THE HUSBAND HUNTERS

by LUCY LAING

  * After three weeks of using Beauty Flash Balm, it was declared that Rach’s skin is showing the best results. Kaz won’t show us the pictures she has taken, and I’m sure she is doing it to spite me ‘cause of the cellulite thing. Kaz is like a whole herd of elephants put together - she never forgets a thing.

  It was Saturday night again, and I was getting ready for my second date with Paul. He had texted me during the week and this time I’d arranged to meet him outside the cinema in town. He was doing some work from his office in Manchester during the day, so I’d said I would meet him outside the cinema and we’d go for something to eat after the film.

  I decided on some smart black trousers and a shell-coloured strappy top to go to the cinema, and at 6. 30 p.m, I hopped into my Mini and drove the twenty-minute journey into Manchester town centre.

  I’d spoken to Tash beforehand and okayed my outfit with her.

  ‘You will look hot, babe,’ she announced, when I told her what I was going to wear. ‘Knock him dead.’ Last time I’d been to the cinema with Paul, I’d worn jeans and a sweatshirt top, so I had to agree with her.

  At 7 p.m. on the dot, I was standing outside the entrance to the cinema. I quickly applied a fresh slick of nude lip-gloss as I stood on the steps, waiting. It started to rain. I moved up the steps out of the rain and stood in the doorway.

  I looked at my watch: 7.15. It wasn’t like Paul to be late. The film was due to start in fifteen minutes, so I hoped he hadn’t been held up. I checked my mobile. No text message from him to say he was going to be late.

  He would definitely be here in a minute. The queue of people at the ticket booth grew shorter as everyone paid their money and went into the cinema. The rain grew heavier. I really wished I’d brought an umbrella for afterwards, as I didn’t fancy pelting through the rain in my black wedges with my hair plastered to my head.

  I looked at my watch again: 7.25. Where was Paul? I got out my phone and dialled his number. It rang out and went to answering machine. I left him a message.

  ‘Paul, it’s Bee. I’m standing in the rain at the cinema and it’s nearly seven thirty. Can you let me know if you are going to be much later?’

  I flicked the phone off and put it into my handbag. And waited...and waited. It got to 7.45 and I had this sudden awful feeling that Paul wasn’t coming. I dialled his number again and it went to answering machine.

  ‘Paul, it’s Bee again. It’s seven forty-five and if you haven’t stood me up can you give me a call,’ I said, adding a tinkling little laugh at the end to show I was joking about him standing me up.

  Cursing the rain, I ran back towards my car, holding my black cardigan over my head.

  I drove home, with my mobile out on the seat besides me, fully expecting to have to pull over when Paul called with his apologies. But the phone remained stubbornly silent. That’s really weird, I thought as I pulled my car into its parking space. Something must have happened to him.

  But he never rang all evening. I sat with Scarlett watching Sex in the City, which I normally love. But tonight my mind wasn’t on it. I’d told Scarlett when I walked in that Paul hadn’t turned up.

  ‘That’s funny,’ she said. ‘It’s not like him at all.’ It got to 11p.m. and there was still no call from Paul.

  ‘Do you know what I think, and it’s an awful thought,’ I said, pressing pause on Sex and the City, and turning to face Scarlett. ‘I think he’s stood me up on purpose, to get back at me for dumping him last time.’

  ‘Nooo,’ she said, clapping her hand on her mouth. ‘I can’t imagine that Paul would ever do a thing like that.’ But when I rang Tash later that night, she agreed with me.

  ‘Unless his pet hamster has died or something really serious, then I think you’re right, Bee,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe he left you out for an hour in the rain like that, all because it didn’t go anywhere last time.’

  ‘If you think about it, it’s the perfect revenge, isn’t it?’ I said dolefully, picking at the telephone cord in my hand. ‘He got me dangling, exactly where he wanted me, and then he could drop me, exactly like I dropped him. I thought it was strange when he wouldn’t come in for a coffee last week. I think he had planned it all, right from the beginning, when I called him out of the blue. I gave him the opportunity to get me back on a plate,’ I added.

