Stockings and Cellulite (16 page)

‘Hello,’ he smiled pleasantly. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’

Ah. The birthday girl’s father.

‘How very nice,’ I beamed up at him.

Sophia’s father indicated an unoccupied table in the corner and went off to get the coffee. Moments later he was back bearing a tray with two steaming mugs and a plate of chocolate biscuits. What a charmer. He set the tray down, swung his legs over a seat opposite and extended a rough hand across the table.

‘I’m Matt by the way.’

I shook his hand. ‘Cassandra,’ I replied. ‘Mm,’ I took a sip. ‘Delicious. Thanks very much for this.’ I took another sip and discreetly checked Matt out over the cup’s rim. He was certainly nothing like his prim and proper wife who always dressed in a very uniformed way – navy skirt, white shirt, flat loafers. Matt, by comparison, was scruffily attired in jeans so distressed they were mere threads away from nervous breakdown. Rusty coloured hair curled in unruly fashion over a frayed collar and – goodness – was that a gold hoop in his left ear?

‘The party’s going well,’ I nodded toward the ponies plodding around, heads drooping lower and lower. Jolly good. With a bit of luck Molly would keel over any second from exhaustion and I could legitimately pluck Livvy into the safety of this café. Matt picked up on my fretfulness.

‘Don’t worry, the ponies are all bomb proof. I take it one of those kiddies belongs to you?’

I gave him a strange look. ‘Well, yes. And you too surely?’

‘No, it’s only the ponies that are mine.’

‘Aren’t you Sophia’s father?’

‘Nope. I’ve got a few daughters but, to the best of my recollection, none of them are called Sophia.’ He grinned disarmingly. ‘Allow me to introduce myself properly. Matthew Harding. I’m the owner of this place.’

I felt myself flushing. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought you were someone else. What must you think of me accepting an invitation for coffee with a total stranger?’

Matt glanced towards the arena. The children were all dismounting now and the ponies were being led away. He looked back at me.

‘Cassandra, I can see you will need to return to your daughter very shortly. But to answer your question frankly, I was taking a chance upon you being single. I’m just an old rogue attempting a chat up number on you,’ he gave a rather endearing shrug and his hazel eyes twinkled mischievously. Gosh, he was quite attractive actually.

‘That’s okay, I’m not married,’ I blurted foolishly. ‘Well, I am, but not for much longer if you see what I mean. That is, I’m not with anyone at the moment.’ Oh cringe. Talk about sounding desperate. I’d be throwing myself at him over the coffee cups in a minute. At that precise moment the fruit machine began to judder like an overloaded washing machine. It gave three deafening clangs and spewed out a cascading shower of silver.

‘YES!’ Toby punched the air in delight. ‘Mum! There’s enough money here for your buttocks injection.’

That night I lay in bed going over the afternoon’s events with a secret smile on my lips. On the bedside table was Matt’s equestrian business card. He’d pressed it into the palm of my hand before disappearing. His last words had been for me to call him.

At Hempel Braithwaite I began a lengthy float assignment for one of the Senior Partners. Martin Henniker was to be my boss right up to when the children broke up for the long summer holidays. As the working day unfolded, I realised that he and I were never going to bond. Words like unpleasant, nasty, disagreeable, sarcastic and downright rude would not have been inappropriate to describe him.

Morag pinged me an e-mail that we meet for lunch vis-à-vis speed dating. I groaned into my keyboard. I really didn’t want to do this just yet. Especially now I had Mr Harding’s telephone number. But Morag wouldn’t take no for an answer.

‘We’ll go this Friday,’ she insisted.

Julia, disillusioned with her current inattentive boyfriend, was joining us.

Once the twins were tucked up in bed and well and truly out of earshot, I barricaded myself into the kitchen and settled down by the phone to ring Matt. Apprehensively I punched out the numbers. There was something about a woman ringing a man which made my toes curl. However, I’d been reluctant to give out my number in case one of the twins had answered the phone. It had been Matt’s suggestion that I call him instead.

‘Cass!’ he sounded genuinely delighted to hear from me and the usual small talk ensued for a minute or two. Eventually Matt steered the conversation to Saturday night.

‘I’d love to take you to a little restaurant I know. Traditional cuisine. Cosy atmosphere. Can’t go wrong,’ he assured. ‘It will give us a chance to talk quietly and find out a bit more about each other.’ There was a small pause while he let me digest this. ‘And Cass, I do want to find out more about you.’ Another pause. ‘A lot more,’ he whispered. I instantly broke out in a muck sweat.

