Alice Brown's Lessons in the Curious Art of Dating (53 page)

She’d woken feeling good. She’d done it! She’d won herself a nice boy! She’d woken up in his bed (nice boys didn’t shag you in alleys, they let you stay over!) and she was going to be his girlfriend. She’d rolled over and gazed happily at
Simon’s back, grinning with anticipation of the moment when he’d roll over and scoop her up in his arms.

Except . . .

He hadn’t rolled over. He hadn’t looked at her at all. Instead he’d slipped out of bed without turning around, hurriedly found his clothes and dressed. He was sorry about last night. He shouldn’t have taken advantage. He’d call her a cab and give her the fare.

‘But you didn’t take advantage!’ Lou replied incredulously. ‘I wanted it to happen. And you . . .’ She’d leaned over and tried to stroke him, but felt him recoil from her touch. ‘You were fantastic. An animal!’

It won’t happen again, he promised. He was sorry to have led her up the garden path.

‘But what’s the problem?’ Lou demanded. ‘You’re single, I’m single. I thought we could, you know . . . go out.’

He was sorry, but it wasn’t a good idea.

‘But we had a good time!’

It was complicated.

‘Complicated how?’

Maybe not complicated, exactly. It’s just, he wasn’t looking for a relationship right now.

‘Of course you are! Your sort’s always looking for relationships,’ Lou insisted.

After a couple of minutes the truth came out.

He
was
looking for a relationship, just not with her.

‘Bar managers not good enough for you?’ Lou spat. ‘Not respectable enough to introduce to Mummy?’

He started phoning a cab.

‘But I thought this was different,’ Lou heard herself plead. ‘I thought we had a connection!’

Lou could see the front door to her apartment block and locked her eyes on it. She blotted out everything else, not hearing the scrape of her stilettos on the pavement, the car horn beeping her, or the wolf-whistle of a passing schoolboy. She only had tunnel vision for her front door. Once inside she could let everything go: pull off her clothes, smear her scarlet lips into some toilet roll and sink into a pile on the carpet.

Why couldn’t men see her? Why couldn’t they see
her
, not just her bum or her tits or her make-up? Why didn’t they care that she was clever and interesting, had read all the classics, was a demon at
Countdown
and could be the wittiest guest at the dinner party? She had just as much to give as any other girl. More! She could talk politics and sport. She could do walks in the hills and afternoons at the cinema. She could cook her man a roast, chat to his mother, play with his dog.

But what hope did she have of men seeing all this, she thought miserably, if even her best friend couldn’t?

Kate.

Why couldn’t she be Kate?

If she were Kate there was no way she’d waste her life hiding at work or worrying about the size of her hips. She’d have a boyfriend in an instant. Kate was lovable. Not like her. She was just fuckable. Good for a shag but not for falling in love with.

Lou reached the apartment block’s door. And suddenly the world was behind her and she was dashing up the stairs, not bothering to stop the tears from falling.

Why couldn’t anyone see that what she wanted was the same as what Kate wanted? A man; a home; a family. She couldn’t admit it, of course. People would laugh. She wasn’t the type. But what was the type, exactly? What gave Kate and her kind the monopoly on being able to admit they wanted a happy ending?

Lou slammed her front door behind her, pulled off her clothes and dropped them in the bin. And then she cried for a very long time.

Audrey was doing one of the things she hated most in the world: fidgeting. But she couldn’t help herself. The wait for the bus was lasting forever, and as each minute stretched interminably on, she tried to ignore her mounting paranoia.

Everyone knew, she was sure of it. Every set of eyes she’d come across since leaving the house bored directly into her. Normally nobody gave her a second glance in the morning; she was just one of the invisible middle-aged. But today was different. Today she was sure that every waiting bus passenger and passing driver knew,
just knew
, that she was the scandal of the matchmaking world.

Eventually the bus arrived. Audrey gratefully made her way to the back of the lower deck, pulled out her hardback and pretended to be immersed in its flimsy plot.

She tried to ignore the rising panic gripping her throat. Now that she was on the bus, she was closer than ever to work . . . and Alice. Her plan had been to arrive early and scuttle straight into her glass-walled office (why, oh why hadn’t she opted for brick?). By the time the others arrived
she could pretend to be ensconced in paperwork or in the middle of an important call.

But now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe she should speak to Alice and get it over and done with? Not that she’d refer to last night’s shenanigans, nor permit Alice to either. But maybe she could ask her to fetch her a coffee, or give her a client update: just a little something to show that she wasn’t hiding.

Of course, she wasn’t going to explain yesterday’s bombshells from the Dating Practitioners’ Society meeting to anyone. She needed time – much more time. Although she’d spent the entire night thinking, she’d only managed to scratch the surface of her crime against Pickles, the pain of her broken heart and the indignity of who it was that broke it. The ruins of her professional reputation had had to wait. So the temporary strategy was to instruct the girls to tell all callers that she was unavailable, thereby keeping the matchmaking world at bay a little bit longer. And if she could avoid the phone for
two
days, then it would be the weekend, and she’d have plenty of time to concoct a defence. If she could only hold on that long . . .

‘Audrey?’

Audrey jumped from her book with a start.

‘I thought it was you! May I?’

A man was standing over her, his body lurching in tandem with the movements of the bus. It was Maurice Lazenby. If it was possible for Audrey’s heart to sink any further, it did. Maurice gestured to the empty seat next to her and she nodded in weary submission. Maybe she deserved to be Mauriced.

