Star Fish (11 page)

After consuming two heady glasses each, whilst discussing what I would spend my windfall on, I then screeched again.

‘Shit, oh no! I’m supposed to be at Waterloo Station right now meeting a new date!’

Oh God. I feel so terrible letting him down’

‘Prinny, we can have some fun, fun fun with your new mon mon mon,’ Brad sang.

‘But Brad, he’s a new contender, a Virgo.’

‘Prinny, if he was a Scorpio I might have let you go but I am gagging for some more champagne. My darling Sean has gone back to Sarasota and I just want to forget my pain and dance the night away with my rich friend. Ring Christopher, tell him Penelope has cut his paw or something.’

‘I am so destined to be single at this rate,’ I wailed.

‘Single but almost rich. Now pass the poo sweetie, and get on that phone!’

By midnight Brad and I were still bopping round the room to “Dancing Queen”. I had put some yellow wool over Penelope’s ears, so he made the perfect Agnetha.

The kitchen mop passed as Benny. Abba was in my front room. The world seemed perfect and then Brad started to cry. Not just a few tears down his face, but great big, racking sobs.

‘Darling, what on earth is the matter?’

‘It’s Sean,’ he choked. ‘I think I love him and he’s had to go back to Florida to carry on teaching his golf and I don’t know what I’m going to do without him.’ He started sobbing again.

‘Brad Sampson, you are not going to be without him for one single minute longer. I am ringing the airport and you are getting on a plane firsht thing tomorrow. In fact, I’m coming with you.’

Brad was so excited. ‘Amy Anderson, rich, crazy woman, treats her friends like gods, is an angel and I love her.’

He then promptly threw up into my yukka plant and passed out on the floor.

– Eighteen –

Pisces:
Race cards at the ready – Pisceans are picking their way through the social accumulator.

I was knee-deep in work at the office when my phone rang. It was Christopher, and he was cross with me for standing up Mr Virgo.

‘Now Amy,’ he began, but I stopped him right in his tracks.

‘Christopher, please don’t give me a lecture. I know it was very naughty of me and I am genuinely sorry,’ I paused slightly. ‘However, I’ve thought about it and am actually not that bothered about dating a Virgo. I’ve got a feeling that they’ll be far too particular for me, so please don’t bother to rearrange.’

Christopher’s voice lightened slightly. ‘OK, Ames, if you’re sure.’

I continued breezily. ‘I promise that I will definitely meet Declan. ‘I’ve written everything down and my day off is booked. April twenty-ninth at one o’clock. Outside Barclays Bank in Ascot High Street.’ ‘Although,’ I continued. It’s probably going to be busy so I’m a bit worried about recognising him. I know he’s good-looking but I can’t remember his face now.’

‘Cordelia will be sending you your photograph as usual.’

‘God, it’s so long since I’ve been on a date I’ve forgotten the procedure. Thanks, I’ll let you know how I get on. Bye Christopher and thanks.’

‘Bye Amy, and please try to enjoy yourself.’

A box at Ascot Racecourse, how grand! I was extremely excited by this, as I love the thrill of horse racing and the excitement of backing a winner.

I put the phone down and looked triumphantly across the office at a smirking Liv. She made one of her gurning faces and said haughtily. ‘Mail me, Minger. I’m too busy and important to talk to you right now.’

Dear Liv

Meeting real Declan, next week. Box at Ascot Racecourse no less. Let’s hope he looks like the false one. Quite excited actually.

Dear Minger

Bitch, dead jealous. Hope he shags like him, more like!

Dear Liv

You really are the crudest tart that I have ever met. Put your tits away and get on with some work.

Dear Minger

Shit off and source your Big Top or Mr Parkinson won’t be giving you a frenchie at this year’s Xmas do.

This last mail actually sprung me into action. Not because I wanted to snog Mr Parkinson under the mistletoe but the dating lark had actually been affecting my work of late and despite the fact that I now had a few thousand in my bank account it wasn’t quite enough to retire on.

