The Waitress (8 page)

By the time Katie got back home, her body slushing with tea, Bea was helping Deanna with lunch and there were distinct noises of The Men’s arrival. There were also distinct noises of more than the usual amount of men. Katie glanced out of the hall window and could see at least six making their way to the house for lunch. Her father had brought home eligible guests. At least their presence would stop her mother from pestering her. She bounded down the stairs and made her way into the kitchen.

‘Ah, Katie!’ greeted her father enthusiastically. From the swift response from his entourage – she hadn’t seen men swivel round so fast since her brother played bobbing apples at a Halloween party ten years before and walloped Mrs Higginbottom – it became apparent that she’d probably been promised as dessert. Her father approached and gave her a bear-hug.

‘Here’s my youngest daughter,’ he told the men, like he was presenting a prize calf. ‘Katie, meet your old dad’s young drinking buddies.’ Katie felt herself being scrutinised by three pairs of well-practised eyes. She knew well enough that to men like this she was somewhat lacking in the most vital criteria. She didn’t have Bea’s Boadicea bearing, her hips were far from child-bearing and her petite frame did not signal a good homely cook. To London men she always felt fine, but to country men she
felt
like the runt of the family. She murmured something about helping the women, who were so busy adjusting their lunch-time menu to stretch to eight that their movements were almost a blur.

‘First,’ said her father, taking Katie by the arm, ‘you must meet everyone. This is Basher, this is Toby and this is Foxy.’ The three guests acknowledged her with politely interested nods and varying widths of smile. ‘And of course,’ he continued jovially, nodding to Cliffie and Maurice, ‘you know those two rascals.’ Cliffie grabbed her in a brotherly arm-lock and then darted out of the way before she elbowed him in the ribs.

‘Right,’ said Sydney, clapping his big red hands together, ‘time for a pre-lunch drink, I think.’ And suddenly, as if by magic, the men disappeared.

‘What’s wrong with Basher’s head?’ whispered Bea.

‘I think that’s his face,’ replied Katie.

‘Quiet, girls’ said Deanna, ‘and help me with the vegetables.’

It was at the table that Katie had the opportunity to examine thoroughly why she didn’t want to marry any of these men. Basher ate like a horse, Toby’s idea of Women’s Lib meant letting women out to do flower-arranging ‘if they showed an aptitude’ and Foxy was so-called because if you looked really carefully you could see his nasal hairs came out at such an angle that they looked like whiskers. But most importantly, none of them were Dan.

After lunch, Sydney appeared in the kitchen.

‘Well?’ he asked Katie, clearly proud of his potential date selection. Before she had to answer, Deanna swept in front of her.

‘Come on with you,’ she told her husband, tight-lipped, almost brushing him out of the room with her hand like she would unsightly dust. ‘Out from under our feet. We’ve work to do. We’ve just served a four-course lunch for eight and you’re in here with your “Well?”’

Sydney moved out of the way to give the women more room to clear the kitchen, his contribution to Sunday lunch. ‘Toby’s great-uncle’s an Earl,’ he whispered excitedly over Deanna’s head at Katie, as he reached the door.

‘And his mother’s a horse, by the looks of things,’ Deanna retorted, flushed with heat and exertion. ‘Get along with you. She’s got a date tonight with a nice boy from Oxford, stop interfering.’

‘Oh really?’ said Sydney, body half out of the room, ‘and what does his father do?’

‘Minds his own business, probably,’ scolded his wife. ‘Get out of my kitchen or there’ll be no tea.’

Sydney winked at Katie and tapped his nose before the door was shut firmly behind him.

Katie put down the cutlery she was drying. ‘Thanks Mum,’ she said. ‘I was starting to have nasty visions of an arranged marriage there.’

‘Arranged marriage my
foot
,’ said Deanna. ‘I’m not having my daughter married off like some pig at auction.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘Not until you’ve got a career to fall back on.’

‘Oooh!’ said Bea suddenly. ‘It’s kicking!’ She turned to face her mother and sister and sure enough, her bulge was dancing its own little rumba.

‘Ooh!’ echoed Katie. ‘It’s going to be a dancer!’

‘No it’s
not
!’ retorted Bea fiercely. ‘Rugby, centre back.’

‘Won’t she get teased about that at ballet?’ asked Katie.

They looked again at the amazing dancing tummy, before Bea replied, fondly stroking her bump, ‘It’s a boy, I just know it.’

