by Kim Nash
She checked her watch and it was twenty-five past seven. She was just considering whether to stay or not when a guy who looked like the father of the man in the photo and half the height appeared at the door. She looked him up and down and took in his scruffy attire. He’d clearly come straight from work because he had on a logo’d polo shirt and combat trousers with a tool belt attached. He came bowling over to her and said, ‘Please say you are Grace.’
‘I am,’ she said as she stood to greet him. She towered over him and she only had a pair of mid-height kitten heels on.
‘Derek,’ he announced and shook her hand. ‘Back in a sec!’ And he disappeared again.
She wondered whether she could sue the dating site for misrepresentation. That was clearly a very old photo. She went back to her book for the moment, vowing that she wouldn’t go on first impressions and would give him the benefit of the doubt when he came back. He might be nervous too.
Ten minutes later, he appeared with a pint of Guinness and threw himself into the other armchair.
‘Just had to go to the loo! Been dying for a poo all the way back from Liverpool! You know what it’s like when you just have to go?’ he laughed, too loudly, and a couple who were sitting at the bar turned round at the noise. She smiled an apologetic smile at them, wanting the ground to open up beneath her.
‘Oh right!’ she raised her eyebrows in surprise at his familiarity. Poo conversations normally waited until you knew someone a little better. It also really annoyed her that he’d got himself a drink and hadn’t bothered to ask her if she wanted one. He hadn’t even apologised for being late either.
She packed her book back in her handbag wishing he’d just bugger off and leave her to finish her drink and read in peace. She couldn’t believe she’d left her comfy sofa at home for this, but she couldn’t bring herself to be impolite, even if manners seemed to escape him.
‘So, I expect you’d like to know all about me, wouldn’t you?’ he asked.
‘Oh, OK then. Why not?’ She was trying to work out different ways to kill Monica when she saw her next. She was in for such a bollocking later.
‘Well, I’m a plumber, as you know from my profile and this.’ He pointed at the logo on his shirt. ‘The picture was taken ten years ago but it was my best ever photo so I thought I’d use it. And I’ve really not changed that much.’
Yeah right, thought Grace as she took in the huge bald spot and tufty grey hair, the bit of hair that he did have left.
‘So I’m thirty-five…’
Grace tried not to raise an eyebrow at this – if he was thirty-five she was Kylie Minogue!
‘… and I have my own business, I’m very successful. Well, it’s my dad’s business but he’s practically handed it over to me now. I have one of those Mitsubishi trucks that cost loads of money, but I can fit all my work stuff in. I live with my mum and dad. I play rugby every Saturday and when I’m not playing it, I’m watching it. I’m a bit of a lad, if you know what I mean,’ he winked as he said that last bit. Grace groaned to herself. ‘I earn shit loads of money and am a pretty good catch, even if I say so myself,’ he finished. ‘What else would you like to know about me?’
She resisted the urge to say ‘nothing at all’ but again her tendency to be polite took over. ‘How long have you been on the dating site, Derek?’ she asked.
‘Just over three years,’ he replied. ‘So not long really, I’ve been on eighty-seven dates so far but have still not yet found the girl of my dreams. There’s been something wrong with every single one of them.’
What a surprise, thought Grace.
‘Most of them have got kids, too! What’s that all about? Little horrors just take up all your money and suck the life out of you. Why would you want kids in this day and age? I can spend my own money thanks very much, don’t need anyone else doing that for me.’
Oh God! She wondered how long she had to stay before she made her excuses and left. She knew it was a mistake coming tonight. She’d had a bad feeling. And she really was going to kill Monica, probably with her bare hands.
At this point, his phone started to ring and he answered it in a loud, booming voice that the whole pub could hear. ‘Diggers! How you doing, buddy? Great to hear from you.’ He wandered outside to take the call, totally oblivious to Grace, who shrank back even further into her seat.
Her own phone rang. It was Hannah. ‘Hey, my beautiful little sister. How’s things with you?’
Grace was so happy to hear her sister’s friendly voice. ‘H, you must be psychic! If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.’
‘Try me!’
‘I’m on a date that bloody Monica arranged. He’s a nightmare! So far, he turned up late and hasn’t apologised, disappeared to the loo for a poo and didn’t come back for ages, then got himself a drink and has talked about himself for the last twenty minutes. I’m delighted that one of his mates just rang and he’s gone outside to talk to him.’
‘Get out of there right now,’ Hannah said assertively.
‘I can’t just walk out, that’s rude,’ Grace replied.
‘No, love, what’s rude is what he’s done to you since you met him. What a knobhead. You need to just leave and go home. Go on, do it. He won’t even notice if he’s on the phone. Pick up your things, walk out of the door and get in your car. Drive home and call me back. For once in your life, stop being nice to people who are not being nice to you!’ She hung up.
Grace’s heart began to beat really fast as she actually considered doing what her sister said. In her head she heard a voice say, Go on Grace, just walk out the back door to the car. He’s not for you! Just go!
