The Waiting List (Strong Women Book 5)

by Sarah Till

  “I guessed. You were looking a little upset on the phone and then you left. And everyone knows that he's got someone else. I was really surprised yesterday when you told me he had stayed the night. He's been seeing Della Wood for a couple of weeks.”

  Tears stung the back of my eyes and I suddenly felt sick. The notion that Johnny knew about my life hit me like a ton of bricks. I always tried so hard to keep my personal life away from work, but now I realised Johnny knew all about me.

  “Well, we weren't exclusive. And if that's the case I'm well rid.”

  Johnny's hand went to my shoulder but I recoiled. He shrugged heavily.

  “OK, Clementine. I'm just trying to be friendly. You know where I am if you want to talk.”

  He went into his office and shut the glass door. I stared after him and he turned and gave me a defeated look before shuffling some papers into a file. So, Lenny had been seeing someone else? I felt slightly stupid for pot knowing, but also a little relieved. I knew that people would wonder why we had split, and in the absence of something obvious, they would have asked him. I could imagine him telling a large gathering of hangers-on that I was a slovenly tramp who never did any housework, with a garden like a jungle and questionable personal hygiene. At least this way it was obvious; he had dumped me for Della Wood. Now that was all neatly packaged into a redundant corner of my mind, I returned to the work of the day, thinking about when Tim would ring.

  I pretended to read my notes for the abandoned meeting while I recalculated when day three would be. Clare, one of my married school friends who worked in design, perched herself on the edge of my desk.

  “Good weekend?”

  I beamed up at her and she looked a little startled.

  “Yes! I met this amazing man and I'm waiting for him to call. And you?”

  “Great, Clem. I hope it works out. What happened to Lenny?”

  I waved my hand exaggeratedly.

  “Gone, gone. He's old news. Anyway, how was your weekend?”

  “Oh, much the same really. When you settle down, it all seems to lose its sparkle. But I like the steadiness.”

  My lip started to curl slightly, but I stopped it and forced a smile.

  “You must have some excitement?”

  Clare laughed and nursed her cup of coffee.

  “I suppose so. My parents hate me and my husband sits at home all day watching porn. So, I suppose it's exciting for them with their drama, but for me it's just kind of run of the mill.”

  “Watches porn? And don't you mind? I would be horrified.”

  Clare looked resigned.

  “Does no harm. He might pick up a few tips, anyway. Not much I can do to stop him. Problem is the economic climate.” She picked her nails casually. “No work in the building trade, and he's rained off a lot. I suppose it keeps him busy.” Keen to erase the current image from my mind, I wondered what Tim did for a living. We hadn't actually chatted very much between the kissing on Friday. My heart sank as I realised I didn't even know his surname or where he lived or worked. Clare continued. “So, who's this new bloke then?”

  “Well, you know the guy who was in the kite ad, the Beckham look-alike, he was in the club and he's his mate.”

  Clare's gaze drifted to just above my head.

  “Mmm. Justin. Gorgeous. Just perfection.”

  “He's actually called Arthur.”

  “I don't care what he's called, I'd just be calling him, ‘Yes! Yes! Oh Yes!’”

  Clare's orgasmic cries had attracted Johnny's attention and I raised my eyebrows at her. She laughed loudly.

  “Clare, you're married. You shouldn't be thinking about other men!”

  “Oh, bugger off, Clem. I sometimes wonder about you. You need to chill out a bit. Of course married women think about other men, just like married men think about other women. We just don't do anything about it, if we know what's good for us. And if we want to stay married. Bloody hell, life would be boring if we just looked at each other all day long.”

  Clare looked bored now. She was playing with some paper clips and arranging some staples into a circle. It suddenly occurred to me that there was nothing on my list about being faithful. Above anything else, this was vitally important. I pondered over it being so obvious in a relationship that I hadn't bothered to list it, but Lenny hadn't thought it was so important, had he? I knew that I just couldn't bear it if my dream man was secretly ogling other women. Was that being unfaithful? Was it actually cheating or was it just in the mind? It wasn't like there was anything physical going on – or was there? Of course there was, as there was bound to be a physical reaction. Did that mean he had been unfaithful? My thought process went off at a tangent, considering what if he was faced with a poster of a girl in a bikini? Would I mind then? Would he avert his eyes anyway because I was the only girl for him? What if a sex scene comes on the TV in a racy film? Would he switch it over if I were there, not wanting to embarrass me? Would he switch it over when if I wasn't there? My galloping imagination screeched to a halt as Clare jolted me.

