"What do you think they are? Doughnuts?"
"I thought you wanted me to meet men."
"I do." I shake my head. "I just thought you’d like Jeff."
"Well, I did like Jeff, but he just wasn’t… You know what I mean, Mackenzie. Sparky. No sizzle. We both agreed"
"Sizzle is for sunbeds," I mutter. "Fine." I sigh, defeated. "I’ll find you someone else."
"Brilliant. Thanks, darling. I’ll just be getting home to my Baby."
I shut the door after her as she leaves.
"I don’t believe this," I say. I glance at Dan, and I can see what he’s just itching to say.
"Don’t say I told you so," I warn him. "Just don’t say it."
I sit back down beside him and he slips an arm around me.
"So… What next?" He asks.
I shrug. "Look at it this way: the evening hasn’t been a total bust. At least we know she’s open to meeting men and she’s willing to date again. That’s good, right?"
Dan shrugs.
"Now I just have to find someone for her to date."
CHAPTER 8
I really have to find someone for her to date.
Dan likes socks. It doesn’t matter what kind of socks they are, as long as they are bright, patterned, and clash with everything. Dan gets up in the mornings and pulls the first two socks out of the drawer—it doesn’t matter whether they match or not. They usually don’t. I like Dan’s quirks. My mum obviously doesn’t.
"I was in town today and I saw something and thought of Dan," she says when she pops (read: a two hour stay) over one evening.
Uh oh. I’m glad Dan is in work, because I am fully expecting her to say that she saw a hippopotamus or something equally mean.
Instead she produces a Marks and Spencer carrier bag and hands it to me.
"You must have noticed those hideous socks he wears, right?"
I nod, peering inside the bag nervously. Inside is a multipack of plain black socks. "You bought him socks?" I ask.
"Yes, but normal socks. Not those things he wears. They don’t even match."
"He likes it that way."
"Yes, but aren’t you embarrassed to be seen with him?"
"No!" I say incredulously. "They’re just socks."
"But people notice these things."
"No, they don’t, Mum."
"Please, Mackenzie. Why do I have to keep asking you? It’s Eleanor. The more you use it, the easier it will be to get used to."
"Fine. Eleanor. Dan likes funky socks so you bought him some plain black ones, I appreciate the thought, but I really don’t think he’ll want them. You should return them."
"Well, you keep them. When you have to go outside the house with him you can make sure he puts those on so you won’t be embarrassed."
"I’m not embarrassed," I say. "Socks are socks. Nobody walks around the shops looking at what socks other people are wearing. Except you, maybe."
"You can tell a lot about someone by their socks."
"Mine have holes in them, what does that tell you?"
"That your toenails are too long and you should cut them."
I sigh. She’s probably right on that. But I hand the carrier bag back to her. "I won't be embarrassed by Dan no matter what he has on his feet. So thank you for the thought, but please return the socks."
"I’m just trying to help you."
"I don’t need your help. I don’t want to try and change Dan."
"You should do. He’s not very nice as he is."
"That’s not for you to decide," I say angrily. "I’m happy with him, why isn’t that enough for you?"
"Because he’s not good enough for you."
"He’s perfect for me. I even like the fact that his socks look like wallpaper from the sixties and never match."
"Huh," Mum says.
"Please return the socks," I say.
"Fine," she huffs. "I will. But don’t come crying to me when you need the man to look smart. Don’t come to me when people point and laugh at him in the street."
"No one is going to do that. Except you, maybe."
"Yes, they will. He should take more pride in his appearance."
"He takes plenty of pride in his appearance. So what if he likes funny socks? It’s one of his quirks and I love him for it."
"You’ve lowered your standards."
"No, they’re just not the same as your standards. God help me when I’m finding a date for you if I even have to look at his socks."
"You have to think about these things."
"Any preference as to what pattern he should have on the soles of his shoes?"
"No need for sarcasm, young lady."
"Give it a rest," I say. "And forget about Dan’s socks. Or anyone else’s for that matter. They’re just socks."
