CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
It’s official. I’m a woman obsessed.
On my way to the café this morning I asked the old lady sitting next to me on the tube whether she believed in Mr Right.
Once I’d explained what I meant by Mr Right she said she ‘most definitely’ did. She said she had found him, and that they had had fifty wonderful years together, until he died last year.
I said I was sorry. And she patted my knee and said: “Don’t be – I’m one of the lucky ones – I found my love.”
And on my way to class this evening I got chatting to a girl about my age. I told her about my feature and asked her what she thought. She said she thought it was a load of rubbish. Charming!
“So you don’t believe in Mr Right?” I asked her.
“Hell, no,” she said. “I don’t ever intend to get married. Why on earth would I want to spend my whole life with the same man? How boring would that be? No, I love dating too much,” she said. “I love the thrill of the chase. And when I’ve caught them and been out with them a few times, life always starts to get boring, so I move on to the next one! Keeps things interesting,” she smiled.
I keep looking at couples and wondering if they’ll make it – wondering if they are meant to be together, or whether sooner or later it will all fall apart, because he’s not really her Mr Right. Or maybe, she doesn’t even believe in Mr Right.
You can’t tell just by looking, though, can you?
I saw a couple in A Slice Of Naughty the other day. They looked like they were in love. He fed her pieces of cookie and gently brushed a strand of hair off her face. She laughed at his jokes and kissed him when he wasn’t expecting it. Then she left. And he made a phone call. To another girl. Who he asked out for dinner. Maybe she was just a friend, but I don’t think so. So I found myself wondering which one of them thought he was her Mr Right. Maybe both of them. They couldn’t both be right, though, could they?
As I take my seat in Room 11B I look around at my classmates and wonder which ones, if any, believe in Mr Right. I’ll find out soon enough.
I have briefed them all. And just like Sheila told us, I have arranged their interviews in advance – starting with Tara and Georgina – tonight, after the class, in the pub.
But first we have some work to do.
Tonight we are learning about “Writing the Article”.
It’s a bit inconvenient, to be honest. I’m not ready to write the article yet. I could do with Sheila postponing this week’s class, until I have done my research.
Writing an article is like building a house, apparently.
When you build a house you start with the foundations, then add the supporting beams. Next come the walls and then finally the ceiling. When you write an article, you start with your introduction, then add the body, and finish with the conclusion.
Easy.
Shall we go to the pub now?
“There are numerous types of introduction,” Sheila tells us, wiping the notes from last night’s French lesson off the blackboard. I think it was beginners. They were learning how to count.
Over the next fifteen minutes she proceeds to list all the different types of introduction.
There are loads.
There’s the summary, the anecdote, the description, the direct address, the question, the cliché, the quotation. And then there’s the combination of any of the above – like a pic ‘n’ mix, I guess.
Crikey, it’s a minefield. How do you choose?
“Your introduction can be one paragraph, or a whole passage. It’s up to you to determine which type works best,” Sheila says. “And remember, your introduction can make or break your article. It will either grab the interest of your reader,” she says, pausing for dramatic effect, “or lose it.”
Yes. Thanks for that.
After a bit more chat about the perfect introduction, Sheila hands out some examples of the different types for us to look at.
And I have to say, while it’s immensely entertaining tearing apart someone else’s work, I do hope my features are not used in the same way in years to come. If I ever do actually write any, obviously…
I’m not impressed with the article Sheila has handed me.
“What is it about the intro that you don’t like, Becky?” she asks me. Seven pairs of eyes all turn in my direction.
“It’s boring,” I say. “It’s an article about a woman who halved her body weight in a year, and it starts by telling us about where she grew up. Who cares where she grew up? She lost thirteen stone. That’s how much her husband weighs. She lost the weight of her husband. That’s the introduction.”
Sheila smiles and nods. I think she thinks I’ve got potential after all.
Next we move on to the body of the article. Apparently this is where you reward your reader for continuing beyond the first paragraph. Better make it good then.
This is where you give all the information you promised in the introduction – also known as ‘the information Becky hasn’t got yet.’
“This is where a lot of articles lose the reader,” Sheila tells us.
“They get distracted by an interesting advert on the telly, or by something their partner says to them, or by something totally mundane – the ironing, for instance.”
Break it to us gently won’t you, Sheila?
“The central idea of your article should be evident throughout. In every paragraph,” she says.
“As you write, stop and ask yourself if this is so. If it’s not then the reader will read what you have written and wonder ‘what does this have to do with anything?’ And you will lose them.”
“And finally we come to the conclusion,” Sheila tells us, after we have all been completely deflated, dejected and demoralised.
It hardly seems worth bothering with the conclusion now. Not if the chances of the reader actually getting that far are as slim as Sheila would have us believe. We might as well save ourselves the bloody work.
