Ed’s, and she’d laugh at herself for being so silly and paranoid and thinking that other people were so much happier than her.

  Before she could have second thoughts she picked up the phone and called Kate. “Kate, it’s me. I’m going to have a dinner party. For you and Joe. And Tom.”

  “A dinner party?”

  “Yes,” Sal said impatiently. “You know, fancy napkins, nice wine, genial conversation.”

  “That is so thoughtful! And I know Joe would love to come. He works on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays though. And every other Saturday.”

  “So things really are quite serious with him?”

  “Yeah. It’s great isn’t it? He’s … well, he’s just lovely. And we’ve got this amazing connection.”

  Sal paused. “That’s … fabulous. So, Friday, then?”

  “Great. What time?”

  “Seven thirty P.M.?“

  “Done. ‘Bye then.” Sal put the phone down, and started to compose an e-mail to Ed. She knew he was free on Friday, but she also knew that some drinks thing was bound to crop up, because it always did. Hopefully he wouldn’t see her message until late in the day when, she’d argue, it was far too late to cancel.

  Penny opened Magda’s door without knocking and sat down on a chair.

  “You know I don’t do early mornings,” she said grumpily. “Mind if I have a fag?”

  Magda grunted. “Yes I bloody do,” she said, just as grumpily. “And for the record, I’m not wild about early mornings either, but then again, I’m not wild about viewing figures falling through the floor and the prospect of being taken off the air.”

  Penny’s eyes widened. “They wouldn’t!”

  “They bloody would. We’re hanging on by a thread. And if the show goes, so does the rent on your chi-chi flat, you realize?”

  Penny flinched. “I do have other offers, you know.”

  “Maybe you do. But believe me, sunshine, if this show goes tits up, none of us are going to come out smelling of roses.”

  Penny sighed. “I’m doing what I can. It’s the others you should be worrying about. We just don’t have the talent on this show. Kate’s color schemes are terrifying, and even Lysander’s looking a bit tired these days.”

  “No one cares about the color schemes or fashion. We need profile,” Magda said. “We need to get publicity. We get publicity, then we might just survive. Get serious publicity, and who knows, we may even move up a league or two. Attract a proper channel, like Channel Three.”

  “Channel Three?” Penny asked, her ears pricking up.

  “It’s got to be worth one last push,” Magda said with a sigh. “There’s already a heap of dross scheduled every night of the week. Why shouldn’t our dross be amongst it?”

  “I’m in Hot Gossip magazine every bloody week,” Penny said with a sigh of her own. “I don’t know what more you expect.”

  “I want you on the cover.”

  Penny raised her eyes heavenward. “Fine. I’ll just call them up and ask, shall I?” she asked.

  Magda frowned at her. “Look, you know how this works. Go into rehab again, shack up with some pop star, discover you’ve got a terminal disease. I don’t give a shit. You have this job because you can generate publicity, and that’s exactly what I want you to do. And if you can mention Winter Sun Holiday Breaks while you’re at it, that would be lovely since they’re thinking about sponsoring the show. Got it?”

  Penny pursed her lips and stood up. Magda better be right about Channel 3. Otherwise she was going to seriously consider her options. She bet the car insurance gorilla didn’t have to put up with this kind of shit. And she shouldn’t have to, either.

  “A dinner party?” Sal could practically hear Tom frowning through the phone.

  “Yes, Tom. You know, food, company, wine …” She couldn’t understand why everyone was reacting as if it was such a strange idea. People had dinner parties all the time.

  She’d broached the subject with Ed, too, although she hadn’t got a straight answer out of him. He’d ignored her e-mail, so she called him up. Not that she’d exactly got his undivided attention.

  Sal: You know, I was thinking, we should have a dinner party.

  Ed: Grunt.

  Sal: What do you think?

  Ed: I don’t know. Yes, maybe. Sorry, Sal, I’m a bit busy here. Let’s talk about it later.

  Sal: But you’re out later.

  Ed: Uh huh.

  Sal: And tomorrow night you’re at that dinner with some clients?

