by Niamh Greene
Open Forum
From Devil Woman: Oh my God – can you believe it!!!
From Hot Stuff: Imagine: he’s just back from his honeymoon and he’s leaving his wife for her! It’s just like a romance novel!!
From Sexy Girl: Yeah, a very bad novel! This can’t be for real.
From Broken Hearted: He’s a pig. Julie, if you’re reading this, don’t even consider resuming this affair – this man will destroy your life. Get out now, while you still have the strength.
From Devil Woman: It could be fun though! Tell us more about him, Julie! He sounds cute! Does he really look like Orlando Bloom?
From Angel: Adultery is immoral – Julie, if you have sex with a married man you will go straight to hell – and so will he.
From Devil Woman: Don’t be so uptight, Angel – you only live once!
From Broken Hearted: Don’t be fooled. Yes, he may be sexy, yes, there may be heat between you, but it won’t last. He will destroy you. Walk away now.
From Hot Stuff: He sounds divine – just like a Mills & Boon hero!
From Angel: Don’t listen to her. Adultery is a mortal sin – nothing good can come of it.
From Sexy Girl: Get a grip, Angel. If this is real, you go for it, Julie girl. Life’s too short to worry about morals! If he does look like Orlando Bloom I wouldn’t throw him out of bed for eating crisps – do you know what I mean?
From Angel: It doesn’t matter who he looks like. Adultery is wrong in all circumstances.
From Devil Woman: Get a life, Angel. Do you mean to tell me that if Orlando Bloom wanted to have his wicked way with you you’d turn him down?
From Angel: Yes, if either of us was married then I would.
From Devil Woman: Well, I wouldn’t!!! I’d do Johnny Depp as well if I got the opportunity!
From Hot Stuff: Oh yeah – he’s gorgeous!
From Cupcake: Hi, Julie. Do you have the recipe for those homemade muffins by any chance? They sounded delicious.
From Graphic Scenes: When’s the hot sex gonna happen?
Eve
Dear Charlie,
I woke up this morning feeling quite perky. Well, perky may be an overstatement – I don’t think I’ve been like that since I was a hormonal teenager – but I definitely felt more upbeat. I was almost starting to think that maybe things were looking brighter. Maybe, I thought, writing that last letter to you had actually done some good. Maybe this whole idea of pouring out my feelings on paper wasn’t a ridiculous plan that didn’t have any merit. Maybe I was going to work my way through this twelve-step programme – or whatever Mary the therapist had planned for me – and come out the other side a stronger, happier person. A person who didn’t feel completely crushed by life.
I think it helped that I had actually slept quite well: for the first time in ages I didn’t jerk awake at 3 a.m. and then spend the rest of the night tossing and turning, checking the clock every five minutes and then drifting off again just before the alarm went. I nodded off almost immediately and when I finally opened my eyes I felt good – all peaceful and calm and just like the Dalai Lama probably does every day – minus the flowing robes and bald head obviously.
But then, just when I was starting to be at one with the universe, I spotted the organic porridge you used to love so much on the shelf and, before I could stop myself, I was crying again. All I could think about was that you were waking up beside your new wife and probably snuggling up together under the covers and doing unspeakable things to one other, and then I was howling on the kitchen table and mopping my eyes with a blue and white check tea-towel. Poor Tom didn’t know where to look – he scampered into the bathroom and hid behind the shower curtain until I managed to calm down and compose myself.
It’s so ironic – it used to drive me crazy that you made porridge from scratch every morning and refused to even touch the microwavable stuff, but now I’d give anything for you to be burning the bottoms of saucepans like you used to. I really don’t know what’s come over me. I mean, I thought I’d moved on from you – from us. I cried for so long when you left two years ago – I’ve probably gone through enough waterproof mascara to last me a lifetime. None of those worked, by the way – obviously the formulas were never properly road-tested by truly heartbroken women before they hit the production line.
