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

Chapter Seventeen

Relationship Rehab – week 3

Wine Not? should be renamed ‘Whine Not!’ given the whining that goes on when sampling 6 new drinks in 3 hours. The advert insisted that you need not be an oenophile (a word bandied about between gulps - a lover or connoisseur of wine) yet the wine buffs were there regardless. The opportunity to meet 20 guys, mingling in groups as we sipped on new wines was lost on me as I had to listen to these wannabe connoisseurs slurp and comment on the ‘fruitiness’ or ‘dryness’… It was worsened by the prospects of being ‘ticked’ for post event emails – if a guy ticked your name, the organisers pass on your email address. I’m not sure whether I’m dreading looking at my inbox for the fear of Giles or Warren’s name popping up – or for the humiliation that none of these whiners liked me anyway! It’s a relationship roulette out there and the closer you stand to the furnace of dating, the hotter the competition! My closing thoughts on wine dating are that it’s all rather pointless. I doubt that the whine notters appreciated my simple, ‘Like it? Drink it! Don’t like it? Leave it!’ approach, but what is there to say? We can’t change the drinks! We’re not being flown out to the vineyards to give our respected opinions so that they can change the recipes! As far as I’m concerned, if you don’t like the taste it leaves in your mouth, move on. Kind of like the way that you do with men…”

Sophie xxx

*

I’ve spent huge chunks of the last 48 hours staring at horrendous photographs of me in newspapers and magazines and it’s been surreal. I have resorted to practising getting in and out of cars with tight skirts on; with the help of my kitchen stool and an upturned hula hoop. I know that the stool is somewhat higher than the front seat of my car, and the hula hoop isn’t the same size as an open car door - but I’ve nearly perfected the knock-kneed look that it requires. Hopefully I won’t need to use this newly developed skill; there’s been a little backlash – a slight quiver of furore over who I actually am, but I haven’t seen any more photographers, thankfully. I returned the H&M dress to Tracy, in fashion, who was thrilled that some of the newspapers had commented on the fabulous dress, and I was devastated when she showed me the photographs in Heat magazine today –a yellow circle highlighting a close up of my bikini area! Choosing to stay single? I won’t have any choice now – what with my inner thighs as centrefold! Perhaps things will die down over the weekend. I’m relieved it’s Saturday morning - I need a couple of days to relax and spend some time with Tam. I’m desperate to get dressed up nice and to go for a relaxing meal - somewhere with no agenda of meeting guys or researching the singleton lifestyle – I just want some ‘me’ time.

*

Tamsin had been furious with Pete. He’d promised to take her out for dinner last night, arranging to collect her at 8pm and he hadn’t arrived until after eleven. He’d stood on her doorstep, clutching a huge bouquet of flowers and had cupped her face in his hands as he kissed her hard and deeply. She’d tried to resist, but found him completely irresistible, then hated herself for not being more defensive. He’d lifted the discarded flowers from her welcome mat, handing them back to her after their kiss and she’d marched into the kitchen to look for a vase.

“So why couldn’t you have called me? Or to have text me even?”

Pete had leaned in the doorway, looking great in his jeans and black t-shirt. She loved the bulge of his forearm and the dark hair that swept across it. She tried to remain angry,

“I’m sick of being second best Pete. It’s just not good enough fobbing me off with flowers. It’s not fair on me.”

She’d been aware of him watching her fuss with the flowers, irritated at a lily on a particularly long stem that continued to flop over the side drunkenly. Her blonde hair, blunt cut at the shoulders, fell over her eyes and she’d suspected that he was concealing a laugh as she tucked it tightly behind her ear, for it only to fop forward after a few seconds. He’d taken her breath away, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her to face him. He had kissed her again, pushing her back until the backs of her legs met with the cupboard door. And then he’d pulled at her skirt, tugging it up, and over her thighs.

*

Tamsin woke, curled on her side with Pete tight to her back. They’d been spooning for hours now, his deep breathing relaxing her into a contented slumber. She loved these early hours – this 3am-5am slot where the night slowly crept towards day and the air was still outside. With no traffic sounds it was like a vacuum of time that she didn’t want to leave. She knew the day was inevitable; knew he had to leave, which only made her want to freeze frame the moment and hang onto him for a little longer.

She needed to talk to Sophie about this and was pleased that they were meeting tonight with no agenda – no venue for dating scenes or research – just the two of them and a quaint Italian restaurant. It was time to tell but she still wasn’t entirely sure how Sophie would react. Tamsin wondered whether, after seeing the dire dating scene for herself, she might now understand more why things had to be this way for her.

