The Woman Who Knew What She Wanted (21 page)

‘That's two,' I said. ‘And one. And one. And two.'

‘How sensitive you are,' she said. ‘At least in some places, and not so much in others.'

‘Don't tell me – because I'm just a guy?'

‘I'm going to tell you things,' she said. ‘I'm going to make you…' She trailed off. ‘Turn over, please. I'm going to try your back now.' The prickings started up about my shoulders. ‘I'm going to tell you what it is that women want.'

‘I don't know if I've got a spare week.'

‘And your next girlfriend—'

‘My next girlfriend? Why are we talking about my next girlfriend?'

‘She won't believe her luck.'

‘Do I get a certificate at the end of it? Maybe you could write me a reference? It might come in handy. Rather than having to go through the whole tedium of chatting women up, I could just pass them your letter of recommendation and they'll be whisking me straight to the bedroom.' A single feather was jabbed savagely into the small of my back. ‘Ow!'

‘Women, at least the women who are worth being with, like a guy who is reliable. They like a man who turns up on time. They like a man who, when he says he'll write—'

‘Actually bothers to write!'

‘So if you say you're going to do something, you do it; and if you say you're going to be somewhere, then you're there.'

‘That's me,' I said. ‘Mr Reliable.'

‘Women also like a certain amount of unpredictability.'

‘Very different, though, from being unreliable.'

‘Yes.' The feathers continued to tease about my back and my legs. It was sharp and slightly painful but I didn't want to her to stop. ‘Women do not want to feel that their lives are weighed down by routine. You have to mix things up. Have to be versatile. If something works once, then you can do it again; but that doesn't mean that you do it over and over again.'

‘My grandad could have done with that tip,' I said. ‘He never bought anyone a present in his life, except for the one present a year that he bought for my granny at Christmas. One year, he got her a bottle of Chanel No. 5; she was thrilled and she showed it. I think my dad must have been born nine months later. So the next year, what does my grandad do? He buys her another bottle of Chanel No. 5. And that was the one and only Christmas present that he gave her for the rest of his life. By the end, her dressing table was covered in all these old bottles of stale Chanel!'

‘He could have tried a little harder,' said Cally. ‘Women want to know that you care. Money is always going to help. We love our jewellery. But if you're going to buy, then always buy the best. If you've got a hundred pounds to spend, then buy a small beautiful ring rather than a middle-of-the-road necklace. Now, are you listening to me?' She jabbed a feather into each buttock.

‘I'm listening!'

‘Just making sure you're not asleep. What we want are the things which show that you've been thinking of us – that you have thought, at length, about our needs and our desires, and that at the end of it, you have divined exactly what it is that we want, perhaps, even, before we have thought of it ourselves.'

‘So the perfect guy also just happens to be a mind reader?'

‘It might help.'

‘Any other little titbits for me?'

‘Some women like surprises; some don't.' Cally had started working on the soles of my feet, sharp stabs in between my toes. ‘You're not very sensitive here at all, are you?'

‘If you say so.'

‘I do – yes, surprises. And you quickly have to find out what sort of woman you're with, because the girls who don't like surprises are going to hate anything that's sprung on them. But obviously, they still like to think that they're up for an adventure, because we all love adventures, but if you're going to surprise them—'

‘Even if it's a nice surprise?'

‘Especially if it's a nice surprise, then you leave something lying around, a letter, or a receipt, just so that they've had enough time to prepare themselves.'

‘So when the surprise comes, they're ready for it and they can act as if they're thrilled?'

‘Presents are difficult. A lot of women like presents to be properly wrapped.'

‘It shows we care.'

‘But the contents is just as important. With clothes and jewellery, you have to have been given the go-ahead before you buy. Otherwise stick to classy and expensive and you should be fine.'

‘Classy and expensive: good. Cheap and tatty: bad. I think I can remember that.'

‘And always keep the receipt.'

Cally was trailing a feather over my back and I could feel her scratching out letters. She was writing some sort of message, and I caught the word, ‘Love', but after that I was lost.

‘But not showy,' she said. ‘Tasteful.'

‘Tell me about the sex.'

‘Okay then, sex. Well, Kim, you will be surprised to hear that having sex with your partner two or three times a day is not actually the norm.'

‘It isn't?'

‘Surprisingly, no. It will be at first, but it will tail off. The thing is sometimes you have to take control—'

‘And sometimes she wants to be in control.'

‘But it's not as simple as that.'

‘What now?'

The point of one feather remained buried in my spine. She paused, as if trying to remember how it had been during her marriage.

