by Nicola May
My Dad, Edward John Anderson, was a man of great character. He had retired from the fire-service a month ago, and was now working his way around the world for a year.
‘Good on him. Seeya.’
‘Seeya.’
My sister and I had an amazing habit of talking about nothing in particular to each other.
‘Everything OK?’ enquired H.
‘Fine, fine. Just Anna shitting everywhere as usual, and my eccentric father climbing the Sydney Harbour Bridge.’
The afternoon continued with cups of herbal tea being made. Sam only buys herbal tea. As much as I complain that he might as well have strained some bog peat into a cup he is relentless in his mission to make me drink it. I usually have a couple of sips then lose the rest. I do have to say that all of the plants in his flat are very healthy.
‘He’s forty years old!’ I shrieked as I got off the phone to Christopher.
‘Amy, how many times do I have to tell you that age is not an issue?’ Sam reproached me. ‘Do you look your age?’
‘No I know that but forty!’
I had known his age all along but I didn’t want my friends thinking that I was getting desperate or anything. ‘He’s the MD of an IT company, based in Surrey, so he’s obviously loaded.’
‘You know my opinion on that,’ inputted H.
‘Oh, please don’t go all sensible on me. I know that money’s not everything but for a couple of dates at least I’ll hopefully get a decent meal out of him.’
‘Well done, Ames. This could be it – you’ve projected a second date already.’
‘Shut up, Sam!’ H and I shouted in unison.
– Six –
Pisces: Allow people to appreciate you for the beautiful fish you are inside. Don’t run before you can walk today.
Why is it when I walk around communal changing rooms I always imagine veruccas immediately forming on my feet? I also think that everyone is staring at my arse, or worse still are thinking, ‘What a shame.’ To be honest I don’t think that I look bad for my age. My bum could do with being higher and my thighs could do with a small liposuction session but the face is in quite good nick really. Oil of Olay is most definitely worth its weight in ceramides and pro-retinal. In fact, if I ever become famous (another dream of mine) and have to fill out a fact file for Grazia, my answer to the question: ‘To whom would you say you are most grateful in your life?’ It would have to be the creator of Oil of Olay beauty products and Zovirax cold sore cream.
It was a chilly Monday morning, 8 a.m. and my first training session at the gym was about to commence. The embarrassment of getting changed, having holes in the toes of my tights, revealing my sad, old, grey smalls and having to jump up and down, whilst frantically trying to shoe horn my flesh into Lycra shorts, was nothing compared to the horrors to come.
I had been on the running machine for a grand total of five minutes, my face resembling a crying beetroot and sweat marks appearing in the most embarrassing places when I felt my sports vest rising up. Guy was making all of the encouraging noises that personal trainers are supposed to make, when I suddenly felt really uncomfortable.
I looked down and realised that my heart monitor had caught on my vest and an unattractive bit of my flabby stomach was poking out.
I frantically tried to move the monitor and pull the vest down, which resulted in me losing my footing, careering off the end of the running machine and hurtling into the foreboding Cross Trainer machine. It wasn’t the only cross trainer, I can tell you! Gorgeous Guy was not impressed.
‘Amy I am here to ensure your safety whilst exercising. If you have a problem with anything, then let me know and I’ll help you.’ He really was quite stroppy. ‘You are in the early stages of training so you need to concentrate.’
I felt like telling him to get lost and question whether he wanted my money or not. However I refrained, carried on with the torturous hour, handed over the £45 with a grateful smile and vowed that from that day on I would never have any more dealings with a personal trainer. I could jog, I could power walk, and I could swim. If I found the man of my dreams I could just have sex every day and burn off the required 1000 calories.
‘Next session? I’ll call you, Guy. Bit busy at the moment.’
‘But Amy-’
‘Seeya, must dash.’
See? I could run when I had to.
