“Sod’s law, isn’t it?” I say, as I look skywards.
“It’s just water.”
Another brownie point: he’s glass half full.
“Doesn’t your dog mind?”
“Sheba? No, she’s not bothered. Good as gold.”
When she hears her name, she nudges his hand with her nose and I melt. If Duncan and she were paired, I’d have trouble concentrating, but I have to admit Edward does nothing for me. If someone could bottle chemistry they’d make a fortune. Despite the obvious shortcomings (pardon the pun), there’s no spark.
“Hello?”
“Sorry, miles away. She is lovely, isn’t she?”
“I’ve not had her long, but we’ve bonded so well.”
“I can tell. What’s she like when you wash her?”
“Again, she loves it. We went to Hunstanton the other day and she was in and out of the water.”
“You’re lucky. We had dogs when I was growing up and they’d refuse to go out when it was raining, tolerated the bath, and preferred the sand and other dogs to the water.” I then spot there’s no sign of a lead. “And she doesn’t run away?”
“No. I obviously put her on a lead…” he pats his jacket’s left pocket, “when we’re in the street, but she never goes far.”
We walk round the top half of the park, which is packed, mainly with other dog walkers.
And we have a wonderful time. He’s easy to talk to and so funny. As we make a fuss over other dogs, we’re oblivious to what’s about to happen.
It starts to bucket and we run towards the bandstand for shelter. It’s soon crammed. A teenage couple stands right next to us, and we can’t help staring as they lock lips. The rain’s continuous and so is the kiss. I look at my mobile’s clock.
“Do you have to go?” Edward asks, and I’m tempted to say no, but can’t see any point in going round the park again, especially not in this weather.
“Sorry, but I ought to.”
“Oh, sure.” He looks rather dejected and I look down at Sheba who’s wearing a similar expression. They’re so suited it’s scary, and I wonder whether he needs another female in his life when this one loves him so much already.
Being surrounded by people, neither of us makes any reference to being on a date, but just say we’ll see each other soon, and then I make a dash for the car. I was going to walk, but by the time I’d left the shop after seeing Ursula and put away the dishes I didn’t have time, and I’m glad for that now. Like Edward, I think ‘it’s only water’, but when you’re soaked through and it takes forever against a radiator to get warm, it’s not much fun.
I drip on the upholstery as I get in the car and whack the heating up to full blast. An old parking ticket flies off the dashboard and flutters to the floor.
I’m about to start the engine when there’s a knock on the window. I half expect it to be Edward, but it’s a woman of about seventy. I zip down the window. “Hello?”
“Hello, dear.”
I wait for her to say something else, but she seems somewhat lost. The rain’s eased off. It’s still spitting, but it doesn’t seem to bother her.
“Can I help you?”
“Are you that girl from the paper?”
“Possibly.”
“The one who’s going on all those rendezvous?”
I whisper, “I am.”
“I saw you in the park with a man, was he one of them?”
“I can’t say.”
“I bet he was.”
“I’m not at liberty…” I crack like crazy paving. “Please don’t say anything to him. It’s supposed to be secret.”
Her eyes widen excitedly. “Like an undercover operation?”
“Sort of.”
“I think you’re very brave.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes, dear.”
“Thank you. And thank you for reading my column.”
“I’ve only been reading them since you’ve been doing these ones. It’s much more interesting than all that high-tech gismo mumbo jumbo.”
“Thank you.” I think.
“My grandson’s got one of those little computer things… a top something…”
“Laptop?”
“Yes, a laptop. And he said he’s going to set up a page for me with my details on it, so I can do what you’re doing.”
“A dating profile?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.”
“I’ve been on my own, you see, for a little while and he thinks I’m lonely and sometimes I am. I have my garden, the bridge club, the salsa lessons, swimming…”
“My goodness. Do you not meet men when you’re out doing all this?”
“Yes, dear, but they’re so old. I don’t want someone my age. Oh no, they’re too fuddy duddy.”
“Will you let me know how you get on?”
“Really? You want to know?”
“Please. I don’t think I’ll stop writing about online dating just because I’ve done the month. Not for a while anyway. I’ve had so much feedback that it’s obviously something people are interested in. And I’d especially love to know how the… er, different age groups get on.”
“The old and wrinklies.”
“I wouldn’t put it like that. Besides, you certainly sound far more active than even people my age.”
“I have to stay active. Can’t sit and rot, can I?”
“It doesn’t sound like you have time to sit, and good on you. I only hope I’m as sprightly.”
“Keeps the brain going too. Better get on. My daughter-in-law and grandson have gone on with Bertie, that’s their dog, but I had to stop and say something.”
“I’m very flattered you did.”
“My pleasure. It’s not every day I see someone famous.”
“But I’m not…”
She looks towards the bottom section of the park and waves. “Coming!” she yells then turns back to me. “Better go. Got some catching up to do. Bye, dear.”
“Bye and thank…” but she’s gone, striding down the path like she’s on a mission. Just watching her makes me tired.
