50 Ways to Find a Lover (24 page)

‘You’ve got to stop screaming like you’re giving birth, Sare. One day you’ll get dangerously entangled in a pair of tights and you’ll scream but I won’t help you because I’ll assume that you’re just annoyed about something on your BLOODY BLOG!’

‘Steady. What’s up with you?’

Simon lifts a box of cocks from its tall pile and places it on the floor next to mine.

‘You know sitting around blogging all day isn’t healthy, don’t you? Why don’t you take up badminton or something?’

‘Badminton? Do I look like I want to take up badminton?’

‘What about dance? You could do a dance class!’

‘I love my blog, Si.’

‘Yeah, but you’re living life on a computer. You barely move.’

‘Look! I’ll clench and release my bottom muscles while I sit.’ I demonstrate by bobbing up and down slightly. Simon is speechless for a moment.

‘Firming,’ I inform him, smiling.

‘Come here, crazy girl,’ he says, putting his arm around me. I nestle next to him. He starts to wiggle and fidget on his seat and then frees two Cockaladas from the box he’s sitting on.

‘Aperitif ?’ he says.

‘Go on,’ I say, smiling.

‘Are you going to go on a date with this number one fan then? I saw he asked again.’

I look at Si and gasp.

‘It’s Paranoid Jay! It is, isn’t it? That’s why you’re so keen for me to meet him!’

‘No, Sare. I don’t know who it is. I just think he sounds nicer than all those other weirdos.’

‘I don’t believe you. It’s got to be Jay. He’s local.’

We sit there in silence for a moment sucking. The penis colada one is really tasty. Simon sighs deeply.

‘Are you all right?’ I ask him.

‘Yeah, fine. I’ve got a lot of stuff on my mind, that’s all.’

‘Tell me.’

‘OK. You won’t say I’m being stupid?’

‘I can’t promise that. If it’s stupid I’d have to tell you and then rib you mercilessly about it for ever.’

‘Well, Cockalada could make me a lot of money. Obviously I’ll use that to set up the holiday business in Brazil.’

‘Yep.’

‘But, I’d rather do holidays for people who’d appreciate them. Don’t get me wrong, the rich businessmen enjoy their white-water rafting and stuff, but I want to set up a charity to take kids away. Tricky teenagers who wouldn’t get the chance; they’d have a holiday of a lifetime. Do you think that’s ridiculous?’

‘Si, why would I think it was ridiculous? That’s the most amazing thing anyone has ever said to me.’

‘I’ve looked into it and insurance is a bit of a nightmare but I could do it.’

‘If anyone can do it, you can.’ I smile.

‘Ruth’s pissed off with me though and I don’t know what to do.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, she won’t say it but I think having a boyfriend who sells alcohol in cocks isn’t quite what she wants; she is a high-flying City girl, after all.’

‘Well, if she doesn’t realize you’re the nicest bloke on the planet, she’s a knobhead!’ I say seriously. He looks suddenly bashful. So I give him a kiss on the cheek and stand up.

‘What you up to?’ he asks.

‘I’m going to phone fifty-seven-year-old Eamonn Nigels,’ I say, and start to rummage on my desk for the card he gave me.

‘I thought you were going to pull at
Casualty
!’

‘I’m keeping my options open and my readers interested,’ I tell him.

I start to dial the number while Simon whistles ‘Grandad We Love You’ badly.

thirty

Eamonn Nigels is picking me up! The only person who picks me up to take me anywhere is my dad. It’s not the best omen. I am so nervous I’ve chewed off two nails and the majority of my bottom lip, and now I’m pacing. My worries broadly fall into three main categories:

My perturbed path takes me into the lounge. Ruth is sitting on the sofa, the TV is off and she’s shaking her head quietly to herself.

‘You look lovely, Sarah!’ She sounds too surprised for me to be pleased.

‘Thanks, I’ve got a date,’ I tell her, nervously peering out of the window.

‘Oh,’ she says sadly.

‘Are you all right?’ I ask.

‘How do you cope with all these boxes in the flat?’ she sighs.

‘Dunno. They’re quite funny and the drink’s tasty. I’ll probably miss them when they’re gone.’

Her pretty face furrows.

