It wasn’t like that came as a total surprise. She had considered the question before. She just assumed that when push came to shove, the maternal instinct would kick in. Everyone else seemed to have it. Why not her?
She had tried when she was younger. She played with dolls with her friends, changing their outfits and cooing over imaginary burps. It just wasn’t as much fun as playing netball or giggling over boy bands.
And in her twenties, she’d held her friends’ babies close and sniffed their heads. She stroked their tiny fingers and kissed their soft cheeks. Then she handed them back till the next time she got to have a cuddle.
It was probably time to face facts. She’d searched for her maternal instinct and failed to find it.
She was okay with that. Magda was welcome to the sleepless nights and expanding waistline. At least it would keep her away from the office most of the time.
Or so she’d assumed.
But she kept turning up, with so many questions that Catherine finally had to give her a project just to keep her busy.
‘One thing that we need to do is go through the database,’ she said, after Magda’s constant chatter had started to give her a headache. ‘Client by client, to track how many dates each one has had. Then we have some way to know what the average is.’
They didn’t really need to do this, but she wasn’t about to trust the woman with anything important.
‘I am surprised you have not already done that,’ said Magda. ‘How do you know if you’ve been successful without measurements?’
Catherine pointed to the wall of photographs in reception. ‘That’s how, Magda. We’ve had nearly fifty weddings so far.’ And revenues that grew year on year, she didn’t add. She didn’t need to. Of course Richard had opened their books for his fiancée. ‘So you can make a start on that project. It’s a big one. It’ll probably take you a few weeks.’
Hopefully longer.
Catherine was just checking up on her housemates’ profiles when she noticed it was time to go. Sarah had been right about Rachel’s profile. It was one of the most popular on the site. And she was thrilled to see that Sarah was getting some interest too. If anyone needed a boost to her self-esteem, it was Sarah.
Thank you, Rachel, she thought, for convincing her to join.
She checked herself one last time in the bathroom mirror – her fitted, cap-sleeved, deep raspberry Hobbs dress and three-inch platform heels said business dinner, just as she intended.
She already had a few things to talk to Paul about. His approach to planning, for one thing.
‘Hey Catherine,’ he’d said when he’d rung her a few days after they’d agreed the date for his assessment. ‘Where do you want to go?’
Catherine had sighed. ‘Where would you like to take me?’
‘I figured it’s easier for you to decide—’
‘Stop!’
‘What?’
‘Paul. It’s not about what’s easier,’ … for you, she’d thought but hadn’t added. ‘Your date shouldn’t have to plan her own romantic evening. If you want to give her two or three options then that’s fine. But do the legwork to choose them before you call.’
The line had gone dead.
Had he gone into a tunnel or something?
Ten minutes later her phone had rung again.
‘Hello Paul,’ she’d said smoothly.
‘Hi Catherine. About our date. I thought we could try Barshu. It’s Chinese. Unless you prefer French, then we can go to Bistrotheque. Or Bocca di Lupo for Italian?’
Catherine had smiled. He was trainable! ‘How about Bocca di Lupo?’
‘Eight p.m.?’
‘Perfect.’
‘Great, see you there.’ He’d rung off.
Though his dismount still needed work.
Paul was already seated at one of the little tables along the back wall of the small restaurant when she arrived. She gave him a few mental points for promptness.
From a purely professional point of view, he was well-presented, looking relaxed and approachable in his pale blue shirt (open at the collar), navy jacket and, yes, she noted as he rose to greet her, nicely fitting jeans.
He kissed her warmly on each cheek. ‘You look great!’ he said. ‘Did you go home to change before coming out? I came straight from the office.’
‘No, I wore this to work,’ she said, smoothing her dress at the front.
‘Hot,’ he said, grinning.
Catherine ignored the comment but filed it away for her assessment.
‘Have you been here before?’ she asked instead.
‘Nah, I just googled “best London restaurants” and picked the first three off the TimeOut list that came up. From the mid-range price options.’
