Star Fish (4 page)

‘You are in no fit state to be in a public place Amy.’

‘But what ifsh I think I am Nice Neil?’ In fact he was right – I was a very drunken fish! I began to slur and flirt at the same time if that is humanly possible.

‘You are getting in that taxi when it arrives and that is that.’

‘No I’m not, I’m walking.’ I said cockily.

‘You are going in the taxi and I’m not changing my mind on this one.’

And then I realised that I could never be with a Taurean. I was not particularly tidy – yes, home is my haven but not to the extent of lovingly stroking it once a week, and as for stubbornness! I was too much of a free spirit for somebody not to come round to my way of thinking once in a while.

I leaned out of the taxi window ‘Sheya, Nice Neil. Thanks for all the wines, you sshwine.’ And then I promptly passed out.

H, Sam and I were lounging in Sam’s trendy second-floor flat as I started to recite the story of Nice Neil. I love Sam’s flat, it’s about a ten-minute walk from my place and overlooks the river. I always feel really decadent when I go out on to his balcony.

‘Slurred and flirted? H quipped. ‘Slurred and farted more like, knowing you!’

‘How dare you!’ I laughed.

As I finished telling them what had happened, I started to feel a bit guilty and conveyed this. ‘He wasn’t a bastard, just a wimp.’

‘Poor bloke,’ Sam piped up. ‘I’m beginning to feel quite sorry for him now.’

‘I was awful,’ I sighed. ‘He did have thin lips as well, though.’

‘I will ignore that shallow comment but don’t put yourself down, Ames. It’s just he wasn’t the right man for you, that’s all,’ H told me.

‘Fate, fate, it will all be down to fate, I say.’ Sam lit yet another candle.

‘Love candles, Amy, in the Feng Shui love corner. This one is to make YOU lucky in love!’

My mobile rang. ‘Oh my God, what if it’s Christopher? What on earth do I say this time?’ I looked at the name flashing on the mobile screen.

‘Arggh, it is him!’

‘Don’t panic, babe,’ Sam soothed. ‘You need to talk to him to arrange the next date. Now just be calm and honest.’

‘Christopher? Hi, how are you?’

‘Amy, I’m fine thanks, albeit a little concerned at yet another date you seem to have upset.’

‘I really don’t know what you mean. Neil and I had a wonderful evening. We discussed his house, his mother, his shelves, his mother, his garden, his mother.’

I could sense that Christopher’s bluey-grey eyes would be twinkling and his lips curling up from the corners. I knew he found me very amusing and that he wouldn’t be cross with me for long.

‘I say you set me up with Laurence,’ I told him boldly. ‘Third time lucky and all that.’

‘OK, Amy, but please give him a chance and don’t judge him on first impression.’

I really hoped that from that comment, Laurence wasn’t a complete bug. He had looked OK in his photo but I did wonder if the Blue file photos had been tampered with slightly. I could just see Cordelia with her felt-tip pens, touching in spots and slimming down waists.

‘I’ll call you back with rendez-vous details.’

‘I look forward to it, Mr Starr!’

My phone rang again. I could see H and Sam at the edge of their seats waiting for date details but it was my sister Anna.

‘All right sis? Are you having a nice day?’ I asked. Anna had texted earlier to say she was on the train to London.

‘I was till my irritable bowel kicked in, in the Food Hall in Harrods.’

Poor Anna, if it wasn’t her irritable bowel it was her irritable boyfriend, Boyd. However traumatic I knew this was for Anna I always laughed.

‘Hope you were in the chocolate section.’

She was now laughing her head off too. My family has always been enamoured of toilet humour. Most people find this hard to understand but it gets us every time.

‘At least the facilities have gold taps there, so just sit down and enjoy it, dear!’

‘Anyway,’ Anna continued. ‘That was it, just wanted to share the moment with you sis. Oh and Ames, spoke to Dad last night, he sends his love. He’s in Sydney at the moment, having a fantastic time.’

My Dad, Edward John Anderson, was a man of great character. He had retired from the fire-service a month ago, and was now working his way around the world for a year.

‘Good on him. Seeya.’

‘Seeya.’

My sister and I had an amazing habit of talking about nothing in particular to each other.

‘Everything OK?’ enquired H.

‘Fine, fine. Just Anna shitting everywhere as usual, and my eccentric father climbing the Sydney Harbour Bridge.’

The afternoon continued with cups of herbal tea being made. Sam only buys herbal tea. As much as I complain that he might as well have strained some bog peat into a cup he is relentless in his mission to make me drink it. I usually have a couple of sips then lose the rest. I do have to say that all of the plants in his flat are very healthy.

‘He’s forty years old!’ I shrieked as I got off the phone to Christopher.

‘Amy, how many times do I have to tell you that age is not an issue?’ Sam reproached me. ‘Do
you
look
your
age?’

‘No I know that but forty!’