"I bought something for you," Mum announces as she comes in the next night.
"For me?" I ask.
"No, for him."
Dan looks up. "Me? Why?"
"I thought you needed one. And I went to exchange the socks today, and I thought why not?"
She hands him a carrier bag and Dan opens it nervously.
"Oh," he says, looking at me with a look akin to horror on his face. "That’s… nice?"
"What is it?"
He lifts it out the bag. I have to work hard to keep from laughing. It’s a shirt. But it’s not just any shirt. This is a hideous shirt. This is such a shirt that I have to avert my eyes for a moment for fear of going blind. The shirt is yellow. With red check squares. And green stripes. And it’s two sizes too big.
"Do you like it?" Mum asks hopefully.
"Yes," Dan says, suppressing a laugh. "Oh, yes. It’s lovely."
"Are you being sarcastic?"
"No," he says. "I do like it. I think it would make lovely… um…"
I’m thinking wallpaper for a children’s playroom, or bin bag, or it may even look nice on a scarecrow.
"Mum," I say. "You have to take it back. It’s two sizes too big."
"Well," she says. "I was trying to be tactful about it, but I couldn’t help noticing the shirt you had on the other night looked a little on the snug side. And you have put on a bit of weight recently, Daniel. You need to adjust your wardrobe accordingly."
"Mum!" I shriek. "You can’t go around saying things like that."
"Oh, nonsense, dear. It’s just Daniel. And we've talked about Weight Watchers before, haven't we? Have you phoned them yet?"
"Mum," I say. "Dan hasn’t put on any weight, so leave him alone. And the shirts he wears are fine."
Dan catches my eye and winks at me. I don’t dare to look at him for fear of collapsing on the floor in a fit of laughter at the shirt he is still holding away from him at arms length as if it may be contaminated. In fact, it might be. It looks radioactive.
"Just take it back," I say to Mum. "Get a refund and keep your money. To be honest, I don’t think yellow is really Dan’s colour anyway."
"Fine," Mum says, practically snatching the shirt and carrier bag out of Dan’s hand. "Fine. I was just trying to be nice."
Intent on giving Dan a complex more like.
Yes, I really have to find a match for her. And soon.
CHAPTER 9
"Hey, I have a date for you," Dan calls from the doorway when he gets in from work that night.
"You do?" I ask, coming downstairs.
"Yep."
"Wow," I say, delighted that Dan is getting involved. I’d kind of assumed I was on my own for this one. "So, tell me more."
"Do you know Max from the restaurant? The fish guy?"
"Vaguely." I wave my hand dismissively. "Go on."
"He says his uncle is free and single. He’s fifty-four and has been a vet for twenty years."
"A vet? She’ll love that. When can we set it up to meet him?"
"He came in to see Max today, and he says that he’s free tomorrow night. I told them you’d be there at seven."
"Oh. Okay."
"Wha
t? Did I do the wrong thing?"
"No, it’s just, well, do I really have to screen these dates? Don’t you think she can choose her own man?"
"You’re the one who said that he has to be perfect."
"Yeah, and the one guy who I thought was a great match, and she whines ‘there’s no chemistry.’"
"So you’re going to give up because one guy didn’t work out? That’s not like you."
I shrug. "But he was a good one."
"And obviously not the one. Don’t give up yet, Mac. Vet Guy sounds good."
"I’ll give it a go," I concede. "Besides, it’s at Belisana. Who am I to turn down free food?"
Dan laughs and hugs me. I’m glad he’s getting involved now. I didn’t want to have to do this on my own.
"Seriously, Dan, do you think all this blind dating is a good idea? Don’t you think she’s getting a bit old for that kind of thing?"
Dan shrugs. "It’s not exactly like a blind date, you know, if you’ve met and vetted the guy first."
"I’ve never even been on a blind date myself," I admit. "I feel kind of hypocritical setting her up on one. Have you ever done it?"