Mary the therapist has been teaching me ways to calm myself when I’m feeling stressed, so, once I’d dried my tears and pulled myself together as best as I could, I tried to do the set of visualizations that she had shown me to increase positivity and centre myself for the day. It was impossible though, because what with all the commotion coming from next door, I couldn’t exactly get in the zone. It’s very hard to get to a quiet place when Johnny the plumber and his new girlfriend are going for it at full pelt and I can hear every scream and moan through the wall. You know what Johnny’s like when he has a new woman – he’s so eager to impress that he uses every single trick he’s learnt from his sizable porn collection in one night. He’s working his way through all the manoeuvres from Debbie Does Dallas at the moment – I’m starting to know every move by heart. I shouldn’t complain really – he is very sweet. He always picks the lock for me when I forget my keys (which has been quite a lot recently), and he unblocked the toilet when it over-flowed that time. I’m glad he’s got a new girl though because he was going through a really dry spell for a while and you know how he gets if he’s single. He came on to me again last month, said he’d be willing to keep me warm at night if I liked. I tried to be pleasant when I turned him down. He’s not the worst guy in the world, but I think he’s forgotten that he asked me for advice about genital warts last year.
Anyway, I gave up on the visualizations in the end because Anna hammered on the door and destroyed my concentration. She’d come round to tell me all about her new plan.
It’s fairly straightforward: I have to find a new man ASAP to exorcize your ghost once and for all. Anna says it’s abnormal that I haven’t had a date since you left, and I need to have a few one-night stands to get my mind off things. She couldn’t believe it when I admitted that I’d never had sex with a complete stranger just to fulfil a physical desire. According to Anna, every woman of a certain age should have had at least a dozen lovers. I didn’t like the way she referred to me as a woman of a certain age, but I suppose she could have a point. I’ve only ever had two serious boyfriends – you and Connor Maguire, and he didn’t really count. We were only together for a month before he told me I wasn’t sexually adventurous enough for him. He constantly wanted to do it on the kitchen table of all places. I just couldn’t stand all those cornflake crumbs getting in every tiny crevice. I hear he’s going out with a girl called Tanya now – a real high-flier by all accounts.
Anna says that if I don’t dip my toe into the mating pool soon I will shrivel up and die a lonely old crone and I’ll only have myself to blame. All I have to do is tart myself up and get down the local – that’s how she met Derek, and she maintains that if that approach was good enough for her then it should be good enough for me. She says sitting in on a Friday night reading a book simply isn’t acceptable when everyone else is out getting pissed and having sex with random people they meet at nightclubs. I told her that didn’t sound all that much fun and that I’d be too self-conscious to loiter at a bar and hope a single man would talk to me, but she said that was no excuse and that there are loads of other ways to snare a man if I am that socially inept. Internet dating is huge – apparently there are millions of no-hopers in chat forums looking for love, so by the law of averages I have a very good chance of meeting someone normal. I just have to create an online persona that bears no relation to the real me. Anna said I could call myself Sexy Writer and pretend I’m mad for it and then post a fake photo of myself online and leave lots of saucy information on my profile. It’s very important that I suggest that my chest is at least twice its real size and that I’m a fun-loving person who is absolutely up for it. Anna says pretending to be somet
hing you’re not works a treat to get a man interested, and that it doesn’t matter if you lie – everyone does it. She says I could even create a blog. She’s reading a brilliant one at the moment about an office worker having an affair with her married boss – loads of people she knows are addicted to it. But I told Anna I don’t want to have to pretend to be sexy in cyberspace; if I was interested in meeting someone new, and I’m not sure I am, then it would be a nice man who likes me for who I am. Then Anna said that I needed to lower the bar a lot, and that finding a nice man who likes me as I am could be a very tall order – most men aren’t keen on six-foot beanpoles who won’t put out on the first date. She said that her plan was going full steam ahead – whether I cooperate fully or not – and that she knew I’d refuse to sort something out myself, so she’s already set me up on a blind date. If I don’t go then she’s washing her hands of me and will accept no responsibility if I turn into a sad no-hoper with no future. She said she’s sorry for being so harsh but that she only has my best interests at heart and she simply won’t take no for an answer. You know how determined she can be. Derek had an underwear relapse recently and she told him that if he didn’t get over his G-string fetish pronto, she’d be throwing him and his thongs to the kerb.
