Perfect Timing

by Jill Mansell

  Poppy stared at herself in Claudia’s mirror as within seconds bronze turned to crimson. She looked at the label on the base of the lipstick. Damn, it was one of those Ultraglow indelibles.

  Now she looked a complete tart.

  ‘Hey, Morticia!’ gurgled Dina when Poppy pulled open the front door at three minutes past nine.

  By midnight Poppy’s mouth was magenta. The lipstick, which couldn’t be scrubbed off, not even with a Brillo pad, got darker the hotter you got. And Poppy was hot.

  Matching Dina drink for drink had seemed the only way to banish the demons. By eleven o’clock, they had jostled and scrummed their way through half a dozen packed-to-the-rafters South Ken wine bars. Poppy found herself drinking tequila and exchanging banter with a crowd of city types ready to celebrate the start of the weekend. Dina, whose skirt barely covered her bottom, kept rounding on innocent men shrieking, ‘You pinched my bum! Right, you can buy me a drink for that. And one for my friend.’

  When they eventually moved on to a club, it was with half a dozen or so stockbrokers still in tow. Poppy, purple-lipped and light-headed, wondered if the tall one called Neil was really as good-looking as she was beginning to think or just the best of an extremely average bunch.

  Dina was dancing with B.J., the one who had started all the bottom pinching in the first place. Poppy danced first with Tyler, then with Ken, then with an Austrian called Hans who galloped around the crowded dance floor like a camel. Feeling sorry for him, because everyone else was laughing and pointing him out to their friends, Poppy galloped like a camel too. By the time Neil managed to battle his way back from the bar, she had worked up a raging thirst.

  ‘Steady,’ said Neil. ‘Don’t want you passing out cold.’

  Poppy eyed him over the rim of her lager glass—well, maybe not her lager glass exactly, but the one she was drinking out of.

  ‘I’m all right. I’ve got hollow legs.’

  Weird, but true. Tonight, she decided, they were definitely hollow.

  ‘You’ve got gorgeous legs.’ Neil had an engaging lopsided grin and endearingly curly earlobes.

  ‘You’ve got gorgeous ears,’ Poppy heard herself say.

  The grin broadened. ‘You have… um, stupendous eyes.’

  She wagged a finger at him. ‘Are you making fun of me?’

  ‘Absolutely not. Your eyes are stupendous. So’s the rest of you.’ His appreciative gaze flickered over the little white Lycra dress which clung lovingly to Poppy’s every curve. ‘I just wish you weren’t so plastered. I’d really like to see you again.’

  About time I got myself a boyfriend, Poppy thought. She nodded approvingly. Yep, that was what she needed. To sort herself out and settle down with someone nice. Normal and nice. She gave Neil an encouraging look and wondered if he squeezed the toothpaste in the middle. She hated people who didn’t do that.

  ‘The thing is, you’re going to wake up tomorrow not even able to remember tonight.’ He looked wistful. ‘When I phone, you won’t know who I am. You’ll be too embarrassed to meet me… we’ll never see each other again… bang goes our great love affair. We’re doomed.’

  Poppy thought at once of Tom, of the great love affair that had never happened. Thanks to her. Damn, how could she have been so stupid?

  ‘Oh God, don’t cry!’ Neil was filled with dismay. ‘Come on, cheer up. Have another drink.’

  Poppy couldn’t remember afterwards whose bright idea it was that the impromptu party should be carried on at Cornwallis Crescent. She vaguely recalled everyone piling out of three cabs, loaded down with bottles from an all-night liquor store, and staggering noisily up the front steps to the house.

  Boisterous games were the order of the night. Dina, a Club 18–30 devotee, appointed herself games mistress and bullied everyone into teams. In her element, she demonstrated with B.J. how to play pass-the-banana. B.J., who was like someone out of Baywatch, kept whispering, ‘Wait till this lot have gone. I know better games than this.’ Dina shivered with pleasure; she could hardly wait.

  Poppy knew if she sat down for a second she’d crash out, so she didn’t sit down. If she was going to have a monumental hangover tomorrow—and really, there was no ‘if’ about it—she was jolly well going to get maximum enjoyment out of tonight. And if playing wheelbarrows around the sitting room—picking up matchboxes in your teeth along the way—wasn’t sophisticated, so what? Who cares, thought Poppy as she was hoisted onto Ken’s shoulders for the start of the next game. I’m having fun.