“Although the conclusion is not as important as either the introduction or the body of the article,” she tells us, “you do need a strong one. You want to leave something ringing in the reader’s mind – you want to make them glad that they read the article.”
If they did, that is…
Sheila gets up, chalk in hand.
I feel a list coming on.
“You might want to consider one of these endings,” she says.
Don’t tell me. Something else to decide.
“Perhaps you have a good quote that you haven’t used in the main body,” she says, scratching the chalk on the board, “– something that you could use as a concluding comment.”
She’s lost me now. I just want to get to the pub. I need to drown my sorrows.
First I have to think of a spectacular introduction – one that will practically hypnotise my reader. Then, if I haven’t lost them already, I have to get some information to fill the middle bit. And then, even though the reader has probably pissed off to do their ironing by now, I have to find a bloody good quote that I haven’t already used in order to finish the whole thing off.
I wonder if Malcolm has found a replacement yet.
GEORGINA & TARA
“It’s quite noisy in here. Will you be able to hear us when you play it back?” Georgina asks half an hour later, in the pub, where our spirits have been lifted somewhat by a glass of Pinot Grigio.
I rewind the tape and press play.
“I’d like the scampi and chips, but no peas, and another glass of wine please,” Tara is saying, through the Dictaphone.
Georgina laughs. “I guess that’s a yes.”
We’ve ordered food. It’s hungry work, learning how to write.
I press record and put the Dictaphone back down on the table.
“Do you believe in Mr Right?” I ask, draining my glass and handing it to the waitress as she puts a replacement down in front of me. She looks a little confused until she realises I’m talking to Georgina and Tara.
> “No,” Georgina says.
“So you don’t think there’s one person out there that you’re meant to be with?” I ask, for clarification.
“No, I don’t think there’s one person for everyone. I don’t think there is only one person out there for me. I think there are thousands of people in this world who could be right for me.”
“Alright, big head!” Tara laughs. “Nothing like a bit of modesty.”
“I’m serious! I do believe in soul mates. I believe I could meet someone and fall completely in love with them, think the same way as them, share the same passions, stay up talking all night … I think there is someone out there like that. But there could be five of them. Or ten. Or twenty.”
“A minute ago it was thousands,” Tara laughs.
“The point is, I think there are lots of people in the world we could be compatible with. You’re just not necessarily going to meet all of them – because your paths might not cross.
“There are so many people in the world – there can’t possibly be just one love for each of us. If that were the case then my Mr Right could be in China right now. But I’m probably never going to get to meet him. Unless I go to China, that is, which I’m not planning on doing. My Mr Right could be a Chinaman!” she says, suddenly amused by the prospect.
“Ooh I love that Georgina Bennett,” Tara says, attempting a Chinese accent. It comes out more like a cross between an Indian and Scouser, and we all laugh.
“But if you believe in fate then you would believe that you will meet that person somehow,” I suggest. “Yes, there may be millions of people in the world, but maybe it’s your destiny to meet that one person. The Chinaman…”
“So you believe that your whole life is mapped out for you?” Georgina asks.
“Yes, I suppose I do.”
“But what if you lose the love of your life? What if they die in a car crash? Or what if you’re in a really unhappy relationship with someone who treats you really badly?”
“Then I would say that fate would show you a way out of it.
“I think there is one person for everyone,” Tara says.
“Why?” Georgina asks.
We have to wait for the answer as the waitress arrives with our food.
“Thanks,” Tara says, unravelling her knife and fork from the serviette wrapping.
“Because I look at some of my friends and I get the feeling that they’ve settled. For second best, I mean. It’s a terrible thing to say. And it’s not because they’re unhappy. They’re happy enough. I’m just not sure they’re with the right person for them. I think there’s someone special out there for us.”
“I think you’re just a dreamer,” Georgina says, sprinkling salt on her chips.
“Oh yes, I’m definitely a dreamer.”
“Well I think it’s lovely, I just don’t agree. These people who are with someone completely right for them – I think they’re lucky, but I don’t think it has anything to do with fate, or destiny, or because they’ve found the one person they are meant to be with.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Tara says. “But I like to think someone meant just for me is out there somewhere. It’s comforting, I guess.”
“So girls, how do you know the person you are with is the right person for you – whatever you think that means?” I ask, keen to steer them away from this mini-debate they seem to have started. That’s what Sheila said we have to do, isn’t it?
“I’m not sure he is,” Tara says.
“Why not?”
“Because I love him but…,”
“But what?”
“I don’t know. There’s just a but. I really love him, but… Do you know what I mean?”
I nod. Because I do. I know all about the ‘but’ that you can’t explain.
“I’m so happy with him,” she says. “And that’s why I’m still with him – because I don’t look too far into the future. But I don’t know if I’ll be with him forever.”
“What about you Georgina?” Georgina’s just bought a house with her boyfriend. She must think he’s right for her. “How do you know Chris is right for you?”