Grace got up from the table. Her hands were shaking, but she picked up her handbag, glancing at Derek who was pacing around outside the pub, with one hand down his trousers, totally oblivious to anything but whoever he was chatting to on the phone. He wasn’t even looking at her. She walked towards the back door, on the way out to the car park, then doubled back and went to the bar and asked the barman if she could borrow a piece of paper and a pen. He handed them to her with a grin on his face as if he’d been watching the whole debacle.
She went back to the table and scribbled a note, putting it next to Derek’s glass. As she walked past the barman, he high-fived her and told her he’d never treat a woman as beautiful as her that way. She blushed but smiled as she left by the back door, practically running to her car. She started the engine as fast as she could and raced out of the car park like Lewis Hamilton on Red Bull. She smiled to herself, imagining his face as he read the note she’d left for him.
Derek, here’s a tip from me. On your next first date, treat your lady like a princess. Turn up on time, be nice to her, buy her a drink, ask her about herself and don’t talk about poo. Maybe, just maybe, if you follow this advice, one of these dates might just work out for you. Good luck with that! Grace
Grace drove home realising that everything that had happened that night was the reason she had never wanted to do internet dating in the first place. It had been a disaster. She fired off a quick text to Monica telling her that she was in deep trouble due to a disastrous night out. If this was the calibre of men available, Grace thought to herself, I’d be happy to stay in every night!
Chapter Seven
Grace was so excited about being in their new home, even though the whole renovation process was excruciatingly slow when you were on your own and trying to budget. But the three months since moving day had flown by. She’d spent lots of time on Pinterest, putting together mood boards for each of the rooms in the new house and loved the idea of stamping her own taste on her dream home. At the back of her mind, though, she worried a bit about Archie and how he was adapting to yet another new home. He seemed OK, but he had gone a bit quiet lately, although they’d also had a talk about puberty at school recently. She’d been lucky that because she’d had Archie through C-section, she’d always been able to cheat when telling him where babies come from, because he came out of her
stomach. But now he’d realised that winkies and fufus had a whole different type of relationship and he seemed a little traumatised by some of the things he’d learned.
He was closer to his father right now than he’d ever been before, perhaps because there were lots of things about boys and men that Mark was able to talk to him about. While she felt a little jealous of his developing relationship with his father, she knew it was important for him to have a good male role model in his life and Mark obviously knew way more about how the male body worked than she did. A book about growing up had been recommended to her, so she’d left it lying around so that Archie could look at it without embarrassment. Archie did pick it up from time to time and she’d found him tittering away at some of it. She wondered how different things would be if they were all still together and whether they’d done the right thing by going their separate ways.
Why, oh why, do these sweet children have to grow up? she wondered. She wished she could wrap up Archie in cotton wool and protect him from everything, but knew she couldn’t. She was finding it very difficult to give him more independence. The last time she had been round to measure up at the house before they moved in, Gladys had said something that really stuck with her. She said that it was the job of a parent to prepare their child for their next level of life and to raise a child who is comfortable and independent enough to leave them. Grace had never quite thought of it like that before. She hated the thought of Archie getting a partner and eventually leaving home but knew that it was not his responsibility to make his mum happy. He’d been through such a lot of changes since the split and moving to yet another house. She knew though that their new home would be a place where he would feel safe and secure. As they faced the next stage of their lives, Archie would grow up to be more independent and eventually would leave home and go off on his own adventure. She shook off that thought before she got even more morose.
* * *
‘Have you forgiven me yet, gorgeous?’ asked Monica when she rang Grace the next morning.
‘Nope! And I’m not sure I ever will!’ Grace sulked back at her.
‘Oh, babes, you have to try these things, you know. I’m sorry it was such a disaster but at least you’ve done it now and popped your internet-dating cherry, so to speak. Anyway, what are you doing today?’
‘I’ve just got back from taking Becks for a lovely long walk over the forest and I’m just going to make myself a great big cup of coffee and have a read, and make the most of my Monday off before Archie comes home from school.’
‘Wrong! I want to know every detail about Derek, so you’re going to jump in your car and meet me at the little teashop in the high street. I’ll be there in ten minutes. So go comb your hair, put some lippy on and get down here and meet me. I’ll be waiting.’ The phone went dead so there was no way that she could argue.
Grace smiled to herself. She knew that Monica was only trying to help her but she was just feeling a tad sorry for herself. As the weather was particularly warm for the time of year, she quickly put on a strapless elasticated-top sundress, grabbed her denim jacket from the bannister, picked up her car keys and slammed the door behind her before she changed her mind.
On her approach to the teashop, Grace, as always, said a little parking prayer up to her mum in heaven, asking for a nice space right outside the door. Perhaps if she didn’t do this, and parked a little further away from everywhere she went and walked that little bit further she wouldn’t be such a lardy arse. Lo and behold her wish was granted but as she looked through the café window, Monica was nowhere to be seen. Pushing open the café door, and looking around, Grace confirmed it – Monica wasn’t there. It was bizarre, it was very unusual for her to be late.
