by Tracy Bloom
Chapter 9
Dear Suzie,
Every day when I walk into school the cool boys in my year sit on a wall and call me names like Firecrotch and Gingerbread House. The problem is I’m desperate to have a boyfriend and I really fancy one of them. How do I get him to go out with me?
Lottie
Dear Lottie
I am afraid you are going to have to face the truth. Being overweight and ginger is not conducive to acquiring a boyfriend whilst at school. My best advice is to go niche. Becoming a Goth for example does seem to work for those who are not a perfect size 8 and blonde. Goth boys seem to be able to get past any imperfections as long as they are wrapped in swathes of black or purple along with copious amounts of eyeliner and black lipstick.
Now as for these so called cool boys calling you names. That is so not cool and it is so not cool to let them get away with it. So this is what you are going to do. Buy a set of cheap trophies and leave them outside school reception in a box with a note. The note will say that these boys won a Northwest Regional Line Dancing Competition at the weekend but had to leave before they could get their trophies. The Line Dancing Confederation would be very grateful if they could be presented during school assembly to mark this major achievement.
Cool boys no more. Lottie – one cool chick.
Suzie
Suzie sat back and surveyed her work. Writing the agony column had become so much easier now she had been given license to say exactly what she wanted. Dreaming up revenge plans was a thousand times more fun than wallowing in the misery of her readers, desperately trying to think of ways to help them force a man who clearly didn’t give a toss, to love them. And now with Drew on board with her next personal revenge, well, she was on fire. Yesterday’s lunch had been a riot as their imaginations ran away with them. Talk of football and revenge had intertwined until they had come up with a plan on a scale that blew her away even to think about it. In fact she had to stop herself thinking about it too much because if she did it made her a tiny bit terrified. But as she reminded herself she had a duty to fulfil. She couldn’t let her readers down with some trifling payback. A grand scale was the answer and now was the time to set the wheels in motion.
“So, I’m just going to send Patrick a friend request on Facebook,” she said to Drew who was hard at work beside her.
“A friend request?” he said turning to stare at her.
“Yeah,” replied Suzie.
“What if he just ignores you?”
She hadn’t thought of that. She could fail before she had even begun.
Drew sighed and leant over to tap into her key board. “See you still follow Man City. Can’t believe we were so crap the other night! When will we stop buying second rate Spaniards?” he read as he typed.
“And that means what exactly?” she asked staring at the screen confused.
“That means you will absolutely get a response. No man can ignore a healthy debate about the state of his beloved football team.”
“If you say so?” she replied unconvinced as she watched Drew send the message. “So what do we do now?”
“We wait.”
“Right,” she said and crossed her arms staring intently at the screen.
“Not wait, wait,” said Drew. “It might take a few days.”
“Days,” exclaimed Suzie.
“Yeah, days,” said Drew. “Just forget about it for a while.”
She managed all of nineteen minutes before she glanced back at her email to see if she’d had a response. Nothing. Lunchtime – nothing. Post editorial meeting – nothing. Getting up to put her coat on and delaying switching her PC off until the last minute – nothing. This was worse than waiting for the phone to ring.
“Stop looking,” said Drew for the twentieth time that day.
“I’m not,” she replied jumping. “Just checking my meetings for tomorrow and then it’s off and so am I.” She clicked on her calendar then couldn’t resist one last look.
And there it was. Patrick’s name. In her inbox. Just sitting there innocently. She stared, unable to click it open. The reaction to seeing his name had been as physical and real as if he had just walked into the room. Her heart was in her mouth and beating so loudly she was surprised that Drew couldn’t hear it. The feeling reminded her so much of how she’d felt when he had first called her all those years ago after their dance floor snog that she felt dizzy. He sent me a message she kept thinking. He sent me a message.
“There you go. Told you it’d get a response, didn’t I,” said Drew catching sight of Patrick’s name in bold at the top of Suzie’s list. “Open it then.”
