Year of Being Single (16 page)

‘All right?’

‘Yes, thanks.’

‘Do you need to slow the pace?’

‘No, I’m okay.’

‘Think you’ll make it to the end?’

‘I hope so.’ She looked at his muscly legs pumping in impressive rhythmic fashion. ‘You’re very fit,’ she noted.

‘I’m a PE teacher.’

Of course he was.

At least she didn’t get a stitch this time, and when they got to the end of the run she mercifully didn’t feel like she wanted to die. She just had to sit down for ten minutes with her head on her knees saying, ‘I’m fine, I’m fine.’

Afterwards, he walked her to the edge of the car park.

‘Can I ask you something, Frankie?’ His beautiful eyes were boring into her. She was transfixed by them. ‘Are you married?’ Of course, he must have noticed her wedding ring. She still wore it. Actually, she didn’t dare attempt to try and get it off – she feared it wouldn’t pass her knuckle.

‘I’m separated.’

‘Oh. Good. That’s great.’ He looked really pleased. ‘Would you like to go out sometime? Could I take your number?’

Her heart gave a little leap. Would she like to go out sometime? She’d split with Rob to give her some time on her own. She was supposed to be single, and single for a year. She’d taken that pledge, with the girls, and she thought she’d keep it, easily. But he was so handsome, she was bored, she could do with some fun in her life and she needn’t tell anyone…

‘Yes. Okay. I’ll give you my number.’ He pulled his phone from his sports bag and tapped it in. Then slid the phone back into the front pocket of the bag. All the while he had a really intense look on his face. He was really looking at her. In her eyes. At her lips. Now she felt really funny. She felt all
wibbly
. She looked into
his
eyes. She looked at
his
lips.

‘Great,’ he said again. He stepped towards her. Then another step. When she thought he couldn’t get any closer, he got closer still. Her heart started pounding – what was happening? – and, before she knew it, they were kissing. Kissing! He had his hand on her left sweaty bum cheek. She had her fingers in his lovely hair. They were really going for it. They kissed for ages. Ages. She clutched on to him like a drowning woman to a lovely big, life-saving rock. He finally leant away from her, his lips flushed and a big grin on his gorgeous face.

‘I’ll text you,’ he said and bounded off into the car park.

‘What have you been up to? Your face is bright pink.’

Imogen had texted her as she walked – or rather swooned – home from Tesco’s, asking if she was free to meet for a quick coffee. Imogen was with Grace in town (James wasn’t having Daniel this weekend – he’d gone to the New Forest, with
that bitch
) and as Frankie was too wired to go home, she’d detoured to meet them. What the bloody hell had just happened? She’d kissed a man she barely knew, a man she’d met twice. They’d just kind of leapt on each other. It was unprecedented. It was so out of the blue… It was absolutely bloody fantastic.

‘I went for a run. The clue is in the outfit.’ She looked down at herself. It was a dry day and the trainers were still pretty pristine.

‘You?’ said Imogen, getting her purse out of her bag to pay for coffee.

‘I used to run, remember? I’ve decided to take it up again. I’ve joined a running group.’

‘Yeah, I remember. Good for you. Any hot men?’

‘If there were, I didn’t notice.’

‘So there were some?’

‘No.’

‘Well, great,’ said Imogen. ‘I’m pleased you’re running again. You used to love it.’

‘Does running make your chin all red?’ asked Grace. She was peering into the counter and deciding between a blueberry muffin and a millionaire shortbread.

‘Apparently,’ said Frankie vaguely. ‘So what have you two been up to?’

Imogen shrugged. ‘Not much. Just working.’ She started studying the Starbucks menu, above the counter, though they all knew exactly what was on it.

‘Just working,’ echoed Grace. ‘And staying in a lot. You know how it is.’

‘You’ve got that big do coming up haven’t you? James’s grandmother’s thing?’ said Frankie. ‘You still going?’ She wished she hadn’t met up with them now; she was feeling far too flustered, but she thought as long as she kept the conversation off her, she could get through it. When she got home would be the time to jump up and down and screech her head off.

‘Yes,’ replied Grace. ‘I’ve decided just to go on my own.’

‘Really?’ said Imogen. ‘I could come with you?’

‘It’s not your thing,’ said Grace. ‘And thanks again for
your
offer, Frankie, before you say anything. Honestly, I’m fine going by myself.’