I still wasn’t sure what to do with my money. I had paid for Brad to go out to the States and see Sean. His boss at the Graphic Design firm he worked for was extremely flexible, and agreed for Brad to take some immediate time off. Luckily daylight, sobriety and a huge hangover curved my impulse to go with him. It would be too hurtful to risk bumping in to the very married Kieran. Although my heart and loins were totally against my decision, my head had won on this occasion.

Brad returned bronzed and starry-eyed. Sean was coming over to see him again in a couple of months. I had tentatively enquired about Kieran and got the information that I didn’t want to hear: that he had settled into married life well and was enjoying living in America. ‘Did he mention me at all?’ I enquired, only to get a downturned expression and a hug from Brad.

Then I knew that I just had to get on with my search for a new man and forget all about the lovely, but dangerous Kieran Docherty.

I treated the gang to a couple of raucous meals. I also went on a shopping trip with Liv to Harvey Nichols, where we ended up being ejected from the premises. We had decided a drink was necessary to prepare us for the mammoth task ahead. Two bottles of champagne later we left the fifth-floor bar and sang ‘Jerusalem’ at the top of our voices all the way down to the ground floor in the lift. This didn’t cause our ejection: it was the fact that we then proceeded to do very loud impressions of Patsi and Eddie from

Absolutely
Fabulous,
with Liv finally knocking over the whole Lancôme display and saying in a very posh voice. ‘Oh how churlish of me. I
do
apologise!’

I did want to go on a big holiday this year but had to get my summer launch event out of the way first. Luckily I had sourced my Big Top for the launch. In fact, I had been working with a fantastic agency called Live Events who had helped me enormously, sorting the rigging of sound equipment and producing a fab stage set and pre-show entertainers without much effort on my part.

Mr Parkinson was happy that we were all set for the big day. Life was ticking along; I hadn’t had a date for weeks and was actually feeling quite calm about life in general.

April 29th dawned: the day to meet the real Declan. I had bought myself a fantastic outfit with my newfound wealth, including a huge pink hat covered in feathers to match my pink and white flowery dress. Declan had called me on my mobile that morning to check I was still OK to meet outside the bank.

‘What are you going to be wearing?’ he enquired.

‘Just think flamingo and you won’t miss me,’ I laughed.

It was a warm Spring day. I had got the train to Ascot and cheerily made my way up Station Hill towards Barclays Bank. Recognising Declan immediately, I walked towards him smiling.

He had short brown hair, twinkly green eyes and beautiful teeth. The only thing that let him down was a hairy neck. I cannot bear it if a man has even one stray hair at the back of his collar. It has to be clean cut. There was no sign of an Irish accent; in fact he spoke in a clear, calm voice that made me feel instantly at ease.

He had greeted me with: ‘All right, bird?’

‘Bird?’ I exclaimed.

‘Flamingo and all that – never mind.’

I laughed, thankful that as well as being quite lovely in the flesh, he also had a sense of humour.

‘You look sensational,’ he continued.

‘Thanks.’

I looked down, suddenly feeling shy for a minute. He grabbed my arm affectionately. ‘Come on you, follow me. I shall give you a quick brief on the day as we walk to the box.’

I felt fantastic as I was whisked across past the bandstand and up to the lifts that would take us up to our dedicated box. Declan informed me that he worked for a printing company and had been invited by a customer with whom he did business. He told me that he had only met a couple of the people who would be there and that he would be by my side all the way. What a sweetheart!

It was a shame it wasn’t the Royal meeting, but Victoria Cup Day was evidently a ‘good’ racing day. I could feel a sort of electricity in the atmosphere; an abundance of hope and expectation of placing that winning bet.

I was shaky inside at the prospect of meeting Declan’s acquaintances, but knowing that I was looking the part helped my confidence.

I was introduced to Crystal Barrett, who had invited Declan. She was the Marketing Director of De Lagers diamond factory. In her early 50’s, she was wearing an amazing mandarin-coloured Chanel suit. Her make-up was immaculate and her auburn hair cut in a trendy, cropped style. I really hoped that I could look as good as her when I reached her age. Again, however, I was fooled by looks.