She really wanted to open it on her own. Savour the moment. She didn’t really know why and certainly wouldn’t be able to explain it to Drew. So she clicked and held her breath.
Too bloody right. How the devil are you?
“Come on,” cried Drew pumping his arm. “You’re in,” he declared putting his arm around her. “Most definitely in. Can I trust you not to screw up the next bit now? I’ve got to go.”
“Sure I’ll be fine,” she said grateful for some time alone in cyberspace with Patrick. She smiled up at him as he shoved some files into his briefcase. “Thanks,” she said. “Really.”
“Don’t mention it,” he replied. “It’s …. it’s more fun than wedding planning. Put it like that. See you tomorrow.”
She sat and stared at the screen for a long time before she tentatively began to tell him her story. The story, of course, that she wanted him to believe. The story of huge success in all aspects of her life. The story with the odd witty turn of phrase agonized over almost as much as her column. In turn over the following few days he sent back his story, the one he no doubt wanted her to believe. It struck her that dating was much easier that way. Every move, every comment could be premeditated and fine-tuned until it hit exactly the right note. Not like years ago when relationships crashed and burned before they’d even begun due to an unplanned case of verbal diarrhoea on an irrelevant subject during that all important first phone call. Maybe if they’d had Facebook when she was younger she would be happily married by now given the number of times she’d managed to embarrass herself during crucial face-to-face moments.
When she finally plucked up the courage to call him after days of online postulating, she was surprised to feel her stomach in knots as she waited for him to answer, the written word time delay no longer at her disposal to prevent any verbal cock-ups. He picked up the phone with a gruff hello then his tone instantly lightened when he realised who it was. After the obligatory initial awkwardness they laughed and joked quite easily. He sounded more confident than she expected, almost casual especially as he broke off several times to answer other incoming calls. He apologized for his rudeness but when you operated a global business like he did you had to be at your clients’ beck and call whatever the time of day. The word tosser sprang to mind and reminded her of the point of her phone call. She had to convince him to go to the match with her the following Saturday. It was an invite to hospitality that did the trick as recommended by Drew. They were on their way.
Suzie woke up the following Saturday at 4.34am. She sat bolt upright in bed panicking that she’d missed the alarm going off. Seeing the time she felt relieved which was an unusual feeling for this time in the morning. She got up promptly knowing that the time had come to make the most important decision of the day. What to wear? She had paraded in front of Jackie for what felt like hours the previous evening fuelled by large glasses of wine. Her initial thoughts had been sophisticated and demure but Jackie had other ideas which leaned more towards the tart/prostitute look. Eventually she decided to hedge her bets. It was only football after all so she shouldn’t over-dress. She laid out her best designer jeans, her knock-off Jimmy Choo’s, and a fairly clingy sweater that with the right bra looked pretty spectacular she thought. Outfit sorted by 5.04am precisely, she mooched into the kitchen and looked at all the food she should avoid eating in the fridge t
o ensure the sweater clung rather than bulged.
At the ground at 2 o’clock that afternoon Drew was surveying her outfit with a look of complete despair as fans swarmed around them outside the doors to hospitality.
“You can’t wear that,” he said shaking his head and staring right at her chest.
“Why not?” she protested. “It was really expensive.”
“Turn around,” he said gruffly.
“Why?”
“Just turn around a minute,” he repeated.
“She rotated slowly and sullenly like a school child showing her new uniform to granny.
“You’ll have to take it off,” he declared.
“But I love this jumper,” she said.
“I’m sure you do, but we’ll have nowhere to hide the wires. He’ll spot them a mile off.”
She stared at him. Bugger. He was right. The whole plan relied on her being miked up so Drew could talk to her secretly whilst she was with Patrick. If they couldn’t do that then it all fell apart.
“We’ll just have to improvise.” Drew looked around for inspiration. “You really need something with a collar, something to hide the wires going up to your ear piece. Got it,” he said starting to unbutton his powder blue shirt.
