Chasing Men (23 page)

She could feel nothing, not there. However, she could feel his heavy body wallowing on her, his hot breath on her neck. His eyes were closed and he was grunting, a beatific expression on his flushed cheeks. ‘Oh! Oh! Oh!’ she uttered theatrically, and ‘Oh, Hetty!’ he wailed eventually, and slumped down on her, his arms flailing over his head. He grabbed her face and kissed it wetly. ‘God, that was terrific!’

‘Ye-e-es,’ she answered, and wondered whether she should pant in time with his heaving torso. Their bodies were sticking together. Somewhere down there came the faint sensation of a gentle
plop
, but possibly she had imagined it.

As gently and politely as possible, she shoved him off and cradled herself on his shoulder. He put his hand on his chest. ‘Oooh! Heart’s pumping. Wow! Haven’t had proper fun like that in ages.’

Hetty felt suddenly alarmed. She had invited this man into her bed on two assumptions. First, that he was as well equipped as the next chap, second, that his personal life was reasonably sound and that he was merely looking for a bit on the side. Now, she saw, neither was correct. He was not getting his oats at home, and he was woefully underendowed.

And, what was worse, he clearly didn’t know it.

‘Hope you enjoyed that as much as I did, old girl,’ he said happily and hugged her.

His eyes were closed, as if he were in heaven.

Hetty did not have the heart to disabuse him. ‘Smashing,’ she murmured.

They pulled up the duvet and dozed for a few moments, till Hetty roused herself and picked up the clock on the bedside table. ‘I think you ought to make a move, James.’

‘Mmm – can’t I stay?’ His eyes were still shut tight.

She lifted the duvet and gazed calmly at him. She had not been mistaken: detumescent, it had vanished entirely into his pubic hair. Nor did it show the least flicker of life. ‘Only if you want some more,’ she said, quietly, half praying that he couldn’t hear.

‘No, once a night’s enough for me,’ he mumbled, and that decided it.

Hetty rose and reached for the candlewick dressing-gown on the back of the door. ‘It’s been super, James, but I have an early call in the morning. And I’m not used to sleeping the whole night with someone. Not sure I’m ready for it yet.’

He was snoring.

She prodded him, and he rolled over. She continued muttering as she helped him into his shorts and socks. Then he slumped once more, and she gave up.

Hetty, naked under the dressing-gown, addressed the slumbering form of her new lover. ‘Actually, James, I
am
ready, but for something better than this. So you can stay the night and I’ll sleep on the sofa – it won’t be the first time. But that’s it.’

‘Lovely,’ he mumbled, as she blew out the candles and turned out the bedside light.

‘Oh, poor you!’ Rosa squeezed her hand. They were in a corner of the canteen, backs to the rest of the crew, with cups of black coffee before them.

‘Yes, I did feel rather sorry for myself,’ Hetty agreed. ‘It was this big.’ She held up her little finger and crooked it, then raised it erect and slowly let it droop.

‘Couldn’t he get it up?’ Rosa asked, anxiously.

‘Oh, yes, that wasn’t it,’ Hetty answered, in a stage whisper. Dave the cameraman was staring pointedly in their direction. ‘Only you couldn’t tell if it was up or down.’

The two women broke out in a fit of giggles, clutching at each other and waggling fingers.

Hetty wiped her eyes. ‘And in the morning when he woke up, he complained that it was sore. Can you imagine?
And
he didn’t wash up.’

‘You know what they say. If you don’t use it, you lose it. Maybe he’s the proof.’

Hetty collapsed in another paroxysm. ‘At least it didn’t drop off in my hand. But it looked so fragile …’

It was several minutes before either could regain some composure. The male crew were now openly eavesdropping. Rosa put her head on one side. ‘I must say, Hetty, you’ve really altered. No more prim middle-aged matron for you, eh? What happened to that timid little biddy I offered a job to all those months ago?’

