Another year later she met Richard. They are getting married in November. This time she says it’s for keeps.
“Do you believe in Mr Right?” I ask her.
“Yes, I do,” she says.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve found him. I thought I’d found him once before, but I got it wrong.
“So how do you know Richard is Mr Right?”
“Because I know I haven’t got it wrong this time.”
BEV
And Bev. She’s single. She believes in Mr Right. She believes there’s a Mr Right out there for everybody. Everyone has a soul mate – it’s just a question of finding them.
She thinks there is too much pressure on women today to be with somebody – anybody – so they settle for the first remotely likely person that comes along. And they marry them, even though they are not necessarily the right person for them. They have a nice life with these people. They are stable. They are good to them. And they love them in their own way. But it will never be that ‘right arm’ kind of love. They won’t ever be their soul mate.
I tell her what Georgina said – that there are billions of people in the world, so how are you ever going to meet that one person?
It’s all down to fate, Bev says, and the people who question how you are ever going to meet that one person are the ones who don’t believe in fate – the ones who have settled with the first person that came along.
That’s why there are so many divorces in the world, Bev says. It’s a knock on effect of people feeling pressured.
Bev is very black and white. She’s the same with her whole life, she says. She doesn’t settle for just ‘okay.’ She doesn’t settle for second best in anything – and definitely not in love, because that’s the most important thing of all.
I like Bev. She’s opinionated, a little bolshie even, but she tells it like it is. She knows what she wants. And she’s not prepared to settle for anything less. Even if that means waiting a lifetime.
I’m not sure I’m that brave. I’m not sure I’d rather be alone forever than settle for someone I wasn’t quite sure about.
I wasn’t sure Bev was going to be much use to me, to be honest. I am trying to find out how you know you have met Mr Right, and Bev hasn’t met him yet, so how can she help me? I ask her this.
“You’re probably more likely to get the truth from people who are single,” she says. “The people who have found what they’re not looking for – they’re the ones who really know what they’re looking for.”
“So how do you think you will know when you’ve found what you’re looking for?” I ask. “And do you think it’s guaranteed that we all will meet that one person?”
“No. It’s not guaranteed. Not if you settle for somebody else.”
“If you don’t though? If you don’t settle, do you think you’ll meet your Mr Right?”
“Absolutely. One hundred per cent. When the time is right for me. When the time is right for him. Yes, I believe our paths will cross, and we will be together.
“That’s why I’m such a positive person,” she says. “Because I believe. I don’t go ‘oh, woe is me, I’m single,’ blah, blah, blah. And I don’t believe in all this rubbish about ‘having to get out there.’ People waffle on about how if you want to meet a man then you need to do this and you need to do that. Rubbish. All you need to do is get on with your life. And when the time is right, Mr Right will come along.”
“Yes, but if you are stuck in every night, not doing anything, then how are you ever going to meet them?”
“It could be the gasman,” she says, dead matter-of-fact – and she knows she’s opening my eyes to things I’ve never even considered before. Although, I do hope it’s not the gasman. The gasman came to Katie’s flat the other day to read the meter. He had terrible BO. And his trousers were too short. My Mr Right would never wear trousers half way up his ankles. And he’d wear deodorant. I’m sure of that.
“A friend of my sister’s met her husband in a car park,” she says. “He was paying for his ticket and he turned round and said ‘nice car.’ A year later they were married. And they are really really happy. In fact, they’re just about to renew their wedding vows in Las Vegas! In front of Elvis!”
I laugh. “So how do you think you’ll know?” I ask again.
“There’ll be no surprises. I’ll feel completely comfortable. There’ll be none of this ‘shall I phone him, shall I not phone him, will I look too keen?’ There’ll be none of that, because we’ll both feel exactly the same.
“My theory is this – if you have to work too hard when you first meet someone, then get out. You’re just not meant to be together.
“You have to listen to your heart – and your stomach. Go with your gut instinct. If you feel there’s something not quite right, then the chances are there’s something not quite right. Maybe you’ve met before, in a previous life, and it was a complete disaster, and you’re about to do it all over again. Maybe he was the king and you were his wife and he ended up chopping your head off!”
We both laugh at this.
“Do I have a scar there?” I ask, rubbing my hand across my throat.
“A lot of misery is caused by thinking too much and not going with their instinct,” Bev says. “People go along and conform and then spend their whole relationship thinking ‘are they the one?’ Well, if you are asking yourself that question, then he’s not. Bottom line.”
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
My family are next, but they’re not much help.
I phone Sarah and ask her what it is about my brother that makes him Mr Right. She laughs out loud and says she’s still trying to figure that out herself.
I phone nana and she says my granddad bought her an ice cream on Brighton seafront then told her a dirty joke and she was smitten.
And I phone my mum and she says ‘I ended up with your father by default.’ He gate-crashed her 21st birthday party, apparently. She had her eye on his best friend Keith, but Keith didn’t fancy her and dad wouldn’t take no for an answer. She gave in eventually.
