by Matt Dunn
‘Careful, Mrs B,’ I say, helping her to her feet. ‘Where on earth are you off to on a night like this? It’s freezing.’
‘I need a couple of things from the shops.’
I can’t bear the thought of her heading out on her own. ‘I’ve told you,’ I say, ‘I’ll go for you when the weather’s like this.’
‘But…Are you sure?’ says Mrs Barraclough, fumbling in her handbag for what seems like an eternity before producing a shopping list.
‘No buts,’ I order her good-naturedly. ‘Hand it over.’ Which gets me a funny look from a couple of passers by, who quite possibly think I’m trying to mug an old lady.
‘That’s very sweet of you, Edward.’
With a smile, I take the list, stuff it into my pocket, and head out to Tesco’s. Normally I’d take the car, but Sam’s told me to walk wherever possible, and so despite the fact that I can still feel this morning’s stair session, I decide to go by foot. Any chance to burn those excess calories, as she constantly reminds me.
It’s the first time I’ve been in Tesco’s without Jane, which strangely makes me both sad and excited at the same time. I’m sad because even though our weekly shopping trips were sullen affairs, me reluctantly pushing a wonky-wheeled trolley behind her up and down the aisles while she consulted her list, or spent ages deciding which of two identical bumper-sized packets of toilet rolls were actually the best value, it was one of the few things we used to do together. As a couple. And that realization in itself makes me sadder still. But I’m excited too, because with Jane not here, I can, theoretically, buy anything I want without her tutting over the calorie content, or more likely the alcohol content. Except that of course I can’t, and ironically the reason I can’t, is because Jane’s not here.
But on balance, I feel pretty okay being here on my own, and the reason I feel okay is because I’m doing someone else a favour. A good deed. And this feeling lasts approximately thirty seconds, until I take Mrs Barraclough’s list out of my pocket.
Though I don’t need any shopping myself, I realize that before I can even contemplate braving the checkout with these things in my basket I’m going to have to buy a few additional items, just to disguise the slightly sinister nature of my purchases. A pair of tights. A jar of Vaseline. A packet of batteries. A tin of boiled sweets. A box of tissues. As the shopping list of an old lady, this isn’t so bad. As the shopping list of a thirty-year-old male, however, it smacks of something akin to perversion. And the worst part is that just as I’m looking in horror at them all, and frantically deciding what else to get, Wendy taps me on the shoulder.
‘Gosh, Edward,’ she says, peering mischievously into my basket. ‘You do miss Jane, don’t you?’
Thursday 27th January
3.09 p.m.
After my nightclub nightmare, I’m mindful of any other opportunities I can find to talk to women. Fortunately, today we’re interviewing for a marketing manager for a local software company, and, again fortunately, this means that most of the candidates will be female.
I pass on the first two, partly because they’ve both, to borrow one of Dan’s phrases, ‘fallen out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down’, but mainly because my nerves get the better of me. The third interviewee, however, looks promising. Her name is Emma, she’s about my age, relatively attractive, and, it says on her CV, single. Once I’ve finished the interview proper, I try to keep my voice as neutral as possible.
‘So, Emma. Can I just ask you a couple of personal questions?’
She smiles. ‘Fire away.’
‘Age?’
‘Twenty-nine.’
‘Marital status?’
‘Single.’
I keep staring at my note pad, as if I’m checking her answers off against a list.
‘Any children?’
‘No. Not yet.’
‘Not yet? Does that mean you want them?’
Emma frowns at me. ‘Are you allowed to ask me that?’
‘It’s just for our records, you understand.’
‘Well, I haven’t decided yet. Possibly.’
‘Interesting.’ I pretend to make some notes. ‘And you say you’re single?’
‘Yes.’
‘And why is that?’
Emma shifts uncomfortably in her chair. ‘What’s any of this got to do with the job?’
‘I’m just trying to build up a more rounded picture of you. It helps us to present you as a candidate.’
She seems to just about buy this, and settles back down. ‘Well, I’ve just come out of a relationship.’
Perfect. ‘And did you end it, or did he?’
‘That’s really none of your business.’
‘Okay. Not to worry. What would you say is the most important factor you look for in a man?’
‘I beg your pardon? Do you mean as a boss?’
‘No.’ I start to appreciate that I haven’t really thought this through. ‘As a, um, boyfriend.’
Emma stands up angrily, and starts to gather her things together. ‘This is the weirdest interview I’ve ever had.’
‘But we’ve nearly finished,’ I say, trying to calm her down. ‘Just one last question…’
‘Is it about the job?’
‘Er…no.’
As Emma storms out of the office, slamming the door behind her, I can’t help feeling that this approach isn’t going to work either.
Saturday 29th January
6.15 p.m.
I’m leaning on the bar at the Admiral Jim, filling Dan and Wendy in on my week. Although I’ve graduated to having my mineral water in a pint glass, it still feels funny to be stood in a pub and drinking something that isn’t beer-flavoured.
‘I still think you should have given my nightclub idea more of a go,’ says Dan, munching cruelly through a packet of mixed nuts in front of me.
