Aphrodite's Workshop for Reluctant Lovers (29 page)

‘But don't you see,' she said, ‘that it's the yearning and the searching, the hoping and the dreaming that distinguishes you from all the other creatures on this earth. If it wasn't for that, you would be running round naked in the fields and woods with the other animals.'

‘Why do you say you and not we?' I asked her.

‘Did I?'

‘Yes. You do it quite often. As if you are something other.'

We both laughed at the thought.

My hour was up and as I walked out into the waiting room Lance walked in through the front door. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed a young boy peering out from behind the potted palm. Lance waved. He opened his mouth to speak but said nothing, clasping his hand to his chest instead. At that moment Angie Bliss came tearing out of her room and placed herself in front of me, full square, as if she were protecting me from someone.

‘Is everything all right?' I asked her.

‘Your umbrella,' she said. ‘Did you leave your umbrella?'

It was a beautiful sunny afternoon.

‘I didn't bring one,' I told her. ‘But thank you anyway.' I turned to Lance. ‘And are
you
all right?'

‘Yes, fine.' But he was looking at me in an odd way. I would have said a loving way, if it hadn't been so unlikely.

He was rubbing his chest so I asked again.

‘Are you sure you're all right?'

‘Absolutely! Never felt better, in fact.'

Just then the front door opened once more. It was John Sterling.

‘John, hi. How are you? I thought you saw Angie at her other rooms.'

‘I do usually,' he said, pausing to shake hands with Lance, who had been standing very close to me, his arms crossed.

‘Oh I'm sorry. Lance, this is John, John, Lance. So how come you're here?'

‘There was a flood or a leak or something in the other place so I was told to come here. Oh, hello, Dr Bliss.'

‘Time is ticking on,' said Lance.

‘Oh yes, sorry, John, we're off to the theatre.'

‘We're having dinner first,' added Lance.

John smiled at him.

‘I won't keep you then. Have a wonderful evening.' He turned back to me. ‘Well, you know where I am if you need to do some more research.'

‘Yes I do, thank you.'

I waved goodbye as Lance put his hand on my back and ushered me out on to the street.

I WAS TRYING TO help!

Mother had phoned John up herself to say that Angie Bliss's City consulting rooms were flooded and could he come to the Knightsbridge rooms for his next session. This pissed him off somewhat as it was like half an hour on the bus or subway or something but he agreed. Him being so anal could be helpful at times because once something was in his diary that was it, it had to happen.

Next she had called Rebecca Finch to ask if she could reschedule her appointment. So far so pretty good.

Then according to the plan, Rebecca Finch, primed for the last time by Mother as to what kind of man she could not live without, would walk out of the door only to run straight into the arms of an equally primed John Sterling, and zing-zap, I'd shoot and we'd have a result (a result that, because of all the priming and so on, might actually be a lasting one, or at least one lasting the five years of the bet). Cue Rebecca Finch swooning over her newfound love, regretting her cynical behaviour and ready to write her soppy books once again. Mother wins the bet.
She's
pleased. I get invited upstairs on a permanent basis.
I'm
pleased.
Everyone's
pleased. Apart from Athene, obviously. How was I to know that this other bloke would step right in front of me? I got him through the heart
and was aiming the next shot at Rebecca when Mother comes flying out of the room, blocking her. So then she, Mother, that is, gets the arrow instead, just as John Sterling comes through the door. Talk about crap timing!

So now Athene's floating around being gracious in victory. Hera really hurt me by saying that this just goes to show that the Romans got it right turning me into this gross, baby-type guy with like
no
dignity because look how I can't be trusted and if I think I'm going to get a permanent seat at the table I'm seriously mistaken because after this I'm lucky if I'm allowed up at all, even as a casual visitor.

And Mother … she's blanking me. I can cope with her being angry, but when she's like this, not looking
at
me but through me, talking about me as if I'm not even there, that really freaks me.

‘It's not fair,' I tell her. ‘How was I to know that other guy would turn up?' I don't even bother to point out that she had in fact completely forgotten to prime Rebecca because they had been too busy wittering on about Plato. There was no point, she wasn't going to listen.

Hera gives Mother this chummy look and rolls her eyes in my direction – I tell you, I wish they would just go on rolling one day, out of her ugly mug and along the marble floors and
squish
.

‘You would have thought even
he
would have considered bringing a photograph,' she smirks.

‘They don't look entirely dissimilar,' Harmony says, trying to help.

I send her a grateful smile.

‘Yeah, and the light wasn't very good.'

But Mother isn't having any of it.

‘And what about me, eh? Of course I am mightier than your wretched arrows but it's still going to be an effort, keeping away from John Sterling.'

I have an idea.

‘So why don't I just get her, Rebecca, when she's next with the other bloke. As long as she's in love again we've got a result, no?'

‘No. Have you not listened to a world I've said?' She starts speaking really slowly and with emphasis like I was retarded or something. ‘This time it
has to last
. Lance Cooper is entirely
wrong for her
. They're wrong for
each other
.' She shoots me a mean glance. ‘Only an idiot would fail to see that. He's weak and she's strong. He'd end up resenting her and she'd despise him. And that would be just the start of it. No, Eros, I just think we have to face up to the fact that you're not yet ready for a permanent place up here.'

I try not to show them how upset I am. I have to blink really hard and open my eyes wide.