  “Clem, that pen you are chewing has burst.”

  I looked at my hands and they were covered in black ink.

  “Is it round my mouth?”

  Clare laughed loudly as I wiped the worst of it off with a moist tissue I kept in my desk for emergencies.

  “No. No. Chill, Clem, he'll ring. He'd be mad not to.”

  “But when? If Friday was day one then it should be today. If Saturday is day one then it will be tomorrow. Or never.”

  “Did you take him home?”

  I feigned disgust and finally smiled.

  “No, what do you take me for? Some kind of scarlet woman?”

  “Just wondered. OK, he'll probably ring then. He'll be wondering what the mystery is. What's he like?”

  “He's gorgeous. Oh, Clare. He really is gorgeous looking. You know when you have an image of a perfect man, well he's mine. Dark hair and eyes. Tall, medium build, nice teeth.”

  “You're making him sound like a horse now, Clem.”

  “He just kept, well, kissing me, telling me how beautiful I am. It all felt so, so right, like we had been there before, like it wasn't our first meeting, like he knew me.”

  “Who is this dream man? Do I know him?”

  “All I know is he's called Tim.” Snippets of our between-kisses conversation were coming back to me. “Oh, and he sometimes plays snooker in Connery's Club. Actually, your Terry might know him.”

  Clare's eyes narrowed slightly.

  “Tim Rosklyde? Dark curly hair? Big silly grin? Did he have a dolphin tattoo on his left hand?”

  I suddenly remembered kissing his hand and seeing the tattoo. I realised that I must have had more to drink than I realised, that I'd forgotten a good portion of the evening. Clare seemed to know a lot about Tim.

  “Yes, I think it's the same person. Do you know him?”

  “Oh, yes, I know of him. Who was he with?”

  “I told you, Arthur and some other friends. Honestly, Clare, he was lovely. Please don't tell me he's an axe murderer or a stalker, because I really like him. He's the first man I have found for ages with no baggage.”

  “No baggage? Everyone's got baggage, Clem, even if it's only an overnight bag.”

  “Are you trying to tell me he's got a wife and seven children? He told me he was single.”

  “No, of course not. Yes, yes, he is single. Of course. I'm just being silly. Over cautious. Just concerned. But it's fine, Clem. Go for it. Two single people making a go of it. Better go and get some work done, yeah?”

  “Thanks, Clare. But there isn't anything I should know, is there?”

  I saw Clare hesitate just slightly, then rethink.

  “No. Go for it, Clem.”

  She slunk off and I checked my phone again, somewhat deflated. Maybe he’d been trying to message me on Facebook. Obviously, Clare knew something about Tim. Probably something he had been up to with Terry. Why hadn't she told me? What was the big secret?
It wasn't that he was married or had kids, so what other problem could there be? The phone rang in my hand and I waited for the obligatory three rings than answered it as disinterestedly as possible.

  “Hello?”

  “Clem, it's me, girl. Can you talk?”

  Jenni's voice sounded strained and high with stress.

  “What's up, Jenni? Why didn't you ring me over the weekend? I wanted to tell you about Tim. And your number came up unidentified.”

  “Yeah, listen, I'm not on my own phone. I haven't been able to ring you. Can you do me a favour?”

  Jenni didn't sound like her usual self. I heard a tone on the line. Someone else was trying to call.

  “Just a minute, Jen, I'll get right back to you. I need to catch this call.”

  My fingers fumbled over the buttons. I saw Jenni's call disappear from the screen and my phone rang out.

  “Hello?” I'd completely forgotten about my coolness and knew I sounded flustered.

  “Hi. It's Tim. From Friday night. Is that Clementine?” Oh, my goodness. Oh, my goodness. Oh, my goodness. The needle stuck on this phrase as my mind froze. I stood up, as if this would somehow improve the call. “Hello?”