‘You don’t get it, do you? Look at you, Dan. You’re the male equivalent of Bo Derek in the film Ten. Women chat you up. The sad fact is, however nice I am, however considerately I behave, however good a listener I am, the first thing they’ll notice in an environment like that is how good-looking I am. Or, how good-looking I’m not, to be correct.’
‘That’s not true,’ says Wendy, loyally.
‘Yes it is. I’m the sort of person who has to grow on people.’
Dan laughs. ‘What—like a fungus?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘But that’s assuming people are really fickle,’ says Wendy. ‘And that they’d only be interested in someone of their “level”, looks wise.’
Dan nearly chokes on a cashew. ‘Dur.’
‘What do you mean, “dur”?’
‘Basic laws of dating, isn’t it?’ he replies.
‘Have you ever gone out with anyone who’s not been a “ten”, then?’
Dan doesn’t even have to think about this. ‘Nope.’
As Wendy rolls her eyes at me and heads off to serve someone at the other end of the bar, I turn back to Dan.
‘So the only thing that makes you fancy someone is how they look?’
‘Is this your first day here?’ he says, giving me a look which suggests I’ve just asked the stupidest question in the world.
‘You’re saying that if you met someone who you thought was funny, charming, intelligent, successful, and yet didn’t quite match up to your expectation in terms of physical perfection, you wouldn’t even think about going out with them?’
Dan throws a pistachio into the ashtray, not wanting to risk splitting a nail trying to get it out of its shell. ‘Nope.’
‘But wouldn’t you want to marry someone like that?’
‘Well, that’s pretty academic, isn’t it?’
‘How so?’
‘Well, to marry them, I’d probably have to have gone out with them beforehand, and if I didn’t fancy them, I wouldn’t go out with them. Whereas…’
‘Whereas what?’
‘Well, someone like you, you’re more likely
to go out with someone for, shall we say, less than aesthetic reasons.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Well, you know. Got to play in your division and all that.’
‘What are you going on about?’
‘Well, I’m Champions League material. Manchester United, if you like, so I’m looking to meet Real Madrid, or similar. You, on the other hand, well, you’re currently Vauxhall Conference division two, or whatever it’s called. Down in the lower leagues, anyway. But challenging for promotion, of course.’
I ignore Dan’s insult, aware that he doesn’t see it as one. ‘So what you’re saying is that like can only be interested in like?’
Dan nods. ‘Yup. No point otherwise.’
‘But that infers that if you’re, shall we say, a less than good-looking guy, then you can only realistically set your sights on a girl of the same “ilk”, even though you might fancy the Claudia Schiffers of this world, because that’s just being realistic.’
‘Pretty much sums it up.’
‘And the only reason that those people can be happy with their less-than-perfect-looking partners is because they’ve had to bite the bullet and learn to focus on other stuff apart from the aesthetic?’
‘Now you’re getting it.’
I look at him in disbelief. ‘Well here’s a theory for you. Your approach is so shallow, that eventually, after the looks fade, you might just find yourself on the scrapheap because you’ve left it too late to meet a woman with substance.’
Dan looks confused. ‘A woman with “substance”?’
‘Yes. Other than silicone. Someone you can talk to long after the fires of passion have burned out. Someone with whom you have more in common than just what brand of moisturizer you prefer.’
Dan holds his hands up. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger. It’s just basic Darwinism, isn’t it? Survival of the fittest.’
‘Dan, Darwin didn’t mean “fit” in the “cor, she’s fit” sense. And anyway, women in general aren’t as fickle as you, thank goodness. They want to see good providers. Home makers. Guys who are good with their hands…’
‘Hur hur.’
‘Not in that sense.’
Dan shakes his head. ‘Who told you that bollocks? Women may admire someone who’s handy around the house, but they’ll drop him like a shot if someone better-looking comes along.’
‘Dan, you’re talking about yourself again. Fortunately, not all women share your views.’
‘Mores the pity. And anyway, it’s more of a philosophy.’
‘Well, it’s a rubbish philosophy.’
Dan examines a pecan before popping it into his mouth and chewing it thoughtfully. ‘Okay. Think how the process works. Boy meets girl, there’s an attraction, they get chatting, start dating, move in together, and if they don’t completely piss each other off, they stay together and have kids. Blah blah blah.’
‘Except in your case. Dan meets girl, they sleep together, Dan never calls girl again,’ chimes in Wendy.
‘We’re not talking about me here. We’re talking about how things generally happen.’
‘But what about the other way?’
Dan looks confused. ‘There’s another way?’
‘Yeah, you know. Perhaps two people meet, maybe they work together, or live nearby, and they get to know each other over the years, and then one day something happens, or one of them asks the other one out. It’s not all about instant attraction. You can grow to love someone.’
‘I’m sorry, Edward. You’ve just described dating for ugly people. People who manage to convince themselves that looks aren’t important, because they’ve realized that they’re not good-looking themselves. In my world, it’s always down to attraction.’
‘Isn’t that rather fickle?’
Dan shrugs. ‘I don’t make the rules up,’ he says, repeating his favourite phrase.