“I don’t!” Georgina laughs.
In that case she doesn’t worry like I did. She obviously didn’t think it mattered that she wasn’t sure he was the one when she signed the mortgage papers.
“I question it all the time, if I’m honest. I love him. A lot. But I don’t know if he’s the one. And that’s why I’m not getting married. Not yet.”
“But if you don’t believe in Mr Right, why can’t you just be happy with Chris?” Tara asks.
“Because I’m scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“That there’s someone out there I might love more than him. I’m thirty now. What if I’m still not sure about Chris when I’m thirty five? I could never marry him while I’m not sure. Or have kids. But then…if I split up with him, if I went home tonight and said I didn’t want to be with him anymore then I’d worry that I might never meet another man that makes me feel the way that he does. What if I threw it all away for nothing?
“There are so many good things about my relationship. So many women would be happy with what I’ve got. They’d get married, have children. But I can’t do that – not as long as I’m questioning it.
“I think I’ve been brought up on too many romantic films,” she laughs. “I want real life to be like it is in the movies, but it’s just not like that. My mum says you get out of a relationship what you put into it. She says if I wasn’t with Chris I’d really miss him. I think she’s right. I think if we split up I’d go on nights out looking for someone just like him! That’s what’s so confusing.”
“So isn’t that enough for you to believe he is the one?” I ask.
“No. Because I also worry that there might be someone better out there for me! I know, I’m my own worst enemy,” she laughs.
“I think people think too much these days,” Tara says nonchalantly, pinching a chip from Georgina’s plate.
“I don’t know if Tom is the one, but I don’t spend time worrying about it. If you’re happy in the moment, then what’s the point in questioning everything?”
“Because I’m thirty years old and I want to know that I’m with the guy I’m going to be with forever,” Georgina explains. “But I don’t know that. And that worries me.”
“So you’re not sure he’s the one – but you’re not sure he isn’t either, so why not just enjoy yourself?” Tara asks her.
That’s what I tried to do. It doesn’t work. But I don’t say that. Georgina has to realise that for herself.
“Me and Tom are happy right now. That’s all I’m bothered about,” Tara says. “I believe in fate. So I believe that if me and Tom are not meant to be together in the end, then we won’t be. Right now we are, and we’re happy. That’s all that matters.”
“I’m happy,” Georgina says. “I am, but there’s a but. And if you have a but, then it’s a problem.”
Now, I don’t wish to appear ungrateful or anything, but a fat lot of good this pair has turned out to be.
One doesn’t believe in Mr Right. The other isn’t sure she’s found him yet.
“Tell me this, Tara,” I say, clutching at straws. “How do you think you will know when you have found Mr Right?”
“Hmm,” she says, stabbing the last piece of scampi with her fork. Then she looks at me, shrugs her shoulders and says “I have no idea,” before popping the scampi in to her mouth.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
To be fair, it’s not just Tara and Georgina who are useless.
Everyone else is too.
I meet up with them all over the next week. I ply them all with alcohol and dry roasted peanuts. And what do they give me? Diddly squat, that’s what.
JO
Jo tells me all about the speed-dating night she met Mark. She went with three friends, ‘just for a laugh.’ She didn’t think she’d meet someone. She certainly didn’t think she
’d meet the man she’d end up saying ‘yes’ to. But she did. On her first date with Mark, she knew he was the one.
“But how do you explain that?” she asks. “How do you put it into words?”
Exactly.
“When you’re single, everyone always says you’ll know when you’ve met ‘the one,’ and you’re like ‘yeah, right, whatever!’ But it really is like that,” she says. “You really do just know.”
Bollocks.
STEPHANIE
Stephanie met Paolo at university. They went out for two-and-a-half years then after they graduated Paolo went back to Italy and they split up.
A year later Stephanie bought a ticket to Rome and went to see him. She missed him and she needed to know why. When he met her at Rome airport she knew it was because he was the one.
How did she know?
She can’t explain it. She just knew.
She has known him for over twelve years now and when she looks at him she still feels the same rush of love. But she can’t bloody well explain it.
Arse.
AUDREY
Audrey has been married for thirty six years but she’s still not sure Bill is the one for her.
He’s handy around the house, though, and he’s pretty good in bed, so she’s making the best of it.
Euuuggh. Too much information.
CATHY
Cathy is about to get married for the second time.
She met her first husband at seventeen and married him at twenty three. On the day of the wedding she knew it wasn’t right, she said, but she felt it was too late to change her mind – everything had been paid for.
Three years later she completed a quiz in a magazine – Is Your Relationship In Trouble? Each question had a choice of answers, each answer a different score – 150 points was the best, 30 was the worst. Cathy’s score came out at 32. ‘Crap,’ it said, ‘you really are in trouble.’ A year later they divorced.
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 143