As Speed Dating Day finally dawned, I took one horrified look at myself in the mirror and, in the lunch hour, dashed out to a local beauty salon for a spray on tan and nail extension appointment.

The combination of freshly applied glowing tan and beautiful nails left me feeling strangely empowered. I waggled my nails at Morag who endorsed them with a nod of approval.

‘I think we’re going to have a great evening Cass.’

‘We’ll see.’

‘It will be like mulling over a scrumptious box of chocolates and handpicking our favourites.’

A little before seven, having waved the children off with Stevie, I met up with Morag and Julia in Browns, a snazzy jazzy bar already elbow deep in hustle and bustle. A set of plans had been laid down which kicked off with consuming one glass of something lightly alcoholic in order to muster a bit of the old Dutch courage. Naturally, five minutes later we were on our second with Morag lining up a third for herself. She tipped it down the hatch before inhaling and exhaling several times like a panic attack victim.

‘That’s better,’ she smacked her lips appreciatively. ‘My veins are waking up now. Meanwhile ladies,’ Morag looked solemnly at Julia and me, ‘love is in the air. Let us go forth and find our soul mates.’

We arrived at the local banqueting hall, usually booked for wedding parties, where an efficient woman of about my own age greeted us. She consulted her clipboard before handing out name badges and a printed sheet of potential suitors.

I discreetly glanced about and suddenly wanted to vomit. Dear God. There was Cynthia Castle. Don’t let her see me please. Oh too late. Our eyes clashed together and rolled in mutual dismay. Appalled, Cynthia made a desperate effort to put distance between us and cannoned blindly into another woman. Could things get any worse? Apparently not.

A horribly familiar pensioner was working the far corner looking for potential date victims and – deep joy – Ken was edging his way towards the reversing Cynthia. Wallop! Good manners forced her to smile an apology. Ken was beaming away, ultra white dentures flashing. Excellent. There really was such a thing called karma.

Mrs Clipboard clapped her hands for attention.

‘Everybody follow me please.’

She led us into a vast meeting room and gave a speech of welcome. The men were invited to sit down on one side of a long length of tables that ran around the room. The men were to remain seated at all times. The women were to sit opposite. Each ‘couple’ would have just a few minutes to talk to each other. If you liked what you saw, you ticked the relevant box on your dating sheet. When the signal was given, the women were to move up one place for the next allotted interview until finally everybody had met each other. At the end of the evening, if respective ticks matched up, potential couples were permitted to exchange telephone numbers.

And suddenly, like impatient horses jostling together at the starting line of the Grand National, the women were elbowing and shoving their way towards the seats and we were off!

I found myself sitting opposite a nerdy looking male with a little boy’s side parting.

‘Do you do this often?’ he leant in over the table.

‘Er, no. Do you?’

‘Yes. All the time. It fills a void in my life.’

‘I see.’

‘You have a nice tan.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And very nice nails.’

‘Thank you. And you have-’ it was surely only polite to return the compliments, ‘um, a very nice side parting.’

The signal sounded and I moved to the next chair. The faces blurred into non-descriptiveness. Eventually I found myself sitting opposite Ken. He was quite unabashed and I was beyond caring.

‘Cassandra! My dear lady, how simply wonderful to see you again. How are all your children?’

Oh yes. Exactly how many sets of twins, triplets and quads was I meant to have?

‘They are very well thank you Ken,’ I carefully replied. ‘Ned, Ted and, er, Fred are with their Daddy for an access visit. Mandy, Andy and, um, Pandy are with the au pair.’

‘I had no idea you were such an Earth Mother,’ said an amused male voice. Not Ken’s. As I turned to look at the guy sitting next to him, I gasped in horror. It was Ploddy. Brad Pitt. I mean Jamie. The signal went and suddenly I was sitting opposite him.

‘Cassie,’ he smiled warmly.

My heart did a few skippy beats and my armpits instantly broke out in a gushing mess. I hastily picked up my list of names and began to fan myself with it.

‘Whatever was that all about?’ Jamie inclined his head in Ken’s direction.

‘Nothing. Crossed wires. Sorry.’

‘So how are you? In this light I can see your face has completely healed.’