“Thanks mum, that’s a great help,” I tell her.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
I’ve asked Katie to find me a man. To interview, I mean. Don’t get excited – like Katie did when she thought I meant I was looking for some man action. She had listed no less than six potential dates before I could tell her she’d misunderstood.
After a minor paddy and an admirable attempt at convincing me that Darren from the graphics department was just my type, she accepted the challenge. And a challenge it proved to be, too. It’s just as well I only asked for one, because that’s all she’s managed – and that came at a price. A four-pack of Stella and a guarantee that his name would be changed, to be precise. I’m surprised he didn’t make me sign a contract.
I meet Graham – the man in question – after work one day at A Slice of Naughty. He wanted to meet somewhere he wouldn’t be recognised.
“He’s being interviewed,” I told Katie, “not going out dressed as a drag queen.”
He’s buying a cappuccino and a muffin when I walk in. At least, I’m assuming that’s him. He fits the description Katie gave me – tall, dark, reasonably handsome and dressed in a lilac shirt and pink tie. And he’s embarrassed about being interviewed…
“You must be Graham,” I say.
“Yep, that’s me. And you must be Becky,” he laughs nervously. “Can I get you a coffee?”
“Yes, thanks, I’ll have a latte.”
GRAHAM
We take our drinks to a table in the corner. The cafe is quite busy, but Graham doesn’t seem too worried.
“Do you mind if I record the conversation?” I ask him, pulling the Dictaphone out of my bag and putting it down on the table.
“Aren’t journalists supposed to be able to do shorthand?”
I love it that he thinks I’m a real journalist.
“I’m afraid my shorthand is non-existent,” I confess. “And my longhand isn’t that
much better!”
He looks nervously at the recorder.
“It’s just for me to use. No-one else will ever hear it. Not even Katie,” I joke.
“Okay,” he says, albeit reluctantly.
Graham looks around the café – no doubt checking there’s no-one in here who knows him.
And then he relaxes. Just like that. As soon as I mention his wife, it’s like he’s a different person altogether.
“So tell me how you and your wife met.” That’s all I have to say and his face breaks into this big smile.
“I knew right then that she meant everything to me,” he tells me, after explaining how they met – at the climbing club at university eleven years ago, and the moment he asked her to marry him – when she fell down a crevasse climbing Mount Kilimanjaro four years ago and he held onto her safety rope as if both their lives depended on it – not just hers.
“I knew she was okay,” he explains. “She was wearing a safety harness. But for a split second I imagined what my life would be like without her and I realised I wasn’t just holding onto my gorgeous, bright, energetic, loving girlfriend. I was holding onto my whole world. We want the same things out of life,” he says. “We both wanted to travel. We both wanted good jobs and a nice home. We both wanted kids.”
He opens his wallet to reveal a picture of two children – a boy of about three and a baby girl.
“That’s Sam. And that’s Kayleigh,” he says.
“They’re cute,” I smile.
“Everything fits,” he continues, snapping his wallet shut and putting in on the table.
“There’s no struggle in our relationship. We don’t bicker. I had some really stressful relationships when I was younger. It’s not like that with Paula.
“There’s never any doubt. I don’t ever spend time thinking ‘what if I wasn’t with Paula,’ thinking ‘what if I was with this girl, or that girl.’
“In eleven years I can’t ever remember thinking ‘what if I found someone else?’ “I think if you analyse why you’re in a relationship, then maybe you’re in the wrong one. I don’t feel the need to analyse my relationship,” he says. “I’m happy. There’s never a time when I would rather be somewhere else than at home. I’m always excited to go home and see Paula and the kids. I can’t imagine being with anyone but her.”
“Do you think there’s one person out there for everyone and that you’re meant to be with that person no matter what?” I ask Graham.
“No,” he says. It surprises me. Out of everyone I somehow thought he would.
“I used to think like that. But now I’m not so sure.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“I don’t know really…it’s a big old world out there. I do believe in fate. I absolutely believe that people are drawn together. But I don’t think there’s just one person out there for us.”
He pauses, trying to work out why.
“If that was the case then there would be so many incredibly unhappy people out there. How would anyone ever meet that one person? Out of seven billion people on the planet – or whatever it is – my one person might be in Australia somewhere. Or America. How would I ever meet her?”
“But you believe in fate,” I remind him. “So wouldn’t fate take you to her?”
“I don’t know. I guess. I just think that a lot of people have more than one right person for them. My sister, for example. She’s been married twice. And I believe that both the men she married were absolutely right for her.”
“What happened to the first?” I ask.
“They moved to Holland together, but she wanted to come back, and he didn’t, so they split up.”
“But how can you say he was absolutely right for her when they wanted such different things?”
