THE HUSBAND HUNTERS (6 page)

Now she had her eye on James, who was a history teacher at the school where she taught PE. James also had a girlfriend, but that hadn’t put Kazza off. And if the voodoo doll was anything to go by, it seemed that Kazza didn’t have much competition. She looked like Miss World in comparison.

James’s family was loaded. He didn’t really need to work, but he loved history, so he wanted to teach it. He was one of those teachers who was passionate about his subject, but most of the time he might as well be talking to a brick wall. His pupils weren’t interested in learning about Henry the Eighth, apart from any gruesome details they could hear about Anne Boleyn having her head cut off. But James ploughed on, and anyway it didn’t really matter.

His parents were so wealthy they had bought him his £500,000 house in leafy Alderley Edge, with its glass-fronted living room, and his meagre teaching wages bought him the few bottles of claret that he got through each week and paid a few necessary bills. He drove a luxury four by four, and Kazza had already earmarked that to pull her horse trailer to various shows that she wanted to compete at.

‘So have you made any progress with James?’ Rach asked her, one evening at we sat round at hers with a Chinese takeaway spread out in front of us on the living room floor. We were having a meeting but had decided we were too skint to go to the Italian.

James had already admired the voodoo doll on Kazza’s locker in the staff room - which by now had about ten pins stuck in its various limbs. Each morning Kaz jabbed a new pin into the doll, and then enquired after poor Caroline, James’s girlfriend, expecting to hear him listing her various mysterious ailments. But so far Caroline had remained a hundred per cent healthy. In fact she was currently in training for a half marathon and glowing with health.

‘The other morning she had an ingrowing toenail that was causing her some real pain,’ said Kazza gleefully.

‘Had you put a pin in her foot?’ said Rach, grinning with excitement.

‘Well, it was in her leg,’ admitted Kazza. ‘Not quite her foot, but I’m sure it was referred pain. I think it’s working.’

We decided that Kaz couldn’t rely on the voodoo doll alone to put Caroline out of the picture. She needed some real action.

‘Carry on sticking your pins in, Kaz,’ I said, catching sight of Kazza’s crestfallen face. She had been banking on the voodoo doll. ‘But you need to up your game now.’ We decided that it wasn’t really appropriate for Kazza to start flashing any cleavage at school to spark James’s interest. She had to wear her aertex PE shirts and that was final - she couldn’t look like she was going clubbing on the hockey field, else she might be sacked. We decided though that she could wear a shorter PE skirt, instead of her practical blue jogging bottoms. Kaz had good legs, if a little short, so they may well catch James’s eye.

The meeting ended with Kazza taking the next lot of close-up photographs of us all.

‘I think Bee’s skin is the worse,’ she said, examining the back of her digital camera. There was no way I could be the worst. I had been sneakily putting on three times more Beauty Flash Balm that anyone else.

I was so lost in thought that I didn’t even see the pin until it had dug into my arm. That’s the bad thing about Kaz having this blasted voodoo doll - she always has a supply of pins in her bag.

‘Hang on a minute, that wasn’t fair. You didn’t even show me a photograph of a toy boy,’ I shouted, rubbing at my arm, as everyone scraped back their chairs to leave.

‘There’s a young waiter over there,’ said Kaz, swinging her handbag onto her shoulder. ‘He’ll do. It’s for your own good, Bee,’ she added, flashing me a sweet smile before walking out the door. I made a mental note never to sit next to Kaz again at a meeting. I want to be as far away from her horrible pins as I can be. At this rate my arm is going to drop off from blood poisoning. And Paul Hardman isn’t going to want to marry me with one arm - especially as when he first fancied me, I had two.

The minutes came through the following morning. I was still fuming with Kaz. She’d dug the pin in my arm so hard it had actually bruised.

PROGRESS REPORTS.

* Kazza to invest in a new PE skirt as her old black one isn’t short enough to show off maximum amount of leg. I also pointed out that she should buy a PE skirt with inbuilt gym knickers into it, as it wouldn’t be good if she stepped on a grate like Marilyn Monroe, and her skirt blew up to show all the cellulite on her bum.

