How to Get a (Love) Life (6 page)

‘Sooo I set you up,’ she said.

‘With who?’ I frowned.

She pointed to the phone. ‘Him.’

‘Who is “Him”?’ I wailed waving my hands around. ‘The telephone operator? The BT man?’

‘No, no. Him’ she pointed at the telephone again. ‘Him, the man I was just speaking to!’

‘WHAT? Who were you just on the phone to?’ I was aghast. ‘This is not a Thai Bride Takeaway service, Caroline; you can’t just sell me over the phone to some stranger. He could be anyone.’

‘No, I KNOW him, idiot child,’ she giggled. ‘I didn’t just randomly dial a number, hear a male voice and think Bingo. Although … that’s not a bad plan,’ she muttered, looking round for the phone book.

‘So which one is he? Brian? Richard?’ I asked, picking up her list from my desk.

‘Oh, he’s not on the list.’ She waved a hand dismissively.

‘Why not?’

She paused and frowned slightly. ‘Hmm … that’s a good question. I didn’t think of him.’

‘Why not?’ I persisted. ‘He can’t be that wonderful if you managed to forget him completely and include, and I quote “Number Five: George – very funny, a
brief
stint in prison in 2010 but might have been a miscarriage of justice like in
Shawshank Redemption
”. So you were setting me up with some guy who has done jail-time before What’s-his-name-Mr-Eligible-Phone -Bachelor-2013?’ I asked, pointing at the phone and panting a little with exasperation.

‘He’s called Andrew. Oh, but he’s lovely,’ she said insistently.

‘I’m sure he is, but I’m not going.’

‘Oh, you must, Nic. He’s very excited about it.’

‘He can’t be that excited – he’s never met me,’ I pointed out, turning back to my desk.

‘He’s
seen
you,’ Caroline said in a voice that made me think that Andrew had, at some point, been sitting outside my flat, clutching his night-vision goggles.

‘Seen me where?’ I asked, spinning back around to her and willing my stalker suspicions to be laid to rest.

‘Around,’ she said, confirming the worst.

So that had been yesterday. Date Number One was planned. Tuesday night. With this Andrew. Caroline had outright refused to call him back to cancel and had then spent the next five minutes solemnly reading me the oath that I had signed only minutes before. So, assuming Tuesday’s date wasn’t the answer, and assuming I didn’t want to leave all my plans for future happiness in the hands of Caroline who could barely remember the names of her children, I knew I’d better start work on a Plan of Action. I decided to start with some research, and soon enough I was ensconced in the local library, a pile of books to my left and some hastily scribbled notes on an A4 pad to my right. I was on a fact-finding mission. I was here to seek answers. I was here to make my search for a Valentine’s Day Date, my search to get a love life, a little bit easier. So far I had read chapters from seven dating and relationships books and two articles. I had learnt the following lessons:

If a man calls a woman she should end the conversation first to leave him wanting more.

If a man calls a woman she should let him direct the conversation: that shows he’s in charge!

When a woman likes a man she should try to mirror his body language.

A man likes a woman who knows her own mind.

When a man likes a woman he will find ways to touch her during their conversation.

When a man likes a woman he can sometimes appear distant in her company.

If a man calls a woman she should not return his call until he makes the third attempt to contact her.

If a man calls a woman she should return his message within the hour. This will show that she is keen!

A woman should be clear in her signals to ensure the man is confident she returns his interest.

A woman should keep her cards close to her chest to ensure the man retains his interest.

A woman should be distant and cold, he will find this intriguing.

A woman should be warm and welcoming; no man wants to date a sourpuss!

A man will always make the first move if he is interested.

A man likes a woman to instigate the first move.

I placed my head in my hands and decided to return home.

Chapter Eight

Single girl seeks man who hasn’t read ‘The Rules’, doesn’t know that ‘Men are From Mars and Women are from Venus’ and calls women back after an appropriate length of time. Oh, and who doesn’t look into what it means if there are no kisses on a text message. Or if there are 3.

Contact: Box No. 78511

The weekend might have proved a dead loss for my research into ‘How to Win a Man’ but it had clearly not dampened Caroline’s enthusiasm for what she insisted on calling her
project.

‘Did you see that episode of
Time Team
last night,’ she asked before I had barely rested my buttocks onto the chair.

