by Lynda Renham
‘Can I take those for you,’ he asks from behind me.
I feel the blister sting and then stupidly feel tears well up. How can I have left my purse at home?
‘I forgot I didn’t have my car,’ I say, sounding like an idiot.
‘Easily done,’ he smiles.
I’m not sure if he’s mocking me or just being kind.
‘It’s only around the corner. It’s not much to carry. You take the light one.’
He hands me a bag and I limp along the street.
‘I’ve got a blister,’ I say before he has time to ask.
‘Ouch,’ he sympathises.
We walk the rest of the way in silence and he then carries the bags up the stairs to my flat.
‘I’ll get your money,’ I say, while feeling sure that all the cash I have is twenty pounds.
‘Tomorrow is fine,’ he says.
‘I’ll drop it through the letterbox.’
I grab the bags and hobble into my flat.
‘Goodnight Phoebe.’
‘Night.’
I close the door and see my purse sitting on the couch. I drop the bags on to the floor and burst into tears. What’s wrong with me that I keep getting everything wrong?
*
Friday 19th January: 7 pm
Can’t believe I’ve been so stupid. I totally panicked. Saw Mrs Snograss on the other side of the street and ran into Shoe Zone. The last person I needed to see was Mrs Snograss. Too late though, she had spotted me and strode forward as if there was a tornado up her arse. Her little pug dog’s stubby legs going like the clappers and almost flying off the pavement. Fully expected him to take off at any moment like one of those Disney animals. Her daughter, Elizabeth, works in Human Resources with Ashby and her mother really was the last person I needed to see.
She’d called out to me and for one moment I seriously considered pretending to be my own double but of course I didn’t. Instead I’d smiled and then spent the rest of the time staring at her bright blue eye-shadowed eyelids. After asking if I’d just finished work she went on to ask me about my love life.
‘Lovely, and how’s your boyfriend … what’s-his-name, works in HR?’
Obviously, had to admit we had broken up. Her eye-shadowed eyes had widened in shock. ‘Such a shame, poor you,’ she’d said, and then asked how I was bearing up. Anyone would think I had lost all four limbs from the look of pity on her face. Wasn’t going to tell Mrs Snograss how miserable I was, so said everything was fine. That it had been what we’d both wanted. Said I was absolutely fine about it. Well, you have to be in public don’t you? Felt a bit like a celebrity caught by the media. Keep a good public face. Don’t let the world know your pain and especially don’t let Mrs Snograss know your pain. She’d then gone on about Elizabeth’s engagement and the little celebratory party they were having for her this Saturday. Meanwhile, her horrid pug face dog sniffed at my leg. It was seriously gross.
‘Oh how lovely.’ I’d said.
It feels like everyone is in a relationship except me. Worse still she insisted I come to the engagement party and was most put out that I didn’t remember seeing her invitation.
‘How odd,’ she’d said, her brow crinkling into a frown. Clearly I was an afterthought. Apparently my parents are going. I didn’t even know my parents knew the Snograsses. So, I’m now invited along with my boyfriend. I had to remind her that Ashby and I had split up. I should have warned her that senile dementia was kicking in. I then had to listen to her rambling on about how awful it must be not having a boyfriend and how terrible it was for my poor mum, who must be so worried, especially as I’m now over thirty with the clock ticking. ‘Still, you’ve got time for a couple,’ she’d said. I must have looked confused as she added ‘Babies, of course’ and then said my sister was a credit to my parents. She then went on about how difficult it must be for me to meet an eligible man now that I’m past thirty and she hopes I can find someone.
‘Anyway, let’s be hopeful,’ she went on. ’You’re a fairly attractive girl. I’m sure you’ll meet someone. It’ll be a shame if you have to come alone to our party though. Our Elizabeth has been so lucky. She’s never had a problem getting men.’
And that’s what did it. I really don’t know what came over me. I said I had a new boyfriend. Gushed about how lovely he was and how happy he made me. My mouth had been way ahead of my brain. I couldn’t seem to shut up. She then invited him to the party.
‘Lovely,’ she’d said, patting me on the shoulder. ‘Well done you,’ and added how she couldn’t wait to meet my new chap.
