Somebody to Love: Sigh With Contentment, Scream With Frustration. At Time You Will Weep.

by Sheryl Browne

  Karl nodded, at length. ‘Yes,’ he finally said.

  And Mark breathed out.

  The day, he decided as they left, Karl clutching the dog that had cost and arm and a leg, might not have turned out so badly, after all.

  Draping an arm over Karl’s shoulders, Mark nodded his reassurances to Phil and Jody as he approached the car where they waited.

  Should he ring Donna, he wondered. Check she was okay after he’d checked his text and made what must have seemed like a sharp exit?

  He could still taste her; smell her, an intoxicating mix of perfume and pure feminine essence. He reached for his mobile, which seemed to be burning a hole in his pocket. Wouldn’t it seem a bit too keen though, ringing her barely an hour after leaving her? He hadn’t had that much practice at the dating game. Had no idea what the protocol was. He must already have seemed pushy. Way too pushy. He didn’t want her thinking he was desperate, some kind of obsessive who was going to plague her with calls. Didn’t want to have to explain right then either why he had had to leave in such a hurry. Because he’d have to gloss it over, or out-and-out lie, and he definitely didn’t want to do that.

  Tomorrow, he decided. That wouldn’t seem too soon. He’d ask her what food she liked, book the restaurant, and come clean over dinner. And then…

  What would be would be.

  ****

  Up bright and early the next morning, Donna popped Sadie on her favourite chair — opposite the patio windows where she could see out, popped a generous helping of cabbage and cucumber under the kitchen table for Findus, then dashed for the stairs to get ready for work, glancing casually at her mobile parked on the hall cupboard as she went.

  She had given him the right number, hadn’t she? She knitted her brow. He had put it into his mobile correctly, hadn’t he? It was possible he might have… No, Donna, it is not. You gave him your home phone as well. The man said he’d ring and he will. Of course he would. She trudged on up. Wouldn’t he?

  Yesss! Donna whooped as, magically, the telephone rang behind her. She back-stepped, ecstatic, then deflated as she noted the number on her caller display.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ she said brightly, not wanting to sound disappointed as she picked up.

  ‘Oh, dear, still in the doldrums, then?’ said her all-seeing, all-knowing mum.

  ‘No, Mum.’ Donna said sharply, wishing her mum wouldn’t assume she spent her life lamenting the lack of a man. Mark had piqued her interest… a bit… but she could manage without one. She’d much rather manage without one than leap gaily out of the frying pan into the fire. Slowly was how she’d wanted things to progress with Mark. Assuming he wanted to take things further, that was. Did he? Her heart skipped a beat.

  ‘I’m fine, Mum, honestly,’ she said, feeling guilty. Her mum was concerned for her; that was all. It came with the territory, Donna knew it did. ‘It’s just that I’m a bit…’

  … late for work, she didn’t get the chance to add, before her mother said, ‘down, I know, darling, but that’s why I’ve rung.’

  Oh, no. Donna groaned quietly. Not another suggestion to get herself out and about and join a pottery class or something. Why? Donna wanted to know. Demi Moore might have pulled it off on Sky Movies the other night, but Donna hadn’t got a snowball in hell’s chance of looking sexy with clay oozing through her fingers and caked on her face. She didn’t want to join anything, for goodness sake. She didn’t need to now, in any case. Did she?

  Donna was halfway into a profound worry, when her mum announced, ‘I’ve put your profile up on Datamate.’

  What!? Had she gone completely mad?

  ‘Now, before you think I’ve gone completely mad, you can take it down at any time, and you don’t —’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘… have to respond to any of the winks, or even —’

  ‘Winks!?’

  ‘… reply to emails, if you don’t want to, but we are living in a technically-savvy age, darling. It was Dot’s idea, and I do have to say I think it’s a splendid one. We thought it might give you a chance to chat, you know, without putting yourself out and about.’

  Dot. She might have known. Donna studied the cracks on her badly-in-need-of-decorating ceiling. Her friend Dot and her mum together were like the blooming dynamic duo, unstoppable. Advocates for charity courses, fund-raising efforts — the riskier the better, as in risqué-r — they were a force to be reckoned with. Possibly the only sensible activity they undertook since they’d met whilst out walking their own respective dogs, was the dog crèche they now ran together at Dot’s house. It suited her mum, being retired from teaching, and it actually bought in a decent income as word spread and business picked up. And, the best spin off of all was, it kept her mum too busy to meddle in Donna’s luckless love life. Or it had.

