Alice Brown's Lessons in the Curious Art of Dating (7 page)

‘Hello again, Kate.’

A friendly looking woman stood in front of her, smiling kindly.

‘Alice!’ Kate jumped up and nervously started pumping her hand. She was then led across the office into a small room, where Alice shut the door behind them. The room contained two wicker armchairs and a low coffee table, empty but for a laptop, a bunch of white flowers and a box of tissues.

‘Are they in case I cry?’ Kate laughed awkwardly, pointing at the tissues.

‘Well,’ Alice began gently, ‘the interview room is where we find out about you, the things you like and what you want for yourself. Some people find it difficult, especially if they’ve been looking for a partner for a long time.’ She caught sight of Kate’s stricken face and smiled. ‘Don’t worry. Most just find it really exciting to think about the people they’re going to meet. Right! Let’s get started, shall we?’

As the minutes passed, Kate relaxed. She hadn’t been wrong about Alice; she liked her. She couldn’t imagine going through this process with Audrey. The very thought of opening her heart to her was terrifying. But Alice wasn’t scary; she was nice, warm; she exuded kindness. She was a bit scruffy and could really do with a tailored jacket and
a pair of sheer tights – and those shoes were a bit . . . vintage. But she had great cheekbones, fantastic skin and she seemed really on the ball. And she was very easy to talk to. So easy that Kate found herself saying way more than she’d intended. Over the weekend she’d carefully planned her interview strategy: she’d be articulate and in control; she’d impress Alice with her calm sophistication and snappy dressing. But now that she was here she couldn’t stop gabbling. It was as though her brain had lost control of her mouth, and her tongue had escaped on a frenzied rampage; she couldn’t shut up!

‘If you could describe your ideal partner,’ Alice asked, taking advantage as Kate paused for air, ‘what would he be like?’

‘Well,’ said Kate, wondering how much detail to give. ‘I’d like him to be tall . . . dark . . . good-looking. He’d have a nice smile, maybe with dimples. And a strong jaw; cleanshaven. Straight white teeth. The kind of teeth you get from having a brace when you were little. And blue eyes, I love blue eyes. He’d have a good job, the kind of job he has to wear a suit for. I guess he’d be a manager, or some kind of entrepreneur. He’d have a car, obviously, but nothing too flashy. Maybe an Audi or a Saab. Not a BMW; they’re too obvious. He’d be a really good boss, kind to his staff. He’d have a decent income. Six figures and prospects to be on the board. Not that I’m a gold-digger or anything. I love my job! It’s just, I want us to have a nice house and go on nice holidays, and not have to worry. Besides, men should be ambitious; it makes them more manly, don’t you think? And I’ve always fancied St Lucia. So a good work ethic’s a
must. Oh, and he’s got to be sporty, but not sport-mad; so he’d go to the gym but definitely wouldn’t be glued to Sky Sports all weekend. He’s got to like kids and want two of them: a boy and a girl, ideally. Oh, and he’d need to be a family person – you know, nice to his mum, happy to pop round to the in-laws for Sunday lunch. And he won’t have too much of a past. He’ll have had girlfriends, but not too many. I definitely don’t want a stud.’

There was a pause.

‘That’s quite specific,’ Alice said diplomatically. ‘Would you say you’re open-minded?’

‘Oh yes!’

‘Good, because my job is as much to make people more open-minded as it is to deliver a selection of perfect partners. We all dismiss people because they don’t tick our list of ideal boxes. But some people aren’t finding partners because they’ve got an image of a perfect person in their head, and nobody else will do. But that person is a fantasy; no one in the real world could ever measure up. And so when someone nice comes along who doesn’t quite fit the fantasy, they don’t give them a chance. Which is a shame, because that person could actually be
perfect for them
.’

Kate looked chastened. ‘It was just a wish-list,’ she offered limply.

‘Good! Because life’s more exciting when you let yourself be surprised.’

‘Surprises are good!’ Kate agreed quickly.

‘So, Kate,’ Alice continued, ‘what’s your history? Have you had many boyfriends?’

Kate blushed. ‘Three. It’s not a great track record for a thirty-three-year-old, is it? I don’t know why there haven’t been more. I know my hips are too wide and my bum’s a bit big. And I’m not blonde. But I’m a good listener. And I’ve got a good job, and I’m well read. And I go out – all the time! Well, some of the time. Actually, every now and then. But what I mean is, it’s not like I’m staying at home being miserable. I’m out there doing all the things you’re supposed to do to get boyfriends. But it’s just not happening.’

‘You’ve probably just been unlucky,’ Alice said sympathetically.

‘Yes!’ Kate jumped to agree.

‘But we’re going to change that.’

‘Great! I’m not a freak, I promise! I mean, I’ve had sex with more than three people.’

‘I don’t really need to kn—’

‘It’s seven. I know even that’s not many. If you divide seven men between the sixteen years since I first, well, you know . . . it averages at 0.44 partners a year. It’s not even half a man a year! It’s not like I’ve got a problem with men or anything. It’s just they’re like buses. I mean, you wait for ages and ages, and when one does finally come along you can’t get on. And that bit about them coming in threes, well, that’s just a myth, isn’t it?’

Kate paused and the room went silent. Mercifully it was Alice’s voice she heard next.

‘I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of opportunities. It’s probably that those opportunities weren’t right, so you didn’t notice them as options.’

‘Do you think so?’ Kate leapt on her theory hopefully.

‘Absolutely,’ Alice said firmly. ‘And it’s my job to sort out who your right man is – and to make sure you recognize him when you meet him. The rest will be plain sailing.’

Kate grinned with excitement and relief.