‘It's like this: we want you to know before we know it ourselves. We don't necessarily know what we want, but we sure as hell know what we don't want.'

‘This is sounding like a complete snap,' I said, turning over, so that she was sitting astride my chest. I had both my hands about her waist, her flesh rolling through my fingers. ‘I always thought this business of knowing what women wanted was going to be really tough. I mean, you know, a whole lifetime of learning, and even then you wouldn't be halfway there. But the way you've described it, it all sounds so easy!'

She leaned forward and kissed my nose, her hair falling down across my cheek.

I stroked her stomach. ‘All a guy's got to do – all I've got to do – is become both a mind reader and a clairvoyant, so that I can not only divine what it is that a woman wants right now, but what it is that she might want in the next couple of hours. Then, with the large, large fortune that I have at my disposal, I'll be able to set about making her happy.'

‘And don't forget the confidence. Not cockiness. Confidence.'

‘Here endeth the lesson?'

‘Tonight's lesson, yes.'

She moved deliciously on top of me.

‘Tell me,' I said. ‘Are there really guys out there who aren't having sex two or three times a day?'

‘I'm afraid there are, poor things. They have never learned what it is that a woman wants, so they must go without.'

‘That's tough.' I closed my eyes, pressed my fingers to my temples, and screwed my face up in intense concentration. ‘Let me see.' I pouted and frowned. ‘It's coming to me. It's coming to me! I think I'm seeing it now. I think I know what it is that you want.'

She let out a low, delicious purr of pleasure, which started in the pit of her stomach and rippled up through her throat.

‘I think I'm getting it right now.'

After university, I had travelled for nearly two years, and in that time I had found it difficult to find any decent books. In the hostels and backpacker hotels, you might find the latest potboilers, but there was rarely anything worth reading.

One day, in Madurai in India, I came across a second-hand bookshop, where – wonder of wonders – the man seemed to stock nothing but classics. For the first time in my life, I immersed myself in those thick hardbacks that can still strike a chord of terror.

Of course, at school my teachers had done their best to thrust Dickens and Hardy and Shakespeare down my throat, and that had turned out to be an unpleasant experience for everyone involved. But in India, where I was allowed to dip into these books in my own time, my love for the classics came into bloom. Part of it was just down to the fact that in those days I had a lot of time to read. I'd read at the station as I waited for the train; I'd read on ferries; I'd read at night and I'd read in the morning. And if you're reading three, four hours a day, a book soon gets its hooks into you. I read
Crime and Punishment
in ten days flat. These days, I'd be lucky to finish it in a summer.
The Idiot
– one week.
Madame Bovary
– one week.
David Copperfield
– five days. Above all others, I loved Dickens. My favourite was
Great Expectations
, ending as we know all love affairs must end with hearts broken and love unrequited. My favourite line from it: ‘Pause and think of a moment of the long chain of thorns or flowers, of gold or iron that would never have bound you, but for the formation of one link on one memorable day.'

Well, I had just lived that memorable day and what a chain it would come to forge for me, though I am still not sure if it was made of thorns or iron. But for that dinner, but for that accident with the trifle, but for my late-night tryst with Cally, my life would have been oh-so different.

Anthony was in an unusually bad mood the next morning. This was not like him at all. He was the jolliest, cheeriest boss that
I have ever known, and the more the guests whined and whinged and complained about the food and the service, the more he smiled and the more he laughed.

But not that morning. Halfway through breakfast, he came in glowering. He picked up some coffee, studied the waiters and waitresses for two minutes and then stomped off back to his office. I might have been wrong, but his eyes seemed to linger on me for slightly longer than the rest of the staff.

By ten o'clock, the last of the breakfast diners had gone and he called us all into a huddle. There was a long pause. He rubbed his hands together, palm to palm, as he stared up at the ceiling. His face was quite white. He was steaming.

‘I'm sorry I have to mention this again,' he said. His voice was very soft. We had to strain to hear him. ‘Somebody is still stealing from the staff wages and it is making me very, very angry. Now I'm not saying it's a member of the waiting staff, but if it is you, could you stop it? Otherwise we'll be calling in the police and the rest of it, and it will all get very unpleasant.'

We looked at each other, each of us sizing up which one of our colleagues could have the sheer nerve to still be filching from the wage packets.

‘On another matter, as you know, we would prefer it if staff did not sleep with the guests. For God's sake! What's wrong with the rest of the staff? There must be a hundred of you!'

‘The guests are better looking,' Janeen called.