  I was absolutely gutted. Paul had been perfect husband material - what all the HHC members had been searching for, ever since we set up the club.

  And the shame of being stood up! My cheeks burned with it. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know anyone else who had ever been stood up like this before. Why did it have to happen to me? Why couldn’t Paul have been pleased that I’d called, and given us a chance?

  My voice started to shake and wobble on the phone to Tash.

  ‘Don’t get upset, Bee,’ she consoled me. ‘Paul obviously wasn’t the man you thought he was. Give him the benefit of the doubt though, for twenty-four hours, in case he has ended up in Casualty, or his hamster has died,’ she added.

  ‘OK,’ I said, although I could almost picture Paul listening to my jokey message about being stood up, with a manic smile on his face. In my mind, he had now become like a cross between Satan and Hannibal Lecter. I don’t even think they could be so cruel, I thought, flinging myself down on my bed, fighting back hot tears. Would I ever hear from Paul again?

  *************************************

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Soph and I hit the shops next Saturday morning. It was a bit of a ritual with us that we would go and check out Karen Millen, our favourite shop, on a Saturday.

  Sometimes all five of us would go, which was a bit hectic, but more often than not just a couple or three of us would go, as the other two would have something on.

  ‘Love the shoes,’ I called out to her as she came down her path, wearing her dark jeans with some gorgeous silver wedges. She smiled.

  ‘TK Maxx, only a tenner,’ she called back, coming round to my passenger door.

  The shopping centre was heaving when we arrived and it was a struggle to find a parking space even for my Mini.

  ‘It’s your school reunion tomorrow, isn’t it?’ I asked Soph, as we battled through the crowds of shoppers towards Karen Millen.

  ‘Yes, I’m a bit nervous about it,’ she admitted. ‘And I hate things like that anyway, making polite conversation. After you’ve finished asking what people are doing now, I always struggle to make more conversation.’

  ‘How many people will be there?’ I asked, spotting the doorway of Karen Millen and diving inside, pulling Soph in with me.

  ‘It’s a reunion for all the school years in a five-year period,’ said Soph. ‘So there will be lots of people there, and probably loads that I don’t know from all the years above me. It’s being held at one of the hotels in Manchester and they will need all that room to fit everyone in. I know there’s a couple of girls who are going, who are linked to my Facebook site,’ she added, pulling at a knee-length silver dress and holding it up to her. ‘So at least I will know someone there.’

  Soph decided to try the dress on. She’s more patient than me. I will often buy clothes on impulse without trying them on, and then invariably I get them home and they never look as great on as they do on the hanger. I trailed to the fitting room after Soph. When she emerged a few minutes later, I had to admit she looked stunning.

  Soph is one of these annoying people who can eat as much as they like and they always stay stick slim. She never eats fruit or vegetables, her favourite meal out is a McDonald’s’, and she lives on Ripple bars. Yet her skin is always peachy and she never has a single spot. I only have to look at a bag of crisps and suddenly Mount Vesuvius erupts on my chin.

  ‘Definitely get it,’ I instructed Soph. ‘You’ll have all your former pimply school chums queuing up for you looking like that.’

  She slipped out of the dress.

  ‘Have you heard anything from Paul since he stood you up?’ she asked, threadin
g it through the hanger. I shook my head.

  After that awful night I had given Paul twenty-four hours, and still there was no phone call. And when I had got back from work the following day - where I’d managed to avoid Nick and his teasing questions - Scarlett had come to meet me as I walked through the front door. By her expression - she could hardly meet my eyes - I knew it was bad news.

  ‘It’s true - Paul did stand you up. He told Simon today,’ she said. ‘I’m really sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ I said, hanging up my coat. ‘I can’t believe that anyone would stoop so low.’

  ‘I know,’ she agreed.

  I told Soph this latest snippet of information.

  ‘The absolute bastard,’ she raged. ‘I can’t believe that anyone would do that. Why did he lead you on in the first place, if he never intended to carry on seeing you?’ I shrugged. There was no point in crying any more tears over Paul. I had to move on and find myself a real husband. There were plenty more fish in the sea - we just had to find them.

