Oh, sure. In fact, give me all of them and I’ll be the girl sitting alone stuffing her fat face while teapot lady remains elegantly cake-less and crumb-free.
‘No, thanks, just the coffee.’
‘I’ll bring it over.’
Common sense tells me to take my coffee to go, but I hesitate. What if my next boyfriend walks in and I’m not here to dazzle him? I make a point of sitting where I’m plainly visible to everyone (men) who walks in, but it’s still close enough to the book group to hear their discussion on Eat, Pray, Love, which means I get coffee and free entertainment. I lean in to listen:
‘I’d seen the movie before I read it, and to be honest I don’t remember Julia Roberts being so self-absorbed in the movie,’ says the one in the scarlet top. She has cappuccino foam on her lip and no one has told her.
‘I agree,’ replies the woman in black next to her. The rest wait expectantly, but she doesn’t say anything else; instead she clears her throat and folds her napkin into the shape of (amazingly) a much smaller napkin. The third woman chimes in.
‘Well, I loved it. It was wonderfully written escapism and the closest I’ll get to living in Italy or Bali. Some of it could have been written specifically for me, what with my recent divorce. It made me ask myself some pretty deep questions. What did you think, Claudia?’ Divorced woman turns her head to look at the last member of the group, who’s been slowly stirring her frothy coffee since the discussion began.
‘Well, Louise, I thought it was awful.’
Louise sighs. ‘Oh really. Honestly, the first book I pick and you’re all dismissing it. It’s sold over eight million copies! Would you care to expand, Claudia?’
Claudia places her teaspoon on her saucer and smiles. ‘Yes, Lou, I would. Let me see . . . I got halfway through and began to question my own existence as it made me want to fucking kill myself because I’ll never be able to unread it. But then I remembered I’d have to come here and relive the whole pasta-eating, God-bothering, inner-peace-finding bullshit with you three! I actually typed “I WOULD LIKE TO DIE NOW” in capital letters on Bing. Not even Google. BING!’
I actually liked that book, but now I like Claudia even more. The rest of the women are just staring at her. Louise looks annoyed. The woman in the scarlet top with the cappuccino moustache is grinning.
Claudia redirects her rage towards the woman dressed in black. ‘You didn’t even read this, did you, Sarah? Come on – what did you read?’
‘I did read it!’ Sarah protests.
Claudia narrows her eyes. ‘What did you read, Sarah?’
‘. . . Doctor Sleep.’
‘Oh, fuck this.’
I’m transfixed. Even the waitress is pretending to clean the table next to me so she can listen in. Unfortunately however, from the way Claudia is gathering up her carrier bags, it looks like she’s decided to leave. She does, without saying a word to anyone. This is the best book group EVER. The rest of the women continue chatting like nothing has happened. I turn my attention back to my rapidly cooling coffee, wondering if anyone with an Adam’s apple is ever going to walk in, but they already have. In fact, while I was so busy pretending not to listen to Claudia’s hilarious meltdown, a man has come in, bought a coffee and is now sitting beside teapot lady. The right side of my brain tells me that it’s likely she knows him, but the left side is insisting that HE CHOSE HER OVER ME. Regardless, I’m not staying here any longer. Time to move on.
I carry on down Byres Road, one sandalled foot in front of the other, shoulders back, determined to give this one last go before I get the tube back to where I’ve parked my car. I feel down but not out. Finally I’m making a real effort to meet men and I shall not be defeated. But unfortunately the weather has other plans. The gentle breeze that greeted me when I came off the train has now turned into a level-five hurricane, blowing my dress and hair in the same upwards direction, so I dart into the first pub I see and head for the ladies’.
After washing my hands with bright green soap I glance in the mirror and laugh out loud. My hair is ridiculous; my look has gone from cafe crawl to saloon brawl. My once perfectly styled curls are now snake-like tangles – if this was ancient Greece, I’d expect to be beheaded by Perseus at some point soon. Opening my bag, I take my comb and try to salvage my hair, even attempting to smooth it under the geriatric hand dryer while hanging on to the crumbling wall to my right, but it’s too late. My heart and my hair are no longer up to the task of finding my soulmate. I sigh and head back into the bar.
Downhearted, I order a small orange juice and sit by the window, waiting for the wind to die down. I’m intently watching a man chase his hat across the street when I’m tapped on the shoulder.
‘Penny for ’em?’
A ruddy-faced man, early forties, with a pint in his hand, is towering over me. Christ, he’s tall – at least six foot five, built like a rugby player, and possibly three sheets to the wind.
‘I’m Harry,’ he announces, and without being asked, Half-cut Harry plonks himself in the seat beside me, exhaling loudly and blocking my view of the hat-chasing man. I stare at him in disbelief.
I’m aware that I have two options. I can tell Harry that he hasn’t been invited to sit down and therefore off he must fuck, or I can take advantage of the fact that I have now been approached (albeit by an actual giant) and take this opportunity to practise some of Guy Wright’s rules for being aloof, mysterious and restrained. I decide on the latter; I’m determined this day won’t be an entire waste.
‘Have you got a name then?’ he asks, playing with a beer mat.
‘Catriona.’
‘Nice to meet you. I’d get you a drink, but you already have one.’
I stretch out my fingers and inspect my nails. ‘It’s fine. I’m leaving after this one anyway.’
Aloof badge earned.
‘Not working today? I’m on a half-day. I work in insurance. What about you?’ He lets out a long, beery belch.
