Well, stop laughing and go and fucking ask him.
‘I’m sure she’s a really lovely person,’ I sigh, suddenly eager to end the call. ‘I’ll pass on your comments though! Thanks again, Megan. Take care.’
We say goodbye and I hang up, feeling deflated.
‘I’m not unbearable, am I?’ I ask Leanne, back at my desk. ‘Megan Black’s boyfriend hates me and calls me “The Bitch”.’
‘Of course not!’ she answers immediately. ‘Although . . . never mind. No, you’re lovely.’
‘Although what?! Tell me.’
‘Well, you were really unkind to Guy Wright this week in your column.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t that bad.’
She lifts a copy of Saturday’s mag from her desk, turns to my page and recites:
If you purchased this book, the author is laughing at you. Despite the fact women have been successfully dating long before he piped up with this self-helpless shambles of a book, he’s clearly preying on single women who are on the edge of a dating breakdown. When you’re desperate to meet someone, you’ll consider anything, and your £5.99 (minus the cut from his agent and publisher) means he gets to think he’s right until someone tells him he’s wrong. I look forward to being that person.
‘Well, maybe it’s a little harsh . . .’ I reluctantly agree. ‘But I was pissed off. Do you know, I wasted a whole day last week, ignoring and being ignored by men, except for one horror show who called me “stuck up”. I’m sorely tempted to give up.’
‘Aww, Cat. Never give up! You have to keep trying! Anyway, I was just pointing out that you can be quite . . . well, blunt about things.’
I want to grab her by the cheeks and yell into her face, ‘BUT YOU JUST SAID I WAS LOVELY’ until I realize that perhaps these are the things that make me unbearable.
‘What I will say is that you have to change your attitude,’ she continues. ‘Stop taking the piss out of it. Once you start believing it’ll work, it will! I’m living proof.’
‘Fine, you’re right,’ I reply. ‘I’ve still got weeks of this utter sh— uh, compelling challenge left. I shall try to be a beacon of optimism from now on. In my column anyway.’
‘Good for you! You’ll meet someone. I just know it!’ She swivels back around in her chair and carries on typing, while I give her the invisible finger.
*
Rose texts me just as I’m leaving to tell me Grace is happily eating fishcakes and so not to rush picking her up. As I’m texting her back, a call comes through from Kerry:
‘So, this Filmhouse thing – is it going to be all arty folk who want to talk about experimental cinema and bore me into a coma?’
‘I have no idea actually. It might just be media folk who’re only there for the free booze. Either way, I have a spare invite and I insist you come. Otherwise I’ll be stuck with work bores all night.’ I smile over at Gordon who’s mouthing the words ‘Fuck you’.
‘OK, but only if I can borrow your long green mac. I’ll pop round on Wednesday to get it and we can catch up.’
‘Sure, sounds great – oh wait. Sorry, I said I’d have dinner with Helen and Adam on Wednesday. Thursday?’
‘Yeah, OK. Gotta get back to work. See you then!’
*
The day of Helen and Adam’s dinner, I pick Grace up from school and bring her home to have a snack and get changed for her dad’s house. I have to get her there by five thirty and then get back in time for dinner. But now that I think about it . . . I have no idea when dinner is.
‘Grace, I’m popping over to Aunt Helen’s for a sec. I’ll just be in the hall. Don’t set fire to anything.’
Helen is cleaning her flat like a woman possessed and doesn’t hear me knock the first three times. I stand and wait for the sound of the vacuum cleaner to stop before attempting a fourth.
‘Oh hello!’ she says. ‘Just a bit of tidying for tonight. You’re still OK for tonight, right?’
Oh how I want to mess with her and send her spiralling into a panic, but I don’t have the time or the heart. Her make-up-free face and pulled-back hair tells me she means business. The smell of chicken wafts from the kitchen.
‘Helen, that smells amazing. Yes, I’m still coming. I just wondered what time . . . Hope you’re not doing all this for me. You know I’m not bothered if your house is untidy.’