My blind date’s name is Cyril. He’s a successful accountant who’s been unlucky in love (Anna says it’s not true that he’s been rejected by every woman in the Northern hemisphere) and is two years younger than me (but I’m trying not to let that put me off ). We’re meeting in the Sheldon Hotel lobby for lunch – Anna said the date should take place where there are lots of people, ‘just in case’. I asked her what ‘just in case’ meant, but she wouldn’t elaborate. She says she’ll call me half an hour in and if it’s a complete disaster I’m to pretend that my very ill grandmother has had a bad turn, make my excuses and leave. I told Anna that Cyril would see right through that excuse and we’d have to come up with something more original, but she said that he’d fall for it hook, line and sinker. I’m starting to suspect that Cyril may not be all that bright, even if he is an accountant with his own practice and a two-bedroomed flat in the city.
I’ve been trying to think of topics of conversation that might be suitable. So far I have come up with very little. Maybe I could bring my tax return along and get him to take a look. It might be a good way to break the ice – and a bit of free advice about my finances wouldn’t go amiss either. Things have been a little tight since I started my therapy sessions, although writing those relationship quizzes for Her has helped. I’m going to have to keep churning them out if I want to keep seeing Mary. I saw her driving round in a convertible sports car the other day – no wonder she charges so much for a session. Mary herself said that Anna’s plan could be very helpful, as long as the man wasn’t a psycho who shatters my confidence and impedes my progress towards emotional balance. Once I told her that, according to Anna, Cyril didn’t have much confidence of his own so there was no way he could dent mine, she seemed much happier and gave me the thumbs up to proceed. She says it’s definitely a good idea to become more socially active. She even said that working from home and mostly communicating with the outside world by email may not be that healthy and I might consider switching to a more traditional office environment. I ignored that bit though – working freelance from home suits me, and not having to field awkward questions about my love life from curious work colleagues suits me even more.
Anyway, Anna is very excited about my blind date. She’s convinced that all I need to snap out of things is a good shag, and hopefully Cyril will deliver. Trouble is, it’s been so long since I had sex that I wouldn’t know where to start. Maybe I do need to stop being so old-fashioned and live a little. Anna certainly seems to think so.
Eve
Are You an Old-fashioned Gal or a Free-living Woman?
Take our quiz and find out!
You’ve just had your first date with your new man. It went really well and you realize you fancy the pants off him. Do you:
a)Give him a peck on the cheek and nothing more: you have a no-sex-for-three-months rule.
b)Kiss him passionately but leave him at the front door: you have a no-sex-until-the-third-date rule.
c)Drag him upstairs and get down to it: you have a why-waste-time rule.
Your new man calls to ask you for a second date. Do you:
a)Screen the call and then don’t get back to him for a day or two. A man should have to do lots of chasing.
b)Tell him you’d love to meet again and make a date for the following week. You know you should probably play hard to get but you really like him.
c)Cancel a movie date with your girlfriends to meet him that night. They’ll understand – they’d do the same for a hot guy.
You are out to dinner with your man. When the bill arrives, do you:
a)Politely thank the waiter and then wait for your lover to pay. Gentlemen should always pay for everything.
b)Pretend to look for your wallet in case he thinks you’re a tightwad, but take your time. You spent far too much on shoes last month and your credit card still hasn’t recovered.
c)Shove the bill across the table and tell him bluntly it’s his turn to pay. You covered the Chinese meal last week and you’re not going to be taken advantage of.
