‘Oh, my God! I just remembered, I promised to feed my landlady’s cat while she’s away.Poor thing will be starving. Please take this towards the meal,’ I say, clumsily shoving a twenty-pound note into his hand.
‘No, please, this is my treat. Look, if your landlady’s away let’s buy a bottle of wine and have it at yours.’
Subtlety is obviously getting me absolutely nowhere, so there’s nothing else for it: Emergency Evacuation Procedure to be deployed pronto …
‘Great idea,but not tonight, eh?’ I say, giving a staged yawn. ‘Now I really must go. Thanks for the meal. It was lovely.’
‘But what about your main course?’
I hesitate, then spying a taxi, I leg it out the door and do a death-defying dash across the road. As I jump into my getaway car, I heave a sigh of relief, not daring to look back.
* * *
I push the living room door open a fraction.
‘I’m home, Beryl.’
‘Nice time?’
‘So-so. Glass of wine?’
‘No, thanks, dear, I’ve got my Johnny Walker,’ she says, shaking her tumbler of scotch, ice clinking.
‘Okay then, goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, sweet’art.’
Flopping onto the bed, I take a huge gulp of wine, pop open some Pringles, pop in my earphones, switch off the light, and close my eyes. Ah, bliss!
Mobile rings. It’sWendy.
‘Hi, hon. Sorry, I didn’t expect you to pick up. I was going to leave a message. Don’t want to interrupt your hot date.’
‘It’s okay. I’m lying on the bed with …’
‘Sorry, sorry. I’ll ring tomorrow.’
‘… Sam Smith and a tube of Pringles.’
‘What? No Dean? What happened?’
‘Aargh, don’t ask. It was a disaster. I left him at the restaurant.’
‘Why? Look, I know we’vepulled your leg unmercifully about the age thing, but who cares? If you both …’
‘It’s not just that. We simply don’t have anything in common. Truth is, I agreed to go out with him because I was flattered to be asked out by someone so much younger – gave me a bit of an ego boost after Nigel. But, eeuw! He dribbled his soup and spilled wine everywhere.’
‘Give the guy a chance, Em. He wasprobably nervous, poor lamb. How sweet of him to treat you to dinner, when he probably doesn’t earn much.’
‘Andhe wears Bart Simpson socks.’
‘So?’
‘I know, I know, I’m being a heartless bitch. But he’s made me realise how much I like being single. Ironic, isn’t it? I used to be like Olga: desperate to marry, but if only the Olgas of this world could see you don’t have to have a manin tow to prove to the world how special or wanted you are.’
‘But what about romance, Em?’
‘I’ve got a more realistic approach to romance these days, Wendy. I don’t buy all that fairy-tale nonsense.’