They all beamed the same Simmonds smile and silently made the same vow with God that they didn’t mind if it was a boy or girl, as long as it was healthy and didn’t have its father’s chin.

At three o’clock that afternoon, about the time that Katie set off back from Glossop, the London sky gave up all pretence of providing any light. And Sukie could hold out no longer. She knew it was frowned upon, but if Greta had not wanted to be phoned at home, she wouldn’t have given out her home number.

It only rang once.

‘Greta Michaels?’

‘Greta, it’s me, Sukie.’

‘Sukie, darling. Everything all right?’

‘Yes I’m fine. Sorry to phone you at home –’

‘What’s up?’

‘I just –’

‘Did you get the voice-over?’

‘Yes, I just –’

‘Well done! I knew you could do it.’

‘I just wanted to ask you a bit more about how I can improve things at audition.’

‘Darling, it’s not about improving things, you’re a – oh hold on, I just have to let the cats out – you’re a natural. It’s about redefining what auditions
are
.’

‘Right. Re-defining.’

‘Yes.’

‘I just wondered if there was anything else I can do,’ repeated Sukie. ‘I mean, seeing as I haven’t got any auditions next week and the voice-over’s only one afternoon.’

She could hear Greta fiddling with papers in the background.

‘I tell you what, my dear,’ said Greta after a pause. ‘I’m just reading your CV. Now that we’re re-inventing you as a telly actress, it could do with changing.’

‘Oh. How?’

‘Well, TV directors don’t really need to know that you can jazz dance and fence. You don’t see many jazz-dancing fencers in your average sitcom.’

‘What do they want?’

‘They want to know things like whether you’ll do nudity and what your measurements are.’

‘You don’t get many naked scenes in your average sitcom either.’

‘I know darling, but you know what I mean. Take a look at your CV.’ More rustling. ‘Ooh, and your letter, darling. It needs to be
completely
rewritten.’

‘Right. Completely rewritten.’

‘When you’ve got those to me, we’ll get you back on the audition road.’

‘You mean, you won’t put me forward for auditions until I’ve done my CV and letter?’

‘Well, darling, once you’ve re-read them, you won’t want me to. I’m
so
glad you phoned. Now we can really get the ball rolling.’

By the time Sukie put down the phone, she had already
promised
herself never to phone Greta at home again. That would teach her to be so undisciplined. She pinned a note to her fridge saying ‘Only phone Greta when happy.’ Then she phoned her mother for some utterly biased support.

‘I think you should change your agent,’ said her mother helpfully.

‘No, Greta’s wonderful,’ replied Sukie wearily. How was it possible to be so supportive that it made things worse?

‘But she’s not helping you at all,’ argued her mother, ‘and she’s making you depressed. I think she’s harmful.’

‘No she’s not. She’s trying to advance my career.’

‘Yes, but are you
happy
?’

When she got off the phone, Sukie added to her fridge note, ‘And Mum.’ Then she phoned Katie’s mobile and left a message saying she needed to talk. Then she texted Katie’s mobile saying ‘
Agent and Mum mad. Am going to yours via offie
.’ Then she went round to Katie’s flat in the hope that Jon was in so that she could wait for Katie to get home.

5

Katie always found it so much easier getting back to London, so just three hours later, she was trying to find a parking space within a five-mile radius of her flat. She only had one hour before her date with Dan to get the feeling back in her bottom.

She very rarely used her car, for two very sensible London reasons. One, it was cheaper to walk or get public transport, and two, it meant she didn’t have to faff around trying to find a parking space once she got to her destination. Some bastard must have seen her set off on Saturday and nipped into her spot. He probably wouldn’t move for a month. She carefully balanced her weight from one numbed buttock to another.

Suddenly, she heard a front door bang shut. Then she saw someone leave a flat further up the road and walk to their car. She was there in an instant, her indicator clicking territorially as he drove away. Within seconds she was in his space, never to leave again. Hah. That would teach him to go out on a Sunday evening.

She turned off her engine and sat in the dark car. Oh dear. She knew the signs. She was almost unbearably
nervous
about this date. It hadn’t been many days since Dan asked her out, but it had been enough for it to turn into a Terrifying Prospect. Day One it had just been a nice tingly feeling of something to look forward to. Day Two the tingly feeling had grown into a tingly feeling with tense undertones as the reality of a date with Dan crept nearer. Day Three onwards, no tingly feeling left, just tension.