They were now at the front of the queue and gave their order. Frankie knew it wasn’t really post-workout fare but she ordered a hot chocolate with whipped cream – she needed the sugar. As they sat down at a table she said, ‘Well, I’m impressed, Grace. Going on your own. I think that’s fabulous.’ Grace never went anywhere on her own. Frankie
was
really impressed.

‘Thanks, Frankie,’ said Grace. ‘I appreciate it.’

‘Good being single, isn’t it?’ said Imogen.

‘Hmm,’ said Frankie and Grace, and the three of them sat with their heads lowered and stirred their drinks.

Chapter Twelve: Grace

Anyone coming out of the Tube, as Grace was, in the five o’clock April sunshine, would have thought ‘Blimey, that’s an attractive man’. A
really
attractive man. He was leaning against a glass-fronted poster and wearing a perfect dinner suit and a handsome, amiable face that said he would make a great friend, boyfriend or husband. What a catch. He was gorgeous. He simply looked
lovely
.

Grace was surprised someone hadn’t got there before her and dragged Greg away. She wouldn’t have blamed them. He was a technicolour dreamboat. He certainly made all those terrible online dates she’d been on fade away, which was quite a feat, as most of them were still messaging her. She had to block Tasting Menu guy; he kept sending her photos of his pudding. Even on the way here she’d had a message from Tim, the man who’d bailed out on her, asking if she still wanted to go on a date. He did seem fairly normal and had provided a photo at last, of him halfway up a mountain (a real rock climber this time!) looking smiley and genial, but of
course
she didn’t. She had Greg.

He was outside Her Majesty’s Theatre in London’s West End. Nana McKensie’s one hundredth birthday treat was to take one hundred members of her family and friends to see
The Phantom of the Opera
– her favourite musical; she’d seen it over thirty times, apparently – followed by a private party in one of the theatre’s bars. Grace had been thrilled with the plan when she’d first been told of it, almost a year ago. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d asked James to take her to see a musical. He’d said West End shows were for girls or for gays, which was typical James. She always said, well,
she
was a girl, but that had never held any sway. James was not known for his political correctness. ‘How’s the gay?’ he always used to ask, about Gideon.

The girls had never wanted to come to the theatre with her, either. She understood their reasons: Frankie said it was all too poncey for her and she never understood what on earth was going on, and Imogen didn’t do musical theatre as she saw enough
normal
theatre. It was okay. To Grace, it was a romantic thing to do, going to a West End show. Some things she didn’t want to do with the girls. Some things she wanted to do with a man. Thank God she’d found her
plus one
.

‘Hello, again,’ said Greg.

‘Hello,’ said Grace.

‘You look lovely,’ said Greg.

She was in a long velvet evening skirt, corset top and choker, and some sparkly black pumps. She’d tried on and discarded several outfits, before going for this one. She really wanted to look special tonight.

‘Thank you, so do you.’ Some men didn’t suit a dinner jacket and bow tie. Greg did. He looked like he’d had another haircut since she last saw him. In the sunlight she could see some grey at his temples; it was very attractive.

‘Shall we?’

Greg took her hand and they walked up the small flight of steps and into the lobby. Sun was streaming through the windows and Grace had to narrow her eyes to make anyone out. Ah, yes, there they all were, most of James’s family, dressed up to the nines – earrings and necklaces and shiny shoes and well-polished bald patches all catching the light. Maggie, in a long tie-dye skirt and ruffly blouse, rushed up to give Grace a huge hug.

‘The guy from the sandwich shop?’ she whispered in Grace’s ear. ‘He’s
gorgeous
!’

‘Yes,’ said Grace, pulling back. ‘This is Greg. Greg, this is Maggie.’

‘Hi, Greg.’ Maggie beamed as Greg shook her hand. ‘And don’t worry,’ she said, giving Grace’s arm a congratulatory squeeze, ‘my far from punctual brother’s not here yet. Hopefully you won’t bump into him at all. Mum’s over there.’

Gloria, James’s Mum, gave Grace a small wave and then came over, rustling in black taffeta. ‘Grace,’ she said, enveloping her in a light embrace. ‘Nana told us you were coming. I’m so glad you have. And you’ve brought a date!’

‘Er…yes,’ said Grace nervously. ‘This is Greg.’

‘Well, hello. Lovely to meet you. And what does Greg do?’

‘Service industry,’ said Grace.

‘Marketing,’ said Greg, at exactly the same time.

