“Just the ones that matter.”
I’m not sure if ‘ones’ means bosses or articles, but I say ‘Thanks’ all the same.
William’s phone rings and he looks at the screen. He points a finger to the ceiling, so I assume the bosses’ ears are burning; that or telepathy runs fifty miles.
I make my exit and walk back to my desk via Donna’s.
“Morning,” I say bright and breezily.
“Hello,” she says without any hint of a spark.
“What’s the matter?”
“I think Duncan’s going to dump me.”
“What makes you think that?”
“He’s cancelled tonight.”
“Did he say why?”
“Evening surgery.”
“Has he?”
“I don’t know.”
“You could always ring the reception and try to make an appointment.”
“But I don’t have a pet.”
“You could say it’s an emergency.”
“That would be lying… and spying.”
“You’re a poet and you don’t even… Has he said when he’s going to see you next?”
“Tomorrow lunchtime.”
“That’s good news. If he didn’t want to see you he’d postpone for a few days. Let you sweat.”
“He’s not like that.”
“But you think he’s going to break up with you.”
“It’s a feeling. Something’s up.”
“You’ve got…” I look at the clock and it’s twelve thirty. “Twenty-four hours. Do you want me to call by on my way home tonight?”
“Thanks, but it’s okay. I’m going down to see my mum straight from work, now I’m, you know… I was supposed to go at the weekend, but I saw Duncan instead.”
My heart goes out to Donna as she looks as if she’s struggling. There’s a hint of a smile because they clearly had a lovely weekend, but it’s fighting with the worry. “I’ll leave my mobile on and will text you later.”
When I go back to my desk, I check my messages and Bully4U has replied. Instead of the Abington Park Hotel he’s invited me to an office party. Apparently it’s his boss’s thirtieth birthday and she’s throwing a big bash straight after work. He wasn’t sure whether it would end early enough to meet me and thought this might be more fun. As if meeting me at APH wasn’t going to be fun, but I get what he means.
He also works in town, which is handy, so I reply to say I’ll see him just after five. Office parties can be entertaining, especially with a young boss, and I bet there are a few office romances that he can tell me about. When plied with enough fizz.
Donna says she’s not in the mood to go out for lunch, but I insist, so we walk down the Wellingborough Road, stopping at the first coffee shop we find. It’s very quiet, which suits us. I let her waffle on about Duncan and do my best to reassure her it’ll be fine. There’s no knowing with men, but Duncan doesn’t seem the type to mess anyone around.
We buy the biggest Chelsea bun in the shop (a rare lapse for Donna) and pick at it between us on the walk back to the office.
There’s no sign of Mike when we arrive and Marion’s on the phone again.
I spend the afternoon wading through and tying up tallgirlnn1 messages, and debate whether to pull my profile. I decide to leave it, in case Bully4U still needs to ‘speak’ to me or worse, cancels. Half-glass Izzy.
It’s soon half four and I get changed into a gorgeous dress Karen’s lent me. Sitting next to the über fashion queen has its advantages.
As I walk out of the ladies and go back to my desk to get my matching bag, again thanks to Karen, heads turn. I must admit I feel like a lottery winner in my Julien McDonald turquoise blue shimmering shift and smile at Karen, mouthing, Thank you, as I pick up the clutch.
Donna rushes over with her arms outstretched, but seeing the exquisite detailing in the dress, stops.
“It’s all right. It’s last season’s.”
Relieved, she gives me a big hug, which I think also makes her feel better, and we’re still in a clinch when William walks past. We let go and he smiles.
“If I didn’t know better I’d think there was something going on between you two.”
I don’t know how to react until he laughs, and adds, “Very pretty, Miss MacFarlane.” I feel my face go red, which would clash dreadfully with the outfit, but fortunately he’s already going back towards his office.
Donna giggles and I growl her name through gritted teeth, but she just smiles and returns to her desk.
As I leave, my dress even gets a smile from Marion. Either that or it’s wind.
