‘No, I don’t work in insurance.’
‘No, I mean, what do you do for a living?’
‘This and that.’
And the cagey-as-fuck award goes to . . .
He takes a long drink from his pint and his hand wanders down to adjust his crotch. ‘Not very chatty, are you, sweetheart?’
Call me sweetheart again and I will end you.
‘It appears not.’
Oh sweet lord, this is just painful. Am I even doing it right? I’m actually grateful that the man of my dreams isn’t sat opposite me, because I’m coming across as a total arsehole. Luckily for me, I suspect giant Harry is an arsehole too so I’m not overly concerned with what he thinks. He unashamedly stares at my tits for a second, then leans in and says, ‘So what’s a decent-looking bird like you doing in here?’
I refuse to put up with this shit. I need to cut this short, even if it means sabotaging my first proper rules-based encounter. He is just too vile. I finish my orange juice and politely tell Harry that I’m leaving, to which he replies, ‘Stuck-up cow.’ It’s then that I forfeit my medal for being restrained and raise my voice to a level known as ‘shouty’.
‘Listen, you sexist prick. For future reference – you don’t sit down at a table unless you’re invited, you don’t say sweetheart and penny for ’em unless you’re in a fucking Dickens novel, and if you’re going to chat someone up, make sure your nose is clean.’
And with that I exit the pub and hail a taxi to take me back to my car. Today was a waste of time. Had I not been following this book, I’m pretty sure I’d have been able to use my eyes to spot potential single men and maybe even have been charming enough to get them to have coffee with me, possibly dinner at the weekend. Instead I’ve wasted an entire afternoon not looking directly at men, before being approached by huge Harry and his amazing interpersonal skills. Is it going to be like this every time I try to meet a guy? Women meet men every single day, going about their lives and behaving normally, not perched prettily on coffee-shop chairs waiting to be spotted by the opposite sex. I’m livid. Who the fuck does this author think he is? I cannot wait to write my column this evening and tell the world that Guy Wright is full of shit.
Chapter Nine
Having a lie-in is my favourite thing in the world, but not when it’s Monday morning and I’m supposed to be at work by nine. My cries of ‘SHIT!’ almost drown out the sound of the alarm I’ve obviously snoozed ten times as I scramble to get out of bed. Grace, who is awake and happily reading a comic, looks startled when I fly into her room at a hundred miles per hour.
‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ I wail, looking for anyone to blame but me.
She shrugs. ‘You didn’t tell me to. Look at the wee puppy here, Mum. He’s eating a banana.’
‘No time for that, Grace-face. You’ll have to get changed for school at Aunt Helen’s. I’m running very late.’
I hand her a uniform, grab her schoolbag and practically hurl her across the hallway into Helen’s house. ‘Can you get Grace organized?’ I plead. ‘I have about ten minutes to get ready.’
I can see the look of disapproval on Helen’s face, but I don’t have time to convince her that I’m not the worst mother in the world.
‘Fine. Just make sure you’re not late for dinner on Wednesday.’
‘Of course not! I’ll be right on time!’ I reply, dashing back into my flat. It’s lucky she reminded me or I’d have completely forgotten.
I throw on my suit, tie my hair back in a slick ponytail and brush my teeth while slipping on my shoes. I’ll do my make-up on the train.
Unbelievably, I make the train with thirty-seven seconds to spare and even manage to get a seat. Just as I’m about to take out my make-up bag, I notice a pregnant woman standing near the doors. I count seven seated men who’ve spotted her and not one of them gets up for her. I’m liking men less and less these days. I close my bag again and catch her attention.
‘Please. Sit here,’ I say, and stand up. She smiles gratefully and squeezes past me to sit down.
‘Jesus, I feel a hippo,’ she says in a broad Belfast accent. ‘Thanks very much for this. I’m only one stop; you can have it back then.’
‘No worries. I’ve been there. When are you due?’
‘Last week. I just want it out now. I’m getting cranky. Seriously, look at the size of me, and yet still I appear invisible to some people.’
I laugh, but she isn’t finished.
‘I mean, not one of these big strapping lads offered me a seat. What the fuck is wrong with the world?’
The man to the right of me looks uncomfortable. He turns the page of his paper and carries on reading, but she’s spotted him.
‘Carrying around another person isn’t an easy job, you know!’ She raises her voice in his direction. ‘Your mammy would be ashamed of you. This wee girl is standing up now and you’re still sitting there! Where’s your manners?’