‘Errr, excuse me, you must be Grace.’ She turned towards the timid voice to be met by a man who looked around the age of fifty-five to sixty, wearing a dark green jumper over a shirt and stripy tie that looked like it belonged to his granddad, a pair of what could only be described as ‘slacks’ and brown shoes with Velcro fasteners.
Confused, Grace nodded. ‘I am, and you are…?’
‘Malcolm, dear. Monica has told me all about you. I love the idea of a website where a friend arranges the dates for you. It’s very clever. I was so delighted when you said you’d meet me here for a cup of tea.’
‘Erm, I’m sorry! You said that Monica said that I’d meet you here?’ she asked inquisitively.
‘Yes, dear. I’ve been waiting for half an hour, I wanted to get here early because I was so excited. When I saw your picture on the website, you were the prettiest girl I’d seen for ages and I clicked on your profile. I plucked up the courage to get in touch and when your friend replied and set up this date, I was over the moon.’
Grace smiled politely, but inside she was thinking that she was going to kill Monica the minute she laid eyes on her. Her phone signalled that familiar harp sound to say she had a text message and when she excused herself to Malcolm and looked at it, it was short and sweet, from the traitor herself.
Have fun babes and ring me later. Mon x
The only wringing that would be done later would be that of Monica’s neck when Grace got her hands on her.
‘Come and sit down, dear, I’ve already got us a pot of tea.’
Oh God! Grace thought to herself. Am I really doing this? I’ll just stop for a quick cup of tea to be polite. There she was again, being polite and pleasing everyone else. It really was the story of her sad little life.
‘So tell me about yourself, Grace. I want to find out everything about you.’ Malcolm smiled at her as he put the tea strainer on the cups and started to pour out the tea. She looked closely at him. He wasn’t an unpleasant-looking man she supposed, but he was quite old and well, a bit square. His hair was receding and the bit he did have was in a comb-over. He just looked a bit careworn but unfortunately not in a shabby chic way. Even when Bridget Jones met Mark Darcy, you could see that underneath that awful Christmas jumper there was a glimmer of gorgeousness just bursting to get out. But Malcolm was no Colin Firth, more’s the pity. Shaking off her thoughts, Grace decided to give Malcolm a chance. She knew that first appearances could be deceiving.
‘No, you go first, Malcolm.’
‘Well, I’ve been a vicar now for just over fifteen years. I’m at St Cuthbert’s church in Camberdown Village at the moment, been there for twelve months, and apart from my parishioners I don’t really know anyone around. I’ve held a fair few cheese-and-wine evenings in the vicarage but they’re a funny lot in our village, it’s only really the old dears that come along and they just come for the wine I think and a bit of friendly company. No one my age ever comes along.’
Grace thought what a bundle of fun it must be at the vicarage cheese-and-wine parties and reminded herself never to go along if she was offered an invitation. She checked herself and realised that Malcolm probably had more fun than she did. At least he wasn’t stopping in most nights in his jimmies with a dog for company.
‘Mother says that I’m trying too hard to make friends and that I’m too nice to people. But I’m a vicar, that’s what we do!’
‘Where does your mother live Malcolm? Is she local?’
‘Oh she lives with me, of course. I lived with her until I was given my first parish and vicarage, and then I could repay the favour so I invited her to come and live with me. We rub along nicely. She’s a good old thing. She cooks and cleans for me still, won’t hear of me doing anything like that, bless her.’
She didn’t know quite what to say next. ‘Do you have any pets, Malcolm?’ she asked, casting her mind to some topic of conversation where they might find some common ground.
‘Oh yes, we have three cats. I’m a huge cat fan. And I collect pottery that is cat-themed. Every time Mother has a few days away somewhere she always manages to bring me something back to add to my collection. Do you like cats, Grace?’
Even though she really wanted to reply, ‘No, I can’t stand the bloody things. They creep in
to my garden, crap and creep out again,’ she didn’t feel that it was appropriate to say ‘crap’ to a vicar.
‘More of a dog person, myself,’ she replied, now quite nervous that she might swear in front of him – even more because she was trying so hard not to. ‘I have a chocolate labradoodle called Becks, named after David Beckham. He’s adorable.’
‘Oh, David Beckham, isn’t he that footballer fellow who used to be the captain for England? I think I know of him although I don’t have a television so I don’t watch much sport. I’m more of a Radio 4 man myself. Going back to dogs, I got bitten by a dog when I was seven and I’ve been scared to death of them since,’ he replied.
‘Do you mind me asking how old you are now?’ Grace was shocked at her direct question, but thought she’d grab the opportunity to find out, assuming he was at least fifty-five. She picked up her tea and took a sip.
‘Forty-two,’ he replied.
Grace swallowed and coughed at the same time and a massive hiccuppy, burpy type noise came out as she sprayed her tea over the table between them. Malcolm jumped out of his chair and patted her on the back.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, that went down the wrong way,’ she explained, wanting to shout out, ‘Forty-two! No fucking way!’
When she looked at him, she realised that he was deadly serious. It was no wonder there were no younger people going along to his evenings at the vicarage, they all thought he was about twenty years older than he actually was!