I feel rather overdressed as I walk past the college towards Abington Street and the main pedestrianised shopping area. McNeil, Duffy and Chilson is above an independent temp agency and an already-shut bakers, and looks to have perfect views for people-watching. I ring the bell on the plain front door and am buzzed in.
Pete’s standing at the top of the stairs, and the dress makes an impression on him too.
“Wow!”
“Oh, thanks.” I’m tempted to add ‘This old thing’, but it’s a Julien McDonald, so can’t imagine it ever being old, even if it were last season (it’s not, but it made Donna feel better).
We go through the door on the landing, which is like stepping from a sound booth into the real world, because as soon as the door seals are separated, the noise is deafening.
Pete introduces me to his colleagues. I’m hopeless at remembering names and they’re only fixed in my brain for the few seconds it takes to be introduced to the next person.
The name I won’t be forgetting is Emily’s, the boss, and epitome of female lawyers. She’s tall, about the same height as me, although I’m wearing black spangly kitten heels and hers (I look later when it’s not being obvious) are a good couple of inches on mine, making her around five feet eight. Still, I would say, a formidable presence in a courtroom. When I first see her, she has her back to us, but as we walk over, she turns and puts on the same plastic smile I’ve worn a few times this month. She holds her hand out, waits to be introduced, and Pete duly obliges. I recognise her, but say nothing other than, “Hello.” She’ll keep.
Most of Pete’s colleagues are dancing in the kitchen end of the open-plan office. Because of the computers, the desks haven’t been moved, but the copier’s been unplugged and relocated, leaving enough space for twenty or so bodies to get up close and personal. Pete and I have just joined in when the theme tune to one of the Boots adverts comes on to a rapturous applause; everyone seems to know the words to the chorus as they belt out ‘here come the girls’. I have it on my iPod, so join in and even manage a bit of some of the verses.
It’s clear the alcohol has been flowing for some time, as few are still sober; those few include Emily and me. I wheedle my way towards her, which is easier said than done.
“Emily, hi.”
“Hello. Izzy, was it?”
I nod. “Thanks for letting me gate-crash your party. Happy birthday.”
“Thanks. It’s not until the weekend, but my husband’s taking me away somewhere tomorrow for a mini-break.”
“How lovely. Do you know where you’re going?’
“He won’t tell me, but he’s a pilot and gets free travel, so it could be anywhere.”
A pilot. Of course he is.
We stand in silence for a few seconds, looking at the dance floor. She goes to say something when I blurt out, “We’ve already met.”
Her brow creases. “Oh, I don’t think…”
“Twice,” I continue.
She shakes her head.
“The Aviator earlier this month.”
“No, I think I’d…”
“And the Fish Street café a couple of weeks ago.”
“Erm…”
“Tall black guy?”
Her expression changes and I can tell the penny’s finally dropped. Then her guard flips back up. “I’m sorry…”
“Izzy.”
“I’m sorry, Izzy. I think you must have me confused…”
“Yes, I must. My mistake. Nice ring,” I say, looking at her left hand.
She blushes and lifts her glass. “Looks like I need a refill. Help yourself and have a good time.”
Oh yes, I’m having a good time all right.
I watch her wander off to chat to a female colleague and of course I’m not in the slightest bit green. Emily’s a natural blonde with piercing blue eyes (as have I when I wear contact lenses), a body to kill for (mine’s still a work in progress) and perfectly behaved hair. Mine, on the other hand, only ever behaves while sitting in the hairdresser’s chair. Even walking out the door into the lightest of breezes sends it all over the place and it’s never the same again.
Next thing I know, Pete’s grabbing my arm and leading me to the refreshments. The food must have been done by a caterer, although I wouldn’t put it past Epitome Emily to have made it all herself.
“The food looks lovely!” I shout to Pete.
“We’ve got Emily to thank for that.”
Why am I not surprised? “She made it?”
“Oh, no she’s a hopeless cook. Her sister’s a caterer.”