Even though I could murder an early night, Donna and I have arranged to meet at Chicago’s at nine, so I’ve got a few hours to kill. I start the car and wonder what I’m going to do. I’ve not read the paper yet, so that sounds great, alongside a bath and… no ice cream. A quick stop to Morrison’s is called for.
As I head in that direction, I think of what Mrs Setting Up a Profile to Find a Toy Boy said. Me, famous? I burst out laughing, much to the curiosity of the driver who’s pulled up next to me at the lights.
Chapter 21 – Callum at Delapré Park
After a fantastic night out with Donna, leading to a three a.m. turn-in, I’m up at nine and am knackered. I’m supposed to be meeting Callum at eleven, so don’t have much time to get ready. We’ve not said anything about lunch, although I’m not hungry having had the ice cream for lunch yesterday and a kebab midnight snack with a burger buster meal in between. Donna, you’d think, would be mortified, but she matched me mouthful for mouthful for the last two and won hands down. I’m such a lightweight.
I decide on a couple of slices of toast to keep me going. Delapré Park isn’t huge, but if we get on well and do two laps, the sound of my rumbling stomach probably wouldn’t win him over.
Callum’s standing by his vehicle when I pull into the car park, and he’s exactly how I imagine a cloud spirit to look. He has pre-About a Boy Hugh Grant floppy hair and brown corduroys, brown loafers and a teacher-style jacket. The vehicle is something else I’ve always fancied getting: a pale blue VW camper. It’s the Scooby Doo model and so cute.
He grins and shows smoker’s teeth. I then notice the fag in his hand and am glad we’re outdoors. I dated a smoker in my early twenties and it was, as they say, like kissing an ashtray – I don’t want to go through that again.
I’m still feeling jaded from last night and know I’m not going to be my usually chatty self, but
manage to utter an enthusiastic, “Hi.”
“Are you fit?”
I feel far from it, but say, “I am,” and we walk towards the park.
“Do you want to go clockwise or anticlockwise?”
Does it matter? “I don’t mind. Surprise me.”
“Okay,” he says cheerfully, and it’s clear he’s chosen anticlockwise as we head for the right-hand bottom corner.
We haven’t got very far when he stops. “Bugger.”
“Forgotten something?”
“Yes, in the car.”
“Shall I wait here?”
“May as well. Won’t be a second.”
I watch him return to the camper and open the boot. He pulls out what looks like a suitcase and blanket, then slams the boot shut before walking back towards me. As he gets closer I see the suitcase is a picnic basket, and I’m glad I only had toast for breakfast.
“That looks nice.”
“A few things I threw together.”
“Isn’t it a bit early for lunch?”
“Brunch?”
“Sounds good to me.” Despite my initial reservations, I’m warming to the guy.
We get to the top and he stops again, turns and looks at the bottom of the hill and Delapre Abbey. “This is the spot, perfect.” He lays the blanket on the ground, putting the basket in the middle, and we sit on either side.
Before he opens the basket, he lies flat on his back and looks up at the sky. He’s silent for a minute then says, “Wow!”
“Wow?” I say.
“Look at the sky and tell me what you see.”
I played this game when I was five and feel a bit old for it now, but do it to please him, although I stay seated and look up.
“I see two lines, like a vapour trail.”
“Yes, but what do you see?”
“A race track? Vertebrae? Heart monitor?”
“Oh, no, it’s far more exciting than that. It signifies parallel worlds.”
“Sorry?”
“Oh yes.” He’s getting quite excited. “One line signifies everything that’s wrong with the world and the other, everything that’s right.”
I can’t see it myself, but give him an agreeable murmur and nod.
“You see where they run in sync? That’s the times when there’s no hardship, no wars, but the lines soon wobble or veer apart and that’s when there’s…”
“Hardship and war.”
He claps his hands. “You get it.”
I don’t at all, but give him another nod. In fact I can’t ever remember a time when the world was as he describes. Right from Adam and Eve there’s been conflict and hardship and if there’s any world that’s trouble-free, then Callum’s certainly living in it. I watch him as he unpacks the crockery. The food looks amazing.
“It must be very frustrating then for you to watch all the bad news on TV.”
“I don’t own a TV.”
“Online then?”
“Don’t have a computer either.”
“Then how did you contact me?”
“My kid brother. He thought it was a good idea.” Which implies he doesn’t, but I don’t say as much. “I don’t have a mobile either. They fry your brain, you know.” I think his brain wouldn’t stand a chance, mobile or no mobile. “Why would you want any form of man-made technology when you can get every fulfilment from nature?”
“Nature is amazing,” I concede.
“Oh yes, you see…” He loses me after that although I do pick up “…the main issues associated with meeting the challenges of international development, in the context of changing global, political and economic circumstances.”
When he’s finished, I’m still none the wiser, but say, “Wow,” again, which pleases him. “Where did you learn all that?”
“BA / BSc (Hons) Environmental Studies. University of Hertfordshire. Got a First.”
“Gosh,” I reply lamely. I don’t know what to say after that, so pretend to cloud watch, uming and ahing as they drift by. I rack my brains for something else and reckon he must at least read newspapers, so I ask him who he thinks will win the next election.
