All the Single Ladies (24 page)

I smiled and gazed out of the window, wondering how he’d come to the conclusion that was just like me.

The choice of venue for my second date with Ben is critical. As is the day. And the timing. So, while he’d actually asked me out on Saturday, it had to be twenty-four
hours earlier. And, rather than the eight o’clock start he’d suggested, it had to be five-fifteen. Fortunately, he was very understanding about the non-existent great-aunt’s
non-existent birthday party that I can’t miss in Solihull tomorrow.

‘You believe in starting early, then, Samantha Brooks?’ he smiles as we sit in the least offensive corner of the Fat Pheasant. Ben is sipping lager, and has been polite enough not to
mention that his drink looks like the sort of industrial waste that causes birth defects.

I stick with a bottle of Budweiser on the basis that I personally watched as it was opened (so know that it isn’t contaminated with whatever’s festered in the beer pumps for seventy
years). Plus, the last time I ordered wine here I received a liquid that would only have tasted right sprinkled on fish and chips.

‘I just thought it might be easier, given it’s a Friday night, to come straight from work, rather than rush home and go through the palaver of getting a taxi back,’ I tell
him.

‘I’d hate you to go to any effort on my account,’ he teases.

I give him a playful nudge, then the door opens and my heart nearly stops. A man enters who could be anything between the ages of twenty-five and seventy-five and is sporting trousers that look
a century older. I relax momentarily.

Ben and I are, without question, the two best-groomed individuals here, despite both wearing jeans. Admittedly, mine are my posh Ted Baker ones that I squeezed into in the loos at work, before
commencing a beautification regime that involved a full makeover, underarm shave and manicure. I bunked off at four o’clock to do it, though obviously my attire is low-key enough to give the
impression that I just threw it on.

My date looks every inch as gorgeous as I’d hoped, if not more so. He is in uber-cool casual gear, the sort Jamie would covet almost as much as his six-pack. At least, that’s the
plan. Because a lot’s riding on my ex-boyfriend’s reaction when he arrives in – by my calculations – half an hour.

The time goes surprisingly fast. If you’d told me an hour ago that I’d be able to think of anything except Jamie, I wouldn’t have believed you.

What I hadn’t counted on was Ben being so entertaining. My theory about him being a player must be bang on: he has confidence and charisma in spades and you can see a mile off that
he’s trouble. If I really was looking for a snog from this guy – rather than what I am looking for – I’d be concerned. He’s flirtatious, funny to the point of
occasional hilarity and self-deprecating enough to come across as a genuinely nice guy. In other words, he has those killer factors that obviously leave women falling at his feet (and I don’t
just mean elderly cat-owning neighbours such as Mildred).

Fortunately, the only feet I’m interested in are Jamie’s and, as I look at my watch and realize it’s ten to six, I wonder where the hell they are.

‘Is everything okay?’ Ben asks, sensing my unease.

‘Yeah. Sure. So tell me a bit more about your job.’

Ben tells me all about his life as a vet and some of the time he spent abroad . . . et cetera, et cetera. It’s interesting, but there comes a point at about 6.03 p.m. when all I can think
about is whether Jamie’s ever going to turn up.

Maybe I presumed too much. There is a possibility that he won’t come, slight as that seems, given that there hasn’t been a Friday night since he started at the phone shop when he
hasn’t stopped by for an after-work drink.

With Ben in full flow, I glance at the door again as it creaks open and a group of young, besuited men files in. The first is vaguely familiar, the second I definitely know. But it’s the
third I’m most interested in. He hasn’t seen me – but he’s going to, any second now. And I wonder what on earth Jamie will think when he does.

My ex-boyfriend is quickly engrossed in a conversation with the barman, who, incidentally, looks like he’s walked out of a haunted house. My heart is pounding through my
ears and I’m not listening to a word Ben says, even though I’m looking steadfastly at him. Actually, that’s not true. Every few seconds I glance at Jamie. He still hasn’t
seen me, and after a while I realize I’ve got to act.

So I take a deep breath and a giant slug of Budweiser, and gaze with loving infatuation into Ben’s eyes. He doesn’t instantly notice my shift in demeanour. But gradually, as I nod,
feigning interest with dreamy eyes, his expression softens.

‘So,’ I say, putting an elbow on the chair behind him and flicking back my hair. ‘The dates you’ve had since joining the website . . . has nobody fitted the
bill?’