‘Down a plughole, along with my other illusions, fears and frustrations, I guess,’ Hetty answered, marginally more quietly. ‘D’you know, I’ll be fifty-one next week? And it doesn’t bother me in the least.’

‘No reason why it should. Going to celebrate?’

‘No way. We didn’t mark my fiftieth, the big five-oh. From here onwards, I’m going to count backwards.’

‘I started doing that years ago.’

‘It’s not that I’m paranoid about getting older. Not any more. I don’t intend to roll over and become a second-class citizen. Not because I’ve reached a mature age, or because I’m single. There are advantages in both.’

‘Quite the philosopher,’ Rosa commented drily.

‘But so few see it this way, do they? Yet you and I, Rosa, are in the second most rapidly growing group in modern society.’

‘Singles. Fiftysomethings.’

‘Right. And we’re not all – what did Sally say? – SAD, single and desperate. If I were desperate, I’d have stuck with James, trainspotting, miniprick and all. But I’d rather munch a dill pickle any day.’ They started laughing again, heads close, Rosa’s frizzy black hair and Hetty’s streaked brown intermingled like two mop-haired dolls.

‘My dope of a brother and his partner will probably think I’m certifiable,’ Hetty continued. ‘I haven’t dared tell them yet that James and I are not an item. Larry put me under so much pressure, but he has no right. They set themselves up as the perfect couple, but they’re far from it. They planned to bring me in from the cold, as they see it. But I’m not cold
– or not cold enough to see the Railway King in steam again. So why do I still feel guilty?’

‘Were you sweet to James? Polite to him on the phone?’

‘Yes. But it’s taking him a while to get the message. He feels it was an evening of sheer magic. That’s what he said.’

‘Dear lamb! Then you’ve nothing to feel upset about. Tell him your conscience is nagging because he’s married – make it clear that the alternative is
not
that he should leave his wife for you. Say you’ve decided to concentrate on your career.
Whatever
. Suggest to Larry that they try to find the poor baby somebody else.’

‘I was half expecting my brother to call me for a progress report. Trouble is, if I tell him the truth he’ll be haring off fixing up someone else for me.’

‘You could try running a string of men, though it can get complicated,’ Rosa said dreamily. ‘One for nights out, one to play bridge with, one for romance. Then you can give up searching for the ideal bloke: you exploit the talents of whoever you meet. Doesn’t apply to me, natch – there’s only one activity for which men are indispensable.’ And she mimed a bouncing movement, arms stretched ahead, as if riding a horse.

From behind came a shouted ribald comment, but the women ignored it.

‘My friendships are beginning to develop in that direction, now I think about it,’ Hetty responded. ‘My mother and my daughter provide one kind of loving company, and my neighbours Doris and the lads upstairs another. I’m fond of Father Roger, too, though not sexually – at least, I don’t believe he’d respond. I’d like more time to catch up with Christian’s current play, but it can be awkward when we’re not finished here till seven. Not that I’m complaining,’ she added hastily.

‘We should have a new contract for you shortly,’ Rosa confirmed. ‘Four-fifty pounds a show while we’re recording. Not brilliant, but not destitution, either.’

‘I appreciate that. It all helps,’ Hetty said.

Rosa stood to go, shaking herself like a young animal. ‘You said the second
fast-growing
group. Where d’you get that info?’

‘Kate, the researcher. She’s a mine of useless information. You know she fancies you, don’t you?’

‘I do. You don’t need to remind me, Hetty. So what’s the other?’

‘Old people. Especially centenarians. Everyone’s living a lot longer.’

‘Yes. Well, I’m glad to wait. A few more years of frisky engagement with the opposite sex, before arthritis and Alzheimer’s set in, will do me fine.’

Mention of Larry and Davinia reminded Hetty that, though she had sent a courteous note after the dinner party, some follow-up might be appropriate. As she turned over the Fulham evening and its aftermath in her mind, she realised she had heard no more about Nicholas.

She wandered out into the corridor and found Kate. ‘How are the  ratings?’

‘Not bad. We’re getting a regular million. As good as
Trisha
, anyway.’