I had known his age all along but I didn’t want my friends thinking that I was getting desperate or anything. ‘He’s the MD of an IT company, based in Surrey, so he’s obviously loaded.’

‘You know my opinion on that,’ inputted H.

‘Oh, please don’t go all sensible on me. I know that money’s not everything but for a couple of dates at least I’ll hopefully get a decent meal out of him.’

‘Well done, Ames. This could be it – you’ve projected a second date already.’

‘Shut up, Sam!’ H and I shouted in unison.

– Six –

Pisces:
Allow people to appreciate you for the beautiful fish you are inside. Don’t run before you can walk today.

Why is it when I walk around communal changing rooms I always imagine veruccas immediately forming on my feet? I also think that everyone is staring at my arse, or worse still are thinking, ‘What a shame.’ To be honest I don’t think that I look bad for my age. My bum could do with being higher and my thighs could do with a small liposuction session but the face is in quite good nick really.
Oil of Olay
is most definitely worth its weight in ceramides and pro-retinal. In fact, if I ever become famous (another dream of mine) and have to fill out a fact file for
Grazia
, my answer to the question: ‘To whom would you say you are most grateful in your life?’ It would have to be the creator of Oil of Olay beauty products and Zovirax cold sore cream.

It was a chilly Monday morning, 8 a.m. and my first training session at the gym was about to commence. The embarrassment of getting changed, having holes in the toes of my tights, revealing my sad, old, grey smalls and having to jump up and down, whilst frantically trying to shoe horn my flesh into Lycra shorts, was nothing compared to the horrors to come.

I had been on the running machine for a grand total of five minutes, my face resembling a crying beetroot and sweat marks appearing in the most embarrassing places when I felt my sports vest rising up. Guy was making all of the encouraging noises that personal trainers are supposed to make, when I suddenly felt really uncomfortable.

I looked down and realised that my heart monitor had caught on my vest and an unattractive bit of my flabby stomach was poking out.

I frantically tried to move the monitor and pull the vest down, which resulted in me losing my footing, careering off the end of the running machine and hurtling into the foreboding Cross Trainer machine. It wasn’t the only cross trainer, I can tell you! Gorgeous Guy was not impressed.

‘Amy I am here to ensure your safety whilst exercising. If you have a problem with anything, then let me know and I’ll help you.’ He really was quite stroppy. ‘You are in the early stages of training so you need to concentrate.’

I felt like telling him to get lost and question whether he wanted my money or not. However I refrained, carried on with the torturous hour, handed over the £45 with a grateful smile and vowed that from that day on I would never have any more dealings with a personal trainer. I could jog, I could power walk, and I could swim. If I found the man of my dreams I could just have sex every day and burn off the required 1000 calories.

‘Next session? I’ll call you, Guy. Bit busy at the moment.’

‘But Amy-’

‘Seeya, must dash.’

See? I could run when I had to.

– Seven –

Libra:
A prickly encounter leaves you feeling cold today. Don’t despair, there are plenty more fish in the sea

Seven-thirty Saturday, and here I was, Amy Jane Anderson, turned out like a movie star, awaiting yet another contender in the Search for a Soul-Mate Competition. I’d decided – well, H had decided – on a little black dress and fake diamond earrings for this evening’s soirée. All my adult life I’ve wanted a pair of real diamond earrings. Libras are renowned for their love of luxury, so maybe here at last was the man to load my lobes with carats!

As Laurence was that little bit older, I’d put my hair up in an attempt to look glamorous and sophisticated. I’d also donned a cute pair of black kitten-heeled sandals. I couldn’t walk in them but I guessed, as we were going out for dinner, that not much walking would be involved.

One of the rules of the agency was not to let dates pick you up from home. Brad was all up for me getting collected from his house, mainly so he could check out the men before me.

‘Princess, Princess – he’s here!’ Brad shrieked. ‘Oh my God, he’s driving a Porsche! Go girl, go go go! Marry him, marry him. This is it, I can see him, I can see him! He looks like George Clooney!’

Brad’s excitement was contagious and my heart was beating fast. Although I’d seen a photo, the reality is always different. Laurence knocked on the door and Brad opened it. George Clooney, indeed. He looked more like Wayne Rooney!

‘AaaaAmy?’

Oh my God, he had a stutter. Brad poked me in the back and I tried not to laugh.

‘Yes, hi there. Nice to meet you.’

‘Let’s get on with it, shall we? I mean, fffffeeling like a fast ride? I mean oh let’s gggo.’

Laurence’s nervousness was slightly endearing but even though his shoes were Gucci, his hair was beautifully coiffeured and his car was to die for, he had an awful eye tic and he looked like a monkey. Luckily my inner voice went into action and told me to give him a chance and stop being such a cow.

Brad was doing huge thumbs up signs out of the window at me as we roared away.

‘I thought we could go to
The Holly
. I hhhhhhope that’s OK?’ Laurence stuttered in his plummy accent.

‘That sounds absolutely great, thanks, Laurence.’