"I went on a blind date once. I was so nervous that I got totally drunk and, of course, didn’t consider myself to be drunk so I insisted on driving home. She stood on the pavement watching while I got in my car, put it in reverse instead of forward, crashed into the car behind me, fell out the door and vomited on the road. The next morning I had a headache from hell, a smashed up car, and an embarrassing explanation to give to the buddy that set me up."
"Oh. Well, let’s hope that Eleanor’s don’t turn out quite like that then."
"That’s him," Dan points out quietly when I finally make it through Bristol traffic and arrive at the restaurant the following evening. Belisana is a pretty place. All low lighting and small tables in a bid to create a sense of intimacy.
Him is leaning against the open bar—no, actually he’s slouching—slouching against the bar, with scraggly brown hair that would look so much better if he’d just run a comb through it.
I sigh. Men.
"Thanks, Dan," I say, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek.
I make my way over to the bar.
"Hi," I stick my hand out to Vet Guy. "I’m Mackenzie."
"Oh, hello," he says, taking my hand. "I’m Robert. Call me Robbie."
I can see Dan and Max are watching us from just inside the kitchen door. "Shall we get a table?" I ask, hoping to move out of their sight line. I don’t need an audience for this.
"Great," he says and motions to Max to come over.
"This is my nephew, Maxie," he says, like we haven’t already met. "He’s saved the best table for us tonight."
"Thank you," I say to Max. He winks at me. What does he think he’s doing? Making sure his uncle gets lucky tonight? No chance. Not with me, and certainly not with my mother if the fact that I’ve just had to pull my own chair out is anything to go by.
"I’ll have a beer and Mackenzie here will have a white wine," he tells Max before his nephew leaves.
"Not for me, thanks," I interject. "I’m driving. Just water, please."
Max nods.
"Don’t worry, I’m not trying to get you drunk or anything," Robbie says.
I’m tempted to tell him the inevitable "no" right now and end the date here. No guy who orders a woman’s drink without even consulting her is getting to date my mother. But I feel bad because it’s Max, a friend of Dan’s, and I feel that I should at least give the guy half a chance. But if he tries ordering my dinner for me, it’s over.
"So, you’re a vet?" I ask, conversationally.
"Yeah," he says. "Been slogging away at it for twenty years now."
"Do you have your own practice?"
"No, I’m just a part of a bigger picture."
Okay, and hello to you, Mr Cryptic.
"So, you must love animals." I prompt.
"Well, I don’t like to see them die, if that’s what you mean."
If that’s what I mean? What else does he think I mean? And, really, does anyone like to see animals die? What kind of an answer is that? Max’s uncle, I remind myself. Dan’s friend. Give the guy a chance.
"Do you have any of your own?"
"No."
No? Is it even possible to be a vet and not have animals?
"Really? Why not?"
"Animals are my work. I don’t want to live with my job."
I nod like I understand. Okay, so Dan and I don’t have animals either, but that’s because the landlord doesn't allow them. Plus we see more than enough of Baby and Pussy.
A waiter comes over with our drinks and hands us a menu each.
"I hear the steak is very good here," Robbie says, face hidden behind the menu he’s reading.
"I’m a vegetarian," I say.
"Oh. I get it. One of them."
"One of them?" I mimic. "One of them what?"
"I have a hard time trusting people who don’t eat meat. It’s unnatural."
"You’re a vet!" I say, a little too loudly. "How can you eat the very creatures you spend your day trying to save?"
"I don’t bring my work home with me."
Arrrrgh. Who does this guy think he is?
Generally, I don't mind whether other people eat meat or not. It's up to them if they want to eat dead things, but this guy is a vet, for pity’s sake.
"Okay," I stand up. "It’s been lovely to meet you, but I have to leave." Before I pour your beer down your scruffy t-shirt.
I go round the back and into the kitchen.
"I’m off," I say to Dan. "See you at home."
"What happened?" Dan asks.
"Let’s just say he’s not suitable," I say, looking around for Max. I spot him and beckon him over.