I grin and pick up a plate, helping myself to a selection of goodies. Buffets are my favourite type of food, and I’m so happy to be going out on a high.
A rather short stocky guy comes over and is carrying something weird-looking in his right hand. When he holds it out, I realise it’s a pair of devil’s horns. He thrusts them at Pete, who’s more than happy to wear them and goes back to the ‘dance floor’ complete with plate of food.
The female colleague Emily was chatting to comes over and helps herself to the buffet.
“Hi, I’m Izzy, friend of Pete’s,” I say.
“Hello.” She doesn’t divulge her name. “There are a few of those.”
I assume she means the other colleagues until she continues. “He’s been out with all the women here.”
“Oh.”
“Except me.”
“Ah.”
Pete’s a good-looking guy, probably mid-thirties, and is dancing next to Emily.
“Including her,” Miss No Name says bitterly.
“Before she was married.”
“Oh yes.”
“Okay.”
“Before… during… probably after.”
Miss No Name is glaring at Emily and I can see a catfight ensuing. “She’s rich, you know.”
“I would imagine she is. She’s one of the partners, presumably.”
“She’s the Duffy, her maiden name of course, married the McNeil.”
“As in one of the other partners?”
“Old duffer. Flaunts her affairs under his nose.”
“I thought she said he was a pilot.”
“I think he has a licence, but just small stuff. She’s probably trying to give him a heart attack.”
Too much information. “Is he here?”
“No. Left a while ago.”
I nod sympathetically. So not quite the charmed life she likes people to believe. Emily and Pete are entwined as they do the Lambada, and I can see other colleagues looking less than impressed.
With all eyes on the dance floor, I wolf down the rest of my food and, picking a particularly sultry part of the song, see this as my cue to leave. As I reach the door, I turn round and see Pete’s still oblivious to anyone but his boss, so I close the door behind me, grateful for the tranquillity of the silent landing, and walk back to the office.
The street is nearly deserted and remnants of rush hour traffic edge around the corner of the impressive BBC Radio Northampton building. The town may have changed in the last few years, but the old buildings that remain are defiantly watching over their people.
Marion’s long gone and the office is quiet – just William, Janice and Aunt Agnes left.
Keith wolf whistles as he comes out of the kitchen and I smile without saying anything, adding a little wiggle to my walk. He goes back to his desk and I see William look up from his. He smiles too then returns his gaze downwards as Janice switches off her side lamp and picks up her bag.
I gather up my work clothes to go to the ladies.
“That colour suits you,” Janice says.
“Thanks. It does feel lovely.”
“Ask if you can keep it.”
“I couldn’t do that.”
“I’m sure William wouldn’t mind.”
“William?”
“You’d have to ask Karen first, but obviously William has the ultimate say.”
“Of course, but…”
“You deserve it.”
And she’s right. I do. I’ve given up nearly every night for him this month and while some of it’s been fun, other nights have been torture. “Will do. Thanks,” I say, and follow her down the corridor, disappearing into the ladies while she heads for reception.
I’m Cinderella after the ball. As soon as the dress comes off, the magic is over. Work clothes represent the real me, and, while I love being me, I felt particularly special in a frock I’d probably only buy for a wedding, and I haven’t been to one of those since Mark and Ellen’s.
I hang up the dress behind Karen’s desk, and put the bag in her cupboard. After leaving a thank-you note, I head off home.
Feeling quite low and deciding I’m off men, I reckon I deserve a celebration of my own. It’s the end of the project, so I decide to treat myself to a chart DVD or two and some snacks. Asda has a special offer on Ben & Jerry’s, what better incentive than to do my weekly shop there.
As I walk through the front doors after grabbing a basket, I remember they’re doing their first ever Dating Night. I groan as I see all these single shoppers wearing red heart numbered badges. A smiling chap in green and black offers me a badge of my own as I go through the entry barrier. I raise my hand, so he steps back. I notice the badge I would have been given was number sixty-nine, so I’m doubly glad I refused.