She hadn’t planned to give him feedback until after their dinner but she couldn’t stay quiet. ‘That’s refreshing honesty, Paul, but it’s okay not to share every detail with your date. You could, for instance, simply have said that you got some recommendations.’
Paul’s expression soured. ‘Just so I know; will you be criticising me as we go along?’
‘That’s not criticism! We’re here to assess you tonight, remember?’
‘Well, how am I supposed to be on top of my game if you do a running commentary on me? I should get extra credit for performing under pressure.’
His smile was back and Catherine relaxed. He had a point. Unless they treated this like an actual date the assessment wouldn’t be realistic.
‘You’re right, I’m sorry. I promise no running commentary. We’re just two people meeting for a nice dinner together.’
When was the last time that had happened? There had been nothing nice about her dinner with Richard and Magda. And before that … God, when had she last gone out with a man?
Rather than dwell on the answer, she shifted her focus back to Paul. ‘You’re a fan of Italian food?’
‘Nope. I’m a fan of all food. Except shellfish,’ he said. ‘The little buggers make my face swell up.’
‘That’s a shame with so much good seafood in Australia.’
But Paul shook his head. ‘I’m from the interior, not the coast. We eat meat.’
‘On the barbie,’ Catherine said in a dodgy Australian accent. ‘Can you find meat as good in the London restaurants?’
‘Nah, that’s a waste of money. I cook it myself.’
‘Oh, you’re a good cook?’ That would go over well with her clientele. At-home dinner dates were excellent. They were so much more relaxing than eating in a restaurant. Even when it was a casual pub, she didn’t like the way that having other people around changed the dynamic.
‘Yeah, as long as you mean throwing meat and a few tatties on the barbie. I’d have to be, wouldn’t I, being an Aussie?’
‘I suppose so, though I can’t cook a roast and I’m as English as they come.’
Paul was good company. Of course, he needed some guidance, but that’s why she was there. She just had to think about the ideal man, and then help him get as close to that ideal as possible.
In some ways, Richard did make a good prototype. He might have been hopeless when they were married but he’d been well-trained by all the women he’d dated since then. He liked to share these unwelcome details with her no matter how many times she told him she wasn’t interested.
Of course, he was a complete imposter who kept a wine pairing flash card in his wallet, but he got away with it. That was something she could share with Paul without it seeming like criticism.
‘Want to know a trick when choosing wine?’ she asked.
‘Hit me.’
‘Once you know whether white or red is best, choose the third least expensive one on the list.’
‘I usually pick the cheapest. It all gets you drunk.’
‘Yes, well, that’s not really the point, is it?’
‘Maybe it’s not your point, Catherine.’
‘I mean, you want to choose something that tastes nice and goes with the food.’
‘I l
ike a nice meaty red.’
‘That’s fine, but what if your date is having, I don’t know, scallops and cod, or she’s a vegetarian? It’s easy to remember that white meat goes with white wine and red meat with red.’
‘What about pasta?’ He gestured to the menu.
‘If it’s got a red sauce, red wine. White sauce, white wine. See? Easy.’
‘All right, I’ll take a crack at the wine list. What are you having?’
Catherine scanned her menu. ‘I think I’ll have the pappardelle with hare to start and then … the braised ox cheeks.’
‘You’re just fucking with me, right?’
Catherine looked up sharply. ‘No, why?’
‘Hare? Hare?! Red or white meat, Catherine? You may as well order rhinoceros.’
‘Oh. I see. Well, it’s white meat, but since it’s game, a red will go nicely.’
‘So, red wine with red meat, white wine with white meat, unless it’s game, then it’s red. Right?’
‘Right … Except for partridge.’ She was starting to regret her instruction. ‘White is best with that.’
She cringed when she saw the defeat in his expression. ‘There really are just a few basic rules,’ she continued. ‘I promise, once you get those down, it’s easy …’ She wanted to tell him that when she met Richard he barely knew the difference between wine and beer. And look at him now. So Paul could definitely learn to order a bottle or two on a date.