I hold his gaze brazenly, despite being so firmly outside my comfort zone that my bones are almost creaking. Ben looks entirely unfazed. He doesn’t attempt to remove his eyes from mine. In
fact, the corners of his mouth turn up. ‘They hadn’t . . . but I guess I’ll have to let you know.’

I’m the first to look away, and can’t decide whether it’s due to the heat spreading up my neck, or my unstoppable urge to check on Jamie. Infuriatingly, he remains
engrossed.

‘Um . . . Ben, excuse me a minute. I’m going to pop to the Ladies.’

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t go near the facilities here for fear of catching something that’d require a course of strong antibiotics. I wouldn’t even hover over
these toilet seats in case the germs on them pole-vault in my direction in a bid to escape.

However, the toilets have one thing going for them: location. While I don’t get to walk directly past Jamie to reach them, they are in his general vicinity. I head across the room
maintaining the illusion that I haven’t seen him and doing my best to look sophisticated – which is a word probably last used here when they got their first delivery of Blue Nun.

To my utter frustration, I reach the Ladies without a second glance from my ex-boyfriend.

Inside, I top up my lipstick and fluff up my hair, satisfying myself that I look as hot as physically possible for the big walk back. However, as I push open the door and my eyes flash to where
Jamie was . . . he’s gone! I don’t believe it. I really don’t believe it. I’ve brought a perfectly nice man to this noxious hole of a place – and all for nothing.

I head back to Ben and he catches my eye and smiles. I smile back, simply because it’s impossible not to.

He’s still grinning when I reach our table. ‘Interesting choice of venue.’

I hold my hands up. ‘It’s hideous, isn’t it?’

‘I’ll be diplomatic. It looks like the sort of place where they’d lock up hostages. How come we’re here?’

I laugh. ‘Shall we go somewhere else?’

‘Most definitely.’

With Ben’s hand on the small of my back as I stand, something propels me to glance to my right. It’s for a split second, but that’s all it takes. Jamie hasn’t left the
building at all. He and his colleagues have simply moved to the other side of the bar . . . and he’s glaring at me.

My legs wobble as we approach the door and I feel Jamie’s eyes burning into my back. Then Ben does something that under any circumstances would make my heart do somersaults – but, in
full view of Jamie, it almost sends it cartwheeling around the pub.

He holds my hand. As if it’s the most normal, natural thing in the world.

I look up, momentarily startled, and he responds with a squeeze as two contradictory thoughts race through my head: doing this in front of Jamie is horrendous, and it couldn’t be more
perfect.

The rest of the date is a slightly strange affair. Ben seems to enjoy himself, and I put on a semblance of doing so too. But my mind is elsewhere. Namely, trying to work out
why Jamie didn’t follow us into the Bar and Grill on Fenwick Street when we headed there for cocktails.

At first, I think it’s not his sort of place, being way too clean for a start. But, after a while, the question starts to gnaw at me.

I’m torn between, on the one hand, thinking that tonight was a great idea in my quest to make Jamie realize what he’s lost, and, on the other, wondering if I’ve vastly
overstepped the mark. Maybe he thinks I’m a floozy. Maybe he thinks I don’t love him any more. But, and this is worse than both of those scenarios: maybe he thinks . . . so what?

The thought that my little trick has left Jamie underwhelmed tortures me for the entire evening. Which is a shame because I’m vaguely conscious that I might be enjoying it otherwise. Ben
is funny, warm, good company and, yes, okay, spectacular eye candy. He’d be irresistible if I really was in the market for this.

But I’m not. So at the end of the night, when he goes to kiss me, I don’t respond as he expects. Instead, I pull away and smile, kissing him briefly on the cheek. It’s obvious
this isn’t a situation he’s used to.

‘A coffee’s out of the question, then?’ he laughs.

‘I only drink tea at this time of night,’ I smile, semi-apologetically.

‘I’m sure I could make do with PG Tips.’

‘I’m sure you could,’ I laugh. ‘Hey . . . it’s been lovely. Thank you.’

‘No, thank you.’ He adds cautiously, ‘I’d like to do it again . . . if you would?’

I pause, thinking hard about my plan and whether this is really the right strategy.

He rolls his eyes and laughs at my slowness to answer. ‘If it’s that unappealing a prospect . . .’

‘It’s not unappealing at all. Send me a text and we’ll sort something.’

He nods and backs away with a big, unabashed smile, blowing me a kiss with his hand. ‘Sleep tight, then . . . and I’ll catch you soon. If you didn’t catch anything from that
pub.’

Over the next two days – in the absence of any contact from him – I’m consumed with what Jamie must be thinking.