I can’t believe that sixty-eight other singletons are wandering around this store in the hope of picking up more than a ripe melon or pack of cheese-topped baps, but as I walk on, I see the place is packed. The only time I want to be surrounded by couples and there isn’t one in sight.
After grabbing two bags of mixed salad, I go to the frozen desserts section. As they’re ‘buy one get one free’, I get two Cherry Garcia, a Pfish Food and Vanilla Toffee Crunch.
I’d forgotten to get milk, so walk back an aisle. After adding a litre of semi-skimmed to my basket, I make slow progress along the CD accessories and shop-brand kitchen equipment. I’m tempted by a set of bluetooth speakers, but they’ve only got them on a higher shelf. I’m five ten but even I struggle to reach. I’m on my tiptoes when an arm appears from nowhere and grabs the box for me.
“Thank you,” I say automatically, before turning to my well-over-six-feet knight in white cotton armour.
It’s William.
“Why does it not surprise me to see you here?” he says.
“Why does it surprise me to see you here?” I reply.
“I’m bored with the other supermarkets, so thought I’d try this.”
William’s never struck me as the sort of person to get bored with anything.
“I’m on my indirect way home after date number thirty-one,” I say proudly.
“How did it go?”
My, he looks good in jeans. Apart from a crisis weekend when he had to interrupt a rare holiday to come in and sort it out, I’ve only ever seen him in a suit, but he looks doubly good.
He looks at my basket and I cringe. “Eating for two?”
I laugh unconvincingly. “Stocking up the freezer. Taking advantage of an offer.”
“Me too,” he says, and I see his basket’s full of healthy option ready meals.
“Ah, so you’re a microwave chef too.”
“It’s quicker. I need to eat two at a time because there’s nothing to them, but–”
“So do I,” I say, alth
ough I rarely touch the healthy options (unless they’re on offer) because they’re usually watery.
He looks at my chest, and I look down.
“Sorry,” he says, “looking to see if you’re taking part in this dating thing.”
“God, no. I’ve had my fill, thanks very much.”
“Off men then for a while?”
“For life!” I blurt out but backtrack. “That’s not strictly true. I’m waiting for the right one.”
“Don’t wait too long or your ice cream will melt.”
I know the feeling.
We smile at each other, then say “Okay” in unison. He heads towards the checkouts and I stay put.
As I watch him walk away, I can’t resist looking at the red tab on his 501s rear pocket.
I put the speakers back on a lower shelf; they’re a paltry one watt, which wouldn’t cover my understairs toilet, let alone a bedroom or lounge.
With William safely gone, I walk to the alcohol aisle, adding two bottles of buy-one-get-one-free Baileys and a full-price Disaronno to my basket.
I’m unloading my goodies onto the conveyor belt in the basket aisle by the exit doors when I sense someone standing next to me.
“Has it been that bad?”
I look up and, of course, it’s William.
“What’s that?”
“Your project. Not only is it driving you into the arms of Mr Ben and Mr Jerry, but Messrs Bailey and Disaronno are joining the party.”
“I’m just…”
“Stocking up. It’s okay.” He leans in and whispers, “Your secret’s safe with me.”
I’m about to speak when he winks and walks towards the exit.
“He’s cute,” the young female cashier says. “Get his number?”
“Oh no, he’s…”
“Shame.”
With all the ‘men’ jostling for space in the boot of my car, I drive home with a smile.
As I get home I see Ursula walking up her garden path, arm in arm with Nick. They’re oblivious to their surroundings and nattering away. I smile as I unpack the shopping and look forward to catching up with her when I see her next.
I’ve already promised myself that, come hell or high water, I’m going to finish Opaque tonight, so the TV stays off. I text Donna who says she’s fine, but will feel better ‘when it’s all over’. I don’t think she literally means that, so I send a ‘text me if you need me’ reply.
The Serial Dater Page 31