As soon as she opened the front door and hefted her luggage in, she heard voices in the lounge. She struggled in. There were Sukie and Jon sitting companionably on opposite sofas. Sukie’s eyes lit up on seeing Katie.

‘Aha! The wanderer returns!’

Jon smiled a greeting as Katie collapsed on to the sofa. ‘Next time I decide to take the car instead of the train,’ she said weakly, ‘someone chain me to my bedroom.’

‘How long have you got before your date?’ asked Sukie.

Katie shut her eyes. ‘Do you know,’ she said, savouring the stillness. ‘I don’t even know his surname. Or what he studied at Oxford.’

‘Your family all well then?’ smiled Sukie.

‘How could I possibly go on a date with someone if I don’t even know his surname?’ continued Katie. ‘Haven’t I heard of date rape?’

‘Cup of tea?’ asked Jon.

Katie smiled and nodded.

‘Did you tell your mum,’ asked Sukie, ‘that after a snog like that you wouldn’t care if his surname was Marmaduke?’

Katie grimaced. ‘Nobody snogs that well,’ she muttered. She sat up and grinned at her friend. ‘This is a nice surprise. How was your weekend?’

‘Absolutely terrible. That’s why I’m here.’

‘You can tell me all about it while I try on my entire wardrobe and then decide to wear what I wore last week.’

Which is exactly what they did.

‘So you see,’ concluded Sukie, watching Katie struggle out of her third outfit, ‘I needed serious CV and letter-writing help. And then I remembered that Jon is your expert CV writer.’

Katie turned to show her friend the fourth outfit. Sukie shook her head and Katie added it to her Charity Shop pile, so called because they would only accept it out of charity.

‘Has he said yes?’ asked Katie.

‘I’m still trying to persuade him. He says he’s busy, what with writing his book and all your CVs.’

‘Don’t terrify him into it,’ said Katie, ‘he’s easily terrified.’ She suddenly gasped and then came and sat next to Sukie on her bed.

‘I know what you can do for him in return!’

‘I’m not that sort of girl.’

‘He keeps getting invited to meet agents who love his writing, but he’s too shy to go.’

‘Mmmm?’ said Sukie dubiously.

‘He needs help with pretending to be more confident than he is!’

‘How can I help with that?’

‘He needs acting lessons!’ Katie cried. ‘You’re the perfect person! You
have
to help him!’

To her surprise, Sukie started nodding slowly. ‘Maybe then he’ll help me with my letters. I’ll put it to him.’

Then Katie voiced her doubts about her date. ‘I mean,’ she explained to Sukie, ‘Geraldine was still clearly emotionally attached to him at the party.’

‘It didn’t stop you getting off with him,’ pointed out Sukie.

Katie grimaced. ‘I know. Am I terrible? I just couldn’t help myself.’

‘Of course not!’ said Sukie. ‘All’s fair in love and war. You didn’t do it to hurt Geraldine. You fell for Dan.’

‘I did,’ nodded Katie. ‘But I know how I’d feel if I was in Geraldine’s shoes.’

‘Tall,’ said Sukie. ‘And you know she’d do the same to you in a flash. Dan would be with her if he wanted to be. He wants to be with you.’

When Jon brought in Katie’s tea, Sukie offered to give him free acting lessons in exchange for his CV and letter writing.

‘And I’ll do your makeover,’ added Katie. ‘With both of us helping you, you’ll be batting off agents with a stick.’

‘What’s in it for you?’ asked Jon.

Katie shrugged. ‘Rent reduction?’

‘If I get a book deal,’ said Jon, ‘I should be able to afford it.’

Half an hour later, while Katie was making her final adjustments to what she’d worn last week, adding perfume, accessories and make-up, Sukie and Jon arranged their first acting lesson and CV writing session.

An hour later, Katie was waiting, wide-eyed and bushy tailed, for Dan to pick her up and take her out.

Dan was five minutes late. The first four minutes were
totally
acceptable, but that last minute dangled dangerously between This Is A Man Who Cannot be Trusted and It Was All A Cruel Joke. By the time the doorbell rang, only four minutes and fifty-seven seconds after the appointed time, her stomach was one great fur-ball of fear. She gave herself a once-over in the hall mirror, smiled at her reflection and approached the door – and as she did so, her life went into slow-motion. As the door loomed larger and larger, she was assailed by the terrifying prospect that waiting outside was a mutant who only looked good at crap parties you were drunk at. She could feel her legs continuing to walk towards the door, while her spirit stretched behind her, from her chest all the way into the living room, like a cartoon pair of braces.