‘That’s what we want. Rosa’s so professional.’

Kate sighed. ‘She is. She creates a pleasant atmosphere. Even though she keeps our noses to the grindstone.’

‘I wondered,’ Hetty fidgeted, ‘whether we got any feedback from programme six. With Nicholas, the chap who intended to throw up his City job to become a writer.’

‘There was something …’ Kate wrinkled her nose to remember. ‘A bit in one of the book sections in last weekend’s newspapers, that he’s been in talks with a literary agent. Rather what you’d expect.’

‘Fine,’ Hetty answered. ‘Thank you.’ She turned to leave.

‘Why, you interested?’

‘No, but I know someone who is. Though if he’s going to be penniless, I suspect her ardour might cool quite quickly.’

‘Sad, that, women who want a man only for his money.’

‘In the case in question it might be a darned good thing.’

Hetty pinned the gilt badge on her lapel, swung this way and that before the mirror and ordered it to be complimentary. Then she picked up her gold membership card and headed for a weigh-in at the slimmers’ class.

It had to be confessed that a different woman walked across the common in the summer evening compared to the winter. Both Sally and Rosa had commented. Odd, Hetty reflected, how a woman’s self-confidence could blossom again – not easily, it had been a struggle, but so robustly, as if well rooted. Paradoxically James had had a lot to do with it; so, in his way, had Al the saxophone player. The fact that men –
any
men – were attracted to her was a huge morale-booster. And the outward signs, the loss of twenty pounds in weight and the newer, trimmer figure, were crucial. ‘You see,’ she told the trees, ‘the mirror was wiser than me. Appearance counts. It shouldn’t: in a world in which we approached everyone as individuals, with their own special quirks and foibles, it wouldn’t matter a toss.’

‘Look your best, feel your best,’ the trees whispered back.

‘And the Professor, too,’ she mused. ‘Those fabulous paintings, his obsession with how a woman looks. He never once said anything about their personalities. I wonder what sort of girl his wife was? Funny, or serious? Kind, or hardbitten? Did she take off her clothes for anyone else? Oh, yes, Augustus John, he said. Naive, maybe? Had a huge effect on him, that’s for sure.’ She strolled along, swinging her arms.

‘What are you chuntering about?’ came a voice behind her. ‘Slow down, Hetty.’

It was Annabel. Hetty waited till she caught up. The tall, tubby girl was much the same size as on their first visit to the slimming club – five feet ten, or thereabouts, and closer to fifteen stone than twelve, though her substantial frame could comfortably carry the extra weight. If she didn’t mind her size – had she enjoyed being big – Annabel would be quite sexy, like Sophie Dahl, or one of the Professor’s beloved Rubenses.

‘I was feeling pleased with life,’ Hetty said, with a smile. ‘It’s certainly perked up for me recently. How’re you?’

‘Huh. Frantic. I put on three pounds last week. Three pounds! And I haven’t the faintest idea how. This week I’ve tried to sweat it off – had a long hot bath tonight before coming out. I’m sweating like a pig.’

‘What’s the weakness? Booze? Biscuits? Mayonnaise?’

‘Don’t be so smug, Hetty. It’s okay for you and your gold pin, you’ve reached target. You must have tremendous self-discipline.’

‘Not a scrap. But it depressed me. I felt I was turning into an old cow. Either I kept putting it on, or I stopped and got it off. It was as simple as that.’

Annabel trudged beside her in silence.

‘I haven’t seen you and the girls for a bit,’ Hetty said. ‘How’s the love life? How’s Richard?’

‘Him!’ Annabel hooted derisively. ‘He went off and found himself someone else. A feisty black lady, works in TV – Flo was furious. But he’ll be back.’

Hetty’s eyes danced. ‘And you? Anyone nice?’

Annabel shook her head. ‘I hope I’ve got
Richard
out of my system. That’s a step forward, anyhow.’ She brightened. ‘What are you doing after class, Hetty? Wanna come round for a drink?’