"Thanks for the set up," I tell him. "But I guarantee you he won’t get along with my mother."
"Oh. Really? He was looking forward to it."
"Tell him to enjoy his steak."
CHAPTER 10
I don’t like this dating the relatives of friends business. It was awkward trying to explain to Jenni that my mum had decided her father was a no go, especially as I’d been so excited about it. And Dan has just called me to say that Max has been a bit off with him since the uncle incident, and seems a bit offended that Robbie didn’t even pass the first hurdle. So I’m going to go with something entirely less personal—personal ads. You never know, it might be a good idea.
Saturday morning, and I’m up and out at nine o'clock to catch the local newspapers. I drive down to the big supermarket a few miles away, park up and go straight for the newsstand. Dan doesn’t know it yet, but he and I are spending the day indoors, searching out some nice-sounding men desperate enough to place a personal ad.
I pick up one copy of each paper. The bloke at the newsstand looks at me like I’m insane, but if I’m going to do this then I’m going to do it properly. I take the papers in my arms and struggle back to the car, trying not to get newspaper print on my clothes. If I’m going to make Dan stay in trawling singles ads all day, I should probably buy him a little incentive or a thank you or something. Poor guy was still asleep when I left, he has no idea what I’ve got in store for him yet. I run back into the store and pick up a tub of Ben & Jerry’s each.
At least Eleanor is meeting her friends in town today so we won’t be interrupted.
"Mornin’ Darlin’." Dan looks up at me when I come in. He gives the newspapers in my arms a suspicious look. "Going for a career change?"
I wish.
"I have an assignment for us today," I tell him. "Personal ads. I don’t like this dating people we know business—it’s too personal. And we need to look further afield."
"Do people even do personal ads anymore? I thought it was all about online dating these days?"
"Well, my logic is that personal ads are more traditional. Young people are going to be doing the online thing but I only need the older guys."
"Is that
a nice way of saying that newspaper ads are ancient, so the people who place them will be ancient too?"
I can’t help giggling at him. "Not ancient, but fifty-something would be nice."
I hand him the ice cream tubs. "Bribe."
"Aww, honey." He comes over and kisses me. "I love you too."
"Newspapers, Dan." I thrust some towards him. "We have a lot to get through today."
"Slave driver."
"Look at this one," I say. "These guys have such a nerve."
I read it out to Dan. "WLTM a sexy, blonde female for fun and more. Size ten only."
He laughs.
"Can you believe the nerve of that guy? I mean, is this dating or a swimwear competition?"
We’ve been at this for what feels like hours. Trawling through personal ads where maybe one in every few hundred might be worth replying to is a very long job. It’s actually kind of fun though. I’ve been trying to figure out which ones are genuine and which ones were just placed as a drunken dare between mates. It’s hard to tell.
And I have to admit that some of the young ones, the guys my age, seem pretty nice. I’m not exactly tempted to reply to them myself. Not exactly. But Dan is, well, Dan, and some of the younger guys seem quite sweet. Like ‘Matt’ for example: "I’m Matt, thirty-one years old and can’t believe I haven’t settled down yet. I want a fun, genuine girl to love and be loved by."
See? He sounds nice. Not that I’m going to reply to him or anything, because I have Dan, obviously, but, well, it’s comforting to know that there may be one or two guys out there who are right for me. Not that Dan isn’t right for me. I'm happy with him. Of course I am. I don't even know why I'm reading the thirty-something ads.
"Listen to this one," Dan says. "Six foot four, fifty-year-old male, medium build, huge penis. Call me."
"I take your huge penis guy and raise you a ‘Chubby Charmer. I’ll charm you like a snake if you are 40-60 and have blonde hair.’ Beat that, Dan."
"Oh easily." He winks at me. "ME: 60, defined, GSOH, sociable. YOU: A lady by day, a kinky sex fiend by night."
I laugh. "It does make you question the kind of women who respond to these things, doesn’t it? I mean, seriously, what woman is going to get turned on by that?"
Kismetology Page 4