  We walked to the till. Typical for a Saturday there were about ten women queuing up in front of us. One woman had a little girl with her, who looked about two. The little girl reached up to the dish of boiled sweets on the till. Her mum wasn’t even watching as she unwrapped the sweet and popped it in her mouth, she was too busy arguing with the till assistant about a top she’d brought back for a refund, with no receipt.

  My attention was suddenly caught by a glittery purple top hanging on one of the rails. I was about to go over and look at the price tag when Soph grabbed my arm.

  ‘The little girl is choking,’ she cried. The mum was frantically shaking her daughter by the shoulders.

  ‘Spit it out,’ she shouted at her. But the little girl couldn’t. She couldn’t breathe. Quickly, Soph pushed me aside and picked up the girl, who was by now red in the face with the effort of trying to breathe. In one swift motion Soph knelt down besides her, laid the little girl face down across her knee, and banged her hard several times on the back. Everyone in the shop had stopped what they were doing and were watching the drama unfold. Suddenly the sweet came flying out and landed on the floor. The girl started coughing and crying all at once and Soph set her gently back down on the floor. The mum had tears streaming down her face.

  ‘Thank you, oh thank you so much,’ she sobbed to Soph, grabbing her in a hug. ‘If you hadn’t been here, I don’t know what would have happened. Come on, Amelia,’ and still crying, she scooped the little girl up into her arms, grabbed her bags and rushed out of the shop.

  ‘God, that was quick thinking,’ said the sales girl to Soph. ‘I wouldn’t have known what to do.’

  Soph paid for her dress and we walked out.

  ‘Let’s go for a coffee, I need it,’ she said.

  ‘How on earth did you know what to do?’ I asked admiringly as we walked into the nearest Starbucks.

  ‘I saw it on telly once,’ said Soph. ‘And that’s what they did. Laid the kid on their knee and banged it hard. That kid had swallowed a coin, and it flew out, just like that sweet did. Get me something with about ten spoonfuls of sugar in it,’ she called to me, as I went up to the counter. ‘I need it for the shock.’

  I couldn’t wait to tell the girls about Soph’s heroic life-saving moment in Karen Millen. We had decided to go out for a few drinks at our local pub.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ said Tash, when we recounted the story. Well, I was doing most of the telling, as Soph was quite embarrassed when I kept referring to her as a hero.

  ‘Honestly it was nothing,’ Soph kept repeating modestly. ‘Anyone would have done the same.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ I retorted. ‘I was about as useful as a chocolate fireguard.’

  ‘We should all stop watching re-runs of Sex and the City, and start watching more educational programmes like Casualty and Holby City,’ said Kaz.

  ‘Anyway, Soph, is there going to be anyone eligible and good husband material at this school reunion tomorrow?’ demanded Tash, changing the subject.

  ‘I don’t know who’s going to be there,’ said Soph.

  ‘Can you remember any boys from your class?’ asked Rach.

  ‘Well, there was Joe, who lived down the road from me and walked home from school with me a couple of times,’ said Soph. ‘But then one day he suddenly pushed me against the creosote fence in the passageway in between our roads and tried to kiss me. We were only eleven and it was gross. He licked me like an over enthusiastic puppy, and he’d just eaten a digestive biscuit too, so the crumbs were all over my face.’ We all mentally crossed Joe off the list of possible suitors for Soph.

  ‘Then there was William who was tiny. I think he had some sort of growth disorder,’ said Soph, thinking hard. ‘The top of his head only came up to all our shoulders and he had these little pointed ears, so we were all quite frightened of him.’ Unless William had recently had a growth spurt, he was crossed off too. Suddenly the school reunion wasn’t looking too hopeful.

  ‘But there are another four years above me who are also going,’ added Soph. ‘So I might find a tall dark stranger lurking somewhere.’

  I phoned Soph up the following afternoon to wish her luck for the school reunion.

  ‘Are you going on your own?’ I asked her.

  ‘No, the two girls who are on Facebook have offered to pick me up,’ she said. ‘None of us want to go in on our own, so we are all sticking together.’

  I couldn’t wait for the update, and neither could any of the girls. We had arranged an HHC meeting for the Monday night, so we could hear all the details asap.