‘Flamingo pink? How last year, dear. Never mind, don’t let it affect your day.’

She then swanned off leaving me with my mouth open. Declan had heard every word. He handed me a full glass of champagne, brushed my lips with his and smiled.

‘You look fantastic, Amy. Just ignore her, she’s renowned for being a complete bitch. I expect she’s jealous of your youth and vitality.’

I felt like I was in the ring, not in a box at Ascot, as the next contender I had to deal with was Barry Croft, a work colleague of Declan’s. By now I was on my second glass of champagne, I had not yet eaten and was beginning to feel a bit woozy. Declan was chatting to the Mandarin Minger.

‘Amy, isn’t it?’ Barry leered. ‘Declan said he was bringing along a filly, but I didn’t realise you’d be from such fine stock. Ha ha ha.’ On the third ‘Ha’ he pinched my bum really hard and walked off.

Surely there was somebody here who was worth talking to? I decided then that I would concentrate on the runners and riders.

‘Five pounds to win on Dancing Penelope please,’ I said to the red-suited Tote lady. Declan looked at me.

‘Amy, Dancing Penelope is 50 to 1. Maybe you should have an each-way bet.’

‘On the nose or nothing for me!’ I exclaimed in true punter style.

‘They’re under starters orders and they’re off!’

I was excited now. I loved the buzz of racing.

‘Yes, yes, come on Dancing Penelope, she’s going to do it, she’s nearly there,
yeeeeeeeeessssssssssss
get over that line!’ I hollered.

Despite the roaring crowd, all of a sudden you could have heard a pin drop in our box. Everyone stared at me as if I’d murdered someone. My eyes darted around and then to the floor.

‘Declan?’ I whispered.

He was trying not to laugh. ‘Don’t worry, Amy, but there’s another circuit to go. They’ll get over it.’

To make matters worse Dancing Penelope eventually hobbled over the line last.

I was completely mortified. They did get over it, apart from Ginger Minger who had a field day sniping at me. I wondered just how Liv would get out of this one. Drink all the free champagne she could lay her hands on, I guessed.

‘Declan, babe, fill my glass please.’

I found out on the short taxi ride from the racecourse, that Declan rented a one-bedroom flat in Sunninghill, overlooking the High Street. Thankfully, by the time we got back to his place I had sobered up slightly. The winning line incident didn’t seem half as bad, looking back at it. I felt no remorse that I was staying the night with this gorgeous creature. By now I fancied the pants off him, he made me laugh and I almost felt ‘safe’ in his company. He had said, ‘Bless you,’ on demand and walked on the outside of the pavement beside me, so all in all he was worthy of a stopover!

‘You haven’t got a spare toothbrush by any chance, have you?’ I called out from the bathroom.

‘Sure, top right, bathroom cabinet.’ Declan shouted through from the bedroom. He then added in a French accent. ‘’urry up, my leetle flamingo, I have something to show you!’

I laughed. He was great. Maybe at long last I had found not just a date, but a real boyfriend. Just as I was holding this thought, I pulled open the door to the bathroom and there facing me was a pack of tampons and a flowery make-up bag. My heart started pounding. Two years of living alone? Don’t think so, matey!

I started to cry with frustration and anger. Scrabbling in the make-up bag I found the darkest lipstick I could find and proceeded to write the words CHEATING BASTARD across the bathroom mirror.

‘Are you OK in there?’ the cheater shouted.

I grabbed the tampons, stormed into the bedroom and threw them at him whilst shouting in a voice that didn’t actually sound like my own: ‘Stick them up your arse, you cheating bastard!’

‘Amy, heh now slow down, I can explain!’ His voice was wavering and I thought he was going to cry.

‘Quit the waterworks, mister. I’m out of here!’

I stormed out, grabbing my pink feathered hat as I went, and rang Brad from my mobile phone claiming an Emergency One situation.