– Seven –
Libra: A prickly encounter leaves you feeling cold today. Don’t despair, there are plenty more fish in the sea
Seven-thirty Saturday, and here I was, Amy Jane Anderson, turned out like a movie star, awaiting yet another contender in the Search for a Soul-Mate Competition. I’d decided – well, H had decided – on a little black dress and fake diamond earrings for this evening’s soirée. All my adult life I’ve wanted a pair of real diamond earrings. Libras are renowned for their love of luxury, so maybe here at last was the man to load my lobes with carats!
As Laurence was that little bit older, I’d put my hair up in an attempt to look glamorous and sophisticated. I’d also donned a cute pair of black kitten-heeled sandals. I couldn’t walk in them but I guessed, as we were going out for dinner, that not much walking would be involved.
One of the rules of the agency was not to let dates pick you up from home. Brad was all up for me getting collected from his house, mainly so he could check out the men before me.
‘Princess, Princess – he’s here!’ Brad shrieked. ‘Oh my God, he’s driving a Porsche! Go girl, go go go! Marry him, marry him. This is it, I can see him, I can see him! He looks like George Clooney!’
Brad’s excitement was contagious and my heart was beating fast. Although I’d seen a photo, the reality is always different. Laurence knocked on the door and Brad opened it. George Clooney, indeed. He looked more like Wayne Rooney!
‘AaaaAmy?’
Oh my God, he had a stutter. Brad poked me in the back and I tried not to laugh.
‘Yes, hi there. Nice to meet you.’
‘Let’s get on with it, shall we? I mean, fffffeeling like a fast ride? I mean oh let’s gggo.’
Laurence’s nervousness was slightly endearing but even though his shoes were Gucci, his hair was beautifully coiffeured and his car was to die for, he had an awful eye tic and he looked like a monkey. Luckily my inner voice went into action and told me to give him a chance and stop being such a cow.
Brad was doing huge thumbs up signs out of the window at me as we roared away.
‘I thought we could go to The Holly. I hhhhhhope that’s OK?’ Laurence stuttered in his plummy accent.
‘That sounds absolutely great, thanks, Laurence.’
Oh my God, The Holly. I had wanted to go there for years. I’d tried once to book lunch there and it was fully booked. Even the phone there had a certain ring tone, which seemed to say that Plebs need not apply. I told myself to act cool. He might look like a monkey, he might stutter, but he obviously had a wallet like George Clooney.
I loved the thrill of a fast car and the thought of who we might see at the well-known celebrity haunt was making me feel quite tingly. I looked at Monkey Man and suddenly found him quite attractive.
‘Attishoo!’
‘Bless you ssssssweet girl.’
Ergh, sweet girl? Just ‘bless you’ would have been quite enough. In the back of my mind I could hear H with her ‘money’s not everything’ speech and I realised that I would have to make the best of a bad job. I was determined to enjoy myself, whatever.
As we sped away from Brad’s house I realised that I had never been in such a fast car before. My head was being physically pushed back against the headrest and despite my religious disbeliefs I began to pray that my kitten heels had nine lives! Where the hell were speed cameras when you needed them?
Relieved to have arrived in one piece, I waited while Laurence miraculously found a parking space, then swished into The Holly, doing my best to look a million dollars in my £60 dress.
‘Good evening Mr Smith-
Bourchier. Your usual table is ready for you.’
Usual table? I couldn’t believe it. Here we were, at The Holly and Laurence Smith-Bourchier had a usual table! I then was completely star struck, as sitting two tables away from us were David and Victoria Beckham.
I was trying to act really cool by putting my menu virtually over my face so that I could just peep over and see what they were ordering. I then saw Laurence smile; he was pleased that I was so impressed.
In principle I agree that it is the person inside that we all should love, not the external beauty or good looks. However, just seeing how stunning David Beckham is in the flesh was making me the right side of moist, I can tell you.
‘Amy, you really are quite bbbbbbeautiful, you know,’ Laurence professed as we started on our second bottle of Dom Perignon.
‘Why, thank you, Laurence,’ I smiled sweetly. Oh, if only I could say the same back then I would have been in a total dream. Sitting in a top London restaurant with ‘A list’ celebrities and a man who owned a Porsche and had his own table at The Holly! I couldn’t wait to tell everyone all about this date. It would get awkward though if they wanted to see a picture. Maybe I should engineer a photo of David Beckham & myself and pretend for a while that Laurence looked just like him.
