Chapter Twenty Two - the Sky's the limit and low down bums

I am so nervous I think I’m going to be sick! I arrived at the Sky studios about 25 minutes ago and they’re already whisking me through to ‘hair and make up’. I’ve seen one of the researchers and we have run through the basic outline of the interview. It all looks harmless enough – small live audience and an 8 minute slot. It sounds like nothing – but then again – if I’m asked dodgy questions it could feel like an eternity! So here I am, reclined back like an astronaut ready for launch into space, ready to be plummeted into the unknown. The make up artist is friendly, chatting to her friend about the Lily Allen collection for New Look compared to the Kate Moss collection for Top Shop. Her conversation is peppered with instructions to me – ‘close your eyes’, and ‘open’ and ‘close again’. I blink, obediently as she sweeps and paints powders and colours across my eyes and cheeks with soft brushes. The lipstick feels thick and gloopy and I’m suddenly 8 years old again – trying on my Mum’s lipstick, afraid to let my lips touch and talking through a slitted mouth like a ventriloquist. She suddenly jerks my chair into an upright position, swiftly turning me to face the wall as she grabs the hairdryer and it roars into life. Before I know it I have 6 huge barrel brushes twisted into my hair. She works each one in turn, leaving 5 in place, whilst releasing a sixth, drying and pulling my hair tight onto the brush and then leaving that one to sit. By the time she twirls me back to face the mirror, I hardly recognise myself. My face feels caked and thick with make up and my hair is high and full of body. I think she senses my shock,

“It’s always a surprise,” she giggles, “the first time you see yourself with television make up on – but it’s for the lighting. If I didn’t put this much on you, you’d look washed out. Trust me.”

What choice do I have?

I’m scurried through to the Green Room where I sit beside an ex-Formula One driver, a celebrity hairdresser and a Guardian journalist who has written a book. We all smile at each other and I listen in as the journalist and the hairdresser discuss when they were last on the show. I feel excited and nervous, a slight surge of adrenalin and a little flutter of anticipation too. I have no real idea what they’re going to ask me, but I have to keep focussed on what I want to say. I find myself repeating, no, chanting to myself – Staying Single, disastrous dates, married men, a pledge for independence and a huge question mark over whether there are any decent men out there. And then my comic lines that I’m hoping to rely on - that there’s no coincidence that the word ‘man’ is simply an abbreviation of ‘manic’ or how many times a girl has to listen to ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ before she decides to jump the sinking ship of dating. I’m going to talk about my speed dating horrors and how the success of a chat up line lies solely in the way it is delivered.

OK – I’m ready.

I think!

*

Trevor sits at his desk trying to ignore Ade hovering around behind him. He’s already made reference to the fact that it’s nearly 7pm and suggesting that they call it a day. But Trevor wants to stay for longer –keen to get Ade out of the office so that he can plan his next move on the delectable, but highly thick, Sophie Regan. He’s planning to be at the Dorchester tomorrow to interview Summer Lawton, hoping that somebody from Woman To Woman will be there too. Anything that helps link him in with Sophie Regan will be a bonus.

“I’ll be here for a bit longer yet, Ade. You go.”

He noticed him check his watch from the corner of his eye and it was killing him not to laugh. Ade Ford was caught between the intrigue of watching Sophie on the William Montelson show and the curiosity of hanging around at work, long after everybody had left, simply to see what Trevor was planning...

*

This is crazy. I’m waiting in the wings (are they called ‘the wings’? Or is that only on the stage? God, now I’m thinking of sanitary towels with damned wings!!) and trying not to think of everybody that I know who might be watching me tonight. I’ve managed to master talking with almost normal lips and so don’t harbour as much concern now about looking like a glove puppet when I speak, but all I keep thinking about is Tamsin and Pete snuggled up on her sofa watching my every fidget and giggle. Then there’ll be Jennifer watching me, probably alone – she’d never let any of her yummy mummy friends watch me appear on television and state that I’m choosing to be single! But the ones that worry me mostly are the other people from work, and Adrian too (although maybe he doesn’t know – please God!) and also Rob! As I watch William interview Denny (the ex Formula One driver) I can see how the atmosphere is very intimate. William Montelson is very professional and has a way of making you feel as if it’s really just you and him in the room, with a few, oh maybe a couple of hundred (!) friends too. It’s going to be easy – all I need to do is ignore those 5 cameras as they zoom and rise, black and fluid, ready to pick up every movement, every sniff, cough or moment of hesitation as I struggle to find the answers!