Neither could I. I suppose I’ll have to buy a present now.
Chapter Nine
‘What am I going to do?’ I squeal.
‘I could step in love but everyone knows I’m gay,’ says Mak.
‘Bugger, bugger,’ I groan.
What made me do it? Obviously Elizabeth will have invited Ashby. Triple shit and bollocks twice. Why did I have to open my big mouth?
‘you could hire an escort for the evening,’ says Mak.
What a genius. Why didn’t I think of that?
‘That’s it, that’s what I’ll do. Where do I go?’
‘No idea darling, I’ll phone Imogen. She’ll know. Give you a bell in a few ticks.’
A few ticks later and I was on the phone to Best Bods in Town.
‘We don’t normally take last minute bookings,’ says the lady at Best Bods.
‘I’ve been let down you see, and it’s a couples thing.’
‘Right,’ she says hesitantly. ‘I suppose we could fill out the form over the phone.’
‘Great.’
Ten minutes later and I’m stretched out on the couch still answering her questions.
‘Is there much more?’ I ask, ‘I just want someone tall dark and handsome … can we skip the rest?’
‘If you’re sure?’ she says.
‘Great,’ I say munching a pork pie.
‘Okay, we’ll send someone to you tomorrow evening to collect you at 7.45. He will match all your requirements and you wish him to refer to you as his girlfriend, is that correct?’
‘If that’s okay?’ I say shyly.
God, she must think I’m desperate for a date.
‘No problem. Now, 7.45 to 11pm, that’s three and a quarter hours. So that will be one hundred and eighty pounds. Are you paying by credit card?’
How much? Jesus, one hundred and eighty quid for a three hour date. I don’t want Justin bloody Bieber. What am I doing? All this for Mrs Snograss?
‘If you’d like to give me the long number on your card.’
And before I know it, I’ve paid one hundred and eighty quid for a date to impress Ashby, my mum, and Mrs Snograss. Still, the photos will look good on Instagram.
Chapter Ten
What a shock. Actually, that’s putting it mildly. An apocalyptic zombie takeover would have been less shocking and far more preferable.
I’ve just opened the door to the escort. I’m barely able to breathe thanks to the sturdy pants and longline bra. I am determined to knock Ashby dead with my appearance. Now, it looks like I will knock everybody dead. I’m wearing a fake Gucci black slinky dress, my new Chanel shoes and more make-up than Joan Collins. I have even glued on false eyelashes, mind you, I can barely see past the little furry buggers.
‘Hi, I’m Malcolm, your escort for the evening,’ he says in a deep manly voice.
I’m hyperventilating.
‘Oh God, you’re … you’re …b …’
I can’t say ‘black’ can I? Clearly he doesn’t need me to tell him that. Triple shit and double bugger. I am about to kill my mother. There’s absolutely no way she won’t have heart failure.
‘Everything okay?’ he asks.
I struggle to breathe. I must be turning purple.
‘Yes, I just need to … erm, come in.’
‘Good to meet you,’ he says, holding out his hand.
I shake it quickly.
‘Won’t be a sec,’ I say, grabbing my phone and diving into the bedroom.
‘My escort is not what I expected. He’s not suitable,’ I say to Best Bods.
‘May I take your name madam?’
‘Phoebe Smith.’
‘One moment.’
I hold my breath.
‘Ah, here we are. You requested a 32-year-old man, tall dark and handsome?’
Obviously when I said dark I didn’t mean this dark.
‘Yes he’s all those things, and more.’
‘Sorry madam, I don’t understand.’
It doesn’t help that he is wearing a dazzling white shirt. Not that you can miss his blackness but you have to admit a white shirt does enhance it a bit.
‘You’ve made a mistake. You’ve sent me a …’
Is it illegal to complain because he’s black? God, all I need is to get arrested for being racist.
‘The thing is he’s black and I’m white. We’re going to look a bit like a zebra crossing if you get my drift. It’s not a problem for me; it’s my mother you see.’
‘Is the escort for your mother?’
‘No it’s for me, but …’
‘Ah, I have all your details now. The questionnaire has that ethnicity wasn’t important.’