Realising how shallow I was being, I tried to start an interesting conversation, but all I could come out with was: ‘My dad used to be a fireman, you know.’
‘Really? Well, his daughter certainly lights my ffffffire.’
‘Yes, he always drummed into me the perils of drink driving,’ I continued, noticing the amount of alcohol Monkey Man was quaffing and suddenly becoming very worried about the drive home.
‘Well, darling, I was so hoping you’d drop that hint,’ Laurence leered, ‘because I’ve already booked a suite at The GGGGGGlitz.’
I felt a tingle go through my body – not one of lust, I can tell you, but one of complete horror. The thought of spending a night next to the monkey was too much to bear. ‘Just need to get some air.’ I told him, ‘I’ll only be two mins.’
‘OK. I’ll order for you.’
‘Order for me!’
I can’t bear men who order for me. He couldn’t possibly be a Libran, they can barely make a decision for themselves, let alone somebody else. This was the last straw. I teetered out on my kitten heels and immediately phoned Brad.
‘Brad? It’s me.’
‘Why are you whispering, Amy?’
‘I’m at The Holly.’
Just saying these two little words sent Brad into complete raptures.
‘Oh my God, oh my God, The Holly. Princess, Princess – who’s there? Please say “A list”. David Beckham and Victoria? Oh my God...is he as sexy in the flesh? Oh, I lust after that man. Anyone else I should know about?’
‘I’ll fill you in when you come and pick me up.’
‘Pick you up? Emergency situation?’
‘Well actually, yes.’
‘What grade?’
‘Just a two but I need to get out of here fast.’
‘OK, now go and wait somewhere safe. I should be about forty minutes this time of night’
Brad as usual arrived exactly when he said he would and ushered me towards his car.
‘Princess, I can’t believe you’ve walked out on a man with a Porsche who took you to The Holly,’ he tutted. ‘Nor can I believe you didn’t let me take a sneaky peek in there.’
‘Brad, if you had David Beckham and an extra from Planet of the Apes in the room who would you want to sleep with?’
‘Amy, that’s stupid and hypothetical – it’s obvious.’
‘Yes, I know – but I just wanted to make the point that I had been in a room with David Beckham again – ha!’
‘Saying that I think I did sleep with some sort of baboon after I left The Angels Club the other night.’
‘Brad, you really are quite unbelievable. I love you though – thanks so much for saving me.’
I gave him a big kiss as we reached my house.
‘Anything for you, my love. Stroke that pussy of yours for me before you go to bed!’
I laughed out loud. If anyone ever overheard Brad and me they would be appalled.
– Eight –
Pisces: Destinies will merge today. Intense aspects will bring your feelings right up to the surface. Swim to the top and enjoy!
Undeterred by the effluent Mr Smith-Bourchier, another date was arranged.
‘Laurence Smith bloody Bourchier!’ I exclaimed to Brad after the debacle.
‘I’m never being enticed by status and money again. I’d rather plain old Larry Smith picked me up in a rundown banger and took me to a burger van than have to suffer that sort of thing again!’
Christopher was really sympathetic that the date had been such a disaster and laughingly promised that he would not subject me to anymore stuttering monkeys. A date with a Mr Declan O’Shea was arranged for the following week.
Friday night, 7 p.m. Tonight I was wearing a black knee-length skirt, a low-cut turquoise top and the infamous kitten heels. I felt a bit overdressed as I sat in the hotel lobby alone. I had questioned Christopher about why I was to meet a strange man in an airport hotel lobby, but he explained that Declan was a very busy man. He was flying back from Dublin that night and wanted to make the most of his time with me. This in itself sounded slightly ominous but in for a penny, in for a pound!
I was also swayed by the fact that Declan was indeed a looker. Compared to gangly Steve, thin-lipped Neil and ghastly Monkey Man, he was all my favourite male pin-ups rolled into one. If Declan was even half as good-looking as his photo then I was on to a winner here. I had actually forgotten to bring his photo with me, but was so hoping that Declan was going to be ‘Mr Right’ that I had his smile imprinted on my brain.