Should she tell him about Richard? He might feel better knowing someone else was even more hopeless than him.
No, it felt too personal. ‘So, that’ll be red for me then,’ she said instead.
‘Right,’ said Paul. ‘So then we’ll have the Refosco dal … dal … aw, shit, this one.’ He pointed to the page.
‘Well, yes, or … yes, that’s fine.’
‘Or what? What were you going to say, Catherine?’
She sighed. ‘The list isn’t in price order, so actually the third cheapest is the Valpolicella. It’s here.’ She looked into his eyes. ‘I’m sorry. This was a bad idea.’
But he smiled. ‘Don’t blame yourself. Who’s to know the damn wine list isn’t in order? Wankers,’ he said just as the waiter approached. ‘Oh, not you, mate. We’ll have the Valpolicella, thanks a lot.’
‘So, that was easy,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘We haven’t even had starters yet. So far this has been more intense than my job.’
She couldn’t be offended by his comment. It wasn’t the first time she’d been called intense. Sometimes she envied Rachel’s happy-go-lucky personality, or even Sarah’s daffy world view. But she’d never been the kind of person to let her hair down. It felt too much like being out of control. She’d only let that happen once, and look where it got her.
Divorced.
Pushing those thoughts aside, she focussed on Paul. At least it was no hardship to have dinner with him. He was just rough around the edges.
‘May I compliment your outfit tonight, Paul. You look nice.’
He glanced at his shirt front, seeming to notice it for the first time. ‘An ex bought me this, actually. And the jacket. It’s a good thing tonight’s a one-time-only date. It’s the only trendy get-up I have.’
‘Then you need to do some shopping,’ she said cheerfully.
‘Aw, Christ, no way, I can’t stand it. My mum sends me work shirts, pants and the like for Crimbo.’
‘And I’m sure she’s got fine taste, but you need more than one date outfit. What will you do if you take a woman out a second time?’
‘I do wash my clothes, ya know.’
‘That’s good, but you still can’t wear the exact same thing twice in a row.’
‘It’s a shirt and jacket,’ he said. ‘Nobody will notice.’
‘Trust me, she’ll notice. I’m sorry, but we may need to go shopping for you.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t I give you my card and you can buy whatever you think looks good. I promise I’ll wear it.’
‘Sorry, Paul, that won’t work. Give a man a fish and he eats for a day …’
‘Teach a man to fish and he’ll spend his time at the lake instead of inside some poncy overpriced shop,’ he finished. ‘Do I have to?’
‘I’m afraid so. It won’t be so bad, I promise.’
‘Can I have a drink first?’
‘One drink,’ she conceded. ‘I mean it. One. And then we shop until I say we’re finished. Agreed?’
Reluctantly, he nodded just as the waiter returned with their starters. ‘It’s a date,’ he said. ‘But not that kind of date.’
Chapter Seventeen
Rachel
Rachel hadn’t been this nervous since … she didn’t remember when. A long time, anyway. She had an actual date. A proper, grown-up, would-you-like-to-have-drinks-with-me, maybe-we’ll-kiss-a-little date. His name was Thomas and he was from Edinburgh. She didn’t like to count her Scotch eggs before they were hatched but Thomas had promise. She’d been murmuring that little ditty all week, even at work, until James asked her to please shut up about it.
They were enjoying an uneasy truce in the office, though he’d no more come round to Rachel’s design idea than she had to his. What they were able to agree on was that if they didn’t find a compromise, they’d both miss the opportunity of their careers. So they had no choice.
‘Look,’ he’d said. ‘The one thing our buildings have in common is that they are buildings. Agreed?’
Rachel had been tempted to disagree, if only to be contrary. ‘Uh huh.’
‘So if we break each design down into its component parts, both materials-wise and stylistically, we should be able to argue out each component to come to an agreement.’
‘You mean mashing up bits of each design into a Frankenstein’s monster of a building?’
