Glasgow Girl’s about to find out . . .
I FOLLOWED THE RULES
Chapter Six
Kerry buries her face in the magazine and laughs loudly. We’re having a rare Saturday lunch together and she’s insisting on reading my column aloud, as if I don’t already know what it says.
The Scottish author using the cringeworthy pseudonym ‘Guy Wright’ explains that there are certain rules I should be sticking to when attempting to find a man who’s also in the market for live music, romantic strolls and eventual genital contact, followed by fighting, marriage, apathy, hair loss and death.
‘Oh my God, this is so wrong. How are you ever going to manage this? One rule per week, or what?’
‘Well, there are ten rules and each applies to certain points in the relationship, so I guess I’ll just hope the first few work, then wing it.’
She stops at a point halfway down the page. ‘“Be unique”? What the fuck does that even mean? You’d better not become one of those pricks who knits their own pubes into a hat and sells it on Etsy.’
‘It means I have to “stand out from the crowd” so that I can be noticed by one of the seventeen single men who still fucking exist in Glasgow—’
‘Sixteen,’ Kerry interrupts. ‘Masood from my work just started seeing someone.’
‘I don’t even know who that is, but I feel cheated.’
Kerry snorts and continues reading.
Making eye contact is a no-no. This isn’t a job interview. I’m supposed to look anywhere and everywhere else, ensuring my gaze doesn’t meet his, otherwise he’ll assume I’m desperate to have his babies and drag him down the aisle, brazenly eyeballing him as I do so.
She looks genuinely confused. ‘So how will you know if he’s noticed you?’
‘Because he’ll approach me and propose right there and then. Besides, I plan to set my limbs on fire and do star jumps – it’ll be impossible not to notice me.’
Finally she closes the magazine. ‘I have no idea how you’re going to do this with a straight face, but it’s going to be HILARIOUS. I cannot wait to read the next one.’
If Kerry of all people is reacting like this, then I imagine a lot of readers are. Natasha will be thrilled.
I get up from her brand-new cream John Lewis kitchen table and switch on the kettle. The flat Kerry shares with Kieran isn’t huge, but you can tell it’s owned by two people who really have their shit together. Everything matches, everything is clean and nothing is out of place. You can also tell that it’s not inhabited by any children; otherwise this beautiful kitchen table would be covered in snot and crayon stickmen.
‘Well, following the rules of engagement can’t be worse than whatever I’m unsuccessfully doing at the moment,’ I say, taking a mug from the draining board. ‘You want coffee?’
‘No, ta, but you can grab me a Diet Coke from the fridge. Maybe it’ll actually work. Maybe this time next year you’ll be happily attached and shamefully pregnant out of wedlock.’
‘Well, one can dream.’
She smiles and glances at her wrist. ‘Shit, it’s quarter past three. I’m going to have to throw you out soon. I’m getting my hair coloured at four.’
‘That’s OK; Peter’s bringing Grace back to mine anyway. Are you staying brown or changing it to something weirder?’ Kerry’s hair has been every shade imaginable, including some colours that don’t technically exist.
‘I’m keeping the brown for now. As much as I’m tempted to get bright white streaks, I think I’m getting a bit old for all that now.’
‘I don’t think many accountants have fashion colours in their hair anyway.’
She glares at me. ‘I work in finance; this does not make me an accountant. And the correct answer is: “You’re not old, Kerry. You can have fun hair if you like, Kerry. I LOVE YOU, KERRY.”’
I pour my tea, then hand her an ice-cold Coke from the fridge. ‘Of course you’re not old! Thirty-five is the new twenty-five. We’re both in our prime.’
‘Really? So how come you’re so set in your ways? When was the last time you went a bit wild?’
I think for a moment. ‘I slept naked the other night. Totally in the buff. Does that count?’
‘Not if you were alone, no.’