Then I bump into Lisa in Liverpool One on Monday lunchtime as she’s coming out of Hollister. Yes, Hollister. Even I feel intimidated in there, such is its colossal degree of coolness. Not
that that bothers Lisa, who today is sporting Uggs, a nursing-home-chic cardi and a voluminous floral skirt that could accommodate half a boy-scout camp.

She’s laden with bags and surrounded by children – her own and another couple she appears to have accumulated – and panting so heavily I half expect a lung to pop out of her
mouth as she thrusts the buggy down a step.

‘Hey, Lisa!’ I call, while two buff male shop assistants rush to her aid.

‘Oooh – hiya!’ she waves, as three bags plummet to the floor. An assistant picks them up. ‘Ta for that,’ she winks, surging towards me. ‘Just the woman
I’ve been meaning to phone.’

‘Oh . . . why?’

She plonks the bags on the ground and pauses to catch her breath. It takes several minutes – at least it feels like it. ‘What’s this I hear about you having a new
man?’

I stiffen. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘Jamie told me yesterday.’ She says this with a distinct undercurrent of indignation. ‘You’re a quick worker, I’ll give you that. I thought you were still in love
with my brother. Idiot that he is.’

I think carefully about how to handle this. ‘It’s nothing serious, Lisa. Honestly.’

‘So he’s just a friend?’

I bite my lip and try to work out a diplomatic answer. My instinct is to reassure her that he’s nobody and Jamie has nothing to worry about. But that would destroy the object of the
exercise, so I hedge my bets. ‘He’s nice – but it’s nothing compared with what Jamie and I had.’

She narrows her eyes. ‘So you do still want our Jamie back?’

‘Lisa, you know I do.’

‘Hmm,’ she says, as one of the children pulls her skirt and starts a conversation about whether they can go to McDonald’s for lunch. Then another pipes up to ask for some
M&Ms. And another about what time his mum’s picking him up. Eventually, there are so many voices fighting to be heard, it’s like the trading floor of an investment bank.

‘Had I better leave you to it?’ I scrunch up my nose.

‘Yes . . . no . . . ohhh,’ she says distractedly as she momentarily steps forward and lets the kids chirrup among themselves. ‘I tell you something, though. He’s as
jealous as hell. The idiot.’

My ears prick up. ‘Really? What did he say?’

‘One or two things.’

‘Such as?’

‘It wasn’t what he said, but the way he said it.’

I sigh. ‘But what did he say?’

‘Hmm. Strictly speaking . . . nothing. Except that you have a new man. But that’s not the point.’

I frown.

‘All I’m saying is – and it’s a feeling so you’ll have to go with me on this one,’ she says, tapping her nose knowingly. ‘When he first told me
you’d met someone else, I admit I felt a bit annoyed, what with me doing all I can to persuade him to see reason.’

‘I still want him back, Lisa, I promise. And your efforts are appreciated.’

She flashes me a beaming smile. ‘Are they? Aw . . . well, you can buy me some chocs when he moves back in. That’s when – not if. I’m that confident.’

‘Really?’ I ask hopefully.

‘Really. I’d bet my house on it. Not that that’s saying much, given the state the kids left it in this morning.’

I laugh. ‘Did you buy anything nice?’

‘Flip-flops,’ she says, producing them from a bag. They’re the same as the pair I’ve seen on the Hollister promo posters, worn with denim hot pants and a barely there
bikini top. ‘What do you think? I thought they’d be smashing with a nice comfy tracksuit.’

As I look up, I spot someone and am saved from having to answer. ‘Oh look, there’s Dorrie.’

‘I haven’t seen her for ages,’ Lisa hoots. ‘Dorrie! Dorrie!’ she calls, and Jamie’s childhood friend turns and waves. As she walks over, she slows
slightly.

‘Oh . . . hi, Lisa. Sam,’ she says with an uncomfortable smile. Despite wearing torn jeans and a casual vest top, she looks as gorgeous as ever.

‘What have you been up to?’ Lisa asks, nudging her.

‘Oh me? Not a lot. How are you, Sam?’

Dorrie has been Jamie’s friend since they were three foot tall and she knows me only as his girlfriend – so this moment is clearly awkward for her. It’s the first time
she’s seen me since the split. I want to reassure her that there’s no need to feel uncomfortable, and that her loyalties needn’t feel torn because, no matter what happens,
I’ll have nothing but goodwill towards Jamie. But now is neither the time nor the place.