‘So you’re saying that if you were talking to a less-than-model-looks girl, you’d never find her the slightest bit attractive, even if she was witty, intelligent, made you laugh…’
‘Let me just stop you there. Why would I be talking to an ugly girl in the first place?’
‘Dan, that’s an awful thing to say.’
‘I’m just being honest. You and I have different needs. At the moment, my life revolves around two things: my TV career and my sex life, and not necessarily in that order. I’m not interested in great conversation—I can get that from you. If I want good cooking, I’ll go to a restaurant. If I want my flat cleaned, I’ll pay a cleaner. You? You’re looking for someone to make a life with. Me? I just want someone to make out with. End of story.’
We stand there in silence for a while, as Dan finishes off his nuts.
‘But anyway,’ I say, watching him hold the packet up to his mouth and shake out the last few remaining bits, ‘accepting that your idea of meeting other women does have some merit.’
‘Ye-es?’
‘Purely for research purposes, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘What’s next? I mean, where else can I find a group of women who’ll talk to me?’
‘No joy with the work angle?’
‘Nope. Natasha’s told me I can’t harass any more of the female candidates.’
‘What about the Lonely Hearts ads?’ chimes in Wendy.
‘No way,’ says Dan. ‘Listing of cat-owning spinsters, if you ask me.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Lonely Hearts? They’re lonely for a reason, I tell you.’
‘I’m sorry—what have cats got to do with it?’
‘Everything,’ says Dan, picking up a copy of the Argus from the bar and turning to the ‘Personal’ section. ‘Look at most of the ads: “Must have GSOH and like cats.” “Animal lover preferred.” “Likes sunsets, fine dining, and cats.” Show me a woman who owns a cat and I’ll show you a woman with issues.’
Not for the first time, Dan isn’t making any sense. ‘What kind of issues?’
Dan pulls up a stool. ‘Women have cats not because they’re alone, but because they’re lonely. Lonely is different from being alone. Alone suggests more of a temporary situation—“my boyfriend’s just left me, and I’m currently alone”, whereas “lonely”? That’s a long-term state.’
‘I still don’t understand. Why should owning a cat be an indication of social leprosy?’
Dan sighs. ‘Okay. At the moment, Jane’s been gone what. A fortnight?’
I fight the urge to look at my watch, and lose. ‘One week, six days, and twenty-three hours,’ I say. ‘Approximately.’
He looks at me pityingly. ‘And have you felt the need to rush out and buy a pet to replace her?’
‘Of course not.’
‘So, at what point do you think you’d need to go out and get one?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘How long do you think you’d have to be without someone in order to feel so lonely and desperate that you decide to go out and get yourself a substitute in the shape of some four-legged flea-ridden feline?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Nor do I, but it would have to be a long time, right? And if a girl’s been lonely for a long time, long enough to want to get a cat, then you can guarantee it’s not through choice.’
‘Maybe…maybe she got the cat with her boyfriend, who then left her, and she got custody of it?’
‘Mate, how many men do you know who, when asked by their other halves whether they’d like to go out and get a cat, agree?’
‘Good point.’
‘So, if she’s got a cat, steer clear. If she’s got a child…Whoa!’
‘Dan!’
Dan seems lost in thought. ‘If she’s got a hot-tub, however…’
I pick up the paper and scan down the page. ‘Well, what if I just read through some of the ads then? I might learn something there.’
Dan shakes his head. ‘No chance. They’ll all say stuff like “must enjoy romantic walks on the
beach” when in reality what they really want is something completely different.’
‘Such as?’
‘Damned if I know. But I’ll tell you this—next time a woman asks you to put up a shelf or repaint the spare room, you try suggesting a romantic walk on the beach instead and see how far you get.’
I throw the paper back down exasperatedly. ‘So, we’ve established no Lonely Hearts ads then. Well…what about this internet-dating lark? Maybe log on, have a chat, do it that way?’
At the mention of the phrase ‘internet dating’, Wendy heads back over from the other side of the bar.
‘Steer clear,’ she warns. ‘Definitely not something you want to get involved in.’
‘Why on earth not?’
‘Well, why do you think most people sign up for internet dating?’ she says, before answering her own question. ‘It’s for one of two reasons. Well, three reasons, if you include the fact that a lot of them are looking for an affair. But the main two are either that they’re too unattractive or socially inept to find a partner in everyday life, so their only chance is to go online and hope that they can build up a relationship with someone who will fall so head over heels with them without actually seeing their picture that they won’t be put off by the actual physical revulsion they’ll feel when they actually meet up with them face to face. Or, they’re using internet dating because during the natural course of their lives they don’t have the time, or the inclination to make the time, to go out and find a girlfriend or a boyfriend through the usual channels. The downside of this approach is, of course, that once they meet someone, unless they make a fundamental effort to rejig their priorities then they won’t actually have the time to have a proper relationship, and it’ll fizzle out because of perceived lack of interest, when in reality, they never had the time to put in the effort required to develop that interest in the first place. In fact, that’s the main reason why internet dating doesn’t work; people are too busy working to meet other people, so when they do, unless they give up their jobs, they’re too busy to do anything about it.’
I think Wendy’s stopped, and I’m about to ask her something, but she’s actually just paused for breath.