“What are you doing?” she exclaimed.
“It’s alright. I’ve got my lucky match shirt on underneath,” he said. “You don’t get to see me naked.”
“Do you really think I’m going to wear your shirt to meet an ex-boyfriend? I want him to think he made a mistake all those years ago when he dumped me, not that he had a lucky escape from a transvestite.”
He stopped mid unbuttoning. “Okay we’ll not do it then shall we. I’m quite happy just to watch the match.”
“No,” cried Suzie putting her hand on his arm to stop him walking off in a huff. She needed Drew. Not only was he crucial to the entire plan, she also felt a distinct feeling of confidence when he was around.
“Please don’t go,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m just so nervous that’s all.”
Drew reached over to drape his shirt around Suzie’s shoulders then bent over so their eyes were level. “There’s no need to be nervous,” he said gently. “I know you can do this. Do you hear me?”
She gulped and looked away before she got mesmerized by his pale blue eyes. “Okay,” she said with a weak smile before wandering off to find the Ladies.
It took some time for Suzie to make Drew’s shirt look sexy as she scrutinized herself in the mirror. In the end she decided on tucked in as luckily she had worn a rather funky rhinestone belt and she left enough buttons undone to show a decent amount of cleavage. The bizarre thing was that the shirt did make her feel sexy. It reminded her of all those romantic films where girl sleeps with boy and then gets up in the morning and makes him breakfast wearing nothing but the shirt that was ripped from his body in a frenzy of passion the night before. Sadly she’d never got to act out that fantasy. She found that mornings after the night before usually consisted of her and whoever taking a trip to McDonalds to sort out a hangover. Actually she had attempted it once, many years ago, but when she went to pick up said shirt it stank of booze and cigarettes and made her want to retch.
Suzie found Drew in the unused commentary box that he’d managed to blag through the sports writer on the paper.
“It looks better on you than me,” said Drew looking at her chest again.
“It’s all in the styling,” she said as she heaved up the picnic basket she’d painstakingly put together and dumped it on the ledge that ran along the front of the small room. She turned back to face Drew and put her hands on her hips. “Now mike me up Scotty,” she grinned.
After they’d had a few awkward moments fiddling around inside her shirt trying to get the minute microphone system to work, Drew left Suzie to it, retreating to a room a bit further down the corridor. Having established they could hear each other by singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, she set about laying out her sumptuous feast.
“This is not just food, this is revenge food,” Suzie hummed to herself as she carefully laid out the flaky sausage rolls and sumptuous double chocolate fudge cake. Then she ceremoniously popped the cork on a bottle of champagne, poured herself a glass and downed it in one.
“Ready and waiting,” she declared softly just as there came a knock at the door.
“Fucking hell he’s gorgeous,” muttered Suzie as Patrick strode confidently into the room in a cloud of designer aftershave.
She gazed up at him dizzily just as she’d done every time he’d walked into a room all those years ago. Somehow he looked even better than he had then. His strawberry blonde hair had lost the threat of ginger that had always lingered around the roots. It had also been skillfully waxed and tweaked into a stylish peak at the front, hardly reminiscent of his mum’s do-it-yourself job he had been forced to endure in his youth. There was a subtle hint of stubble, a personal favourite of hers as it always seemed so damned masculine. And there it was. That smile. The smile that had made her weak at the knees all those years ago through a haze of weak Cinzano was making her quite giddy now in the aftermath of champagne on an empty stomach.
“Focus Suzie, focus,” Drew said sternly in her ear just as she felt herself swoon as his delicious aftershave captivated her nostrils.
“Suzie,” said Patrick enveloping her in a hug that almost caused her knees to give way. “You haven’t changed one bit,” he continued holding her at arm’s length and giving her a good look up and down.