  ‘Take it down, please, Mum,’ she said remarkably calmly.

  ‘But, Donna…’ Her mum faltered for a nanosecond. ‘… it’s perfectly safe. An excellent way to see what’s out there without actually going out there. I know you’re terribly shy, sweetie, and I thought —’

  ‘Out where?’ Donna scowled, noticed her reflection in the hall mirror and straightened her face. ‘Cyberspace is the whole world, Mum!’

  ‘Well, obviously you’d narrow your choices down by location.’

  ‘Mum, I don’t want to…’ Donna stopped and breathed in… and out, in… and out. ‘I don’t want to get winked at. I don’t care whether it’s safe. It’s sad! And I’m not.’ Donna wasn’t sure whether online dating was actually sad, each to their own, but what was definitely sad, was that everyone must think she was.

  ‘I’m not in the doldrums, Mum.’ She softened her tone, trying to sound less ungrateful. ‘I just…’ Should she mention Mark? Donna chewed on her lip. Yes, but mention what, exactly? That they’d had a sort of date and then watch while her mother put Mark through the third degree before they’d had another? If they had another. If he rang. ‘I’m late for work, that’s all. Please take it down, Mum.’

  Her mum sighed resignedly. ‘All right, Donna. Of course I will, if you really don’t like the idea. But don’t blame me if Matt Demon is out there, winking away as we speak.’

  ‘Damon. It’s Matt Damon, Mum, and he’s married.’

  ‘Is he? Oh, well, never mind, there are bound to be plenty of other winkers,’ her mum quipped jocularly.

  Donna shook her head, despairing. ‘Yes, mum, but I don’t want one. Look, I’ve got to go. Talk later. Bye.’

  ‘Bye, darling,’ her mother said, through another audible sigh. ‘And try not to get too down, hmm? Having a man in your life is not the be all and end all, after all, is it? Oh, that’ll be Dot at the door. See you later.’

  Donna went cross-eyed as she put the phone down. Honestly, did she look desperate enough to be ‘chatting’ to a flipping computer?

  ‘Ring, will you?’ she growled at her mobile, then headed huffily back upstairs.

  Truthfully, Donna half-expected Mark not to. No, she fully expected him not to. That was okay. She swallowed hard. She’d mentally prepared herself anyway.

  She must have totally confused him, inviting him back for coffee followed by not-so-hot sex and then actually offering him nothing. No wonder he’d done a runner.

  She hoped he hadn’t.

  He’d seemed so nice. Straightforward, uncomplicated, courteous and… Donna sighed longingly… utterly scrummy. Profiteroles drenched in fresh cream and hers for the eating — if only her mum knew. Pity Donna hadn’t had a clue what to do.

  Glancing wistfully back at the bed she fantasised Mark in all night, her attention snagged on the clock, sending Donna into a flap. Damn, where did the time go? Work aside, she’d her doctor’s appointment to go to. She’d already put it off twice, her bitchy manageress always seeming to be watching her timekeeping. Well, she couldn’t put it off any longer. Suspicious little lumps shouldn’t be ignored. Donna’s poor hoppity dog was testament to that.

  Heading swiftly for the bath
room, she stripped off her dog walking clothes, tossed them out onto the landing ready to take down to the wash, then threw herself under the shower. She was just stepping out when the doorbell rang. Perfect. Donna was stark naked on the inside of the bathroom, and her clothes were on the outside.

  Dabbing at her hair, she squeaked the open bathroom door. ‘Matt, could you get the door please?’ No response. ‘Matt?!’

  Still nothing. Donna assumed her son either had his iPod stuffed in his ears, or he’d already left for college. Sighing, she wrapped a towel around herself and headed for the stairs, to find Matt, who obviously hadn’t yet left, scrambling up them, Findus in arms. Hell. Being highly superstitious, Donna’s heart sank. She didn’t want to tempt fate when she’d just met the nicest man she was ever likely to meet. The hall mirror crashing to the floor the morning she’d discovered Jeremy was bonking the Twiglet was evidence of the terrible luck that befell people who did. But then, the mirror had broken after she’d found out. And they had been in the middle of that dreadful door-slamming, fist-banging last row, Donna remembered with a shudder.