*

I love Saturday mornings and to be woken by fabulous stripes of sunshine as they pour through the open slats in my window blind completely lifted my mood, washing away my anxieties about the photographs. I lie in bed for ages this morning, letting the sunlight creep up and along my white duvet as the day came to life. It’s a luxury to just relax and not think; letting random thoughts float in and out of my mind and I let them, feeling a huge wash of contentment, as though I am floating. A short burst in the shower invigorates me, just as the blurb on the container of shower gel promises, and I feel great. Drying my hair into loose curls I grab my car keys and bag, sliding my shades onto my eyes, and head for the supermarket.

I arrive home two hours later to find Rob unloading paint and dust sheets from the boot of his car. He’s in my parking space, so I pull up beside his car and open my window,

“Hey! You coming to see me?”

“Yeah,” he smiles, “That OK? Thought I’d sort that ceiling for you.”

“That’s fine.” I point to the back seat of my car for some bizarre reason, “I’ve just got to find somewhere to park, and then I can bring in this shopping and make us some lunch, if you fancy it.”

He nods as I turn to pull away. Within seconds he’s standing beside my window,

“So where are you going to park? I’ve nicked your place, haven’t I?”

“Yep. No worries, I’ll find somewhere, oh, about a mile up the road.”

“No, let me move my car,” he grapples in his overalls pocket for keys.

“No! Really! I’m only joking. I’ll find somewhere up there.”

“Well then,” he opens the back door of my car and reaches in for the shopping bags, “at least let me take this lot in for you. You might has well have walked from Tesco if you knew you’d be parking that far away.”

I’m impressed. I watch him in my side mirror as he rustles the bags behind me.

“Do you always wear overalls?”

He laughed, “Yeah, feels like it.” He carries all of the bags at once, his two hands clutching about 4 bags each. He is walking towards my house when he looks back and smiles at me, “And sometimes I even wear clothes underneath them…”

I’m blushing.

Again.

Come for a chat in Sappho's Garden

Last week was great - we had a few laughs in The Blarney Stone and really got to know each other. Some of you were painfully honest about the break ups of relationships and others made us all laugh with their chat up lines and hilarious disastrous dates!

Wednesday 9pm (UK time) is scheduled for our next meet up - hope you can all make it again - and it would be great to see some new faces too.

Let's meet in Sappho's Garden ( Second Life co-ordinates - 51,52,30). It's a truly beautiful garden, full of butterflies and great places to relax. And if you're not sure how to get there - send a friend request to me (SophieRegan Jewell) and I'll teleport you!

Looking forward to seeing you there.

Here's a photo of Sappho's Garden to get you in the mood.

And world times are
9pm (UK time) -
1pm WCoast USA/Canada,
4pm New York,
6pm Tokyo,
7pm Sydney,
9pm Auckland NZ

Chapter Sixteen

I was traumatised last night, what with the paparazzi outside my house freaking me out, setting me askew for the wine dating event. I couldn’t relax after that and if I’d have thought that Delaney wouldn’t be chasing me up on it, I wouldn’t have gone. I wish really that I hadn’t. It was ‘interesting’ but I’ve been restless all night, chasing sleep around the bed and worrying what I’m going to write today for Relationship Rehab. I sit cross legged in my armchair, spooning Crunchy Nut Cornflakes into my mouth as I stare at the floor, my mind working overtime. My hair is still curly from last night and I really should wash it, but I’m tired and decide that I’ll sweep it back into a high ponytail instead. I love the crashing in my head as I bite down onto the cereal, pondering what to write in my piece today. If I say that I didn’t like ‘Wine Not?’ does that make me look unreasonable? As if I’m not giving anything a chance, or maybe that I am that dried up spinster that Jennifer said I’d be? I’m not sure which angle to come in from on this week’s column and it doesn’t help that I’m feeling low. I have a swollen ache on my chin, which I know is the beginnings of my period spot. And what great timing that will be – I’ll have a perfect bloated tum for my appearance on television! I get up and head for the kitchen but can’t help but feel a little creeped as I pass the window. I have a disturbing feeling that there are still some photographers out there, as if they’re spying on me, and I know it’s ridiculous. You don’t have to tell me that I’m being paranoid, but I was so shocked that they’d considered me tabloid fodder simply because of my column and that I dated Ben, I’m now wondering what else they’re going to do. That was one of the reasons too, that I couldn’t sleep. I felt more alone last night than ever before and it would have been so comforting to have someone to snuggle up to in bed – someone to stay with me. I wanted to keep my bedside light on, but then I terrified myself by wondering whether the photographers were on a stake out in a derelict flat across the road! It’s obvious that I’ve been watching too much television – that’s what you do when you’re single and don’t have much of a social life. The only person that I could have really called in the middle of the night was Tamsin, but she’d think I was demented too. I mean, I’ve hardly reached celebrity status and I know that the tabloids are just curious, wanting a bit of scandal about the squeaky clean Ben Scott. But they won’t be getting it from me.

