As hard as she tried to push these negative thoughts out of her mind, she struggled to keep them at bay, settling on keeping them to herself instead, and developing a dry and sardonic approach to her single status when asked, using humour as a method of defence as she regaled couples with hilarious tales of her forays into the dating scene. Her go-to story guaranteed to have everyone in stitches was the time when a so-called friend had set her up on a blind date with a guy called Henry. They had met in a pub in central London after work. Henry had appeared perfectly normal at first; they had enjoyed some small talk over several glasses of wine before ordering some dinner. Just as Lucy had begun to think maybe this blind dating malarkey wasn’t such a bad idea after all, Henry had leant seductively across the table to give her a kiss. Alarm bells should have rung: rather than a gentle graze of lip across lip Lucy was left with a curious wet patch on her chin. Not to be deterred, she finished her meal. Henry had insisted on settling their bill which was always a good sign as far as Lucy was concerned. After fetching their coats they had made their way to the tube. As they said goodbye, Henry leant in for another kiss. Lucy angled her face bravely towards him and closed her eyes. Nothing could have prepared her for the horror that followed. Henry’s mouth was somewhere between a washing machine on full spin and a Hoover on full suction – the lower part of her face was incomprehensibly engulfed in wet slobber. Lucy squirmed in protest and tried to wrench herself free from Henry’s grip, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve in disgust as she did so. An awkward barrage of excuses followed from Lucy as she beat a hasty retreat into the underground system, desperate to get away from Henry before he mounted a repeat attack. As she sat on the tube, she grappled in her handbag for her mirror, pulling it out and inspecting the damage. To her absolute horror she found the red bruising of a love bite smattered across her mouth and chin. She had had no choice but to pull a sicky the next day and she refused to leave the house until the marks had disappeared. Needless to say she had not seen Henry again. She had given the friend who had set her up strict warnings against allowing some other unsuspecting soul to fall victim to the same fate. As she entertained the masses with her stories she would see a look of quiet relief in their eyes that they were not standing in her shoes; a look of thanks aimed at their partner.
Lucy’s phone beeped, shaking her from her reverie. She opened the message:
Dancing shoes currently hanging in cupboard, recovering. Mondays always hard but doubt my clients got much out of me today! Something to look forward to? Friday, Piccadilly Circus, 8pm? A x
Lucy’s heart danced the tango and she did a victory jig around her coffee table. A date! Hooray! She immediately texted Simon, Lettie and Claudia.
How refreshing, Lucy thought,to receive a text from a man who has taken control, suggested a time and a place, and got on with it. Unlike so many men before him who were just all talk and no action.
She finished her wine and her episode ofMasterchef, a contented smile playing at the corners of her mouth, before getting ready for bed. As she pulled the warm duvet around her, feeling the reassuring weight of it settle over her body, she reached for her phone and texted back:
Great idea. See you on Friday, looking forward to it. L x
She lay back and closed her eyes, falling asleep within minutes, her mind full of possibility.