Oh My God it was fantastic! The audience were so great and even managed to laugh at all the right places. William Montelson was an absolute legend too! He was really supportive and excited about my reasons for staying single and made a huge hype out of the horrors of dating. He made several references to his own happy family and said that he’d hate to be on the dating scene again – even flirting with me a little and promising that if he was free and single, he’d be making a bee line for a catch like me!! He said that! On television! I’m sure I went red. It was such great fun. He was horrified at my disastrous dating tales and I didn’t even notice the cameras. Well, apart from at the very beginning when I was transfixed by the one with the white writing across its lens. I was staring into it, amazed that it said exactly what William Montelson was saying – and then I realised that it was the autocue! How embarrassing. I can only hope that they didn’t choose to use that camera shot of me – bet I look boss-eyed and vacant! Cringeworthy stuff! So now I’m desperate to find out what it was like. I’m rushing back to get my back and take some of this slap off my face, when Denny, the ex-Formula One driver appears beside me.

“Hey,” he smiles at me. He’s kind of nice – sort of cute, if a little ‘lived in’ looking. “Listen, honey. All this staying single stuff. You don’t really mean it? It’s all spin, yeah?”

I frown at him, unable to grasp his reasoning. He continues, drawing in a little closer and whispering, “This could work for us both. Give it a few weeks and I’ll get you on some more of these chat shows. You’re gonna have to up the ante and give it some serious chat about not wanting a man in your life. And then I’ll appear slowly. We’ll make sure we’re photographed at all the right places – I’ll show you a good time, I’ll look after you. You’re gonna have to look coy and shocked and I’ll be very protective, as if we’re gutted that they’ve snapped us. And then we’ll make a public statement about how you’ve met the man of your dreams and how you’ve broken your promise to stay single. We’ll clean up, babe. The likes of Hello and Heat magazine will be tripping themselves up to talk to us and we’ll have it all ready for them with our story of true love and how it always wins in the end. We’ll make a bloody fortune! Look at Jordan and Peter!”

I’m stunned. I know I’m staring at him vacantly, but I can’t believe the devious nature of this guy. As if I’d throw it all in! For him! For someone that wasn’t genuine. Somebody that I didn’t even know. What a money grabbing bastard! I know he’s spent his Formula One career with his arse about 30cm from the ground, but I had no idea he really was such a low-down bum. I give him my best look of contempt and head for the make up room – I need to get this stuff off of me.

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Three

Pulling Power #7

OK - so we've had some of the chat ups - now for the wicked ones - the dumpers!!!



send your line to Pulling Power at singlesophieregan@yahoo.co.uk

Chapter Twenty One

“OK, Regan. I want to talk to you about your television appearance later on today, but there’s other things kicking off now. Firstly, I’ve organised for you to have some space on the Woman To Woman website. It’ll be up and running later this week and will be a place for you to create a sense of community around Staying Single. You can publish the column online there and readers can email you about their experiences in speed dating and meeting the right (or wrong) man.”

“Oh, OK. Sounds like fun.” I want to add – ‘as if I don’t have enough to do, I have to administer a web site as well now’, but I know it would be stupid to speak out. I’m trying to write more compelling copy for Woman To Woman and although I’m enjoying Relationship Rehab, I also want to focus on other features too.

“Secondly, I have some more good news for you. The Paul Ashkuri interview? You got it.”

I beam, “I did?”

