50 Ways to Find a Lover (40 page)

‘How was the audition?’ he asks.

‘Goo—’ I start to speak then I stop and look at him. This gets curiouser and curiouser. ‘How do you know I had an audition?’

‘I suggested you to the director,’ he says calmly.

‘What?’

‘Dominic is a friend of mine. He called me last week and said he was having trouble casting some roles in his new play and could I suggest anyone. So I mentioned a few people and you were one of them. My son and Maureen, my ex-mother-in-law, are huge fans of yours. You mentioned on your blog that you wanted to play gritty roles. From what I know of you I should think you’re a very good actress. How did it go?’

‘I got the part.’ I try to say it seriously but as any actress will verify it is impossible to say the sentence ‘I got the part’ without smiling.

‘I’m really pleased, Sarah. I’d like to have you over for dinner with Marcus and Clive at some point. I want us to be friends and I didn’t delete your blog. I was just alarmed by reading about my life and my family in that way. But then I realized that you didn’t name any names and also hardly anyone reads it anyway.’

‘Oh ho!’ I scoff. ‘I get over sixty hits a day.’

He chuckles. I hadn’t meant to be funny.

‘I wish you well, Sarah. I hope you meet someone on your quest and I hope you get the acting work you deserve.’

‘Actually I have met someone,’ I say.

‘Good. I think I have too,’ he says. ‘She’s a very nice young lady. I’m quite smitten.’

‘Oh,’ I say. He wasn’t supposed to get over me so quickly. The swine. Then I remember to smile. ‘That’s great, Eamonn.’

‘Yes, Sarah, it is. I’m expecting her any minute now so you should probably go and celebrate your new acting job.’

‘Eamonn, thank you for suggesting me to Dominic.’

‘It was absolutely my pleasure.’ He smiles warmly.

I start to feel self-conscious as I walk home. I’m still in my slutty audition clothes: short skirt with boots and an off-the-shoulder top. A really slim woman is rushing up the road towards me, looking great in a pale pink jumper and skinny jeans.

‘When will I be able to wear skinny jeans, God?’ I whisper.

‘First sign of madness, talking to yourself,’ says the woman in the pink jumper. It’s Rachel Bird. It has become evident that if I am ever embarrassed about my attire I shall bump into Rachel bloody Bird or the man from Flat 3.

‘Hiya, Rachel.’ She looks great. She’s lost that dirty party edge she had. ‘Have you dyed your hair?’

‘Yeah, back to my natural colour, I think I’m over the dyed blonde thing.’

‘It looks nice.’

‘Thanks.’

‘What’s happened to your blog? You haven’t written for ages.’

‘Well, I’m seeing someone and he’s not a huge fan of blogs.’

My mouth drops.

‘You’re not seeing Eamonn Nigels!’ I say, praying it is just a sick thought on my part.

‘Yes,’ she says with a weird ecstatic giggle. ‘I think I’m falling in love.’

I look at her. She has all the symptoms of a woman in love. She’s wearing pink and she’s hysterical. Now I think about it, he had the symptoms of a man in love. He smelt good and he was being nice. Oh God, why?

‘But Rachel, he won’t go out with a blogger or an actress. I told you that at the Whack night.’

‘I know. He doesn’t know about the blog, Sarah, so please don’t mention it. I don’t want to do it any more. I’m toying with deleting it. It makes me look so slutty. And I’m going to give up acting. I wasn’t getting anywhere. I’m going to become a yoga teacher.’

I don’t know what to say.

‘I’m so confused,’ I tell her, shaking my head.

‘I’m so in love,’ she giggles back.

fifty-two

There is a covert operation going on in the flat. Simon’s planning me a surprise thirtieth-birthday party. Where Simon’s covert operation fails is that he does all his planning on the phone to Julia early in the morning. He forgets that he has a voice like an old tractor and that when I am lying in bed with eyes closed I am asleep, not dead. So far I know where it is and who’s coming, but they seem to be stuck about what to tell me.

‘We’ve got to tell her she’s going out somewhere so she puts some clothes on or she’ll just be wearing those crusty pink pyjamas with red-wine lips.’ It’s a good job I am not a sensitive type.