I took a little extra time this morning to make sure I look good, just in case the photographers were out there again, but I needn’t have bothered. I opened the front door with a grin anyway, just in case, and walked to the Tube station trying to master my confident stride. I’m probably dressed slightly over the top for work today, my white linen trousers weren’t a great bet, considering the aches of imminence in my pelvis, but my tired eyes are hidden behind my white-framed Sophia Loren sunglasses so nobody will notice that rabbit-in-the-headlights glaze to them. God only knows what face AJ will pull when she sees what I’m wearing and I know I’m in for a tough time, facing off to Delaney about what I’m going to write for my column. If there ever was a morning that I needed to stop for a coffee, it’s this morning. Maybe I’ll grab a lemon muffin too – ever since Adrian gave me his one, I can’t stop thinking about him.

I mean, them.

The lemon muffins….

*

Ade had intended to grab a quick macchiato to take away, but as he’d stood in the queue he couldn’t help but notice the open pages of The Sun which was spread on one of the tables. He raised his eyebrows and then frowned, as he shuffled sideways, edging out of the queue to make sure that his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.

They weren’t.

And he wasn’t sure that he liked it.

*

Checking my watch, I realise that I have at least 20 minutes before Delaney will start writing ridiculously large messages on sheets of A4 and leaving them on my keyboard. I’m certain that a skinny latte and a muffin will set me straight. I’ve decided what I’m going to write for Relationship Rehab. I’m going to go in from the angle that we Londoners are all so different, which means that we need different events to fully engage with such a variety of diverse people. And then I’ll add that Wine Not? just was not for me. As I step from the morning sunshine into Starbucks, darkness falls and I lift my sunglasses from my face, sliding them up into my hair. There are only 6 people in front of me, and I stretch my neck to check the glass cabinet, making sure there are skinny lemon muffins there waiting for me. I inch forward as the queue shortens and I’m just ready to give my order when I notice Adrian, sat at a table in the window as he drinks his coffee. He notices me and smiles a rather fabulous smile, giving me a nod and a mouthed ‘hi’. I blush as I nod back and give a stupid little wave. Seconds later I’m ordering my coffee and jump as I feel his hand in the small of my back. I’m surprised he hasn’t burnt his fingers! He waits until I’ve paid and whispers in my ear,

“Come over and join me.” I check my watch and realise that I have no excuse not to, so collect my latte and muffin and fake that confident stride as I make for his table.

“Hi,”

“Hi,” his smile knocks me out.

“So,” I fumble for conversation, “what you doing in here this morning? Don’t you usually take your coffee to work with you?”

“Oh, just thought I’d kill a few minutes.”

There’s an awkward silence before he speaks again. I have a mouthful of muffin when he says,

“Em, Sophie. Have you seen the paper?”

“No,” I mumble, spongy yellow flakes falling from my over-spilling muffined mouth. He looks awkward as he spins the newspaper around to me, “I think you’d better see this.”

There’s a picture of me leaving the house last night and flashing my white lace knickers! I’m immediately caught in a strange loop of being relieved and delighted that I had such a thorough wax and spray tan, and yet feeling ashamed and embarrassed that my inner thighs are now splashed across a national newspaper!

“So,” he asks lightly, slurping on his coffee and staring at me, “what’s that all about?” And he listens carefully and thoughtfully as I spill out my guts – all the news about the disastrous dates, and the married men and the false promises and my quest to stay single and how Delaney heard me moaning and has now pushed me to write this Relationship Rehab column and how Sky want to talk to me for their chat show and how I used to date Ben Scott and that I know stuff about him that I don’t want to come out on national television. And how I was scared last night and through the night that the paps were outside my house and how ridiculous it all is!

I have to admit that I feel so much better after getting it all off my chest, and I have to say that, for a square kind of guy who works with figures, he doesn’t seem shocked or disgusted at me.

“Look,” he said, “just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you.”

He was nice.

*

Ade walked with Sophie to the lifts, immediately dropping his smile, the second they parted company. He felt like shit – pretending to her that he didn’t know about her night out at the wine dating and her column and felt even worse when he remembered that he’d encouraged Trevor to get the paps around to her house. He even continued letting her think that he worked with ‘figures’ which had started as his innuendo for the bikini’d babes that he wrote about for Geezer. Sophie was too nice for all this and he felt bad now. She was attractive, funny and cute; and he didn’t want to target her for Ade Gets Laid. Actually, he didn’t want to write Ade Gets Laid any more. This was all going horribly wrong.

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Seventeen