“Be there tomorrow, 2pm at the Dorchester. He’ll be there with Summer Lawton. Sky want you there at 6pm – they’re sending a cab to collect you from your home address, so make sure you’re ready. And don’t forget to mention that Woman To Woman are at the leading edge of researching and reporting on the woman of today.”

Honestly – the woman doesn’t miss an opportunity.

*

As I wait for the taxi I realise that I look better now than I have done for months. The prospects of appearing on the television, coupled with the demands of putting my best side out at the dating events has forced me to lose a few pounds, concentrate on keeping myself groomed and plucked and preened! I’m looking hot! The bikini wax was the start of it and now I can see how women become addicted to visiting the beauty salon. I had a spray tan this afternoon on my way home from work and my confidence has rocketed. Actually, it makes me feel rather sexy…..

Oh, there’s my cab.

Deep breaths.

My first television appearance!

Chapter Twenty

Nobody notices AJ slide from her chair and head for the corridor. She pulls her mobile from her jacket pocket and dials. She speaks quietly into the phone,

“Meet me in five,” and slips the mobile into her bag as she heads for the toilets to fix her hair and reapply some make up before leaving.

Ade waits for her at one of the small tables that nobody likes to sit at. He’s bought himself a drink and as AJ sashays through the doorway she notices that he hasn’t got her one. Slightly rattled she stops at the counter and orders herself a black coffee, forcing a smile as she heads toward him.

“So?” AJ can’t help but think how delectable Ade’s mouth is, especially when topped with a milky froth moustache.

“What? Oh, yeah. She’s got flowers – and they’re not from you! I thought you were going to mess things up for her.”

She failed to notice the flash of panic as it passed across Ade’s eyes, “Flowers? Who from?”

“It doesn’t matter who from! They’re not you! You obviously have competition.”

“Was there a card? A name? I thought this might happen, what with the spread in the newspapers sparking an interest.”

“Yes, there was a card – but I don’t see what difference it will make. They were from some guy called Trevor. But the fact is Ade, that you have to make some grand gestures now. You’re gonna have to up your game! Or you won’t be the guy that made that uptight bitch make a fool of herself by falling at the feet of the first man that made a fuss of her!”

She didn’t notice the distant look in his eyes as she ranted and sniped about Sophie and her new secret admirer.

But Ade knew exactly who he was.

*

The flowers were beautiful and completely took my breath away. It was a little embarrassing, having to explain that I don’t know anybody named Trevor and I’m sure that most of them didn’t believe me. For a split second I wondered whether it was Delaney that had sent them – she had a radiance glowing from her as I sat and blushed, reading the card aloud. The tube journey home was funny – me trying not to stick the huge bouquet into passengers’ faces, women cooing at me and asking who the lucky guy was, and men looking at me with a flirty twinkle in their eye. The lilies are huge and look magnificent on my coffee table. I have combed through my contacts on my mobile twice in a bid to determine whether Trevor could be a friend of a friend, and have rang Tamsin, and my other friends Jodie, Susan and Carrie to see whether they can figure who Trevor might be. We all drew a blank. But I have to admit, I’m really excited! I have never received a bouquet of flowers like that before. It’s a great feeling to know that somebody likes you and even more exciting for them to be a stranger. I have butterflies skipping around my tum and have absolutely no desire to eat at all. I jump when my phone rings, nervously staring at it. It flashes, ‘no number’ – it might be ‘him’?

“Hello?” I put on my sweet and sultry voice only to be shaken back down to earth by my Mum’s fake accent,

“Baybee? It’s your mother! You OK?”

“Oh,” I clear my throat, “yes, course I am. How are you Mum?”

“Oh honey-bun, I have some fabulous news. About the wedding? Waylon has been laying a driveway for Tom Cruise and his wife, and he’s only invited them to the wedding! Can you imagine, baybee?? Tom and Penelope at my wedding.”

“Mum, her name’s Katie.”

The Irish accent rushed to the foreground, leaving the faux American one standing, “Fecking Katie? Katie who?”