‘I don’t remember that bit, not that I mind for myself, it’s my mum that has the old-fashioned ideas.’
‘We can send another escort.’
Oh, blessed relief.
‘You can?’
‘Mohammed Bassim Abdullah is available tonight. How would you like to pay?’
Things are going from bad to worse.
‘But I’ve already paid.’
‘It’s not our error madam. It would be the same charge.’
It isn’t just my mum is it? It’s Mrs Snograss, Elizabeth, Ashby and of course, bloody Essex Earring. There’s no way I can afford another hundred and eighty quid. Christ, over three hundred quid for a man. I ought to get Daniel Craig for that money rather than Mohammed what’s-his-face.
‘If my mother has a heart attack, can I sue you?’
‘All ready?’ Malcolm asks.
No way was I ever going to be ready.
Chapter Eleven
I am in a state of shock. The journey to Mrs Snograss passes in a flash. I spend the time trying to work out how I can explain Malcolm to everyone. Elizabeth opens the door in a long pink chiffon dress. Her hair is tied in a neat chignon at the nape of her neck. Music flows into the hall and the sound of voices and laughter reach me. Elizabeth flashes her diamond engagement ring with shameless abandon. It should be a criminal offence to flash a ring about like that. It would serve her right if someone cut off her finger to get it. After all, flashing diamond rings about in this part of Camden isn’t sensible. You’d never get me doing it. Mind you, at the rate I’m going I’ll never get a ring to flash anyway.
‘Phoebe, how lovely; Mum said you were coming.’
Her eyes focus on Malcolm.
‘Oh hello,’ she says, trying to hide her surprise. ‘We’ve not met before have we?’
‘I’m Malcolm,’ and before I can stop him, ‘Phoebe’s boyfriend.’
Well, it’s not his fault is it?
‘Oh really? I never realised.’
Her Estée Lauder perfume is irritating my throat. Is she going to make us stand on the doorstep forever?
‘Who is it darling?’ calls Mrs Snograss.
‘It’s Phoebe and her boyfriend, Malcolm.’
I’m doomed. We enter the hallway and Mrs Snograss rushes out of a side room almost falling over pug face dog in the process. I didn’t know I was so popular.
‘I’d almost given you up,’ she declares, while Elizabeth tugs at my coat.
‘You look very nice,’ says Mrs Snograss, kissing me on the cheek. ‘You have a nice flat tummy.’
Yes, but not much air in my lungs.
‘Come through, oh where’s your …’
She stops and stares at Malcolm.
‘Can we help you?’ she asks loftily.
‘This is Malcolm,’ Elizabeth says, ‘Phoebe’s boyfriend.’
Mrs Snograss’s bright blue shadowed eyes turn into saucers.
‘Oh,’ she stammers. ‘But you’re …’
Please don’t state the obvious.
‘Handsome,’ I say.
‘Nice to meet you,’ Malcolm says.
He’s cool, I’ll give him that. I wonder if he’s used to the suburbia of Camden.
‘Come through both of you. I hope you eat normal food,’ she laughs nervously.
‘Throw me a banana and I’ll be okay,’ Malcolm smiles.
I fight back a snigger.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I whisper as we step through the doors into a crowded living room.
‘I’m getting paid so don’t worry about it.’
‘Phoebe’s here,’ announces Mrs Snograss.
Across the room I see Essex Earring nudge Ashby, who has his back to me. He turns and I pull in my bulge, piercing my navel with the sturdy pants button. I really don’t know how the likes of Jane Austen partied all night in those corsets.
‘Your mother’s in the kitchen, I’ll just fetch her,’ says Mrs Snograss.
‘Hello Phoebe,’ says Mr Snograss. ‘What can I get you to drink? Not driving I hope?’
‘I’ll have a glass of white wine please.’
‘And the same for you Malcolm?’
‘Just a Coke for me, thanks.’
‘I heard Rita had another baby,’ says Elizabeth, sidling up to me.
‘Yes, she sure does churn them out.’
‘It must make you terribly broody. Alexa is expecting her first, aren’t you?’
‘Hello, you must be Phoebe,’ Alexa says as she waddles up to us. ‘I’m an old school friend of Elizabeth’s.’