You’ve been dating your man for a year and really want to move things on to the next level. Do you:
a)Keep quiet and wait for him to realize what you want. It would be unladylike to force him into something he’s not ready for.
b)Drop hints that you’d like to become more serious, such as giving him a key to your place and suggesting you have one to his.
c)Tell him straight up that you want to move in together. What’s he waiting for – a handwritten invitation?
Results
Mostly As: You are an old-fashioned gal who likes to play by the rules, but this isn’t the Stone Age, honey. Sometimes you have to speak up and be heard!
Mostly Bs: You know how to play a good game of cat and mouse, with enough give and take to keep things interesting. Well done, sister!
Mostly Cs: You’re upfront, in your face and don’t take prisoners. But the direct approach can be abrasive – you need to soften it up!
Molly
I’m at work, pretending to be a deliriously happy newlywed instead of a shell-shocked mess. Turns out I’m a pretty good actress because I’ve already managed to describe our idyllic honeymoon in Technicolor detail. I’ve even fabricated romantic moonlit walks on the beach, with warm waves lapping at our bare feet. And so far no one suspects a thing. Everyone believes I’m floating on cloud nine, and that’s the way it’s got to stay. It would be too mortifying if people knew that I’d only been married for such a short time before my husband decided to run away from home. I’ve got to keep that to myself, because if it gets out I’d die of shame. I’d be known as the woman who couldn’t even hang on to her husband for a month. People would start calling me ‘poor Molly’. I would never, ever live it down. Anyway, once I speak to Charlie I’m sure it’ll all be fine, so really there’s no point in creating a big fuss. Once we talk, everything will be OK again. Trouble is, Charlie still hasn’t contacted me and I’m running out of reasons why that could be. If he’d had a panic attack, shouldn’t he be over it by now? Shouldn’t he have already turned up with his tail between his legs and the biggest bunch of flowers available to man? Shouldn’t he be begging me for forgiveness for his stupid mistake? Shouldn’t he at least have called me to explain? He’s still not answering his phone – I know this because I’ve tried calling him at least a hundred times.
The strain of pretending that everything is fantastic is enormous. When I walked into work and everyone swarmed all over me I thought I was going to burst into tears. Well, it was really only Samantha, the secretary, who did the swarming. Penny, the advertising manager, just scowled at me like she wasn’t all that thrilled that I was back and I haven’t seen my editor, Minty, yet. But Samantha ma
de up for it. She’s been fussing round me all morning and, even though I usually find her a bit grating, it’s been quite comforting listening to her rabbit on. It’s helping to take my mind off things, and I’ve only had the chance to think about Charlie once or twice. I can almost pretend that finding his letter was some sort of bad dream.
‘So, how’s your hunky husband?’ Samantha says now. ‘Still treating you like a princess, I bet!’
She beams at me and I can feel myself going red. I’ve done well covering up so far, but I know I’m starting to crack. Samantha loves Charlie – she’s always harping on about how gorgeous and talented he is. Every time she meets him she tells me how lucky I am and how any woman would love to get her claws into him. She’s genuinely fond of him, and it feels all wrong to deceive her. But there’s no way I can tell her what’s happened.
‘He’s great!’ I say brightly, hoping she won’t notice that I’m lying through my teeth.
‘Isn’t love wonderful!’ she sighs dreamily. ‘You two are so perfect for each other. This is such a special time. You should make the most of it.’
‘Yeah, while it lasts,’ Penny mutters.
‘Don’t be so cynical, Penny,’ Samantha lectures, wagging a finger at her. ‘True love is a wonderful thing to be treasured. I should know.’
Then she snaps her headphones on to take some dictation and Penny makes a face at me behind her back.
‘She’s still writing to that jailbird, Steve,’ she hisses to me. ‘The deluded fool thinks he’s going to propose soon.’
‘I thought he’d broken up with her,’ I hiss back, horrified. Samantha has been writing to Steve – a death-row prisoner in Texas – for over a year. She’s even saving up to go visit him. But last I’d heard he had written to say that he felt their relationship had run its course. Which had to be the worst break-up line in history considering he is seriously low on other options.