“Mum. Tom Cruise divorced Penelope Cruz and married Katie Holmes.”

You can literally hear the penny drop in the silence. Then she bursts,

“Oh baybee, silly me. That’s what I meant to say, Kayteee. Anyway, you gotta bringa man. You gonna bringa stud?” her voice is expectant.

I hum and haw, “No, Mum. No stud. I wrack my brains for anyone worthy of that status. I know nobody. Apart from perhaps Adrian, but that’s just ludicrous.

“What about whatshisname? The telly presenter guy?”

“Ben?”

“Whatever his name was.”

“No, Mum. We split up a few months ago.”

“And what’s this Jennifer tells me about the Rehab story? Sophie, you do realise that Jen is completely right. And don’t think I didn’t hear about the photographs in the newspapers, Sophie! Honestly, if you wanted celebrity status couldn’t you have come over to L.A and date some decent guys? Not be stuck over there in London and become famous for being dumped by a legion of losers! And Jennifer is right! You’ll be seen as a woman for men to avoid now! Did you never read the books about how to get a man? Acting desperate isn’t one of them!”

“Mum,” I have to cut this off, she’s driving me bonkers, “someone at the door.”
“Oh, OK. Well Sophie, if you’re determined to stay single, make sure you keep it up until after the wedding. Waylon reckons Tom and Penelope will be asking some of their friends to come too. You never know – you might end up with one of the A-listers!”

“OK Mum.” My voice is flat. “Bye Mum.”

I exhale deeply, blowing the white lily petals and watch some more of the orange pollen fall in dusty sprinkles.

My life is a bizarre rollercoaster of being worried about what I’m going to write every week for Relationship Rehab and whether the paps will be at my front door, and then being excited about going on the chat show on Sky and wondering when I’ll bump into Adrian again.

*

The end of the week is looming like a big black cloud. I’m worrying about the television thing and wonder whether they’re going to question me about Ben. I need to write this week’s column up early, and here it is…

Relationship Rehab – week 4

Flowers from secret admirers? What is it about the male ego? Is it the same gene that renders guys the eternal optimist, convinced that they will be the ‘one’ to turn a gay woman straight? What is it about publicising a decision to stay single, that instigates flowers from strangers and invitations to appear on radio and television? Am I that unusual? I’m interested in hearing your comments. Have you ever decided to stay single? And if so, why? And I have another question. Staying Single. Think of the words. Does that actually mean that if I dated somebody then I’ve broken the promise – or would I need to sleep with them to do that? Or, take it even further, would sleeping with them still render me single? I have decided that the concept of staying single lies in my intentions. If I met a guy and dated him, or even allowed him to wine and dine and all that other stuff that follows when you go back for coffee – if I did that but had no intentions of making him a full-time boyfriend, would that mean that I was still, staying single? The problem now is this. There is a guy that I really like. And it’s typical that this had to happen now – when I’ve made this statement. So please let me know what you think? Am I making a statement only to break it? Or is that a woman’s prerogative anyway?

Look out for me on Sky at 8pm tonight – I’m on the William Montelson show and will be talking about my reasons for choosing to be single and the faux pas and foibles of dating the wrong men.

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Nineteen

Delaney is ferocious today. Monday’s are notoriously bad anyway; I’m convinced she’s not a ‘morning’ person. Nor maybe an ‘afternoon’ person either. AJ is staring at her screen when as I bustle through the ‘open plan‘ to my desk and I can’t fail to notice how tidy and organised her desk is compared to mine – which I can barely see beneath a completely non organic pile of papers. Delaney has been chucking leads at me like wet sponges at a school fayre and this week alone I need to finish 1500 words on Why Women Write More Letters Than They Post – which I believe is the subject on which a book has already been written – so why I need to write it again is beyond me. There’s also the new Kate Moss at Top Shop collection that I need to talk to Fashion about – Delaney wants me on the streets to interview women on their opinions about it. I get the feeling she has something cooking too – on the singles front. As if the speed and wine dating weren’t bad enough – I know there are still numerous dodgy options out there waiting for me to road test!

