LITMIR.BIZ

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really. Really stupid. We weren’t doing it – I thought – because we were busy and a bit lazy and doesn’t it all drop off after forty anyway (not that, the libido thing…) and it was now all about closeness and cuddles (not that I got many of those) and doing the crossword together and stuff… when in actual fact Jeff was doing my best friend.

      I’d been so angry when I found out about them. I’d thrown things at him, when he finally did come home – from the Love Hotel – to collect his stuff. I threw laundry and paired-up socks (ineffective), a block of new cheese from the fridge (very effective), anything I could get my hands on. I followed him from room to room chucking things at him and sobbing. It hadn’t been pretty, but then neither was what he’d done to me. But I was over all that now. All my anger at Jeff had long gone. Now I was calm and free… and speed dating.

      It helped that I never saw him any more; I had no need to. I was seeing him this Friday, though: Freya’s graduation. I felt sick, suddenly, at the thought. The last time I’d seen him had been – when? – three months ago. He’d picked up the very last of his books and the bits and bobs he wanted from our old house. The rest of his things had already gone, and with Freya up and left and living in a shared house in Merton with her friends, I was rattling round that big old house (did I miss it? No). We barely spoke as he softly moved from room to room, gathering. I’d have to make proper conversation with him on Friday, for Freya’s sake, and I was now really dreading it.

      ‘Round Three,’ chirped Nigel, interrupting my thoughts, ‘after you’ve all revved yourselves up to the point of absolute freeenzy, people… is a good, old straight-down-the-line speed date round. Boring!’ he laughed. ‘Though we don’t think so.’ He looked stern. ‘Here you can capitalise on your miming and your fabulous eye-locking rounds and talk to each other – find out what makes you tick, explore each other’s very souls – before skipping off into the sunset together for the rest of your lives.’ His face broke into a beaming smile. ‘I need to tell you, I’ve been burning to tell you’ – he was almost hopping on the spot, his lapels flapping – ‘that we have ourselves our very first speed dating baby! Yes, just last week, here in a private London hospital, a bouncing baby boy was born to two of our former speed-daters, Leon and Katie, who are now very happily married. How about a round of applause?’

      Sam and I clapped, half-heartedly: Sam didn’t do babies; she found them revolting. She’d never wanted children. She liked Freya though; Freya was cool. Others in the crowd, though, showed proper feeling. Some of the women went misty-eyed. Some of the men looked outright dismayed – they’d turned up tonight in the pursuit of some contraception-proofed sex, not marriage and babies.

      ‘Soooo,’ said Nigel. ‘That’s how we do things, here at Icons Speed Date!’ He grabbed his lapels with his thumbs and gave them a firm hitch downwards. ‘We’ll get started in ten minutes, so if you want to head to the bar in the meantime, please go ahead. A little lubrication can help people on their way, we find. Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha!’

      I rolled my eyes. Hang on! What was Sam doing? She’d turned away from me and was talking to someone who may have come as Bruce Springsteen; he was wearing a stars and stripes bandana. Axl Rose? As the crowd moved en masse to the bar he nodded and said, ‘see you later babes’ to her. Another man – possibly Paul McCartney but it was hard to tell – offered to buy her a glass of wine as we arrived in the scrum of speed-daters queueing for a drink.

      ‘Soulmate?’ I enquired

      ‘No,’ she giggled. ‘Free drink.’

      ‘You’re seeing a lot of interest already, Sam. Are you sure it’s not you who’s going to fall in love by Friday?

      ‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s you. Don’t give up hope. The night is yet young. You’ll meet someone tonight – I can feel it in my water.’

      ‘You and your water!’ I said affectionately, rolling my eyes.

      ‘My water has never been wrong,’ nodded Sam. ‘Trust me.’

      Macca – no shoes – strode on over holding a large rosé, and a lemonade for me.

      ‘Thank you,’ we said in unison.

      ‘No problem, ladies,’ he said in a deep voice. ‘I look forward to seeing you both at the tables, shortly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go for a wazz. The old pipework’s not what it used to be.’

      I pretended to swoon and said, in a Scarlett O’Hara southern drawl, ‘I do declare, what a dashing young man! Romance is surely not dead!’

      ‘Ha, ha, Daryl, you crack me up.’

      ‘Well, really!’ I said. ‘A “wazz”? I’m not going to meet anyone here tonight. Neither of us are going to meet anyone here tonight.’

      ‘Daryl,’ said Sam sternly. ‘There are probably lots of great men in here.’

      ‘Really?’ I said petulantly. ‘Well I can’t see any of them.’

      ‘That’s because you’re not looking properly. You have to see past the outfits. The dodgy make-up and wigs. The… love-handles and gammy legs. They’re all right here, Daryl. You just need to open your eyes to them!’ She gestured round her, with a sweeping hand, while my eyes rolled so much they probably resembled a fruit machine. ‘Stop it Daryl! Your glass needs to be half full, not half empty! Open your heart!’ I looked at our glasses. Her glass of rosé was nearly all gone. I had barely sipped my lemonade. I really should be getting drunk to get through this tonight. Why had I brought my bloody car?

      ‘I know I said I wanted to date,’ I whined, ‘but it’s all so overwhelming. What am I supposed to say to all these men?’’

      ‘Nothing, until Round Three…’ said Sam. ‘Look, just chat, be your lovely funny self. Do what comes naturally and don’t worry about flirting. If it’s in the stars, it’s in the stars. He’ll come your way.’

      ‘If you build it, they will come?’

      ‘Something like that.’

      ‘And how come it’s not written in your stars tonight? Why is it only going to be me that meets someone?’

      ‘It’s not hot enough in here – they’re being a bit over-zealous with the air-con.’

      I laughed.

      ‘Enjoy yourself,’ said Sam. ‘Try and get into it.’

      I thought back to my four resolutions in front of the fountain at Trafalgar Square. Enjoy my freedom was one of them; I’d forgotten that. I should try and enjoy myself.

      ‘Okay, for you, Sam, I’m going to try and get into it.’

      ‘Fabulous!’

      I didn’t really want to mime at these men, stare into their eyes, marry them and have Speed Date babies, even if that was still biologically possible, but for Sam I’d give it a go.

      Suddenly a horrible klaxon thing sounded. Nigel was standing back at the mike, with the stance of an old time singer. He looked like he might break into a croon at any second, like Tony Bennett. Isobel was at his side, beaming and stuffing her cleavage into her dress with a gloved hand. ‘Singles!’ he boomed. ‘Please take a seat and let’s find you your destiny!’

      Sam grinned. I groaned. Here goes nothing, I thought. I plastered a great big smile on my face and walked over to the tables.

Chapter Six

      I suffered a Freddie Mercury, a Frank Sinatra and an Elvis all in the space of nine minutes. It should possibly be re-named speed hating, as they were all bloody awful, and god knows what they were trying to mime to me. As far as I could determine, Freddie liked croquet and decaf tea, Frank worked as a butcher and was very good at charming old ladies with a nice bit of brisket and Elvis had some sort

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