  No, she assured herself, this wasn’t a sign. She was just being neurotic. Mark would ring. He’d said he would. Everything was absolutely fine.

  ‘Don’t cross on the stairs. It’s bad luck,’ she hissed at her son, sandwiching herself against the wall to try to negate said bad luck as Matt squeezed past.

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, glancing over his shoulder as he hastened his way upward.

  Rather too urgently, Donna noted. Matt didn’t move with any sense of urgency. He sloped. During an earthquake he might notch it up to a brisk walk. But bounding, whether joyfully or otherwise, was just not in his adolescent nature.

  Donna narrowed her eyes. He was cuddling Findus very close to his chest, she noticed, which, from experience, read: you wouldn’t hit a man who loves fluffy animals, would you? ‘Matt, what have you been up to?’

  He turned on the landing, hoisted Findus higher and peeked over his ears, the epitome of virtue. ‘Moi?’

  ‘Yes, you. You look far too innocent not to be guilty. What have you done?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he assured her, blinking beguilingly, then bolting for his bedroom. ‘Much,’ he added, kicking the door closed behind him.

  Oh, no… Donna’s shoulders slumped. She tightened her towel, and trudged on down to see which neighbour he’d annoyed now with his clunking, exhaust-blowing VW, which he insisted on starting at least ten times a day, even though he was barely past lesson two. Please don’t let him have reversed it down the drive and over next-door’s prized plant pot again. Or worse, their cat.

  Donna swung the door open, hiding her trepidation with a cheery smile. It was just the postman. She smiled proper. And Matt obviously hadn’t reversed over him.

  The postman smiled back, rather flatly, and handed Donna the buckled wheel of his bike.

  Oh, not so fine then.

  ****

  He had rung. Donna couldn’t quite believe it. She shut down her computer, ready to go home, outwardly calm, but inside her emotions in turmoil. She’d been perfectly relaxed all morning, nervous, yes, but desperate for him to ring. Convincing herself she could do relationships should — by some miracle — Mark want to take things further. On the basis that neither party could be entirely blameless, Donna conceded that she might have been responsible in some part for the breakdown of her marriage, but she had to believe she wasn’t mostly to blame. That Jeremy’s insinuation she was unresponsive, ergo a total turnoff in bed was dire tripe, concocted to get himself off the hook.

  The thing was, though, even acknowledging it was hard to respond sexually to a bully, she didn’t believe she wasn’t deep down. Insidious little things that they were, those seeds of doubt had taken root, and as hard as her mum and her sister had tried to convince Donna the problems in her marriage had been Jeremy’s, not hers, Donna couldn’t help thinking they might be.

  By lunchtime, she’d felt so nauseous, she’d gone off her tuna and cucumber on white. She didn’t even feel the inclination for a cheese and onion crisp, which she generally devoured by the big-bagful. Mark wasn’t going to ring. She’d managed to convince herself that much.

  By mid-afternoon, she’d convinced herself she couldn’t do it anyway, even if he did ring, which he wouldn’t. She really had no clue how to… just be, naturally. Inarticulate is how she felt. Unworldly — and scared.

  ‘I thought Italian, maybe,’ Mark said into her mobile, as she tried to formulate a sensible sentence. ‘Benedicto’s in Worcester. What do you think?’

  Ultra posh nosh, Donna thought, followed by coffee… Oh, God! ‘I can’t, Mark,’ she blurted. ‘It’s a nice idea, but…’ Donna trailed off, glancing at Jean, her work-shy manageress, who glanced from Donna to the clock, pointedly, her unspoken message being, it’s five minutes to five. You’re still on work time.

  ‘Oh,’ Mark said, followed by a loaded pause. ‘Did I do something wrong?’

  ‘No! I —’

  ‘But you’re not interested?’

  Donna closed her eyes, her heart beating a steady drumbeat in her chest. What did she say? He’d actually rung. She’d thought it about as likely as winning the lottery. But he had. She’d so wanted him to.

  ‘Donna? Talk to me.’

  Donna swallowed. ‘I have to go, Mark,’ she said quickly, as Jean harrumphed and demonstratively shuffled papers. ‘I can’t talk right now. Can I call you back in about ten minutes?’