Oh my God,
The Holly
. I had wanted to go there for years. I’d tried once to book lunch there and it was fully booked. Even the phone there had a certain ring tone, which seemed to say that Plebs need not apply. I told myself to act cool. He might look like a monkey, he might stutter, but he obviously had a wallet like George Clooney.

I loved the thrill of a fast car and the thought of who we might see at the well-known celebrity haunt was making me feel quite tingly. I looked at Monkey Man and suddenly found him quite attractive.

‘Attishoo!’

‘Bless you ssssssweet girl.’

Ergh, sweet girl? Just ‘bless you’ would have been quite enough. In the back of my mind I could hear H with her ‘money’s not everything’ speech and I realised that I would have to make the best of a bad job. I was determined to enjoy myself, whatever.

As we sped away from Brad’s house I realised that I had never been in such a fast car before. My head was being physically pushed back against the headrest and despite my religious disbeliefs I began to pray that my kitten heels had nine lives! Where the hell were speed cameras when you needed them?

Relieved to have arrived in one piece, I waited while Laurence miraculously found a parking space, then swished into
The Holly
, doing my best to look a million dollars in my £60 dress.

‘Good evening Mr Smith-Bourchier. Your usual table is ready for you.’

Usual table? I couldn’t believe it. Here we were, at
The Holly
and Laurence Smith-Bourchier had a usual table! I then was completely star struck, as sitting two tables away from us were David and Victoria Beckham.

I was trying to act really cool by putting my menu virtually over my face so that I could just peep over and see what they were ordering. I then saw Laurence smile; he was pleased that I was so impressed.

In principle I agree that it is the person inside that we all should love, not the external beauty or good looks. However, just seeing how stunning David Beckham is in the flesh was making me the right side of moist, I can tell you.

‘Amy, you really are quite bbbbbbeautiful, you know,’ Laurence professed as we started on our second bottle of Dom Perignon.

‘Why, thank you, Laurence,’ I smiled sweetly. Oh, if only I could say the same back then I would have been in a total dream. Sitting in a top London restaurant with ‘A list’ celebrities and a man who owned a Porsche and had his own table at
The Holly
! I couldn’t wait to tell everyone all about this date. It would get awkward though if they wanted to see a picture. Maybe I should engineer a photo of David Beckham & myself and pretend for a while that Laurence looked just like him.

Realising how shallow I was being, I tried to start an interesting conversation, but all I could come out with was: ‘My dad used to be a fireman, you know.’

‘Really? Well, his daughter certainly lights my ffffffire.’

‘Yes, he always drummed into me the perils of drink driving,’ I continued, noticing the amount of alcohol Monkey Man was quaffing and suddenly becoming very worried about the drive home.

‘Well, darling, I was so hoping you’d drop that hint,’ Laurence leered, ‘because I’ve already booked a suite at The GGGGGGlitz.’

I felt a tingle go through my body – not one of lust, I can tell you, but one of complete horror. The thought of spending a night next to the monkey was too much to bear. ‘Just need to get some air.’ I told him, ‘I’ll only be two mins.’

‘OK. I’ll order for you.’

‘Order for me!’

I can’t bear men who order for me. He couldn’t possibly be a Libran, they can barely make a decision for themselves, let alone somebody else. This was the last straw. I teetered out on my kitten heels and immediately phoned Brad.

‘Brad? It’s me.’

‘Why are you whispering, Amy?’

‘I’m at
The Holly
.’

Just saying these two little words sent Brad into complete raptures.

‘Oh my God, oh my God,
The Holly
. Princess, Princess – who’s there? Please say “A list”. David Beckham and Victoria? Oh my God...is he as sexy in the flesh? Oh, I lust after that man. Anyone else I should know about?’

‘I’ll fill you in when you come and pick me up.’

‘Pick you up? Emergency situation?’

‘Well actually, yes.’

‘What grade?’

‘Just a two but I need to get out of here fast.’

‘OK, now go and wait somewhere safe. I should be about forty minutes this time of night’

Brad as usual arrived exactly when he said he would and ushered me towards his car.

‘Princess, I can’t believe you’ve walked out on a man with a Porsche who took you to
The Holly
,’ he tutted. ‘Nor can I believe you didn’t let me take a sneaky peek in there.’

‘Brad, if you had David Beckham and an extra from
Planet of the Apes
in the room who would you want to sleep with?’

‘Amy, that’s stupid and hypothetical – it’s obvious.’

‘Yes, I know – but I just wanted to make the point that I had been in a room with David Beckham again – ha!’

‘Saying that I think I did sleep with some sort of baboon after I left The Angels Club the other night.’

‘Brad, you really are quite unbelievable. I love you though – thanks so much for saving me.’

I gave him a big kiss as we reached my house.

‘Anything for you, my love. Stroke that pussy of yours for me before you go to bed!’

I laughed out loud. If anyone ever overheard Brad and me they would be appalled.