  Ed: Clients?

  Sal: You said you had dinner. Some investment fund manager?

  Ed: Oh, right. Yes. That’s right. I forgot.

  Sal: So what do you think?

  Ed: About what?

  Sal: Never mind. ‘Bye, Ed.

  Ed: ‘Bye, hon. Click.

  “… just a normal dinner party,” Sal finished, exasperated.

  “Yes, I think I’m aware of the form,” Tom said. “It’s just been so long since I’ve been on anyone’s dinner party list. Actually I’m not sure I ever have. I didn’t think that we as a group really went in for the whole dinner party thing. But now that I’ve had time to consider the idea, it sounds great and I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “I’ve invited Kate and Joe.”

  “Oh, marvelous. The happy couple. I can’t wait.”

  “She sounds all chirpy,” Sal said darkly. “Like she’s having great sex.”

  Tom was silent for a moment, then he cleared his throat. “With the special man in her life?”

  “She said they’ve got a connection.”

  “Ah, yes, connections. I try to avoid those, unless it concerns a train journey.”

  “What if she moves to LA and ends up living in some huge mansion there?”

  “Sal, it’s been a week. And he’s a waiter, not a movie star. Are you sure everything’s alright?”

  “Yes, yes, of course it is,” Sal said, her voice a bit calmer. “Sorry, I’m just… I dunno. Tired, I guess.”

  “Been having too much mind-blowing sex with Ed?” Tom asked mischievously.

  “Chance would be a fine thing.” Sal sighed. “We’re married, remember.”

  “Ah, yes, of course.”

  “Presumably you’re having it, though?”

  Tom laughed. “What, mind-blowing sex? Right now? I’m not sure I’d be allowed to call it that if I found the time to answer the phone.”

  Sal sighed again. “You know what I mean. Am I the only one who has it maybe once or twice a week if I’m lucky, and usually with the light off and never anywhere other than the bedroom?”

  “I think that’s called being comfortable,” Tom said gently.

  “I guess that’s one word for it. See you, then.”

  Tom put the phone down and frowned.

  “You alright?”

  He looked up to see Lucy standing in his doorway.

  “Yes, yes, fine,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I just heard you talking about mind-blowing sex,” Lucy said, looking at him with a coy smile. “I wondered if it was something I could help with.”

  Tom startled, but Lucy just smiled, and winked.

  “I’m free for a drink later, you know,” she said. “If you’re interested.”

  And with that, she smiled again, turned, and walked away, leaving Tom staring after her.

  15

  Sal had neve
r noticed Jim’s arms before. They looked muscular. Did he work out? she wondered.

  They were sitting in her office, and she was trying to listen to what he was saying, but instead she kept drifting off, wondering about things that she never usually allowed herself to wonder about. It was far too self-indulgent. Things like what might have happened if she hadn’t married Ed. Like what might have happened if she hadn’t always been so determined to control everything and had instead let things just take their course. Like whether Ed was really her soul mate or whether she’d been so desperate to get married that she’d missed the man of her dreams who was now, because of her, trapped in a loveless marriage somewhere. Like whether if she’d been a bit more patient, she’d be having mind-blowing sex right now instead of wondering whether to cook chicken or fish on Friday.

  “You alright, Sal?”

  She blushed, realizing that Jim was looking at her oddly. She must have been gazing into thin air again. In the middle of a conversation. She was really going to have to stop doing that.

  “Sorry, Jim, I was just thinking about something you said earlier,” she lied. “So, anyway, you’re not happy with the wording on this press release?”

  Jim was the PR manager in charge of headache pills, which wasn’t her area at all, but she’d acted as a go-between for him before, persuading the scientists to allow him a superlative in his press release occasionally in return for him plugging some technical data for them. Right now, she sensed that really all he wanted was to moan to someone about how difficult his job was, and she supposed she was probably more understanding—or at least appeared to be—than her opposite number in the aspirin and ibuprofen regulation team.

  “If we can’t say that our pain relief is faster or better, what chance do we have?” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, what the hell’s the point?”