Alice Brown's Lessons in the Curious Art of Dating (26 page)

And then he’d raised an eyebrow and given her his filthiest look.

Lou wouldn’t let on, but she’d been pretty excited. A whole night with Tony, and the morning after too! He’d never offered her this before; things had never progressed beyond a few hours after their shifts before he scuttled back to Suzy with the smell of Lou on his skin. He’d certainly never taken her anywhere in his car, let alone shelled out for a posh room at the city’s hippest hotel. In fact, Lou wasn’t sure she’d even seen Tony in daylight before. Their business and pleasure had all taken place at work, in the basement bar with no windows. Maybe it was finally happening, she thought. Maybe he was thinking about leaving Suzy . . . for her! Lou had felt a delicious tingle of power, packed her best, tiniest underwear and headed to the bathroom for a night of diligent depilation.

But now it was one o’clock on Saturday morning, and the last of the Friday-night drinkers had staggered up the stairs and out into the street. Jake had bolted the door and Paul was cashing up. There was no sign of Tony.

Lou furiously started to collect empty glasses, beer slops spilling unnoticed as she slammed them onto the counter. He wasn’t coming. He’d fed her all those lines about having a special night together, about how he couldn’t wait to feel her naked skin against sheets rather than their usual upright shuffle against cold bottles and sharp-cornered packets of crisps. He’d got her hopes up. She’d let herself imagine. She was plucked, buffed and moisturized to perfection and her overnight bag was waiting expectantly in the office. But Tony wasn’t here. She’d kill him. With her bare hands! Or failing that she’d administer a serious, hard-to-
explain-to-Suzy injury with a forcefully applied slops bucket.

She clashed two towers of pint glasses together and marched around the bar on another circuit of glass-collecting. She could see Jake and Paul exchanging glances. Well, they could think what they liked. She was buggered if she was going to calm down. Being a rational, unflappable deputy manager wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Despite herself, Lou couldn’t help looking in the direction of the stairs, hoping to see Tony bounding down them, car keys and erection at the ready. Every time she looked she got angrier, not just with Tony but with herself. She wasn’t the kind of girl who got taken in by blokes. She knew men weren’t to be trusted; they were good for one thing only. And Tony wasn’t even much good at that. Didn’t she frequently have to suppress the urge to tidy the optics halfway through?

Eventually the tidying up was finished, and Lou had no more reasons to keep them all there.

‘Right, well, thanks lads,’ she said tersely. ‘You can go.’

Jake and Paul looked at each other with relief.

Lou grimly went to the office to fetch her overnight bag. The monitor was on, its camera trained at the bar. She swore. So much for watching her all night in a state of suspended, tongue-hanging-out lust. She switched it off and left the room.

She made her way up the stairs, set the burglar alarm and locked the front door. She looked down the street. There was no waiting BMW; just her nightly minicab, its exhaust puffing into the night. She was going home. Alone.

Wearily she opened the cab door, nodded to the driver and immediately wished she’d had a cigarette before setting off.

‘Good night?’ the driver asked cheerily.

‘Does it look like it?’ Lou muttered sarcastically. She looked out of the window and unseeingly watched the city speed past.

‘Here . . . it looks like you could do with one.’

She looked round. The taxi driver was waving a cigarette over his shoulder, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the road.

‘Are you sure?’ she asked in surprise. ‘Won’t the fag police bang you up for crimes against lungs?’

His eyes met hers in the rear-view mirror. ‘You’re my last fare; I think I can risk it!’ His eyes crinkled up to show he was smiling.

Lou took the cigarette. She lit and inhaled. As the smoke made its way into her lungs she felt a warm prickle of contentment. It was amazing, the power of cigarettes, she thought. The anti-smoking brigade would never get it. They thought they could change smokers’ minds by printing scary words on the packet, or by making revolting TV ads with blackened innards or cigarettes oozing pus. As if that was going to work! Any blithering idiot knows fags are bad for you. But what the do-gooders fail to grasp is that fags are
good
for you. Cigarettes make you feel better, plain and simple, she thought. Smoking is one of the best feelings in the world.

She sat back and puffed indulgently. She looked at the driver, or what she could see of him in his rear-view mirror: his eyes, eyebrows and the bottom of his forehead.

‘You look familiar.’

‘Yeah, well, I take you home three times a week. You’re normally a bit happier than tonight, though. Wanna talk about it?’

‘No!’

‘Wanna hear a joke?’

‘No!’

The taxi pulled up at some traffic lights. Lou’s attention was suddenly drawn to three drunken girls in miniskirts, weaving their way home. Two of the girls were holding the other one up. All were staggering as they struggled to balance on their four-inch stilettos, which didn’t look so sassy with half a kebab spiked on the heel. The drunk mate with puke on her shirt wasn’t such a hot accessory either.

‘England’s green and pleasant land, eh?’ the taxi driver said sarcastically.

Lou looked back at him. He was laughing to himself. How old was he, she wondered? It was hard to tell with her limited view. But he looked to have a full head of hair, and his top looked modern and OK. And he had nice eyes. From her position in the back she could see the left side of his face, shaded red from the reflected glow of the traffic lights. He had a bit of stubble, but good skin. Young-looking skin. And a strong jaw.

Could she?

Should she?

Well, why the bloody hell not? Tony had had his chance and he’d blown it. He was too busy playing house in the suburbs with Sunbed Suzy and their gruesome 2.4 kids.
She was going to kill him when he next showed up at the bar. How dare he mess her around like that! Who did he think he was? Well, fuck him! She’d show him.