“Regan! Five minutes. In my office.”

I grin feebly, aware that the remains of my curls are still bouncing from the confines of my hair grip as I plonk into my chair.

“Oh,” AJ’s sinewy voice squeaks from somewhere behind me, “sounds like you’re in demand already.”

I spin on my chair to face her. We have to get through this strained stage of our working relationship, so I make an effort to smile at her,

“Yeah, hope she doesn’t have any more ideas about speed dating – that was an horrendous experience.”

“Oh,” AJ smirks, “I’m sure she has plenty of ideas. Especially after that, what shall we say, unfortunate, episode with your uncompromising photograph in the nationals.”

And do you know what? For a fleeting second I would put my hand on my heart and think that she was somehow in on that. There is something strangely creepy about her and yet, I realise that it’s paranoia to even think that she could have instigated something like that. But, then again, is it?

“REGAN!”

My thought bubble is shattered at the gritty sounds of Delaney again.

“Coming!”

I leap from my chair and head for her office, unable to resist a quick look back at AJ, who is already craning her neck and watching me trot toward Delaney’s office.

Something’s not right with her.

*

“OK,” Delaney is leaning forward in her chair and I think she’s fiddling with her foot under her desk. Actually I think she might be pulling off a plaster, given her grimace as she talks. I try to pretend I don’t notice that she’s bent over like the werewolf from Harry Potter, “we’re on for Sky. This week.”

“We? What do you mean, ‘we’?”

“OK,” she cackles, “you! They want you there on Thursday morning at 7.30am – so make sure you have Relationship Rehab ready well in advance this week. You’re probably going to want to give some time to preparing what you’re going to say too. Don’t forget, Regan, you’re going to lay on the emotions about why you decided to stay single and all those awful guys that you dated. They’re going to dig about your relationship with Ben Scott, you already know that, so it’s up to you what you divulge, but remember this, Regan. Play this card right for Woman To Woman, don’t forget how we are the magazine for women in the noughties and that Woman To Woman are at the cutting edge of women and their lives.”

I’ve heard that speech a thousand times – it’s the masthead of the magazine and Delaney fires it off at random moments on a weekly basis.

“The Ben Scott thing worries me. I don’t want to talk about my personal relationship with him.”

“Then don’t. But be prepared. The morning show is live and they might throw in some awkward questions.”

“Great.” I’m not impressed with this. I wanted to stay single to get out of the carnival of relationships and their foibles, not stand as a Pied Piper to lead all the rats out of the city on behalf of the bra burners.

“Right, we’ll talk again on Wednesday. Come straight into the office after you’ve finished at Sky. We’ll have a debrief.”

I’m sure she has aspirations to be an army sergeant sometimes. I leave her office and walk back to my desk as she calls me back,

“Oh, Regan.”

I notice AJ lift her head to listen in as I turn back to face Delaney,

“I want you to look into singles holidays too. See what you can find.”

Hideous…

*

I’d started the week realising that I haven’t once thought about Danny Mullins again, with a slight glimmer of hope that being so busy with Relationship Rehab had kept me blissfully unaware of his existence. So when I get back to my desk to find his voice on my voicemail, I’m more than surprised,

“Hey, babe. Saw your pics in papers last week. I’d forgotten how great you looked. Anyway, maybe I was a bit hasty. I mean, Sophie, I’m missing you. Fancy meeting up for a beer or a meal one night? Call me babe.”

Bloody cheek!!

*

Ade heard Trevor on his phone as he passed his desk, so thought about not bothering to stop and ask him whether he wanted an ice lolly from the shop. It was a ritual in the Geezer offices that whoever was the earliest in to work, had to buy the ices on a Monday morning. And Ade had arrived way before the others. He’d been struggling to write Ade Gets Laid, deciding to focus on a woman named Tina that he’d dated when he was about 17, and pretend that it was one of his latest dates instead. She’d been 32 and had taught him an entire repertoire of moves that he’d improved on over the years. He stopped beside Trevor’s desk, listening to his call, waiting for him to come off.