“I guess. But when they were together they were so right. I suppose what I’m saying is I’d like to think there’s more than one person that’s right for us – that if anything ever happened to me, God forbid, then Paula would be able to meet someone else she could be happy with. I wouldn’t want her to spend the rest of her life alone.”
“She could meet someone else. But that wouldn’t have to mean that you weren’t her true love.”
“Yes, I guess. Or maybe there’s only one person in the world who’s right for us at any one point in time,” Graham says.
“So the person who’s right for you at twenty five might not be the person who’s right for you at thirty? It just depends when you meet them?”
“Yes. Fate takes you on a path where you meet more than one right person. It just depends on when you’re ready to settle down.”
“I guess. Any more thoughts?” I ask.
“Yes. What if you met somebody and you didn’t get together, but you kept looking back thinking they were the one?”
“What, you mean later in life?” I ask.
“Yes. You spend your life with someone else thinking that this other person was the one you were meant to be with. But surely if you’ve spent fifty years with a person, then they must be the one you are meant to be with – because you’ve spent half a century with them. Doesn’t time count for anything? Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes, I do. And I’m trying to think of an answer,” I laugh.
“Who makes the rules?” Graham asks. “Who defines the person you are meant to be with? What’s the definition of the person you are meant to be with?”
“You mean, if you were to look up ‘the person you are meant to be with’ in a dictionary, what would it say?”
“Yes.”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to find out!”
“I think it would say it’s a feeling – feeling right, feeling complete…”
“But then what about the fifty years?” I say, throwing it all up in the air again. “If you look back for your whole life thinking someone else might have been the one, then how can that be ‘feeling right?’”
And Graham just shrugs. Because he doesn’t have any more answers. And neither do I.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
When Graham has gone I order another coffee and sit and look through the notes from all my interviews, trying to make some sense of it all.
So, how do you know when you’ve met Mr Right?
I’m not sure I’ve found the answer yet.
I look at the scribbles in front of me:
It’s a feeling that creeps up on you.
It’s meeting up with them after a year apart and realising you still feel the same.
It’s looking at them after years together and feeling the same love you’ve always felt.
It’s sharing the same sense of humour.
It’s someone you can be yourself with. Someone you want to be with forever.
It’s someone with the same values.
It’s someone who will listen to your dreams. Someone you can chat to while you’re sitting on the loo.
It’s someone who will wipe your nose at the top of a mountain when you can’t feel your own hands because they are so cold.
It’s someone you want to be with all the time. Someone you miss when you’re not with them.
It’s someone who’s all the best bits of all the men you’ve ever known – all rolled into one. The ‘best of all things.’
It’s not settling.
It’s waiting until it’s absolutely right. And when it is, you’ll just know.
It’s not doubting it. It’s never worrying that there might be something better out there.
It’s knowing that losing them would be like losing your whole world.
It’s knowing that it feels right now, and believing that it will still feel right in years to come – believing that you will still want to be with that person forty years from now, sitting on a park bench, holding their hand.
But how do I know how any of that feels if I haven’t found him yet?
“You know what you’re going to have to do, don’t you?” Katie says when I explain the predicament I’
m in.
I do know, yes. But I look at her blankly. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction.
“You’re going to have to get out there and start dating again.”
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Friendly tip for you…
When a friend sets you up on an Internet dating site, delete your profile immediately. Do not go on any dates. Do not pass go. Do not collect £200.
Oh. My. God.
So I decided – against my better judgement, I might add – to give it a go. Strictly for research purposes, you understand. I figured the worst that could happen was that I’d date a few morons and then cancel my membership. And the best? Well, I could even meet my Mr Right! And then I’d know. How you know you’ve met Mr Right, I mean. So it will all have been worth it. I’ll write the feature. It will be absolutely fantastic. And Jennifer Dutton will be falling over herself to hire me. And we will all live happily ever after. Amen.
What did I say was the worst that could happen again?
On Monday I meet Paul. An investment banker. Lives in Clapham. Works in Canary Wharf. Thirty two. Tall. Medium build, short brown hair. No moustache. No beard. Blue eyes. Likes: golf, cinema, macaroni cheese. Hates: laziness, traffic jams, goat’s cheese.
Fairly promising you might say?
It’s staggering how far a guy is willing to stretch the truth in order to get a date.
Let’s just say I am beginning to think I’ve been stood up after standing in the entrance to the Pig & Whistle for over half an hour. There is a guy stood at the bar, a few yards away, nursing a pint. But that can’t be Paul. Paul falls into the 5’8” – 6’2” bracket. Paul is of athletic build. Paul ticked the ‘attractive’ box. This guy is 5’4”, if that. This guy is not so much athletic as rotund. And if this guy ever ticked the attractive box I’d have to say his pen had slipped.
No, this couldn’t be Paul.
Yes, this is Paul. I discover this when the barman, aware that I’ve been standing here like a lemon for over half an hour, looks over at me and asks if I am okay, and ‘Paul’ turns round and says “Becky?”
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 144