‘Where’s your optimism, Rachel? This might turn out to be the most brilliant design that either of us could have imagined.’
‘Or it could be a dog’s breakfast.’
They didn’t have a choice though, with time ticking down. They’d have to show Ed something soon. He wasn’t about to let them go unsupervised into a meeting with their most important clients.
Rachel didn’t want to think about the negotiations ahead tomorrow. Tonight she planned to have fun.
Her phone dinged with a new message from RecycLove as she applied her lipstick in the office mirror. That website was an eat-all-you-like buffet … she knew she was being greedy but couldn’t help herself. Just one more taste. She clicked.
And immediately regretted her gluttony.
Hi Rachel! You’re hot! And you look fun too! Msg me back and we can go out!
Love Mitchell x
She’d got a bad prawn. Mitchell was at least fifty, paunchy and bald. He did have a nice smile, though probably hadn’t bothered to read her profile. Her age cut-off was very clearly thirty-five. If he was thirty-five, then she was Scarlett Johansson.
She stared at her reflection. Maybe a short, plump, ginger Scarlett Johansson.
Tucking her phone away, she hurried from the office to meet Thomas.
All Bar One was already crowded, but she’d looked so often at his photos that she could pick him out of an Interpol line-up.
She squinted when her eye caught a movement at one of the tall tables at the side. It was a man, waving her over. ‘Rachel? Hi! I just got here too.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
His Scottish burr sounded lovely to her southern ears. ‘I didn’t want to give up the table but now that you’re here, I’ll go get us drinks. What would you like?’
Well for one thing, she’d like to know how old his photos were.
This wasn’t Interpol-recognisable Thomas. It was two-stone-later Thomas. ‘Hi … Thomas?’ Just to be doubly sure. ‘I’ll have a small glass of house white wine please.’
‘Right you are!’ he said.
She watched him as he made his way to the bar. And she felt like cryin
g. And then she felt stupid that she felt like crying. And then she felt stupid that she felt like crying because she’d built Thomas up into some kind of Scottish Ryan Gosling.
No, Rachel, be realistic. It’s only fair. She watched him return to the table. He was as tall as he’d said in his profile. And he did have all his hair. It was wavy, dark and a bit messed up, which looked cool.
So he wasn’t quite the hottie he’d appeared to be online. Most of his photos showed him doing something sporty – snowboarding, rock climbing, sailing – all things he could still do with a big tummy, she supposed. And he was still on the cute end of the spectrum.
‘It’s nice to meet you in person,’ he said when he got back to the table with their drinks. ‘Though it’s been fun messaging too.’ He sipped his pint. ‘I’ve only been on the site a few weeks so, to be honest, this is my first date. It’s kind of a weird concept, isn’t it? Joining with your ex?’
‘My housemate runs the site,’ Rachel said quickly. ‘I thought you should know that. Just in case you were about to rubbish it.’
‘Oh no, not at all. It’s a strange concept but it must work. Like My Single Friend mixed with, I don’t know, one of those house makeover shows.’
‘DIY SOS,’ said Rachel.
‘Aye.’ His smile was nice.
This isn’t bad for a first date, she thought. He is easy to talk to.
Though she’d initially thought the same thing about the zealous urinator. ‘So was it your idea to join or your ex’s?’ she asked.
He smirked. ‘It wasn’t my idea. I don’t know many guys who want to fix women. The other way around though …’
She took a second to decide whether to be offended by the implication on behalf of womankind. No, he was right.
‘Was it your idea to go on?’ he asked.
She nodded, proving his point. ‘Well, my housemate kept bugging me, so after … well, after some bad dates, I finally caved in.’
‘Was it hard to convince your ex to join too?’ he asked.
She thought about James. ‘Not too hard. What about you? Were you against the idea?’
He shook his head. ‘Noo. I’ve been meaning to go online for a while but I’m lazy. I needed a kick up the arse. My ex always did enjoy doing the kicking.’
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