‘I find it offensive. Simon doesn’t seem to care. He’s a really talented guy, Sarah. Why doesn’t he get a proper job?’

‘Wer-urgh,’ I utter. My body jolts at the words ‘proper job’. I believe that one of the reasons that Simon and I have remained such good friends is our shared belief that proper jobs should be avoided at all costs. I look at Ruth, sitting there in her clean shoes and pressed trouser suit.

‘Oh, Ruth, this is just a way for him to make money so he can set up the charity.’

‘What charity?’

‘The charity taking kids on adventure holidays.’

‘You what?’

‘Um.’ I have no idea why Simon hasn’t told his girlfriend about his new life’s mission.

‘Has he said to you he wants to set up a charity?’

‘Um.’

‘He can’t even afford to go on holiday with
me
! And he’s talking about taking kids away!’ She looks furious.

‘Oh, Ruth. You should be proud. He won’t be selling cocks for ever.’

‘Sarah, he came to my work do the other week in a sombrero and sang the cock song. He gave my boss a Cockalada.’

I try really hard and really badly not to laugh.

‘I’ve just got to call my dad quickly,’ I say to her. She nods and leaves the room. Calling my dad seems like a good idea. He can calm me down and give me an insight into the older man.

There is a long beep. Then my dad says, ‘Bugger’ and drops the phone.

‘You still haven’t got the hang of that fax phone have you?’ I laugh.

‘Bloody thing,’ he mutters. ‘Val, Val! I’ve got Sarah on the phone. A gin and tonic would be lovely!’ he screeches. ‘Now then, what can I do for you?’

‘Dad, I’m going on a date,’ I say sadly.

‘Oh, you are doing well at your quest, Sarah; let’s hope he’s not another Gothid.’

‘Goth-
ic
, Dad!’ I correct. ‘He’s not a Gothic. I know him. From the café. But he’s a lot older than me.’

‘How much older?’ my dad asks casually.

‘Twenty-eight years,’ I say quietly.

My father coughs, then screams, ‘How are you doing with that gin and tonic, Val?’

‘Oh God, you think it’s a bad idea, don’t you?’ I say quickly.

‘Not at all, he could join me on the Golden Oldies golf day,’ he chuckles. ‘We could have joint birthday parties, his sixtieth and my seventieth.’ He’s really amusing himself now. ‘And—’

‘Dad,’ I whine. ‘Stop it, it’s not funny.’

‘Oh, thanks, Val!’ says my dad, obviously having received his gin and tonic. ‘Now, Val, what do you think about Sarah dating an older man?’

‘Well, everyone’s doing it now. Take Des O’Connor, he’s in his seventies and he’s just had a baby with a woman in her thirties.’

I sigh deeply. My mother citing Des O’Connor when offering dating advice construes a new low.

‘Now, Sarah’ – it’s my dad again – ‘as long as you are happy and he treats you well, we’re happy. Now where is it you’re going . . .’ slurp of gin and tonic, ‘the Age Concern disco?’ Guffaws from both of them now.

‘What are you wearing? A tin hat and gas mask?’ Uncontrollable near-to-incontinence laughter now.

‘Dad! Listen! He’s taking me to one of the best restaurants in the world where they serve pigs’ innards and he’s a famous film director and I’ll have nothing to say to him. I feel sick.’

‘Calm down and listen to me. You have a lot to offer someone. You’re intelligent, fun and gorgeous. Why shouldn’t he be attracted to you? Lucky man, I say. Just don’t be intimidated. I mean it, Sarah, don’t you ever put yourself down like that. We’re very proud of you, just be yourself. You go and have fun.’

‘Oh, I have to go now, Dad! I’m caked in make-up. You’ll make me cry.’

‘Love you,’ he whispers. Then he puts the phone down.

thirty-one

Women love Eamonn Nigels. He should employ someone with a shitty stick to beat them off for him. There’s a lady wearing fuchsia on another table who keeps looking at him and licking her lips. The pretty girl who took our coats couldn’t stop giggling when he spoke to her. He was only ordering a bottle of still water. I keep thinking, What are you doing here with me? I’m an average-looking waitress. Every time I open my mouth I sound like a complete knob. I keep making insipid gushy remarks that I don’t even mean in a posh voice.