‘And don't give me that insolent look,' Mother says. She turns to Harmonia. ‘No, you can make all the excuse you like but the problem is he just doesn't care, not about anything.'

What's the point? I really want to know what
is the point?
I never get a break. Mother like actually
hates
me right now. I suppose I can't blame her. I did cock up big time – again.

OVER DINNER LANCE KEPT looking at me in that loving, yet puzzled, manner that he had displayed ever since he picked me up at Angie Bliss's rooms. And I remembered the girl who, a little over twenty years ago, had got ready for an evening with the boy she thought she loved. I smiled to myself as I thought of how I had bleached my hair just because someone had told me Lance preferred blondes. I remembered it all: my hand trembling with delicious anticipation as I applied mascara, the feeling that life was beginning right then and that everything that had gone before had been a rehearsal. And I found myself wondering what our lives might have been like if we had got together that New Year's Eve. Would we have married? Perhaps.

And by now you'd be divorced
, Coco said,
which is a comforting thought as it shows that, when it comes to love, whichever path you choose you end up in the same place
.

Lance smiled across the table.

‘We didn't even know each other that well when we were kids, but it's been so easy just picking up where we left off.'

‘Not knowing each other that well, you mean?'

It was meant as a joke but Lance flinched.

‘I meant the opposite, actually. I meant that it feels as if we …'

I put my hand on his.

‘I know what you meant and I'm sorry, I was being facetious.'

He looked up at me, holding my gaze with his, and I quickly withdrew my hand.

‘Time is as vulnerable to inflation as money,' I said. We didn't just get a whole bag of gobstoppers for our penny pocket money when we were kids but a serious chunk of living in the space of a few weeks as well. I suppose it means that when it comes to childhood friendships you just get more bang for your buck.'

‘I would hardly say we were children,' Lance said.

‘No, perhaps not,' I said, my attention wandering.

‘Penny for your thoughts,' Lance said.

‘Work.'

‘You're busy on a new book?'

‘No. That's why I'm preoccupied. I've got an idea for a play but at the moment it's not much more than that. I miss writing novels; without a book at the end of it all my days pass like so much waste floating by on its way down some universal plughole. It's like recycling, I suppose: I need to recycle life into fiction and now I can't and I'm all clogged up. And instead of trying to improve my miserable little mind in order for it to be able to create something other than love stories, instead of rereading the classics or taking a philosophy course, I watch soaps and shop for things I don't need, like another handbag. This in turn makes me suspect that I lack depth.'

To my surprise I realised that Lance was actually listening, his gaze fixed on me as intently as if he were attempting to catch each word with his eyeballs. When I paused he refilled our glasses. It was a warm evening and I downed the chilled white wine to quench my thirst.

‘I don't see why handbags and philosophy should be mutually exclusive,' Lance said.

It was a nice thought. I tried it out.

‘Epicurus and handbags,' I said. ‘OK, so the desire for another new handbag is natural but the bag is not necessary, although it seems that way to the woman in question. The ability of a certain handbag to offer us happiness does not lie in the handbag itself but in the circumstances we find ourselves in and the attitudes we have when we desire it. Thus, in the right circumstances and with a different attitude, a bag from Accessorize could bring as much pleasure as a bag from Prada, which means that the objects of our desire carry no intrinsic value but are simply a reflection of our state of mind.'

Instead of looking bored, which he had every reason to do, Lance looked at me proudly as if I were his very own pet performing an especially clever trick.

Still, I changed the subject.

‘What is your passion?'

‘I'm like you, I suppose, in that work is my main interest, that and sport. It's always been rugby and cricket, but lately I've got more and more into motor sports.' He paused for the briefest of moments. ‘And of course I really enjoy reading.'

‘Oh, what writers do you enjoy?'

‘Gosh, I'm hopeless with names but I do like a good thriller.'

‘Have you read Henning Mankell? Though I suppose he's more crime than thriller.'

‘Well, I am definitely more of a thriller man.'

I really didn't mind that the conversation seemed to be going nowhere. In fact, I didn't really care that much what Lance thought of me. He was good-looking and sweet and it
was perfectly pleasant spending time with him. Yet not so long ago I would have seen him the way I used to see practically every man between the ages of thirty and seventy and in possession of their own teeth: as a potential love interest. Not any more. I was free. Free to be myself.

Free to be both boring and bored
, Coco said.
That's what I call progress
.

‘You're smiling,' Lance said. He had a pleased, expectant look on his face.

‘I was thinking how nice it is just to sit here having dinner together, two old friends, nothing more, nothing less.'

‘Nothing more, nothing less: are you sure about that?' He reached for my hand.

I checked my watch and got to my feet.

‘Goodness, is that the time? We'd better find our seats.'

Lance was hungry again so I asked him up to the flat. I made an omelette and put out cheese, biscuits and a bowl of grapes.

‘How many grapes count as one of your five a day?' I asked him.

‘Probably about ten,' he said.

I poured us some more wine. Lance ate his omelette and then some cheese and biscuits, finishing off with a small bunch of grapes.

‘Have to get my five a day,' he said.

He walked around to my chair and pulled me to my feet and I realised he was about to kiss me.

As we reached my bedroom, arms around each other's waists, I thought that this was the difference between youth and middle-aged lust: middle-aged finished its supper first.

He phoned me from work the next day.

‘And how are you this morning?' His voice was conspiratorial and congratulatory both at once.