  We all turned up early, waiting expectantly for Soph. She came in and plonked herself in the chair next to Rach.

  ‘Well, it was pretty good,’ she said, laughing at us all. ‘Joe is good looking now and runs his own car sales business.’ We all grew an inch with excitement. ‘But he’s married,’ she added. You could hear the hiss of disappointment around the table, and we all sank back into our chairs. Soph told us that there were plenty more men there, who were all nice, but no-one who had caught her fancy.

  ‘One of the guys there was a farmer - and you know how I love a rough and ready farmer,’ she said, laughing. ‘But he was blond and I don’t go for blonds.’

  ‘Well, you could have given him a try - he could always dye his hair brown,’ I said, encouragingly.

  ‘Maybe in ten years’ time, if I haven’t found a husband by then, at the next school reunion I’ll meet up with him again.’

  ‘By that time he’ll already be married and have a couple of kids swinging from his tractor,’ I said. ‘Honestly, Soph, you’ve got to grab opportunities like this by the throat.’ I was almost for marching her into the local branch of Kentucky Fried Chicken when she’d spotted the guy with five stars months ago, and asking him whether he was available.

  ‘I know you’re the youngest of us all, Soph, but after the age of thirty-five, everything starts to go downhill,’ warned Rach, ‘and you want to find a husband before that. A woman who works at the hospital with me was moaning about it the other day. She said after thirty-five, everything starts to hurt when you get up in the morning, your eyeliner doesn’t go on quite as smoothly because of the lines at the side of your eyes. Your boobs start heading south and so does your ass. Basically everything starts to ache, droop and hurt for the next forty years - if you’re lucky to live that long,’ she added gloomily.

  God, that is depressing. But I had to agree with her. Already when I get up in the morning my knees hurt because of all the riding I’ve done every day. I don’t spring out of bed as easily as I did five years ago. And horror of all horrors, I found two white hairs sprouting out of my fringe the other morning. I almost burnt the heels off my trainers sprinting down to Boots to pick up a temporary hair colour. I had pulled them out, but I couldn’t risk turning grey overnight. And something even worse - which I couldn’t even confess to the girls. I had discovered a single thick black hair sprouting out of my ch
in too, which took two yanks of the tweezers to pull out. Even though no one could see me, my cheeks had gone hot with shame. Honestly, all I needed was a massive wart to grow on the side of my nose and I could easily audition for the part of the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz.

  ‘You’ve got no problems on the boob front though, Bee,’ Kaz said, catching my worried expression. She did have a point there. There was one advantage to only having size 34A boobs. They may never catch anyone’s eye, but at least I didn’t have the problem of them ever pointing south. Not so sure about my ass though - I caught Kaz’s eye and we both silently agreed to leave the cellulite argument for another day.

  We tried to press Soph for more details on the reunion, but I thought she was a bit cagey. She wouldn’t quite meet our eyes when we quizzed her on who else she had talked to.

  ‘C’mon, Soph, there would have been dozens of men there. There must have been someone single that you fancied,’ Rach insisted.

  ‘There was one bloke that I talked to, but...’ and she suddenly stopped, looking down at the table and ripping a napkin apart. She wouldn’t look up at any of us.

  ‘And what happened?’ said Kaz.

  Soph paused, still shredding the napkin. ‘But then I decided I didn’t fancy him,’ she added lamely. She quickly changed the subject. ‘So, Kaz, how’s it going with you and the gym skirt?’ she asked, giving Kaz a nudge with her arm.

  We all wanted to know how Kaz had been getting on, so the school reunion was put aside, and instead Kaz told us that Mission Skirt had so far been successful. She had even faked an injury on the field, just as James had been driving past into the car park, and he had hoisted her manfully up into his arms and carried her into the staff room to put ice on her supposedly injured ankle.

  We were all speechless with envy. It sounded like a scene from a modern day version of Pride and Prejudice almost. If James had only had a wet shirt on whilst carrying Kaz over the hockey field, then it would have definitely been up there. Kaz said the sun had unfortunately been shining, so James’s shirt had been as dry as a bone.