Nervously I sat down in the bar area and ordered a gin and tonic. Surely dating agency bods didn’t stand each other up. Weren’t they all so desperate to find a mate that no opportunity, however small, must be missed?
Just then an assortment of people started walking into the bar. There were a few smart couples in black tie. There was one, particularly ‘beautiful’ couple, hand luggage in tow and I imagined that they were flying off for a long weekend to somewhere exotic.
In true Piscean fashion I started to daydream of being whisked away somewhere wonderful. Another fifteen minutes passed by and no Declan. I decided that I would have another drink and then, if he hadn’t turned up when I‘d finished that, I would leave.
I was beginning to feel a bit embarrassed sitting in the hotel lobby alone, all dressed up with nowhere to go. Oh my God, what if people thought I was a prostitute?
‘Large rum and Coke please.’ I mouthed to the waiter. Why did the word ‘large’ always come out when I was nervous?
Bloody Geminis, never reliable, I thought to myself.
James Crook was a Gemini as well. I should have left ‘the twins’ out of the equation, simply on the strength of my ex-boyfriend’s unreliability. However, I realised that I couldn’t tar everyone with the same brush, as that would ruin my chance with a whole twelfth of the zodiac signs – and I was sure this would equate to millions of prospective husbands.
I always had a terrible inability to stick to the same alcoholic beverage. Anna said it was because I had a ‘butterfly mind’ and that was why I flitted here, there and everywhere without settling on anything or anyone. I always tried so hard to be consistent, but being consistent at being inconsistent was another forte of mine!
Why, oh, why, did I carry on mixing my drinks, instead of drinking just mixers? Through a haze of gin and rum, I felt somebody approaching. I looked up and oh my God I could almost hear the church bells ringing as he walked over to me.
He was tall, oh yes, and he was dark, plus he had the most amazing piercing blue eyes I had seen for quite some time. I doubted if Cordelia had needed to touch his photo up one bit. He was gorgeous, with a big, fat capital G!
‘Hello, and what
’s a pretty girl like you doing in a bar like this on your own?’ The Irish lilt serenaded.
I liked this; I played up to his part. ‘Waiting for a gorgeous man like you to join me, obviously.’
I laughed flirtatiously. This was more like it. My heart was pounding already. Thank you, Christopher. Thank you, Cordelia. Thank You, Lord. At last I had met a date who I fancied instantly.
It hadn’t crossed my mind that he might be Irish but with a name like Declan O’Shea I suppose I should have guessed. Irish accents have always made me quiver with desire. When I visited Dublin with H this got me in all sorts of trouble. People thought I was having some sort of fit every time I walked down Herbert Street.
‘What are you drinking?’
‘Well, it was rum in here but I actually fancy a whisky and Coke now.’
‘Large one?’
Oh, here I go again. ‘Yes, please.’
Large drinks, large blue eyes – fantastic! A pianist started to play, and all I could think of was Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca (one of my favourite films). I thought back to the sample profiles; maybe old Ingmar had directed it and I didn’t even know. The godlike creature returned. He was dressed casually and he smelt gorgeous; his shoes passed the test and his face was like that of an angel. I felt no need to sneeze as he could have said, ‘Burn in hell,’ and I’ve have still sat there!
Desire hit me. I hadn’t slept with anyone for over a year and it was fantastic to feel those sensations again.
‘It’s really awkward meeting someone like this for the first time, isn’t it?’ I piped up.
‘Not when that someone is so beautiful and I feel instantly at ease with her, it isn’t,’
The Irish accent soothed. I pinched myself. Surely this couldn’t be true? Ouch!, No, I was still here; what’s more I was still feeling quite sober.
‘Good flight?’ I enquired.
‘Flight? Oh yeah, grand thanks.’
‘This agency lark. I’m so pleased that it isn’t just the uglies of this world who apply.’ If I were a dog my tongue would have been splashing right around my face by now, and my tail would have flown off!