‘Er … no. I’m not an avid fan of
Time Team
,’ I admitted, sipping at my Echinacea tea and flicking through my diary.

‘Aren’t you?’ she raised her eyebrow as if this was a fairly sensational statement. ‘So you didn’t see the bit where they were making ale in the old brewery?’

‘Nope.’

‘Well, there was this brewer,’ she explained. ‘Who was quite tall with a lovely build …’

‘That’s … nice,’ I said.

‘Yes. He was sort of a Christian Bale meets Ed Norton size.’

‘Er … right,’ I said, trying to work out how her Christian/Ed mix might morph into a real person. ‘That’s just great.’

‘Yes, not too big, but you know, not … insubstantial.’

‘Good for him.’

‘So, do you like the sound of that, er, kind of build?’

‘Build?’ I furrowed my brow.

‘Yes – in a man. It might be defined as
Muscular
or
Around Average
for a man.’

‘I’m sure it suited him,’ I smiled. Caroline had clearly developed quite a crush on this
Time Team
extra.

‘Good. So that’s a yes,’ she said, suddenly tapping something out on her keyboard.

‘Er … what’s a yes?’ I asked.

She paused. ‘That you like average, muscular sort of men.’

‘Right,’ I repeated, narrowing my eyes.

Caroline nodded happily and went back to her work.

Later, as I ate Monday’s snack of choice: uniform sticks of celery with a bottle of Goji Juice health drink, Caroline suddenly piped up.

‘Eyes.’

She’d been so unusually quiet in the past hour that I’d practically forgotten she was there.

‘Hmm?’ I looked up.

‘Eyes. Are you bothered?’ she asked, finger hovering above her keyboard.

‘Bothered by
eyes
? What?’

‘Do you like men’s eyes?’

‘Well, I usually prefer men to have eyes, Caroline, but I still don’t really get why you’re asking …’

‘Oh, sorry, I just mean do you care what colour people’s eyes are, um, usually. Like, in general.’

‘No, Caroline,’ I exhaled slowly. ‘I am a fan of all eye colours. They are all equal in my book. I don’t dislike one type of eye. I am not eyeist.’

‘So people can have any colour eyes, in your book?’ she added.

‘Yes, they can go mad and buy coloured contacts for all I care. It’s a free country, after all.’ I shook my head. Caroline was quirky, but she’d really been excelling herself in the last few hours.

‘Right. Good. So you don’t mind people having any coloured eyes … and that includes men, does it?’

‘Yes, women, men, children. Are you regularly in contact with people who have issues with eye colour?’ I asked in an exasperated tone.

‘No, no, no,’ she said breezily, tapping at her keyboard. ‘I’m just curious. I prefer blue myself, but I just wanted to see what, you know, other people liked.’

‘Right,’ I said, distracted by the ringing of the telephone. I answered with the usual patter. ‘The Sullivan Agency, Nicola speaking.’ Moments later I was rifling through my out tray for a contract that should have been signed first thing that morning. I gulped and jumped up. James was, thank goodness, in the vicinity so all I needed to do was ensure he signed it and then I could courier it over. How had I forgotten this? I scolded myself. I’d allowed all this personal commotion to distract me from my work.

I knocked timidly on the door to James’ office and waited. He was probably doing something horribly important and I hated rushing in and imposing administrative duties on him. I could hear him talking on the other side of the door. He didn’t have a meeting so I assumed he must be on the telephone. I looked at the contract in my hand. I had to have it signed and sent out in the next half an hour. There was just no time to wait. I took a breath and knocked again a little louder. I heard a quick, ‘Come in’, and pushed open the door. James was pacing up and down the room, talking into a blue vase that he had looped around his neck with some kind of frayed ribbon. My brow creased in panic. He was saying things like, ‘Well just order something in suede then’ and ‘Peter Jones is a great idea’ into the vase. I hesitated. What was happening? Why was my boss speaking rapidly into a piece of handblown glass that was precariously balanced around his neck? I knew he was stressed and busy but had he finally tipped over the edge?
Should I run for help? Maybe I should get Caroline, at least? Oh God. Caroline is useless in a crisis.
There was nothing in the office guidelines to cover a moment like this. I knew this because I’d written them.

‘Yes, yes, no, it’s just Nicola. Okay fine,’ he was saying to the vase. ‘Yes, go ahead then. Okay. Bye.’