Kazza had replied hotly that she didn’t have any cellulite on her bum - well not as much as me anyway - and we were almost on the verge of getting up from our seats and hoiking up our skirts to compare before Rach quickly grabbed me and Soph grabbed Kazza and pulled us both back down again. I was glad. As much as I wanted to prove to Kaz that my cellulite was not as bad as hers, I had a particularly old pair of grey frayed knickers on, which I didn’t want the whole restaurant to see.

I said that I was only thinking of Kazza and I didn’t want James to be put off by any bits of cellulite. She said that she was body brushing anyway at the moment every morning in the shower, and it was really working. Everyone made a mental note to rush to Boots tomorrow and buy a body brush.

Kazza grumbled that it was a good job that it was May and not November, as she wouldn’t impress James if she had mottled corn beef legs to put on show.

Kaz to check the weather forecast each morning, before setting off in the tiny skirt.

* Rach produced a leaflet on latex masks, for any future stalking requirements. (I had almost combusted with embarrassment at the thought of her stalking Paul a few weeks ago, so I was really enthusiastic about this one. If he’d ever seen her - and I’m sure he must have done as Rach has never done any proper stalking before - then I’m sure he won’t start dating me, just out of principle that I have a group of completely mad friends.)

* (I loved this one.) Even bigger congratulations to Bee, who has managed to speak to Paul and arrange a date. Ha! I am the one who is making the biggest progress so far in the HHC. I’ve identified my potential husband and I’ve already arranged to see him.

After playing phone tennis with Rach a few days ago, I had called him back and chatted to him. Well, I say chatted. It was more a few stilted sentences on my behalf. I had tried to sound normal and casual. Once we had had exchanged hellos - after all it had been nearly a year since I’d blown him out - I’d taken a deep breath. Then I casually made a suggestion.

‘I’m sure I owe you a dinner,’ I said to him. There was a few seconds’ agonising silence.

‘OK, that would be great,’ he finally said. I nearly squealed with excitement, then quickly turned it into a cough. We arranged to meet at the local bistro at the weekend, before hanging up. I obviously couldn’t wait until the next meeting to report my progress. So I had quickly dialled all the girls one by one and told them. I wish I had a phone that I could dial all the girls at once and we could have a five-way conversation, but unfortunately they haven’t been invented yet.

‘Oh my God, Bee,’ I can’t believe you’ve done it,’ Tash had said, admiringly. ‘I thought we would have to frogmarch you round to Paul’s house and wait with you whilst you knocked on his door.’

‘Oh it was easy,’ I lied. ‘All I did was ring him and ask him for dinner.’ I nearly fainted with my own coolness.

Rach, Kaz and Soph were as impressed as Tash. They all wanted to come and peer through the window on Saturday night. I was beginning to regret telling them which restaurant we were going to.

‘Well we could all wear our Latex masks,’ protested Rach.

‘No way,’ I had told her. Rach almost started sulking, so I agreed that she could come in and order a takeaway pizza.

I hadn’t forgotten that Rach’s hypnotherapy session was due next week and I had planned to be especially nice to her beforehand in case she had secretly harboured any long-time grudge against me going out with Pete Griffiths all those years ago.

I was also still worried that we had somehow met in a former life too - and that was all going to come pouring out. So ever since her appointment with Soph’s mum had been made, I was going out of my way to be nice to Rach.

‘Brilliant,’ she said, when I told her about the pizza.

‘Just leave off the Latex mask, Rach,’ I warned her. ‘You’re not stalking Paul this time, you’re checking him out.’

‘OK,’ she agreed.

***

I spent the next three days in utter turmoil. It was worse than taking my driving test, or sitting A’ Levels. The anticipation of meeting Paul again - but this time with him as potential husband material - was almost too much to bear.

‘What I am going to wear?’ I wailed to Tash down the phone, on the second night.

‘Bee, for goodness sake, I remember you meeting him once in your smelly jodhpurs and an old stained sweatshirt after you had been riding one night. You hadn’t washed your hair or put any makeup on,’ reminded Tash.