I can even hear Julia on the end of the phone. Laughing.

‘Listen, we’ve got to get in touch with Paul the Plonker, Jules. He can pretend he’s taking her to dinner, but in actual fact take her to the venue. Genius. Then she’ll dress up. Have you got his number?’

‘Fuck, no!’ screams Julia.

‘I’ll go in her room and get her phone now,’ says Simon, opening my bedroom door and tripping over a pair of my shoes. I hear him mutter, ‘Dirty goat’ as he stumbles around in my dark room, hoping to locate my phone. He’s never going to find it. My phone is currently situated inside my coat pocket, which is in the living room draped over the sofa.

‘It’s not in here, Jules,’ whispers Simon. ‘I’ll have to hang up and call it.’ Simon leaves the room and closes the door. Two seconds later I hear my phone ring.

I spring out of bed and run into the lounge. This could be fun.

‘Morning! Who’s calling me at this time, I wonder?’ I say innocently to Simon.

‘Oh, um, me!’ he says as I take my phone from my coat.

‘Why?’ I say with wide-eyed innocence.

‘Wake-up call!’ he chants. ‘I thought we could go for a run.’

‘Oh, that would have been lovely, Si, but I think I’ve hurt my foot; oh yes, it’s very bad!’ I say, pretending to limp.

‘I’m only trying to help, Sare. You have to take a lot of clothes off in that play, remember.’

‘Hmmm,’ I say, frowning. The play involves me getting down to my underwear. The sight of me in my underwear is pleasant only for blubber specialists. ‘Maybe later . . . I was thinking about my birthday, Si.’

‘Oh yeah, when is it again, Sare?’ he says casually. He’s a better actor than me. Bastard.

‘Oh, it’s Saturday, but I think I might just go down to stay with my mum and dad for the weekend.’

Simon pulls a face as though he’s stepped on a drawing pin. I go back to my room, clutching my phone. It’s not that I don’t want a party. On the contrary, my two best friends organizing one for me is so touching I’m sure I’ll cry. I just want to tease them a bit.

‘Sare, your mum’s on the phone!’ yells Simon, banging on my door.

‘I didn’t hear the phone ring,’ I say.

‘Oh, didn’t you?’ Simon’s innocence is incredibly believable. I start to distrust everything he’s ever said to me.

I pick up the phone.

‘Er, darling, you can’t come down this weekend, we’re, um, going away,’ she says. Now my mother can’t act at all. I start to fear I might have her to blame for my failing career.

‘Where?’ I say.

I can hear the cogs in my mother’s brain turning while she tries to think of a destination.

‘Oh, um,’ she hesitates. ‘France.’ A triumphant sigh.

‘Can I come?’

A silence. This is painful for my mother. She hasn’t worked out her back-story at all. I start to feel bad. While I am feeling bad I can hear Simon tripping around my room, obviously getting Paul’s number from my mobile phone.

‘Let me talk to your dad. I’ll call you back.’ She hangs up. I run to my room, hoping to catch Simon with my phone. But he’s already finished. I meet him coming out.

‘That was quick,’ he says.

‘What were you doing in there?’

‘Oh, I was going to make your bed. But then I changed my mind.’

We both glance at my unmade bed with the mobile phone sitting proudly on the mattress. It starts to vibrate.

‘I’ve got a text,’ I say, picking it up. ‘From Jules.’

I look at it and grin. I read it aloud to Si. ‘“REMINDER!! PARTY!! Saturday. Surprise for Sarah’s big thirty (the old trout)! Eight p.m.
sharp.
Fifty-one Greek Street. If any of you fools tell her I shall personally pee in your bath.”’

Bless her, she sent it to everyone in her address book. Including me. I look at Simon. He’s shaking his head.

‘I guess I’ll have to pee in her bath,’ he tells me.

‘I knew already, Si, I heard you on the phone this morning.’

‘Ah. I thought I was doing well.’

‘You were. Your acting was really good! You could have a new career. You could be the next James Bond.’ I hug him and kiss him on the forehead.

‘Thank you.’

fifty-three