The Hating Game (2 page)

Mattie got up. ‘Okay, okay
. Don’t get your size eighty knickers in a twist.’

The driver’s face sagged with relief and the other passengers broke into applause as she climbed down the stairs. The cold hit her like a slap in the face and she stood on the side of the road, watching as the bus disappeared. Crossing her arms to keep warm, she began the long trudge towards the town centre.

CHAPTER TWO

Seven per cent of married couples met at secondary school reunions
.

T
wenty per cent of these were married to others at the time.

‘
DID YOU GET THIS?’ JESS
MCKENZIE burst into Mattie’s office later that afternoon, holding an envelope in her hand. Her chest was heaving up and down and she was puffing as if she’d run a marathon.

Mattie
looked up from yet another letter stating payment was overdue and grabbed a tissue to wipe her streaming nose. It had taken her an hour to walk to the nearest tube station and she probably had pneumonia by now, if not tuberculosis. Her clothes had steam-dried in the sauna-like tube but she was still freezing. Stuart better hope she didn’t get sick. She’d come down on him like a ton of bricks.

‘
What is i
t?’ she asked. Jess got excited about flyers from Tesco’s offering price reductions on toilet roll but judging by the deep red flush on her face, this must be something big. Ever since they’d met in Year Seven, Jess’s chubby cheeks went red when she was excited or embarrassed.

‘
School
reunion next month! God, can you believe it’s been ten years?’ Jess’s large green eyes were even wider with excitement. She pushed a clump of long brown hair away from her sweaty face.

‘
You ran all the way from your office to tell me that?’ Mattie shook her head as she sifted through her remaining post. Bank, bank, bank . . . here it was, the letter from Staines Secondary School, inviting her to a Hawaiian-themed reunion dinner to be held in the cafeteria. Everyone was to come in costume! Hors d’oeuvres would be served! Live music would be played!

Someone
clearly had a little too much rum punch already. Mattie couldn’t think of anything worse than hanging out with her former classmates, wearing flowers and eating limp pineapple appetizers.

‘
Are you going?’ she asked
, although it was obvious Jess had already bought into the exclamation-mark enthusiasm of the invite.

‘
Yeah!’ Jess said. ‘Don’t you want to see how everyone turned out? Anyway, I read in
Heat
that reunions are a great place to reignite old flames.’

Mattie
rolled her eyes. Old flames, as if. Jess was
such
a romantic. ‘There are quite a few people at that reunion I don’t want to reconnect with, ever again.’

‘
Come on
, Charlie probably won’t even be there.’ Jess put on the whiny, pleading voice Mattie hated. ‘The last I heard, he was living in Ibiza, if you can believe that! No one will even remember what happened, anyway.’

‘
I
remember,’ Mattie spat through gritted teeth. Her already shortened fuse sizzled as she recalled finding Charlie – her boyfriend at the time – snogging Kwong, the Korean exchange student, at the secondary school prom. She’d only managed to save face by grabbing the mic and dedicating
Let’s Get it On
to Staines’ hottest new couple, outing them both to the whole school in one go.

‘
And maybe Adam’s going to be there?’ Jess pondered.

Mattie
chortled. ‘Stumpy? He’s probably size thirty-six now. I’ve never seen anyone inhale biscuits like he did.’

‘
He goes by Adam now,’ Jess said, a little too quickly. ‘And he’s really successful. Started this amazing video game company. There’s, like, a hundred people working for him or something!’

‘
Fat old Stumpy, successful. Imagine.’ Mattie shook her head. Just went to show how unfair life was. She expected him to be in servitude somewhere along the M25, asking: ‘Do you want fries with that?’

‘
Well, he is.’

‘
I didn’t know you
two kept in touch.’

Jess toyed
with the invitation as a guilty look slid over her even features. ‘Yeah, we talk every once in a while. He always asks about you, you know.’

‘
God, he needs to get over it.
Year Ten was, what, a million years ago.’ Mattie shrugged. People didn’t change. If Stumpy didn’t wow her then, he was unlikely to do so now, no matter how much cash he had at his disposal.

‘
Nope, I’m not going to this thing.’ Mattie crumpled up the invite and deftly threw it in the bin. ‘A reunion with anyone remotely related to my love life is the last thing on my agenda.’

*

Nate
Reilly was late for his appointment. He’d had a hell of a day on the set of
Jungle Jangle
: screaming kids, dogs with trigger-happy biting tendencies, and a bucket of slime that had landed on the pristinely-dressed guest celebrity instead of the presenter. Every excrement-filled episode made him more determined than ever to leave behind the wonderful world of children’s television. It was time for a grown-up gig – one without vomit clean-up in the job description.

He ran
down Shaftesbury Avenue and onto Earlham Street, checking his GPS quickly. Here it was: number thirty-seven. He pushed through the open door and up to the second floor where Mattie Johns Media Recruitment was located, striding purposefully into the reception. Hang on. Where was everyone? Hmm. He’d heard some disconcerting things about Mattie Johns lately, but they related to her dubious personal life – he assumed she was still doing business. Collapsing into a trendy metallic chair, he tried to control his heart rate, but his shirt was now damp and clung to his back like a second skin. Even seated, his legs shook from the unexpected exercise.

Christ, he really needed to hit the gym. He needed to
join
a gym. As soon as he got a new gig, he promised himself. Then he’d lose his love handles, try to tame his Afro-like hair and – he pushed up his giant Mr Magoo-style specs – maybe even get contacts.