‘Yes, I
know, but that was then and this is now,’ I said, as if that made all the difference. ‘Now I want Paul to be so bowled over by me that he wants to marry me. And that means knocking him dead. I thought I might wear my new red polka dot dress from Karen Millen.’

‘Very nice,’ agreed Tash.

‘But what about the shoes? I don’t know whether to wear my red sling backs, or plain black heels.’

‘Go for the red sling backs,’ advised Tash. ‘You look a bit more wanton in those, and you know what they say.’

‘No, what?’ I asked, having horrific visions of the girls making me parade naked in front of Paul just in my red sling backs.’

‘Men want a housewife goddess in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom. You have to be both,’ she said. I grimaced. Perhaps I would have to parade naked in my sling backs like I was in some seedy lap dancing booth if that’s what it took to snare Paul and get a diamond safely on my fourth finger. But I don’t think I could pass myself off as a domestic goddess. The best I can create in the kitchen is my special pasta dish, which in reality isn’t all that special. I just mix a jar of tomato pasta sauce in with some pasta, add some ham, and then sprinkle some cheese over it. I mentioned my worries to Tash.

‘Well the red sling backs could constitute the “whore
in the bedroom” bit,’ she agreed. ‘But I don’t think Paul will be particularly impressed with the “pasta a la Bee”,
she added. ‘I’ve had that pasta dish of yours, and I had to leave half of it.’ Tash said she would bring it up at the next meeting and suggest some cookery lessons for me. ‘After all, you won’t be cooking for him for at least a few weeks, so we’ve got time to sort it out and transform you into a Nigella,’ she said.

The next day at the office was the Big Day Before. And I couldn’t concentrate on anything at all. I mistakenly booked out David, a young blond male model, for a bikini shoot and Susannah, our stunning new black model whom we’d signed the previous week, out for an aftershave commercial.

‘I’m going to get the sack at this rate,’ I fretted to Kaz when I met her for lunch at Saleros later that day. ‘And all because of Paul Hardman. I’m in such a tizz about it. I didn’t give a hoot about our dates at the time, now I feel the whole pressure of the HHC is bearing down on my shoulders. I’ve got to succeed at it, else I’ll be letting all the girls down.’

‘Look, Bee,’ soothed Kaz. ‘Even though we all think that Paul is the right man for you, it doesn’t mean to say there wouldn’t be another around the corner if it didn’t work out.’

‘Oh yeah - they are lining up to get me down the aisle,’ I grumbled. ‘If it doesn’t work with him, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m going to end up like a dried-up Miss Havisham spinster, madly rocking in my rocking chair in my ancient wedding dress covered in cobwebs, when I’m about ninety.’

‘Calm down,’ said Kaz, as my voice started to rise hysterically. ‘We’re all in the same boat. If you get to ninety and you’re still wearing your cobweb-covered wedding dress then we’ll all put ours on too, to make you feel better.’

I had to laugh at the thought of the five of us sitting in some draughty living room at a care home, all in yellow-stained wedding dresses.

‘Well, that’s how it will end up, if the club doesn’t do its job properly,’ I added darkly to Kaz, pushing away my untouched pasta. How on earth could I eat anything when I was going to meeting up with Paul again in approximately thirty-two hours.

***

I felt sick with nerves as I stood at the window of my flat the following night and watched as Paul parked his silver Porsche. He lovingly gave it a pat as he closed the door, and I had to choke back my laughter. I’d forgotten that he used to do that every time he got out of the car. I’ll have to get used to it if I’m to become Mrs Hardman, I thought, as I hurriedly adjusted my silver necklace in the mirror and rushed downstairs to open the door.

Paul stood there smiling, and I nervously smiled back. ‘Nice to see you again after all this time, Bee,’ he said. ‘You’re looking good,’ he added, looking appreciatively at my Karen Millen dress.

Paul had never seen me in anything like this before, as I hadn’t made an effort on previous dates with him, so I was pleased at the effect it seemed to have on him.

I locked the front door, and we walked over to his Porsche, and I slid into the familiar leather seat.