He signed off with the vase and I gaped at him. ‘Er, Mr Sulli, James, I wanted to … I needed to …’ Now I had
completely
forgotten why I was there. My eyes flicked back to the vase around his neck.

‘Nicola, this must look a little strange.’

I sighed with relief. He had at least noticed that he was coming across
unusually
.

‘Well, I didn’t want to say but I … you see … um … CONTRACT,’ I eventually shouted, brandishing the bunch of paper before him. ‘I wanted you to sign this,’ I said, finally remembering the original reason for my visit to his office.

‘You have small hands, don’t you, Nicola?’ he stated.

‘Er …’

WHAT was going on today?

‘Um, yes. I suppose they are fairly small,’ I said in a barely-there voice.

‘Well, you’re a woman so they must be smaller,’ he muttered, unlooping the vase from around his neck.

‘… Smaller than what?’
Children? Hobbits? What was he on about?

‘You see, Nicola, I have managed to, er, drop my mobile phone in this vase and I can’t get it out because of all these stupid blue baubles that keep sliding out and getting in the way. I don’t want to smash it because it is a present from Thalia and she is bound to ask me to produce it at some point and I don’t—’

‘—Fine,’ I put up my hand to stop his explanation. Then I smiled at him. The relief in my face must have been apparent because he started laughing.

‘Probably looks like I’ve lost the plot, eh?’ he hazarded a guess. ‘Talking to the vase?’

‘Something like that.’

He placed the vase on the desk and I peered inside. I could make out the mobile phone but knew my hands weren’t that small. I had a go. James looked at me hopefully as I plunged my hand in, face scrunched in concentration, fingers wriggling around to see if they could clasp at anything. Every time we tipped the vase, the blue baubles slid over the phone.

‘I’m sorry,’ I gave up after a good five minutes of digging around.

‘Hammer it is,’ James sighed, realising there was little chance of seeing his mobile again otherwise. ‘Thanks anyway, Nicola.’

‘Not at all.’ I shrugged. A few awkward seconds passed before I remembered again why I was there. ‘Contract! I need you to sign it!’ I explained holding out a pen and the pieces of paper. He quickly scrawled his name on them and before he could say anything else I bolted back towards the main office. Curiosity overwhelming me, I paused in the doorway. ‘So how did you answer the …’

I was cut off by his mobile ringing again and watched as he produced a biro, leant over the vase and jabbed at the mobile. Then he grinned at me. ‘Hello,’ he answered. ‘Hi Thalia, you’re on loudspeaker.’

I smiled back and nodded at him. He shrugged his shoulders and put the vase back around his neck.

I was still smiling as I returned to my desk.

‘Oh good, Nicola,’ Caroline began the moment I’d taken my seat.

Oh God.

‘Yes,’ I sighed.

‘I’m just sitting here thinking of all the latest films at the cinema and I’m wondering what your favourite film is.’

‘Um … I can’t think, I don’t have a favourite.’

‘Oh.’ Her shoulders slumped. She looked crestfallen.
Wow. She must be really interested in films.

‘I like a good drama,’ I said, trying to buck her up a little.

‘Oh goody! Any one in particular? Say,
Legends of the Fall
? Or
The English Patient
?
Last of the
—’

‘—Yes, yes
The English Patient
, that’s my favourite,’ I said quickly, before she continued her list of movies.

‘Righto.’ She beamed at me and clicked her mouse. She was a strange one.

The morning passed by in a similar vein. By 2 p.m. Caroline had asked if I played any unusual sports, had enquired as to whether I was a Christian, a Hindu, an atheist, a Sikh, an agnostic or ‘other’ and had wanted to double-check I was definitely the youngest child in my family. I’d been desperately busy doing paperwork and had answered her questions quickly without wondering why she was suddenly so concerned about my religious well-being and sporting hobbies.

Then at around 2:11 p.m. she said, ‘Um … Nicola …’

‘Yes, Caroline,’ I said, anticipating a question on the type of books I read or my preferred choice for a city break, or the regularity of my bowel movements.

‘Um … Do you like children?’ she asked casually.

‘Like them? Um …’

I didn’t know. The truth was, I was a little bit afraid of children. They were fragile, stamped ‘Handle with Care’, utterly reliant on you. And then there was all the poo and smells and germs. But I could hardly say that to Caroline when she doted on her own two little treasures.