“Yes, 20. OK, yes, no, I have my card details here. OK, ready?”

Ade listened to Trevor read the numbers out – he’d listened to it so many times he virtually knew his banking details off by heart – Trevor was always ordering things over the phone or shopping online.

“No – they have to be delivered today. Before 12 please. You have the address? Great.”

He put down the phone and looked up at Ade, “Buying more crap are you, Trev?”

“No, bruv,” he smiled, licking his lips like the proverbial cat, “not crap. Nothing like crap.”

Ade shook his head, “Want a lolly?”

“Yeah, cheers,” he replied vacantly, pulling back his shirt sleeve to check his watch. 10.45 already.

*

I want to get ahead of myself a bit with Relationship Rehab. I’ve already taken three calls from London radio programmes who are intrigued by my decision to stay single. Delaney is in raptures about the media hype. It looks like I’ll be on LBC and Heart 106.2 FM later in the week and this is all kind of exciting but it’s as if my staying single promise has taken it’s own legs. The strangest thing is though, I found myself looking for Adrian today when I came into work. How ironic that I’d decide to stay single, so publicly too, and find a guy that I would really really like to get to know better… Maybe I should write that up for this week’s column, how the cliché could be true – when you’re not looking for somebody, that’s when they find you!

I’m staring at my screen, trying to put together the final touches to my column. I’m desperate to get started on the other features that I want to write up for this week and am hoping that Delaney will agree to my idea to interview Paul Ashkuri when he arrives in London on Friday. He’s the hottest new actor to head for Hollywood from Croydon, he’s promised Woman To Woman an interview, and I know I’m competing with AJ on the interviewing stakes. I check Outlook to count how many days I have left to book my highlights before my Sky appearance. Hmmm, and I should really buy myself something nice to wear for the television appearance too. There was that lovely dress in Monsoon’s window.

“Sophie?”

I turn around to see a huge bunch of lilies approaching me. I’m stunned when they are placed onto my desk. Everybody looks as I rage a furious red.

“Go on then,” AJ spits, “check the card! Is there a card?”

“Yeah,” I reply, delving between the glorious silken petals and knocking dusts of orange pollen onto my keyboard.

“So! What does it say? Who are they from?”

I know I have a vacant expression as I read the name. “I don’t have a clue. Somebody called Trevor.”

Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Twenty

Pulling Power #6

OK - so everybody's going shy...

Here's the first of some donated chat up lines..

Got any more to add?



email sophie at singlesophieregan@yahoo.co.uk

Chapter Eighteen

Ben Scott stands on his rooftop terrace, wearing only his shorts and flip flops. At only 10.30am it’s already a scorcher of a day, but he’s anxious, swigging huge mouthfuls from the litre bottle of water that he rests down beside his sun lounger. He holds his mobile in his other hand, his fingers hovering over Sophie’s number, hesitating. He couldn’t figure it. Was it sheer coincidence that she’d text him only last week - one of her cheeky, suggestive texts that had been so plentiful during their short relationship? He doubted that she had any malice in her, she’d been ‘nice’ during their time together, if a little demanding in the conversation stakes – she was a talker – he was more the silent type. She hadn’t understood that he didn’t really like talking. Just because he hosted a chat show didn’t mean he had to do it all the time. He’d argued that Jeremy Clarkson didn’t drive a different car everyday – just because he did it for a living, Robbie Williams didn’t sing every day because it was his career choice, Abi Titmuss didn’t get her bits out… ok, so not all of the examples rang true! Sophie and him weren’t destined to last the duration – but they’d learned a lot about each other during those few months. It had felt natural, revealing his inner self to her, as they’d snuggled and caressed under the covers. She’d been so caring and understanding, kissing his eyelids as forehead gently, noticing his pain as he’d told her. He hadn’t expected her to suddenly appear in the national tabloids as the woman ‘so tired at male clichés that she’s promised to stay single for a year!’ He knew how the media loved a buzz – he only hoped that it didn’t come and sting him on the arse. He hoped he could trust Sophie with his own secret – but he also knew how a little media attention tended to loosen tongues too. He wasn’t sure whether to ask to meet her, or whether that might remind her about his ‘secret’.