‘Yes. All better,’ I touched my cheek. ‘It’s just the heart that’s taking it’s time to mend.’ I flinched. Damn. Why had I said that? It wasn’t even as if Stevie had sole responsibility for the current state of my emotions. Euan had contributed to the upheaval too.

‘Ah yes, a heart’s scars can run very deep,’ Jamie nodded sympathetically. There was something about the tone of his voice that had me looking at him sharply.

‘Are you speaking from personal experience?’ I held my breath.

‘Oh definitely.’

For a moment Jamie looked so haunted I felt as though I were encroaching on some sort of terrible personal grief. I mentally slapped my forehead. Of course! That’s why he was here! He must have split up with the luscious Selina. Clearly the experience had knocked him sideways. Left the poor man devastated.

Suddenly I felt my hopes surge. Might I be the one to help him get over her? For one wild moment I had a vision of us both ticking our respective boxes and walking off into a romantic sunset together. And then I squashed the thought flat. If Jamie and the stunning Selina were no longer an item, what chance had I got of wowing him? How must he regard me? A scatty female who periodically lost her car,
still
didn’t know its registration number, deposited cryptic messages on drivers’ windscreens, slipped into seductive lingerie for her workmen and spouted ridiculous lists of fictitious offspring to the general public. And by comparison he’d had the gorgeous Selina, every inch the sexy cop in her hip hugging uniform, brandishing a lethal weapon as she adopted a movie star pose, pouty lips ordering baddies to freeze because they were under arrest. How could I compete with that? There was no way I could tick his box. He was way out of my league. I felt bemused that such thoughts had run through my head and, more incredibly, that I had even entertained them. I peered up at Jamie under my eyelashes. He looked a million miles away.

‘So that’s why you’re here?’ I asked.

‘Hm?’ Jamie’s eyes jerked back from some faraway place.

‘You know – because of what happened with Selina.’

Jamie frowned. ‘Selina? Oh she and I split up.’

‘Well yes, obviously,’ I nodded my head and looked down at my list of names. I hadn’t ticked one single box. The signal went. Forcing a bright smile I stood up. ‘I hope you find someone else soon.’

Jamie’s expression changed in a flash. He smiled back at me and I noticed how his eyes crinkled attractively at the sides. ‘Oh but I already have,’ he murmured.

Disappointment washed over me. I wondered who the woman was. Another female cop? So why was he here? And then I rallied. Why was I putting myself through this dating nonsense? When would I learn that love hurt? I mentally shook myself. Love? What on earth was I thinking about love for?

Eventually the interviews finished and I still hadn’t ticked anybody’s box. What was the point? I realised with a jolt that the only box I’d wanted to tick was Jamie’s.

Morag was thoroughly over-excited. ‘Did you see him?’ she asked rolling her eyes theatrically and nodding her head in Jamie’s direction. He was surrounded by a flock of hopeful looking women. ‘I ticked his box and I am almost one hundred per cent certain he’s ticked mine.’

Suddenly I wanted to be out of this place and in my own home. As I hadn’t ticked any boxes there would be no mutual exchanging of telephone numbers and therefore no reason to prolong the agony by staying. I began making my excuses and was on the verge of ringing for a taxi when somebody lightly tapped me on the arm. I spun round and was suddenly face to face with Cynthia Castle.

‘F-For what its worth,’ she stammered, ‘I want to apologise.’

I stared helplessly into her round beseeching face. For a moment I couldn’t speak. What was there to say? Never mind Cynthia, Stevie was a cad? If it hadn’t been you Cynthia then it would have been someone else? Instead I found myself asking something completely different.

‘What went wrong between the two of you?’

She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘He found someone else of course. Traded me in for the babysitter.’ I looked at her blankly. The babysitter? My hand flew to my mouth. Of course – Charlotte!

Morag awoke me from a deep sleep the following morning.

‘Do you know that mean sod didn’t tick my box,’ she ranted.

‘Which mean sod?’ My tired eyes sought out the digital numbers on the alarm clock. Quarter past eight!

‘That policeman friend of yours.’

‘I keep telling you, he’s not a friend of mine. I don’t even know him properly.’

‘Why didn’t he tick my box?’ she demanded. ‘I mean, didn’t I look great last night? And what about my personality? Am I not full on and fizzy? Not to mention my bust size. I thought men liked large bosoms and mine are big enough. Aren’t they? Cass? Cass?’