She leant forward in her seat, letting her coat fall open to show the low V of her blouse. She took a long drag on her cigarette, tipped her face to the car ceiling and then slowly exhaled, her mouth a deliberate Cupid’s pout.

‘What did you say your name was again?’ she asked the taxi driver with a vampish smile.

Alice stood outside Greenfingers garden centre, frowning as she waited for the doors to open. Her trip was normally reserved for Sundays, but after the stresses of last night she felt the need for the immediate soothing balm of plants.

‘Problem?’ asked Dudley as he unlocked the door and let the early-bird enthusiasts trickle in.

‘Hmmm? No, I’m fine. Thanks, Dudley. How are you?’

Alice hadn’t slept much last night. She couldn’t believe Ginny and Dan’s relationship was in trouble. She’d always thought of them as a perfect couple. Miserably she’d watched the red numbers on her alarm clock flick to 4 a.m.

But now it was morning and it was uncharacteristically sunny. She rushed to the outdoor courtyard and surveyed the scene. She always took a few moments to drink in the restorative powers of the calm natural picture before her: the gorgeously healthy rows of plants and the constant gentle babble of the water displays. Her pilgrimage never failed to wash away the problems of the week.

But today as she looked at the courtyard her whole body felt heavy. What with Sheryl’s accusations, her terror of
going to the ball and then the terrible reality of being at it, it had been one hell of a week. Every night had been a sleepless one. But last night . . .
last night
had been the worst of the lot. Her own unhappiness was one thing; the unhappiness of her friend was quite another.

She moved into the first row of plants. The tulips were beginning to bloom, like giant upside-down purple droplets balancing on the end of plump stalks. She picked one up, noticing how reassuring the cool pot and earth felt within her palm; how simple in comparison to her spinning, overheated head.

Alice wandered up and down the rows of budding cowslips and violets. Bit by bit all thoughts of Ginny, Audrey and Sheryl seeped away and she began a delicious descent into being well and truly lost in the world of the plants. Tiny rivers of soil began to form in the skin on her fingertips as she caressed the plants, carefully checking the earth for moisture levels and stroking the downy leaves. It was her own version of therapy, and infinitely cheaper. Slowly, without her realizing, her tension lifted, her eyes brightened and everything creaked and twisted back into place. Twenty minutes later she stood tall again, her shoulders opened up and her face lifted to the sun.

Alice turned into the final row of greenery, gently humming to herself as she hugged several plants to her body. At the end of the row she noticed a fellow early-bird gardener, bent over what looked like a Stachys byzantina. Alice smiled in recognition of a like-minded garden-lover. He was definitely a gardener, not just a dabbler. He was
delicately stroking the plant’s leaves between his thumb and forefinger, savouring the velvety touch, and looking for all the world as though he were kneeling before it in reverential worship. Alice hugged her plants closer, feeling a sudden warm glow of happiness. This was what mattered. Not office politics, or worrying about what people thought of her. This was where Alice was Alice and nothing could touch her. It was her special place. She smiled and turned back to her inspection of the row. She reached out to touch a plump daisy.

‘Alice?’

A voice broke the tranquil quiet. Alice jumped, as the world rudely barged back in. Reluctantly she turned to see who it was.

It was the garden-lover at the end of the row, who had turned to face her. With a shock she realized she knew him.

It was John.

‘Alice! It’s good to see you!’ He was smiling at her warmly.

Her brain whirred at breakneck speed. It was John Cracknell! What was he doing here? Did he like gardening? He looked different from before – more relaxed. And, wow, she’d forgotten how incredibly handsome he was.
Those eyes!
She quickly looked away from his face, and with surprise she saw his old, faded jeans with a patch of dried earth on one knee, his muddy boots and his fleece, ripped on the arm. He looked like a gardener. He
was
a gardener.

But then Alice’s mind darkened . . . Was Audrey with him? What if her boss suddenly stepped from the rows of greenery, ruining her special place forever . . . ? And what
if John was – at this precise moment – having a mental flashback to her snot and tears at the taxi rank? But as she looked at him something flashed at the front of her brain in big red capital letters. ‘He’s just like me!’ it said. And then it vanished.

‘Er, hi,’ she stuttered, suddenly aware that she’d forgotten to brush her teeth that morning.

‘I was just admiring this Stachys byzantina. It’s great to see them in bloom again.’

She was aware that he was looking at her, expecting her to say something. She tried not to look at his face; something about looking at him directly seemed to make her blush.

‘I didn’t know you were a gardener,’ she blurted. ‘I mean, Audrey never mentioned it.’

She noticed a funny expression flash across his face and then disappear.

‘I
love
my garden,’ he said. ‘It’s the most important room in the house.’

Alice nodded. What a great thing to say! But how weird that John Cracknell should say it. And what did this mean? Surely Audrey couldn’t be a gardener too? Impossible! Alice tried to imagine her watering her garden, talking to her plants, or diligently kneeling in muddy earth as she lovingly planted a freesia. Surely she couldn’t have got Audrey so wrong? She hoped not. She didn’t like to think of herself as being in any way the same as her boss.

‘Is, uh . . . is Audrey with you?’ She tried to keep her voice light.

John laughed.

‘No.’

He sounded very definite. So Audrey wasn’t a gardener after all! Alice tried not to let the relief show.