‘I’m so glad I caught you,’ he declared as he settled into his seat and fussily straightened his mac around him. ‘I was planning to call to see if I could arrange a meeting. I’m very keen to hear about any progress you’ve made in finding me a match. I hope you won’t find it forward of me to tell you how very pleased I am – well, excited really – that you’ve agreed to take over my case personally. As I’ve been saying all along, you’re the only woman for the job. Not that your staff aren’t excellent, but
your
skills are far superior.’

Despite her public surroundings Audrey was surprised to find her eyes filling with tears. As much as Maurice was the last person she wanted to see this morning – or any morning – his blind faith in her and her matchmaking skills cut through her flimsy armour. He believed in her. He thought she was good at her job. He, at least, didn’t know about yesterday’s catalogue of indignities or her shame. Tears suddenly cascaded down her face.

‘Is everything all right? Have I spoken out of turn?’

Audrey fumbled in her bag for a tissue.

‘No, really, I’m fine. I’m just . . .’

‘Please, take this.’ A large, immaculately pressed white handkerchief loomed into view.

‘Thank you.’ Audrey submitted, and after tentatively dabbing at a few tears for a moment she gave up and buried her face in its comforting folds.

‘It’s just that I . . .’ she heaved between raggedy breaths, ‘I’ve had some bad news. Rather a lot of bad news. And I’ve been such a fool.’

‘I doubt that very much.’

Audrey sniffed noisily and dabbed at her face with the handkerchief.

‘I haven’t slept.’

‘Ah!’

‘And I’m so worried about going into work today.’ As soon as the words were out she felt a new onslaught of tears. This time she didn’t bother dabbing them; she covered her face in the hanky again. Suddenly she felt Maurice’s arm move protectively around her shoulders. She stiffened with shock. Audrey was never touched, other than by mistake. And she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched her like this.
She was being hugged
, she suddenly realized . . .
and by Maurice
!

But then the pleasant warmth of simple human contact began to seep through her coat and into her tired bones, and bit by bit she let herself unfreeze until her head was resting against Maurice’s shoulder and her tears were seeping slowly into his tailored lapel.

They rode like this in silence for a few minutes, Audrey suddenly feeling every hour of her sleepless exhaustion as she permitted herself a few moments in the unexpected safety of Maurice’s semi-embrace.

As her stop loomed nearer she began to mentally compose a few words of thanks. What on earth could she say? She was grateful for Maurice’s kindness – and for the use of his handkerchief – but how embarrassing that he’d seen her like this, so weak! What were the chances of her bumping into a client this morning, let alone Maurice the moaner?
How on earth was she going to get their relationship back on a professional keel after this?

And then her stop was in sight and she could prevaricate no longer. She stood up. To her surprise Maurice rose too.

‘I’m going to escort you to your desk,’ he explained gallantly.

‘That’s very kind, but really not necessary.’

‘Nonsense,’ Maurice insisted. ‘I wouldn’t dream of letting you go into the office on your own.’

As Audrey followed him she couldn’t help but feel deeply touched that he would put himself out for her. And it did feel better to walk through the doors of Table For Two and not be alone. Especially when she saw Alice already sitting at her desk. Audrey stiffened. As Maurice ushered her protectively through the open-plan office she forced herself to meet Alice’s eyes briefly and give her a stiff nod of greeting. Her glimpse surprised her. Alice looked almost as wretched as she did.

‘Morning, Miss Brown,’ Maurice greeted Alice politely. ‘Could you possibly make Ms Cracknell a cup of tea, please? With extra sugar.’

‘Of course!’ Alice replied in surprise, rising instantly. Audrey thought she heard a touch of disappointment in her voice. What was she doing in the office so early? Could it be that she wanted to catch Audrey alone?

But there was no time to think. Maurice swept her onwards, holding open the door to her glass-walled enclave, and once inside, closing it gently behind him. Aware that
Alice might be watching, Audrey self-consciously removed her coat, inwardly cursing as a flurry of scrunched-up, tear-filled tissues fell out of her sleeve and cascaded to the floor.

‘Here, let me.’ Maurice swiftly gathered them up and dropped them into the bin. He then delved into his own coat and proffered his business card.

‘Now, I’m sure you’ll be perfectly fine,’ he said kindly. ‘And I know you’ll have dozens of friends you’d rather speak to. But sometimes it’s good to offload to a stranger. Not that I’m a complete stranger, but maybe for these purposes I’m as good as. What I mean is, you would be more than welcome to offload on me. In fact, I’d like it. It would be an honour to help.’

Audrey took the card uncertainly. She didn’t know what to say.

‘We may not know each other very well,’ Maurice continued formally, ‘but I want you to know I have the utmost regard for you as a matchmaker, and a businesswoman, and a woman, and it pains me to see you unhappy. Here are my contact numbers. I’m at your disposal any time, day or night. So if there’s anything you need, anything at all, just call.’

Audrey felt the hot sting of tears prickle her eyes again at his kind words and she swallowed hard. She mustered a watery smile of thanks.

Maurice half-nodded, half-bowed and backed courteously towards the glass door. As he left, Alice entered with a cup of tea.

‘Thank you, Alice,’ Audrey croaked, trying to flatten any
crackle of emotion in her voice. She was aware of Alice hovering uncertainly but didn’t look her way. Instead she watched the retreating figure of Maurice. As his coat disappeared out of the front door she suddenly felt a lot less safe.