Nate crossed his legs, then uncrossed them and slung a foot over one
knee in a casual pose he’d noted from a fellow assistant producer in the meeting last week. Before the assistant producer got promoted, he thought bitterly. Why did Nate have to waste his time in what everyone knew to be the loser zone of television when other people got promoted almost instantaneously? Well, no more. If SiniStar Productions didn’t appreciate his skills and experience, some other company would.

Suddenly he heard laughter. Through a
half-open door to the right he could see a woman wearing a severely tailored suit with a business-like bob, skin stark white against the black of her suit. She was beautiful, in a terrifying, harsh kind of way. That must be Mattie, he thought. He’d heard through colleagues she was a real ball-buster; guaranteed to get you the post you wanted.

He turned his attention to the other woman in the room. With her cherub-like cheeks and open expression, she seemed charming – a comforting respite from Mattie’s angular features.

Even though Mattie was
half the size of the woman beside her, everything about her screamed power and control. Rumour had it Mattie’s ex had recently done a runner, taking most of her clients with him, and in the process practically destroyed her business. Nate shuddered as he considered the man’s bravery. He certainly wouldn’t want to cross her.

Mattie made an abrupt move an
d Nate jerked his head away. Wouldn’t do to be caught eavesdropping. He grabbed a
Media Today
magazine from the glass coffee table and tried not to listen in, but as more laughter drifted towards him he decided they couldn’t be discussing business. He was about to cough to let them know he was here when Mattie mentioned something about not wanting to run into past love interests.

His ears perked up. Along with her reputation for getting people the jobs they wanted,
Mattie was also renowned for being a man-eater. Nate had learned not to listen to the waves of gossip that washed over the sets of TV shows, but he couldn’t help hearing from several colleagues Mattie had placed that she’d provided a few with
other
services besides recruitment. One told Nate he’d tried to call her afterwards, but she’d completely blanked him.

‘
She used me, man,
like some kind of
dude
,’ the disbelieving camera assistant had said. ‘She out-duded me. At least I give the birds a courtesy call afterwards.’

Nate
listened with interest to the two women discussing their ex-boyfriends and what sounded like an upcoming secondary school reunion. He pictured Mattie facing a firing line of all the men she ditched in secondary school – from the sounds of things, there’d been quite a few.

Just how many exes did
Mattie have? Imagine if he corralled them all into one room. Would she give any of them the time of day or would she douse them with petrol, light a match and fan the flames? He’d bet on the latter, but it’d be an interesting scenario. It would certainly make an entertaining show.

Nate sat up straight.
Hang on! It
would
make an interesting show. Something like
The Dating Game
– but with exes. A second chance for romance! One woman. Three, maybe four exes. And she chooses one to have another go at a relationship.

Nate stood up, heart beating
fast. This was it.
This
was what he needed to make an impact at SiniStar. A great concept; an exciting idea. There was nothing like it on TV! It would be new, it would be fresh and it would be all his. He even had the perfect contestant – if Mattie’s business was suffering as much as he’d heard then she’d jump at the chance to get some juicy prize money.

Nate considered his options. He’d pitched ideas to SiniStar’s managing director, Silver Hatchett, before and been chucked out within seconds. This time, though, he had a feeling she’d listen.

Screw the new job, Nate thought as he ran
back down the stairs, trying to keep his puffing to a minimum lest he alert Mattie to his presence. Finally, he had an idea to make Silver sit up and take notice. Heady with the thought of his future success, he decided to throw his weekly budget to the wind and lash out on a cab. After all, it was only a matter of time before things turned around. He was sure of it.

CHAPTER THREE

One in three people has a pair of lucky
dating pants.

One in fifteen men
admits to never washing them.

‘
WHAT THE
–?’
NATE CRACKED OPEN an eye, then stretched out his arm to throw the buzzing alarm clock against the wall. It was only five a.m., for Christ’s sake!

Then he remembered. This was it. The day his life was going to change. Despite the foul-smelling wrapper from last night’s kebab stuck to his cheek, he couldn’t help smiling. This was the day he wouldn’t have to watch others get promoted while he cleaned up slime; the day when people would finally respect him. Nate Reilly, executive producer.

If only Kira could see him now!

Stop, he admonished himself.
Don’t think about her. No need to get down on the big day, right?

Nate
rolled out of bed and headed for the desk, grabbing his saggy underwear before it fell to his ankles. He’d been working on the treatment for
Second Chance for Romance
since arriving home last night and it was almost,
almost
done. He read it over for the hundredth time, grinning giddily.

‘
Picture this,’ Nate intoned in a game show announcer’s voice. ‘One woman. Four men. A second chance at true love. But these aren’t just any men.’ He shook head. ‘Oh, no. Just imagine the look on the woman’s face when she finds out – one by one, choosing blindly each night – that the men are her exes!’

Nate stood
up and paced around his studio flat. ‘The great British public rates each date. When the dates are done – and all the exes revealed – the ex with the highest rating gets a second chance for romance, spending two weeks alone with the lady in a romantic location.’

He spun towards
the mirror. ‘After two weeks and a daily dose of specially designed Relationship Repair activities, will they choose to be together? Will it be a
Second Chance for Romance
? Or the reunion from hell?’ Nate hummed the theme from the
Love Boat
and crashed onto the sofa.