  “Hello. Hi. Tim. Yes, it's Clem here.”

  “Clem. I had such a good time the other night. Could I see you again? Was going to suggest Wednesday.”

  Damn. The meeting.

  “I'm so sorry, Tim, I can't do Wednesday. Or Thursday.” Who knew how long the meeting would go on? “Friday would be good, though.”

  Was I being too eager? Would he think I was cheeky, turning down his suggestion and putting my own forward? I bit my nails and waited the nanosecond it took him to reply.

  “Yes, Friday would be fine. Shall I meet you at Romano's at eight? You could bring your friend. Arthur really likes her.”

  No. This couldn't be happening. Was he asking me out so that fucking Arthur could meet Jenni again? I panicked and agreed.

  “Yes. Great. Eight o'clock at Romano's. I'll see if Jenni will come. See you there, then.”

  “Great. See you there. Look forward to it. Bye.”

  “Bye.” I suddenly remembered I didn't have his number. “Oh, wait, can I have your number in case something happens and I can't make it?”

  He was gone. I remembered that I knew his last name now and would probably be able to find his number. I knew I should be pleased. He had called on day three and asked me out. But he had asked Jenni as well. I berated myself for not agreeing to Wednesday. Would it have been just me and Tim, alone? More romantic? But at least I would see him again.

  I flicked on my computer screen and entered my password. Then, taking my lucky penny out of my bag, I placed it on the edge of my keyboard and focused all my wishes for the future on it.

  Chapter Five

  Why couldn't the rest of the week have gone as quickly as my phone conversation with Tim? The days dragged on towards Friday; after decisions about what I should wear, my hair, makeup and manner had been taken, there was just the click, click, click of the seconds ticking ever slower.

  Thursday's meeting added a little spice to the week but was now an anti-climax after the excitement of the previous drama. I made my presentation, Johnny went over the finances and the account was ours. I went to the celebratory drinks afterwards but my mind was elsewhere. My whole focus was on my date with Tim. Clare located me just as I was trying to phone Jenni for the tenth time that day.

  “How's it going, Clem? Has Mr Right rung you yet?”

  “Yes! Just after you left, actually. We're going out tomorrow night.”

  “Oh. That's great. Did you manage to chat any more to him then? You know, about his life?”

  I sensed impending doom and a crossroads between knowing something bad just before a dream date or remaining in complete ignorance. After all, how bad could it be? He wasn't married, didn't have kids and was single. What could Clare possibly want to tell me? I took a chance on the ignorance option.

  “Not really, Clare. But I'll be sure to ask him everything tomorrow. We're just meeting at Romano. Taking it from there.”

  My stomach fizzed at the thought of him standing in front of me, smiling.

  “Great. Well, you do know he lives with his mother, don't you? He's thirty-five and lives at home. You have to ask yourself why, don't you?”

  “Clare, I don't care. I hardly know the guy. But I'm pretty sure he's not Norman fucking Bates or anything like that. I already know he has a couple of exes, so don't worry. I'm not completely stupid.”

  Clare's features relaxed.

  “Oh, so you know about his ex, then. How did that come up?”

  “He just told me in the club. You know, we were talking about being single and he told me he had no baggage, just a couple of longish relationships.”

  “Nothing specific then?”

  “Look Clare, what are you trying to say? What exactly is wrong with Tim that you're so eager to get out of your system? Come on, what is it?” I tossed my head and folded my arms. The room had become a little quiet as I stared at Clare.

  “I don't know, Clem, I don't know any details. It's just that there seemed to be some trouble over his last girlfriend. Something a bit strange. He's a nice enough boy but all this living at home still. I've heard some of the guys making fun of him, but I don't know why.”

  “Perhaps he likes his Mum's cooking? Maybe he wants to look after her? I don't really see what's wrong with that, do you? It seems that you are trying to spoil this for me before it's even started.”

  “Well, you did ask. I just wanted to warn you.”

  “Warn me about what? That someone I am about to go on a first date with lives with his mother? And that he's thirty-five and has an ex? Well, how unusual. Gossip, more like. Because you're bored with your life, you have to interfere with mine.”