  ‘Okay. No problem,’ Mark said, a curious edge to his voice.

  Donna signed off, and tried hard to convince herself she was being pathetic as she filled the last five minutes of her workday filing. She’d found one: a perfectly lovely specimen of the rare breed of late-thirtyish men, whose intentions seemed honourable, and she was about to turn down an invitation to go out with him?!

  Was she mad?

  No… She filed an ‘E’ document under ‘H’, extracted it, and tried again… she was truly scared. Terrified he’d see her as her husband obviously had, i.e. a not-so-perfect specimen of a not-so-rare breed of mid-thirtyish women, who wasn’t quite so honed as he. In fact, totally unhoned and with stretch marks she couldn’t hope to hide unless she made love with him in the dark wrapped in a duvet.

  Oh, God, what on earth did she do? He’d be bound to want to get naked; sooner rather than later, since she’d so brazenly thrown herself at him. And if it wasn’t sooner, it would be later, and then he would move on… sooner or later.

  And she’d be lonely and upset all over again.

  Because she’d let him in - and this man wouldn’t leave with a little bit of heart. He’d take all of it. Break it.

  Because, she suspected, PC Mark Evans quite easily could.

  Donna trailed to the loo to ring him back, knowing it was hopeless. Even with spray tans and Posh Spice’s bone structure, she couldn’t hope to pass herself off as fresh fruit. And, even if he didn’t mind what he saw, the reality was he’d like it much more if what he saw was ten or fifteen years younger.

  No, she simply couldn’t go that route. Whatever dignity she did have, she needed to hold onto it.

  ‘Mark, I like you,’ she said immediately when he answered. ‘I like you a lot, but…’ she hesitated, no clue how tell him but the way it was. ‘I’m not ready for a full-on relationship, Mark. I thought you understood.’

  ‘Oh, right. I, er…’ Mark paused, for what seemed like an eternity. ‘Maybe we could… go for a drink then, sometime?’

  ‘Yes, that might be nice.’ Donna chewed hard on her lip.

  ‘Good.’ Mark paused again, and Donna so wanted to fill the gap, to tell him how she really felt. So tell him! An inner voice screamed.

  Cursing her ineptitude, Donna opened her mouth and, ‘Okay,’ he said, drawing in a terse breath. ‘I’ll catch up with you, then. Bye.’

  And then he rang off.

  Donna blinked at her mobile forlornly. She’d hurt him. She could hear it in his voice. She had
n’t meant to. He’d been considerate and caring, more caring than any man she’d ever known, but… He would change, she told herself resolutely. Hadn’t he already, going swiftly from dinner tonight to a drink ‘sometime’? He wouldn’t ‘catch up with her’, not now that he realised he hadn’t got access to the full menu. And what about Matt? Mark might not have responsibilities, but Donna certainly did. Was a man like Mark, good-looking, apparently childless, ergo footloose and fancy-free, really going to be interested in anything beyond a sexual relationship? Would he really want to be embroiled in the life of a single-mum and all the problems that went with it?

  Not a chance. Of that much Donna was totally convinced.

  Chapter Four

  ‘Great!’ She’d given him the brush off. Why? Surely she must realise he liked her? Could care about her — a lot. Dammit, he’d really thought Donna might… Obviously not. Dejected, Mark ran a hand over his neck, pocketed his mobile, and headed back towards the lawned area outside the Blossom Tree Respite Home. They’d agreed to keep Karl for a few days, which would give Jody a break while her mum was ill. It would give Mark a break, too, which he badly needed.

  He glanced up from his contemplation as he approached a group of five children, Dr. Lewis overseeing them and… what was that in the middle of the group? Blimey, a real live dog? Mark smiled, surprised, as he got closer. A Labrador, from the look of it, sitting slap bang in the middle of them, wagging its tail, quite content being petted… by Karl?

  Surprise gave way to out-and-out shock. Mark hardly dared to breathe as he locked eyes with Dr. Lewis. Karl was actually stroking the dog. Touching it. Feeling? How? Mark swallowed back a lump in his throat.

  ‘It’s a PAT dog.’ Dr. Lewis answered his unasked question, walking across to place a reassuring hand on Mark’s arm.

  ‘A PAT?’ Mark’s voice was slightly strangulated. He coughed and tried again. ‘A what?’