‘Well, Alice,’ she said, ‘I’m putting myself in your hands. Do you have anyone for me?’

‘Definitely,’ Alice replied as she leaned forward and opened the laptop.

Lou’s bar – or rather, the bar where Lou worked, because although she managed it with a monarchical air, it wasn’t actually
her
bar – was a basement affair. With no natural light, and stairs that twisted at a blind angle on their way down from street level, Lou often thought how advantageous it was that the lack of windows, coupled with the stairway security camera that gave notice if anyone was on their way down, afforded her ample opportunity to get up to mischief. Which was exactly what she was doing at 5.05 p.m. on a deserted Monday evening.

Standing behind the bar, Lou felt Tony’s hot breath against her ear as he pumped away behind her, punctuating his thrusts with the words, ‘God . . . you drive me . . . wild . . . you dirty . . . horny . . .
filthy
little bitch.’

Lou, her knickers around one ankle and her hands steadying herself by gripping the Bishop’s Finger beer tap, was keeping an eye on the security camera. Not that it mattered much. If anyone happened to come down the stairs unnoticed, both Lou and Tony were fully dressed from the waist up, and pumping actions and flushed faces apart,
she was sure she could concoct a story about problem pipework to explain their suspicious body language. Besides, Lou could offer the unexpected guest a drink whilst she nudged her knickers under the dishwasher, buying Tony just enough time to waddle into the back room and pull up his trousers.

Not that Tony would have thought that far ahead, Lou mused. Men rarely did. She braced herself as Tony’s pummelling became faster and more forceful. His lips moved right up against her ear.

‘Tell me how much you want me to fuck you,’ he commanded. ‘Tell me how you touch your pussy and think about me.’

‘I want you to fuck me. I touch my pussy and think about you,’ Lou echoed mildly as her stomach was rammed rhythmically against the drip tray, slopping beer over the sides with each thrust. Tony emitted a guttural, strangled sound before crumpling into the back of her neck. Lou could feel the sweat from his forehead smear against her skin.

She let a few seconds pass.

Then she pushed away, stepped into the right leg of her knickers, and pulled her skirt down from where it had been bunched around her waist. Turning away from the security camera, she surveyed Tony as he leaned sweatily against a fridge, trousers around his ankles, his member already shrivelled within its plastic coating.

‘Tony,’ she asked casually, ‘have you ever wondered what would happen if your wife popped in and caught us?’

‘Christ!’ he spluttered. ‘She’d tear off my balls and
microwave ’em.’ He snapped off his condom and threw it across the length of the bar into the bin. Lou scrunched up her face in disgust.

‘And then she’d be straight round to her lawyer to screw me for every penny I have and make sure I never saw the kids again.’ He hoisted up his trousers and helped himself to a beer from the fridge. ‘I’d probably lose this place.’ He looked around the bar. ‘She’d turn it into a tanning shop just to fuck with my head.’

Lou started to fill a bucket so she could mop the floor between Tony and the bin. She might be loose, but she was hygienic.

‘So why do you do it?’ she asked as she squirted in the bleach. ‘Why risk it when you could lose so much?’

Tony moved close and groped her backside, his fingers exploring forwards into the flesh between her legs. ‘Because you’re so fucking hot, I can’t keep my hands off you,’ he letched into her ear. ‘You’re all I think about when I . . .’

‘Seriously, Tony.’ Lou pushed away and turned to face him. ‘Why, when you’ve got two kids and shedloads of money to lose, let alone
a wife
, why do you risk it? I’m curious.’

Tony shrugged his shoulders and swigged from his bottle.

‘Because I know Suze. She’d never tear herself away from the beauty salon long enough to come here. I’m so far down her priority list it’s a fucking joke. I’m bottom of the pile, behind throwing my money away on designer handbags, getting her hair done and spending all day in the gym; then it’s the kids, the car, the dog and
then
me.’ He sniffed. Lou wished she’d never asked.

‘In the six years we’ve been married she’s never once “popped in”, which is why’ – he stepped towards Lou again and started rubbing her rhythmically – ‘. . . I can spend quality time on staff relations.’

Clinging to the mop handle, Lou felt her nipples harden. She couldn’t help herself. She knew Tony was a prat. She also knew he’d fire her without a second thought if she started giving him grief. But that was fine; she was using him just as much as he was using her, and bar jobs were easier to pick up than thrush. Besides, she liked shagging the boss. It meant no-strings, high-risk sex (highly prized requisites in her book) and an elevated status in the workplace. And it also made going to work each day a little more bearable knowing that, if the night was quiet and the conditions were right, she might get a sneaky shag.

A sudden noise interrupted them as Jake and Paul, two of the bar staff, clattered down the stairs. Tony turned and stalked, beer in hand, into the back room. Lou gave the floor a quick mop, and then talked them through their duties for the night.

By eight o’clock, Tony was ensconced in the back room, pretending to do paperwork, but actually watching the soaps, and Lou was perched on a stool at the end of the bar sipping a white-wine spritzer. Lou never drank at work. Spritzers were at least fifty per cent non-alcoholic so didn’t actually count. Lou’s definition was that if it didn’t give you a hangover it wasn’t really drinking. A movement on the security camera caught her eye. It was Kate.

‘Nice threads!’ Lou eyed Kate’s outfit appreciatively as she walked up to the bar. ‘Just finished work?’

‘Yep. And I’ll have what you’re having, thanks.’ Kate nodded towards Lou’s glass.

‘But it’s only a spritzer!’

‘And it’s only a Monday night!’

‘Suit yourself.’ Lou shrugged and slid off her bar stool. ‘So how was work?’

‘Good. Julian actually liked one of my ideas!’