He laughed. ‘I’m currently in the service industry but hoping to start my own business. Marketing.’

‘Fabulous,’ said Gloria. ‘And where did you two meet?’

Grace looked at Greg. They should have worked all this stuff out. Never mind meeting him in advance to check he looked like his photo, they should have compiled a cheat sheet for tonight.

‘We met while out walking,’ he said. ‘I have a very friendly Labrador.’

‘How lovely,’ smiled Gloria as Grace gave an internal sigh of relief. ‘Well, I hope you have a good night. Nana’s holding court somewhere. Oh, yes, there she is.’

She pointed out Nana McKensie over by the ticket office, resplendent in faux fur and pearls and surrounded by a circle of people all laughing their heads off. Grace smiled. She adored the lady.

‘Well, I’ll see you later.’ Gloria stepped forward for another brief hug with Grace. ‘I’m sorry about everything, dear. But, he’s my son, what can I do?’

Grace nodded. ‘It’s okay.’

A bell sounded and a baritone voice came on the Tannoy to announce four minutes until the start of the performance. Greg put a protective arm around Grace as they slowly climbed the plum-carpeted Victorian staircase with smartly dressed family chattering excitedly around them. There was an air of glamour and anticipation, of this being a wonderful treat and celebration. He steered her gently and expertly towards her seat – Nana McKensie had booked the entire balcony – and smiled benignly at the elderly theatregoers seated near them as they took theirs. He was the perfect gentleman. Grace sat down, taking a quick look around her. There was still no sign of James.

‘Okay, Grace?’ Greg asked.

‘Fabulous,’ she replied. And the lights went down and the curtain went up.

Grace loved it, right from the start. The music, the set, the atmosphere – she soaked it up, every drop. She caught Greg looking at her a few times, and knew her face would be rapt and full of delight. She glanced at him, too, his profile fixed in concentration, his eyes taking it all in, and smiled to herself. She was delighted to be sitting next to such a gorgeous man.

The Phantom made his first appearance. Greg suddenly reached for Grace’s hand, in the dark. She almost gasped. He’d taken her hand as they’d walked into the theatre, but there was something about this, in the dark, and the way it took her by surprise, that caused a heavenly tingle to travel up her arm and along and around her whole body. She revelled in this feeling; it was gorgeous, thrilling. She hadn’t experienced such a feeling for a long time. That tingle didn’t go away until the house lights went up for the interval and she reluctantly let him release her hand.

‘So, you’re really into musicals,’ he said, as they made their way to the bar. Grace had pre-ordered interval drinks, a beer for him, a red wine for her. He looked so handsome in the glow of the red velvet and dark wood bar. She was happy just to stand and look at him. Everyone was in high spirits, women in sparkly cardigans and hairspray, men in smart casual and hair gel, all talking ten to the dozen and laughing and drinking. There was a lovely whiff of olden-day luxury and good times. Maggie waved from across the bar and gave a thumbs up.

‘I used to be,’ said Grace. ‘I saw quite a few, growing up.
South Pacific
,
Joseph
,
Les Mis
. You?’

‘I’ve never been to one before,’ he admitted. ‘But I’m really enjoying it. It’s great. Thank you for inviting me.’

Booking you
, Grace thought. She’d be transferring the money to him when she got home tonight. She tried not to think about it. ‘My pleasure,’ she said. She smiled. He smiled back. They slipped into a companionable silence and sipped their drinks.

‘Tell me about your relationship history, before James,’ he said, after a few moments.

‘Why?’ She was taken aback.

‘I’m interested. I want to know.’

‘Okay.’ What did it matter if she told him? She took a gulp of red wine and rattled off a potted history, as quickly as she could, considering hers was a long roll call of boyfriends. She started at school and ended with James.

‘So, no gaps?’

‘No, not really.’

‘Is that why you’ve hired me? So there isn’t a gap?’

She thought about it. He was absolutely spot on.
No gaps!
That summed up her whole romantic life. ‘I think it is. Gaps frighten me.’

‘They shouldn’t. It’s nice sometimes to have an empty space. A blank space. Time to clear your head, think about what you want in life.’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Grace hugged her glass of red wine to her; there was nowhere to put it. She wasn’t sure if she agreed with Greg.
Did
she want to think about what she wanted from life?
Did
she want to work out what she was going to do next? She wasn’t sure she was ready. She wasn’t sure she wasn’t absolutely terrified.