“I don’t know. I don’t follow politics.”
“But doesn’t a change in government affect environmental issues?”
“Probably, but they’re as bad as each other.” He pauses. “What?”
“Sorry. I find it amazing that you can spout so much, and yet you don’t keep up with the everyday.”
“Spout?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
He bolts upright. “Spout!” I watch him as he packs up the basket, closes it and grabs the handle. He stands up and stomps back down the hill. I pull up the blanket and fold it as I follow him, at the same speed, but purposely keeping a few feet behind.
“Sorry!” I shout after him.
His pace increases; he quickly reaches the camper and unlocks the boot. I catch up with him and silently hand him the blanket.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
“I am sorry.”
“I have to go.”
“Okay.” And there’s nothing more to say.
I watch him drive away and wonder how long he’ll feel sorry for himself. He’ll probably tell his brother to remove his profile unless his in-touch-with-reality sibling persuades him that the right woman is out there for him. She probably is, but she won’t be online to see his profile because she’ll be too busy lying on her back at the top of a hill somewhere. Those were the days.
At least having a short date gives me time at home before driving to my parents.
I don’t have to be in Olney ’til four, so have three and a half hours. The sensible thing to do would be to catch up on my sleep, but I’m not sensible. Instead I curl up on the sofa under a throw and veg out on soup, more toast and two films.
There’s ringing in my ears.
When I come to, I realise it’s the phone. I go to grab the cordless handset and notice the clock on it says five ten. Urgh. I press the green ‘accept’ button.
“Hello?”
“Isobel?”
Who else would it be? “Yes, Mum.”
“Are you coming over today?”
“I am, but I fell asleep on the sofa.”
“Don’t be long.” And she hangs up.
That’s my mum, short (well, five feet six) and sweet (most of the time).
I arrive at their house just before six and Lola runs out to meet me. “Aunt Izzy! Auntie Izzy!”
“Hey, pumpkin.”
“I’ve got a new horse!”
“Really?’ When I walk into the house, I expect to see a stuffed animal, Barbie variety or rocking horse, but there’s no sign of anything. “Where is it, Lola?’
“Where’s what?”
“The horse.”
“In the field, of course.”
“You’ve got a real horse?”
She nods vehemently.
This makes the theatre seem very tame and I hesitate retrieving it from the boot, but there’s no sign of any toys in the spotless lounge, so figure it would be nice for her to have something to play with. I hear voices from the kitchen, so go through, leaving Lola to stare out through the patio doors.
“Ah, there she is.”
“Hello, Dad.” We hug, then I turn to the others. Mum’s cooking the evening meal while Mark and Ellen lean against the work surface near the dining room.
“Hello, everyone.”
They say hello but stay put, engrossed in something.
“Sorry, have I interrupted?”
“No, it’s fine,” Mark says, before turning to his wife.
“I heard about the horse,” I say and add before I can help it, “It’s very extravagant.”
“Yes, it is.” Mark’s glaring at Ellen.
“She wanted one,” Ellen says.
“But it’s far too big for her.”
“She’ll grow into it.”
“In a few years. By then she’ll have got b
ored with it.”
“It’s an investment.”
“A liability.”
“We’ve been over this a hundred times.”
I feel like I’ve transmuted into the middle of a war zone, with my parents as onlookers.
“Can you ride, Ellen?” my dad asks.
“Oh, yes. I already have a horse at the stables.”
“Two horses?” my mum pipes in.
“Yes,” Mark growls.
Dad looks at me and changes the subject. “How’s work, Izzy?”
“Good, thanks. The column’s going well.”
“Mark’s been offered a promotion,” Ellen butts in.
“That’s great,” I say, but Mark seems less than chuffed.
“Thanks. Means more travelling.”
“Is that bad?” I ask.
“No,” Ellen blurts, “we get to go with him on the long hauls.”
“That’s good,” I say sincerely.
“Mmm,” Mark says, unconvinced. “So they won’t be around to ride the horses.”
Ellen’s face flushes. “Are we going back to that?”
Mum taps a wooden spoon on the edge of a dish, which successfully kills the conversation.
“I’ve got something in the car for Lola. Shall I get it?” I offer.
“That sounds lovely, dear,” Dad says as he follows me out of the kitchen.
“Mark seems a bit stressed,” I say, standing by my car.
“I think they’ve got money worries.”
“So they go and buy a horse?”
“I don’t think he’s letting on to Ellen.”
“But she’ll find out, won’t she?”
“I gather this promotion will sort it.”
“So he works himself to death while she gallivants around the countryside on her thoroughbred.”
“I don’t think it’s a thoroughbred.”
“Knowing her…”
“She means well. Anyway, what’s this present for little Lola?”
“Oh, yes. I got it from a boot sale last Sunday.” I zap the remote and lift the boot.
“Look at that. She’ll love it.”
“I hope so.”
“Shall I?”
“Sure.”
Lola’s eyes light up as her grandfather brings the box into the lounge. “Wow! Is that for me?”
The Serial Dater Page 23