*

“You know what Tam?” I’m being very Italian, and talking with my mouth full, “you’re brother is cool. We had a great afternoon together. He painted my ceiling while I made us some lunch. He’s like a girl isn’t he?”

“Wha’?” Tamsin’s mouth is full too – and I have to say, it actually doesn’t look great, seeing the wormy pasta, half chewed. Maybe I won’t do that again.

“The way he talks. Not the way he talks, but he’s easy to talk to. It was like talking to you. Kind of.”

“He’s lonely I think Soph. Works too hard and too long. Needs a decent woman in his life.”

“Hey, don’t look at me. I’m out of the loop, remember!”

I pull a chunk of garlic bread off with my bare fingers, licking the buttery residue from my newly French manicured nails. “The truth is, it was nice talking to a guy without any undertones of relationships other than friendship.”

“Yeah,” Tamsin is unimpressed. I suppose it is her brother we’re talking about. She’s probably bored of him. Rob was great company though. He hadn’t seen the newspapers and I regaled him with my horrors of being photographed and splashed across the tabloids. He thought it was hilarious, but really understood too. I didn’t go so far as to show him the pile of copies that I have hidden in my wardrobe! I found myself telling him the truth – about how it’s shaken me up a little and how I’m a bit wary about going outside front door without my shades on and bracing myself for a flash. I thought he’d laugh but he didn’t. He even offered to wait for me to get ready to meet Tam tonight, and walk me to the station, just in case there were any out there – in hiding.

It went slightly weird after that though. I disappeared into the bedroom to get ready and decided to curl my hair on those huge rollers, the size of toilet roll cardboard. I wanted to go for the relaxed but feminine look – and when I emerged in my red summer dress and loose curls he looked at me a little strangely.

“What’s wrong?” I’d said, stunned at his strange expression, hoping that my fake tan hadn’t streaked all down my bare arms or that my hair was a little over-curled, “hair not right?”

“No,” he’d shaken his head, but I wasn’t convinced.

“So what is it?” I’d rushed back to the mirror to see myself.

“Nothing,” he’d called out, “you just look, em, great.”

“Cool!” I smiled, grabbing my keys and bag and heading for the front door. He came out behind me.

I have to admit I was a little nervous about stepping out onto the street – especially on a Saturday night. I figured that if the paparazzi were expecting me to go to another dating event, they’d feel that a Saturday night one would be a dead cert. But I was wrong. No photographers, nothing. He cocked his arm for me to link into it, and I did. And it felt good, walking to the station holding on to his arm. I felt safe. And warm. I liked it. I wish he was my brother.

*

Ade was bored. He’d declined the invitation to the dinner party with another flimsy excuse of having to babysit his sister’s children. He was struggling lately to find believable reasons not to sit around dinner tables with his married friends as they dragged out yet another single woman to ‘make up the numbers’. It had been fun at first – the challenge of the chase, the stimulation of meeting somebody new and flirting and chatting with them. He inevitably hit it off with them and it was only a matter of time before they were in bed together. And so it became boring. He found the older ones more exciting – they had fewer inhibitions and were far more inventive in bed, but he was looking for more than that now. He’d always prided himself on being the only one from his original group of mates who’d remained unmarried, but was now suddenly aware that he was missing something from his life. He wanted someone to share his time with, someone to laugh with and to look forward to giving to.

“Fuckit,” he stared at his coffee table, laden with the brown paper bags and silver cartons that housed another takeaway meal, “maybe I am getting sensible. Maybe I’m going into the next phase.”

And he wasn’t entirely sure whether he was pleased about this, or actually rather disappointed….

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Nineteen