‘Thank you for that, Janeen. But if you are going to sleep with the guests, then kindly don't do it in the hotel and preferably not in the hotel grounds either.'

‘Can we still shag on the beach?' Janeen said. A ripple of laughter flushed through the room.

‘Yes, Janeen, you can still continue shagging on the beach. However, when you get caught by the police, please don't come running to me to bail you out.' His eyes roamed round the waiters and the waitresses until at last they fell upon me. ‘Also, there was some horseplay last night. The giant's chair has been knocked about and the seat fabric has been torn. So could the young waiter responsible kindly confine his nocturnal activities to his own squalid room and could he desist from breaking any more of the hotel furniture.'

His eyes never left mine, and if my colleagues had ever been in any doubt as to the identity of the hotel's rogue lover, Anthony's pep talk had confirmed my identity to the last detail.

Oliver clapped my shoulder as we walked out. ‘I thought I told you to stop stealing the wages,' he said.

‘I can't stop myself,' I said. We were out in the sun and I was heading for the payphone. ‘I think I must be a kleptomaniac.'

‘And what on earth were you doing with the giant's chair.'

‘Exactly what you'd like to do with the giant's chair.'

A pause and then a light bulb went on in Oliver's head and he smiled. ‘Oh,' he said. ‘I will have to tell Annette immediately when I see her! I think she would like that. I think she would like that very much.'

‘Shame we beat you to it.'

‘We do not mind that,' said Oliver. ‘We do not need to chalk up these petty firsts. We have each other.'

That morning, I called up the
Sun
and asked to speak to Mike Hamill; I was very surprised. I suppose that I'd expected to be put through to this aggressive Rottweiler who would sound like one of the more ferocious characters off
EastEnders
. But I was quite wrong. Hamill was a complete charmer, very quick and very personable. From his silver tongue I would have put him down as a diplomat.

I gave him the bare bones of what I knew.

‘Great story, dear boy!' said Mike. I liked that word ‘story'. It conjured up an image of entertaining fact mixed with the very lightest sprinkling of salty fiction. ‘Anything more I need to know?'

I racked my brain. For some reason, and I don't why, I felt like opening my heart to the man. I wanted to tell him everything I knew and everything that he wanted to hear.

‘He was talking about going skinny-dipping,' I said.

‘
Excellente
!' he said, swinging into the Italian. I could almost hear him rubbing his hands with glee. ‘We'll get a monkey down right away.'

‘A monkey?' I queried.

‘One of our photographers, dear boy,' he said. ‘They are called monkeys because they spend a lot of their time swinging around in the trees.'

I liked this man, and I liked the exotic world he inhabited. ‘And what are the reporters called?'

‘We answer to many names. “Blunt” would probably be the most complimentary. Short for the blunt pencils that we sometimes use as we scratch out our jottings.'

‘So you are the chief blunt?' I said.

‘We're going to get on very well!' he said. ‘I do hope we catch Pat skinny-dipping with his girlfriend. I can see you are going to be a contact worth cultivating.'

During lunch that day, I was teased mercilessly about the age of my lover. For now that Cally's identity was well and truly out in the open, there was limitless scope to the jokes and the badinage.

‘She must be double your age,' Tracy said.

‘More like triple!' Michelle said.

‘I actually think you'll find, girls, that she's about to receive a telegram from the Queen,' I said. ‘She will be one hundred years old next month.'

‘Coo!' Tracy said. ‘She's probably got great-grandchildren younger than you.'

It was Janeen, naturally, who cut to the chase. ‘So what's it like shagging a granny?' she said. ‘Have these middle-aged lovers got anything going for them?'

‘I'd have thought that someone like you would know all about it,' I said.

‘I was asking you,' Janeen said.

‘Bedroom perks?' I scratched my head as if utterly perplexed. ‘Well, I mean there aren't any, not really. Apart, of course, from the fact that she's possibly even randier than I am and wants to have sex even more often that I do; and that she's got no inhibitions whatsoever; and she's up for having nookie in the most exotic places imaginable—'

‘Did you really shag her on the giant's chair?' Janeen said.

I winked at her. ‘Including quite possibly the giant's chair, although that is something that I could neither confirm nor deny. All I'm saying is that middle-aged women have confidence and money and cars and class; basically, they've got all the sort of things that girls half their age can only aspire to. And you know what? I reckon they're better looking too. Maybe they've got a few more lines round their eyes, but I can tell you that a woman like Cally is, for me, an absolute stunner.'