Mr Snograss squeezes his fat stomach between us and hands out drinks.
‘So, are you married, Phoebe?’ asks Alexa.
‘This is Phoebe’s boyfriend,’ Elizabeth says, pushing Malcolm forward like a trophy. ‘Isn’t he lovely?’
‘Here she is,’ says Mrs Snograss. ‘You never said what a handsome chap she had.’
I turn to see my mum whose face has turned as white as her dress. She sways on her Clarks wide fitting shoes and my dad steadies her by the elbow.
‘A drink, Jean?’ offers Mr Snograss.
Smelling salts more like.
‘Hello,’ says Malcolm. ‘I’m Phoebe’s boyfriend.’
It’s Ashby who catches my mum.
Chapter Twelve
‘Did you think about the children?’ asks Mum as she lies on a chaise longue in Mrs Snograss’s conservatory. It’s freezing in here. It’s alright for Mum with a blanket wrapped around her.
‘I must say it was a surprise,’ says Dad.
‘That’s putting it mildly Eric,’ snaps Mum.
‘I’ll just be outside. I’ll leave you two to sort it out.’
‘It’s all very well this mixed marriage business but it’s the children that suffer,’ says Mum.
‘I’m not marrying him. I barely know him,’ I say, my teeth chattering.
‘But he’s your boyfriend.’
‘He’s an escort,’ I say. ‘And I wish you’d keep your voice down.’
The door opens and Mr Snograss strolls in with a tray.
‘We thought a little sandwich and a little drink might help. Are you feeling better Jean?’
‘Yes thanks Bert,’ says Mum.
‘You have a little rest, Jean. It was a bit of a shock wasn’t it? It doesn’t bother me. We’re all the same inside that’s what I say. But it’s the children isn’t it?’
Why does everyone seem to think I’m up the duff?
‘An escort?’ repeats Mum once Mr Snograss leaves.
‘I didn’t want Mrs Snograss and Ashby to think I couldn’t get anyone. I didn’t want to come on my own and look like a sad old spinster.’
‘You are a sad old spinster. How much did y
ou pay?’
‘A hundred and eighty quid.’
‘How much?’ she squeals. ‘Good Lord above. What do you get for that?’
‘Grief from you. I didn’t know he was going to be black. I tried to get another one but it would have cost me more.’
‘I don’t believe my daughter is paying for a husband.’
‘I’m not paying for a husband. He’s just an escort for the evening.’
‘I only wish I had your money. Wouldn’t they give you a discount for him being … you know?’
She lowers her voice, ‘black.’
‘God Mum, you’re so racist.’
‘I am not. I’ll have you know I have a Polish cleaner.’
Mr Snograss pops his head around the door.
‘Everything alright then? How was the little sandwich?’
‘We thought we’d come out for a little socialising,’ I say.
‘Lovely, have a little drink of champagne with us.’
I can’t believe my great little plan has gone so wrong. So much for posting the pics on Instagram.
Elizabeth is posing with her ginger-haired bespectacled fiancé when we venture back to the retro style living room.
‘Are you feeling better Jean?’ asks Mrs Snograss. ‘It was a terrible shock.’
‘Hadn’t your parents met your boyfriend before?’ asks Alexa. ‘I suppose it would be a shock if they hadn’t.’
Anyone would think I’d walked in with Osama Bin Laden.
‘Have a little cheese and pineapple on a stick,’ says Mr Snograss.
I’m grabbed by the arm and pulled into a group photo with Malcolm, Ashby and Essex Earring. Not quite the photo I had planned for Instagram. Malcolm kindly puts his arm around me while Ashby cuddles up to Essex Earring.
‘Great, thanks guys,’ says Elizabeth with a cosy ‘I’ve just got engaged’ look.
‘Sweet,’ says Ashby.
I so want to ask him why he unfriended me on Facebook.
Essex Earring turns to Malcolm, a little smile on her lips
‘So, you were the big surprise tonight, weren’t you?’ she says, pouting.
I blink and suddenly everything looks dark. Shit, my false eyelash has only gone and got stuck to my bottom lid. I must look real shit-faced. I fight to unglue it but not without looking as though I’m giving every man in the room the come on.