  ‘Stop wobbling,’ Dina shouted across the room. ‘Don’t hit the lights. And smile.’

  A flash went off. Then another. Dina grinned and threw the camera to Hans. She grabbed B.J. ‘Come on, now take one of us. Ouch’—she yelped with laughter as B.J.’s hand slid downwards—‘you sod, I told you not to pinch my bum again! I’ll be black and blue tomorrow. What’s my old man going to say when I get home?’

  Waking up the following morning was awful. As soon as Poppy realized how bad she felt, she tried to go back to sleep.

  But how could you possibly sleep when you felt this ill?

  ‘Here,’ said a male voice over her shoulder. Poppy jumped as a mug of hot tea was pushed into her hand. When she turned her head—ouch, ouch—she realized she wasn’t in her own bed.

  ‘I live here,’ she groaned up at Neil, who had made her the tea. ‘How did I get landed with the sofa?’

  ‘It was more a case of you landing on the sofa,’ Neil explained. ‘Once you did, you were out cold. To be honest, none of us wanted to risk carrying you down the stairs to your room.’

  ‘Oh.’ Poppy thought for a moment. ‘So who slept in my bed?’

  Neil looked nervous. ‘I did.’ Hurriedly he added, ‘I kept my clothes on.’

  ‘What about everyone else?’

  ‘Um… B.J. and your friend Dina disappeared upstairs. Tyler fell asleep on the bathroom floor—he always does that—and Ken’s behind the sofa.’

  ‘Ken,’ said Poppy, ‘are you behind the sofa?’

  No reply.

  ‘I can see his feet sticking out,’ Neil explained. ‘I didn’t say he was conscious.’

  ‘Hans,’ mumbled Poppy.

  ‘No, his feet.’

  ‘Hans.’ She tried to remember who else had been at the party. A couple of blonde girls, but they had caught a cab around four. Her last memory of Hans was of him dancing that astonishing dance again, round and round the sitting room like a wasp in a bottle…

  Neil shrugged. ‘Maybe he left.’ His earlobes turned red. He cleared his throat and sat down on the far end of the sofa. Poppy shifted her feet over to make room. How embarrassing, had she really been irresistibly drawn to those glowing ears? Had she actually told him they were gorgeous?

  In the harsh light of the morning after, it was immediately obvious that Neil wasn’t the boyfriend she’d been looking for. Last night he had been good fun, really quite handsome, and flatteringly attentive. Today he was looking thin and gangly. He had adopted one of those eager-to-please, you-do-still-like-me-don’t-you expressions that were always, as far as Poppy was concerned, an instant turn-off.

  As for the ears: frankly, they were weird.

  Guiltily, Poppy dropped her gaze. Since she wasn’t looking so hot herself, there was every chance Neil was thinking the same about her.

  But it was still embarrassing, having him perched at her feet like a puppy. She had had too much to drink and led him on. Shamelessly. She wondered if she could off-load the blame onto Dina.

  ‘Well,’ Neil joked feebly, ‘at least you remember me. I was worried you wouldn’t.’

  ‘Oh, I remember.’

  Sensing her discomfort, his shoulders sagged a good couple of inches.

  ‘But now you’re sober and you’re having second thoughts.’

  Defeated wasn’t the word for it, Poppy decided. The boy looked positively trounced.

  ‘Sorry and all that.’ She felt rotten, but what else could she say? ‘We had a great time la
st night. But really, to be honest—’

  ‘You don’t fancy me, you don’t want to see me again, it isn’t going to be the romance of the century after all.’ Neil shrugged and managed a self-deprecating smile. ‘It’s okay, I’ve heard it before. Story of my life.’

  ‘Oh come on, it can’t be that bad.’

  ‘It can.’ He was making light of the situation, but clearly meant what he said. ‘That’s my trouble, you see. If I meet a girl I like, I start fantasizing. Oh, not that,’ he added hastily as Poppy’s eyebrows went up. ‘I start fantasizing about us getting married. I actually picture the church service, the whole bit. Then, I imagine us with kids. Sometimes I even get as far as grandchildren. I know it’s hardly macho.’ He glanced, shamefaced, at Poppy. ‘It’s not what men do. But I can’t help it. I want to live happily ever after. That was why I couldn’t let you disappear last night. You might have been the one I’m looking for. I can’t wait for it to happen,’ he said sadly. Then, with a rueful smile, ‘Of course it never does, because I scare girls off.’