‘Maybe I should get myself a sugar daddy,' Janeen said.

‘They're conversation's much more interesting,' I said. ‘They've got stamina and they've got style—'

‘Grannies all the way!' Tracy said.

‘Grannies all the way!' I high-fived her and went about my business.

Some of the staff were less generous, Giles being at the top of the list.

I was picking up some main courses, and Giles was standing at the pass, red-faced and with the usual stream of sweat dripping down his neck.

I picked up two plates of chicken. ‘Thank you.'

‘It's the geriatrophile,' he said, not really speaking to anyone in particular, but loud enough for me to hear.

‘Geriatrophile?' I paused, the plates still in my hand. ‘That's a very big word for you, Giley. I didn't know the Ladybird books stretched to words of five syllables.'

‘She must be desperate,' he said.

‘About as desperate as you are, dear Giley,' I replied. ‘From what I hear, you're taking the term self-abuse to a whole new level.'
I was now at the exit door. I tossed him one last insult as I went out. ‘I hope you're washing your grubby little fingers before you start cooking.'

I thought no more of it. To me, it was all just a part of the cut and thrust of the dining room: a dollop of charm here, a witticism there and occasionally, for the likes of Giles, the most withering and acidic invective that my simmering brain could conjure.

‘It is good that this has come out, my friend,' Oliver said. ‘You can now hold hands with Cally in the pub.'

‘And we can go on double dates, too,' I said.

‘That would be nice,' Oliver said. ‘Annette and I, we would like that.'

I had just left the dining room and was returning to my room before going out riding with Cally. I was looking forward to telling her that our secret was out and that now we were free to declare our love to the world. For the first time, public displays of affection were officially permissible.

I was watching an elderly woman make her way out of the hotel. She had a walking stick and seemed to be in some pain. A man who I took to be her son was helping her towards his car. He had his hand at her elbow and he had all the time in the world for his mother. When she dropped her stick, he swooped and picked it up and with a laugh he returned it to her. It was a charming little scene.

I heard a cackle from behind me. It was Giles. He was still in his chef's whites and was having a cigarette with Darren. They were both perched on the playground fence.

‘You going to have a try with her?' he said, nodding at the old lady. ‘Or is she too young for you?'

I walked over to Giles. Without a word I grabbed both of his feet and in one fell movement I heaved his legs up over his head and pitched him backwards into the playground. There was a delicious thud as he hit the ground. It is not often that I get physical with another man. I wished I'd done it long ago.

I went on my way and did not look back.

But Giles wanted more.

I heard a bellow of anger from behind me. Giles was charging, his face puce, quite delirious with rage. I slid to the side and tripped him, watching quite dispassionately as he ploughed into the sun-baked earth. He'd hurt his wrist, massaging it as he hauled himself to his feet.

‘You bastard,' he said. ‘You bloody bastard.'

‘Still want to play, do you, Giley?'

‘I'll get you.'

‘Try me,' I said.

I walked off and I left him standing there, a writhing heap of madness that thirsted for revenge.

Cally found me out in the pub that night. One moment I was talking to Oliver and Annette, the next Cally was bending over me and kissing me – not on the cheek, but full on the lips.

I stood up, took her in my arms. In full view of all the locals and the Knoll House staff, erasing any shadow of doubt, we kissed each other long and hard. We kissed until gradually I noticed that the conversations around us were beginning to flag, and when finally we were done Oliver started to clap, and then Roland, and the next thing the whole pub had broken into spontaneous applause. The first and only time in my life that I have ever been applauded for a kiss.

We walked back from the pub. ‘We're officially a couple,' Cally said. ‘Both in private and in public.'

‘About time, too,' I said.

‘Yes, all this secrecy and hiding was getting to be a bit of a drag,' she said. ‘Anyway, I never knew what you were so ashamed of.'

‘Me?' I said. ‘I thought it was you who wanted me to stay in shadows.'

‘Darling Kim.' She kissed me. ‘I would sing my love from the rooftops.'

‘We'll do a duet then.'

‘Let's lie down here.'

‘Right here?'

‘Where do you think I mean? In the ditch? Lying here will help you concentrate on your next lesson.'

So we laid down right in the middle of the road. We were not far from the Knoll House, and although the road didn't tend to be that busy after the ferry had closed, there were still the few odd cars weaving their way back home at the dead of night.

The tarmac was warm. We straddled the white lines and held hands. There was not a light to be seen, just the moon and the firmament, and us lying there in the middle of the road waiting to be embraced by death as he swept us on to oblivion.