  Clare tensed.

  “You see, Clem, this is exactly why I stopped phoning you before. You're neurotic. You have to interrogate everything until you get the answer, and if it's one you don't like then you fire it right back. Just forget I spoke. It’s probably nothing anyway, but I just like to go with gut instincts. Have it your way.”

  She spun round and marched off towards the champagne fountain, filling her glass when she got there and gulping down the fizzy liquid. I stared in disbelief. How could she accuse me of questioning everything? I only asked her because it was clear she wanted to tell me. I pressed redial on Jenni's number and waited, tapping my foot urgently. Where was she? I needed to make arrangements for tomorrow, just to let her know Arthur would be there waiting for her. She usually rang me to tell me she would arrive at my house around eight, but sometimes the call didn't come until Friday after work. I pushed my phone in my bag and made for the door. Johnny rushed forward and held it open, beating two junior executives to the task. He followed me outside and down the steps.

  “Clem, about what you said earlier. You made me feel a little bad.”

  I stopped. Didn't he know I was dying to get home to try on my new top? Checking my irritation at Clare's comments and not wishing to impose it on Johnny, who was smiling widely at me, I composed myself.

  “Oh, really? Why was that?”

  “When you asked if I'd been watching you. Of course I like you, and you're a very attractive woman.” I nodded my head and smiled. Johnny blushed. “But there's someone, let's say a friend, who I'm very interested in. Very interested. She's beautiful, clever, talented, and she has the most fantastic hair.” My hand went automatically to the list, which was still in my bag. So he did fancy me.

  “Aw, Johnny, thanks, I'm touched. But I told you, I just started seeing someone. But thanks anyway, it's very flattering.”

  His gaze focussed closely on me and he looked slightly taken aback. He raised his hands a little then turned and walked away. I suddenly realised that he had liked me all along. Hadn't he said earlier he was just being friendly? Now he was saying this person he liked was a friend. It all added up. I also felt another
little stab of guilt again. In the light of this new revelation, I knew I'd been mean to Johnny, ignoring him and brushing him aside. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had branded him a stalker, someone who waits and watches, secretly lusting after someone unavailable, and a little of this feeling remained.

  I chuckled as I drove home. Men were like buses, nothing for a while then several come along at once. I tried to imagine Johnny naked, his lean body alongside my curvy shape. But it felt like kissing my brother. Not that I had a brother. I just had a sister. Had being the operative word. Charlotte jumped ship when she was sixteen. Barely a year older than me, she went out one August evening and never returned. My mother searched the streets for three years following her disappearance, unable to accept that she was gone. Long after the lukewarm police enquiry into her leaving had closed following three suspected sightings in London, Mum refused to believe that life could go on without Charlotte. After an initial period of mourning her departure, Dad returned to his normal routine and just carried on, day in day out, managing to hide any grief he felt. Inevitably, this caused friction between him and Mum, and when I was twenty-one and could take no more of being second best to an invisible sister, I left.

  To this day, Mum refused to talk about Charlotte as if she was gone. About four years ago, she had Charlotte's sixteen-year-old going-to-college face enhanced to what would be her thirty-three-year-old countenance. The image showed a blonde-haired, tanned, curvy woman smiling out of a digital drawing. Since then, Mum had made an enormous effort to make herself look like Charlotte. She put the same amount of effort into berating Dad about his apparent lack of feelings over his missing daughter and his lack of support for her. I missed Charlotte and often wondered what she would be like today. Would we have gone clubbing together in our twenties? Would she be married? Perhaps she was married. Maybe I was an aunt and Mum and Dad were grandparents. Since that day sixteen years ago, we had not heard from Charlotte. The police detective who came to tell Mum and Dad that the case would be closed had frowned. She told us, in a roundabout way, that since her bank account hadn't been used. Since she hadn't taken her passport and or applied for a new one, and hadn't claimed any benefits, they had to assume the worst. Mum hadn't spoken for six weeks, but Dad went to work the next day and started to build a matchstick galleon in the shed that evening. I started house hunting.