  Poppy said nothing. She was thinking about Tom again. And wondering if the magic of their all-too-brief encounter would really have survived.

  It was a horrible feeling, like being six again and having to listen to the school bully jubilantly telling you Father Christmas didn’t exist.

  Poppy had believed unswervingly in Father Christmas, just as she had always believed in love at first sight.

  Now, thanks to Neil, she was beginning to wonder if even that existed.

  God, this was depressing. She pulled herself together and looked across at the lanky figure perched on the end of the sofa.

  ‘You’ll meet someone. One day it’ll happen.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Truly. Loads of girls would kill for a man like you.’

  ‘Yeah.’ His tone was unconvinced.

  ‘I mean, look at all the bastards out there who run a mile from any kind of commitment.’ As she said it, Poppy thought of Caspar.

  ‘Like B.J.’ Neil nodded in agreement. ‘He thinks I’m mad. He says women are only good for two things and one of them’s ironing shirts.’

  ‘I’d iron B.J.’s shirt on one condition,’ said Poppy.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That he stays in it.’

  Chapter 38

  Upstairs, Dina slowly regained consciousness. She listened for several seconds, bemused by the fact that the breathing she could hear appeared to be in stereo.

  She turned her head to the left. B.J. lay with his smooth brown back to her. His dark hair stuck up at angles. Each breath he took was deep and regular, almost but not quite a snore.

  Dina turned to the right. Another back, paler than the first and bonier around the shoulders. This time the hair was sandy-blond, finely textured, and floppy like a child’s.

  Just to make sure, Dina levered herself up on one elbow. She peered over at the sleeping profile of Hans.

  Blimey, thought Dina, don’t remember that happening. She lay back down again and tried to rack her aching brains, in case it had. But the bedroom door was wide open, and Hans—another quick check revealed—was wearing trousers. He had most likely stumbled into the room in the small hours in search of something more comfortable to sleep on than a floor.

  Dina wouldn’t have minded a three-in-a-bed situation, but it would have been a shame not being able to remember it.

  Reassured that she hadn’t missed anything, and dealing with her hangover in the only sensible way, she closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

  ***

  Tyler was something of a connoisseur when it came to bathrooms. He didn’t know why, he certainly didn’t do it on purpose, but every time he went to a party, he woke up the next morning on the bathroom floor. Carpet if you were lucky, lino if you weren’t.

  Student flats were the worst.

  No, correction: all-male student flats were the worst.

  But waking up in a bathroom had its advantages. You could relieve your bursting bladder, splash cold water over your face, and clean your teeth before anyone saw you and took fright. Tyler, who never went out on a Friday evening without a folding toothbrush in his back pocket, did all these things now. There, he felt better already, and the bathroom had been a positive pleasure to spend the night in. Thick carpet, he noted approvingly, a good quality bath towel that had rolled up to make a comfortable pillow, and plenty of expensive, girlie-smelling soap to wash with.

  Tyler screwed the top carefully back on the toothpaste, replaced his folding toothbrush into its plastic case, and slid it into his back pocket.

  Halfway along the landing on his way to the stairs he passed an open bedroom door. Inside, in a row like the three bears—except these were all in the same bed—lay B.J., Dina, and Hans.

  They were all fast asleep. Hans had his arm around Dina, who in turn had her arm flung across B.J. B.J., stubbly-chinned and handsome, was snoring into his pillow like a train.

  Tyler experienced a stab of envy. How did that lucky sod B.J. do it? How did chaps like him always manage to pull? Why did some blokes go through life effortlessly getting the girls while others spent their nights alone on the bathroom floor?

  Still, that was B.J. for you. The man knew how to operate. Spotting a camera on the carpet beside the bed where it was likely to get trodden on, Tyler picked it up.

  It was a good camera, an Olympus. Only one picture left before the film was used up. For Tyler, who was tidy by nature, it was as irresistible as the last window on an advent calendar.

