Page 14 of Sassy & Sixty
Rosie turned back to Mike, determined to make conversation. "So, you're a doctor?"
Mike nodded. "GP, yes. Though tonight I'm off duty and strictly here for the pub quiz. Which I see you've already been recruited for."
Rosie laughed. "Yes, though I'm not sure how much help I'm being. It's been a while since I've done anything like this."
"Well, from what I could see, you were holding your own quite well," Mike said, his eyes twinkling. "Especially on that last gardening question. I was impressed."
They fell into easy conversation, discussing everything from the merits of different rose varieties to the challenges of modern healthcare. Rosie was surprised at how comfortable she felt, how easily the words flowed.
It was only when she heard a commotion from the quiz table that she realised how much time had passed. She turned to see Emma engaged in what appeared to be a heated debate with the quiz master.
"Oh dear," Rosie muttered. "I should probably..."
Mike nodded understandingly. "Go rescue your friends. But Rosie..." he hesitated for a moment. "I've enjoyed talking with you. Perhaps we could do it again sometime? Over dinner, maybe?"
Rosie felta thrill run through her. Was she really being asked out on a date? At her age? She found herself nodding before she could overthink it. "I'd like that very much."
As she made her way back to the table, she could hear Emma's voice rising above the general hubbub.
"...and I'm telling you, it was definitely Mick Jagger, not Keith Richards!"
The quiz master, a harried-looking young man, was shaking his head. "I'm sorry, madam, but the answer sheet clearly states..."
"Oh, stuff your answer sheet," Emma interrupted. "I was there, sonny. Front row at Hyde Park. Trust me, I know my Rolling Stones."
Rosie slid into her seat just as Emma, frustrated by the quiz master's intransigence, pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.
"Emma, no!" Lisa hissed. "You can't smoke in here. It's been banned for years!"
But Emma, fuelled by gin and indignation, wasn't listening. She stuck a cigarette between her lips and flicked the lighter.
What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. The sprinkler system, detecting the flame, suddenly burst into life. Water rained down on the entire pub, soaking patrons, short-circuiting the sound system, and turning the quiz sheets into soggy pulp.
For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then, as if on cue, the entire pub erupted into chaos. People shrieked and laughed, slipping and sliding on the wet floor as they made for the exits.
Rosie looked at her friends, all of them dripping wet, mascara running down their faces, and felt a bubble of laughter rise in her chest. Soon, they were all howling with mirth, clutching their sides as tears of laughter mingled with the sprinkler water on their cheeks.
As they stumbled out of the pub, still giggling, Rosie caught Mike's eye across the street. He was as soaked as the rest of them, but he was grinning and gave her a wink that made her heart skip a beat.
"Well, ladies," Emma said, wringing water out of her hair, "I'd say our first big night out was a roaring success, wouldn't you?"
And as they linked arms and began the wobbly walk home, still laughing and already planning their next adventure, Rosie couldn't help but agree. It had been chaotic, slightly ridiculous, and utterly, wonderfully perfect.
DATE NIGHT JITTERS
She’d had her roots done, but not her nails, eyebrows or eyelashes. Should she have? Should she have waxed her legs and her bikini line? And her chin? And the moustache that was starting to appear above her lip? How much effort did people put into dating these days? The last time she'd been on a first date, Margaret Thatcher had been in office and shoulder pads were considered the height of fashion.
"It's just dinner," she muttered to herself, pushing aside a series of cardigans that suddenly seemed to mock her with their sensibleness. "With a handsome doctor. Who you barely know. At your age. Oh, good grief."
Her phone buzzed, making her jump. A message from Emma flashed on the screen: "Operation Silver Fox is go! We'll be there in 10 with reinforcements. Don't you dare get dressed without us!"
Rosie felt a mix of relief and trepidation. On one hand, she desperately needed help. On the other... well, letting the Sensational Sixties Squad loose in her bedroom seemed like a recipe for chaos.
True to Emma's word, precisely ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. Rosie opened it to find her friends on thedoorstep, armed with what appeared to be enough beauty supplies to stock a small salon.
"Right," Emma said, brushing past Rosie with determination. "Where's the patient? We have a severe case of first date jitters to cure."
"I'm not sure 'patient' is the right word," Rosie protested weakly, but she was already being steered towards her bedroom by Lisa and Julie.