Hetty had learned to accept what came in her direction: it made for an agreeable if unpredictable diary. ‘That’d be great. Shall I bring a bottle?’

‘Nah, we got a flat full of alcohol. We laid it in for a party last weekend that didn’t happen. If you help us get rid of it, Het, that’ll be fewer calories for me, won’t it?’

The slimming club was rather less crowded than before. Registrations were at a maximum, Hetty knew, during January, when she herself had joined: fights and broken romances at Christmas brought on New Year resolutions that led to the queues and anguished faces she had become familiar with months ago. The intrepid were still attending doggedly, but others would never return.

The same two men were there, but the beer bellies had shrunk. The instructor was as skinny as ever, still unbelievable as the barrel in the flowered tent of her photo. The Asian lady in a yellow sari was seated on the front row, no longer quite as squat, with another fatter woman, similarly attired, beside her. Possibly a sister: maybe the one had convinced the other to come for mutual support.

On tiptoe in the queue, Hetty searched for the former owner of the chip shop. It took several minutes before she identified her: still very wide, but now stout rather than grossly obese, reading a recipe book, spectacles perched on the end of her stubby nose.

‘Hello. How did you do this week?’ The standard greeting.

The chip-shop woman screwed up her eyes. ‘Hetty, isn’t it? I lost another two pounds. That’s ninety-six to date. Next week it’ll be seven stone.’

‘Well done, you!’ Another standard.

The woman sighed. ‘I’m walking now. I promised myself that at twelve stone I’d buy a dog, but the pet shop said I should be more active first. Otherwise the dog’d suffer.’

‘And your target?’

‘’Bout another fifty pounds. I’ll do it, with God’s help.’

Hetty patted the woman on the shoulder and went to be weighed. She marvelled at the endurance needed to persist so long, and in the face of such adversity. It had struck her forcibly on her first visit how slight her own problems were by comparison. Now she felt almost ashamed to be present, and said so to Margaret the instructor.

‘My dear! No, you must keep coming. For your own sake. And also to encourage the others. To show it
can
be done.’ The instructor gave a tough little smile.

Annabel was slumped in a chair. ‘Oh, Hetty, I don’t understand it. The harder I try, the more I put it on!’ she wailed.

Hetty suspected that the girl dieted more in the breach than the observance, maybe
one or two days a week, and made up for it the remainder. Perhaps this was part of an unconscious system of self-flagellation: setting herself up to fail. But it was not for Hetty to preach. Instead she took Annabel’s arm and pulled her to her feet. ‘Come on, I’m thirsty. I’d like to take advantage of your offer.’

‘Yeah, right. Let’s drown our sorrows, shall we?’

I don’t have any sorrows to drown, came to Hetty with a touch of satisfaction. ‘What the hell?’ she answered. ‘Why not?’ And they left the community hall arm-in-arm.

At their gate, the initial sign of disturbance was Thomas with his hair on end, back arched, standing square on the doorstep. As Hetty bent to scratch his ears, he hissed. ‘My! What’s upset you, then?’ she asked.

‘Those damn girls, that’s what.’

It was Doris, with a grim frown and a turban tied roughly round her hair, her hands busy wringing out a sodden dishcloth. She shook the cloth in the bushes, dirty droplets flying. Thomas fled for cover.

Doris glared at Annabel. ‘Hello, miss. Wait till you see what your friends have been up to.’

Behind her in the hall stood Mrs McDonald with a bucket and a mop. The two children could be seen inside their flat, huddling close to their father. All four had wet slippers.

‘Oh dear,’ said Annabel softly, the colour draining from her face. ‘Flo and Shelagh. They’re watching videos of
Friends
. They mightn’t have noticed.’

‘Noticed what?’ Hetty asked sharply, as they picked their way over the hall carpet. In places it squelched.

‘We knocked upstairs but there was no answer,’ Doris called after them angrily. ‘It’s been coming through the ceiling for an hour. I was on the point of calling the fire brigade. Have you got your key?’