  He stepped back, took the photograph and rewound the film. He liked finishing things, rounding them off.

  When the camera had stopped whirring he placed it on a chest of drawers where it couldn’t get stepped on and went downstairs.

  In the sitting room he found Neil talking to Poppy. From behind the sofa, Ken’s feet stuck out.

  ‘There was me thinking I was the first one up,’ Tyler grinned at Poppy. ‘And look at you, with your face done already.’

  Poppy flew to the mirror over the fireplace. She clapped her hands in despair over her aubergine lips.

  ‘I don’t believe this stuff,’ she wailed. ‘It’s still on.’

  By Sunday night, Jake had taken fifteen calls on his mobile phone and was no longer feeling like a secret agent with a walkie-talkie. The novelty had soon worn off. He was an old hand at this now. A pro.

  The phone calls had been a letdown though. Mostly they had come from men claiming to be Tom.

  ‘Yeah, mate, that’s me. Met this bird down the disco, like your advert said. What’s her name? Poppy, yeah… right, so I’m phoning you up, like you said. What do I get, like, a reward or something?’

  Some made a better job of it than others, but all Jake needed to do was ask what color Poppy’s hair had been to prove they weren’t the Tom he was looking for. ‘Blonde,’ most replied. ‘Brown,’ said two. ‘She was so beautiful I didn’t notice,’ claimed one gallant soul.

  ‘Okay.’ Jake gave him another chance, chiefly to relieve the boredom. ‘How did the two of you meet?’

  ‘We were standing next to each other at the bar. I tipped out a handful of ice cubes and crushed them with my bare fist. I turned to her and said, “Now that we’ve broken the ice…”’

  None of them had been the right Tom. Jake was far more disappointed than he had imagined and impatient to try again. He began to compile a new list. Plan B. The same ad, but this time all the papers.

  He wasn’t going to give up now.

  Dina was smitten with B.J.

  ‘Should you be doing this?’ asked Poppy, as Dina punched out his number for the umpteenth time on Sunday afternoon.

  ‘Of course I should.’

  Poppy was beginning to feel like an old record.

  ‘But what about Ben and Daniel?’

  Dina heaved an impatient sigh. ‘That’s different. They’re in Bristol, I’m here. Look,’ she struggled to explain, ‘B.J. and I just clicked. Really, we clicked. What hap
pened on Friday wasn’t a one night stand. There was more to it than that—Oh hi! Is B.J. there?’

  He wasn’t. Dina left yet another message for him to call her as soon as he got in, even though she had to leave in less than two hours.

  ‘That was his flatmate again,’ she said casually when the message had been relayed.

  ‘Has it crossed your mind,’ Poppy was exasperated, ‘that he might be avoiding you?’

  ‘I’ve already said, haven’t I? It wasn’t like that with us.’

  Back in Bristol on Monday afternoon, Dina was unbelievably restless. She was twitchy, too hyped up to relax. Poppy, who had promised to phone as soon as B.J. got in touch, wouldn’t even be home from work before six.

  But it was only three o’clock now and Dina was beginning to wonder how she was going to last. Margaret McBride had already popped-round-for-coffee and proceeded to deliver a pointed lecture on young women who don’t know when they’re well off. Dina, bored rigid by her mother-in-law’s barbed comments about duties and responsibilities and the importance of the family—very EastEnders—hadn’t been able to get rid of her fast enough.

  Daniel, who was teething, had hardly stopped screaming all day, getting right on her nerves.

  Ben had too. Placid, easy-going Ben. All he had said to Dina about her weekend away was, ‘So long as you had a good time, love. That’s all that matters.’

  Dina wondered what she had to do to get a reaction out of Ben these days. If she told him what had actually happened to her in London on Friday night, would he even care?

  By five o’clock, like a junkie no longer able to hold out for a fix, she fell on the phone and dialed B.J.’s number.

  As it rang, Dina felt the fix begin to take effect. Even if he wasn’t there, it didn’t matter; she felt better already, just knowing she had made the phone ring in his flat.

  On the fifth ring, magically, the call was answered. Thrilled, Dina felt her heart leap into her throat. Adrenaline hurtled through her body. Her hands were all slippery with sweat.

  She opened her mouth to say, ‘Hi, it’s me!’