Suzie had a sudden flashback to the eighties when it was considered cool to wear your Dad’s shirt pulled in by a huge white belt. And here she was in Drew’s shirt looking like she was still stuck in the previous century’s worst fashion decade. She surveyed Patrick’s outfit. It was clear that each item was a highly priced designer piece thrown together to compliment his club shirt in that casual way that Manchester men do best. Liam and Noel Gallagher had a lot to answer for. She was embarrassed that he looked infinitely cooler than her.
“And look at you,” she said ruffling his hair and struggling to know exactly what to say. “All grown up,” she finally managed to sputter out.
She was sure she heard Drew groan in her ear.
“So I nearly couldn’t find you,” said Patrick. “I asked and they said this is actually a commentary box.”
“Oh yeah, well I thought you’ve probably been in loads of executive boxes here, and this would be just a bit different for you. And this commentator I know managed to swing it for me.”
“Oh right,” he said looking around. “Who’s that then?”
“Oh, erm it’s er,” she stalled, waiting for Drew to say his mate’s name but nothing came. “Oh you wouldn’t know him. He doesn’t commentate here; he just knows people who do. Champagne?”
“Wow, don’t mind if I do,” he said nodding appreciatively. “Here let me,” he said taking the bottle and filling two glasses.
“So,” he said looking her up and down and lingering maybe a little too long at cleavage level. “To old friends,” he continued raising his glass to toast her.
“To old friends,” she replied unable to stop herself beaming right back at his broad smile.
“So Suzie Miller, a hotshot journo hey? I have to say I’m very impressed,” he said reaching round her shoulders and giving her a chummy squeeze. His stubble brushed against her and she thought she might collapse. “Imagine, my old mate Suzie in the media. Awesome.”
“Well er you know. I worked really hard to get where I am,” she replied hearing a mocking guffaw from Drew.
“Now don’t be modest Suzie. I always knew you would go far.”
“Really?” she exclaimed.
“Oh yeah,” he said reaching over to top up her glass. “You were always one of the brainy kids at school weren’t you? I tell you when I pulled you I couldn’t believe my luck. Thought I’d hit the jackpot. Brains and beauty. What a combo.”
“Really?” she exclaimed again.
“You did?” she said taking a long gulp from her glass. Had she got the right Patrick? Was this a case of mistaken identity?
“Such a shame we met when we were teenagers. We were just too young to make a go of it weren’t we?” he said running his fingers carefully through his waxed up hair.
“Yeah, I guess so,” she muttered. Maybe she had got it all wrong. Maybe it hadn’t happened how she remembered it.
“But hey,” he said throwing his arms open. “We’re here now aren’t we and I have to say it’s really good to see you.”
“Well Patrick. That’s …. that’s a lovely thing to say. Thank you.”
Patrick took a long gulp of champagne and looked her up and down again. She hoped he noticed that she was only one size bigger than she had been as a teenager.
“It’s true Suzie,” he continued shaking his head. “I have had some crazy women in my life believe me. Including my ex-wife but don’t get me started on her. That’s a whole other story. But you turning up like this. A lovely, sane woman who earns her own money and likes football. Suzie, I think all my Christmases might have come again.” He gave her a suggestive smile whilst looking her up and down yet again.
She hoped Drew had heard every word of that. Too risky to rely on him falling in love with her. That’s what Drew had said. Christ he was practically proposing. She watched mesmerized as he sat down and stretched his long body out on a chair before putting his hands behind his head and throwing her a contented smile. His apparent satisfaction was contagious. She couldn’t help but wonder what this would feel like if Patrick really was her boyfriend again. Clearly they would be a champagne picnics type of couple. The scene popped into her head so clearly that she didn’t want to lose it. She saw herself and Patrick in a summer meadow on a checked blanket idly feeding each other strawberries and champagne before he made tender love to her right there under the sunshine. Maybe fate was taking a hand. Maybe her whole revenge mission was just a way of making her find Patrick again. Making her re-discover the first man who had made her heart beat faster and who had certainly raised her temperature the minute he had swaggered in. Maybe they were meant to be together all along. Maybe her hunt was over.
