Helen glowers at me – she knows I’m about two seconds away from making an ‘oral’ joke and ruining her life. I bite my tongue.
Helen sees us both out, with Adam shouting his goodbyes from the living room. As she closes the door behind us, I breathe a sigh of relief and fumble through my bag for my keys. The evening went off without a hitch, I now have some material I can use for the –
‘Cat, would you like to have dinner on Friday?’ Tom’s voice echoes down the hallway, causing a thousand butterflies to take flight from the pit of my stomach. With my hand still inside my handbag, I turn my somewhat confused face towards him.
‘Dinner? With me?’
‘Yes. On Friday. Are you free?’ He’s standing very close to me.
I hear a muffled squeal from the other side of Helen’s door.
‘Actually, no, I have a work thing that evening. I might be able to do Saturday though, if that suits?’ My voice is cool but inside I’m far from it. Inside I’m running down the street shouting, ‘A MAN ASKED ME OUT! I MIGHT GET TO HAVE SEX THIS YEAR!’ I feel my cheeks colour.
Good lord, he looks so delightfully sexy. I want to drag him by the tie into my flat and insist that he . . . I don’t, of course. I just smile back; hand still in my bag.
‘Saturday’s fine with me. Can I have your number?’
‘Sure, it’s 0783—’
‘Oh, shit. Sorry, Cat, my mobile is in the car. I can give you mine?’
Guy Wright’s words scroll in front of my eyes like the opening scene from Star Wars.
Let him take your number but don’t take his. Women have no boundaries when it comes to texting. Before he knows it, you’ll be sending him 170 smiley-faced texts a day and crying when he doesn’t respond quickly enough.
‘That’s OK, I’ll write mine down.’ My hand stops looking for my keys and reroutes into the zipped pocket of my bag where I keep my notebook. I flip through to a blank page, scribble my mobile number down, then tear it off and hand to him, like a fucking BOSS. I’m getting the hang of this.
He examines the number before slipping it into his right pocket. ‘Great. Well, I’ll text you and we can sort the details?’
‘Sure,’ I reply. I want to kiss him. Goddammit, I want to invite him in. I want to point to the left and explain that my bedroom is literally just through that wall and it hasn’t seen any action in months. Then I remember that my bedroom is a mess, there are dirty dishes piling up in the sink and Grace has probably forgotten to flush the toilet again, leaving me to exclaim, ‘That’s not mine!’
‘OK, well. Goodnight then, Cat.’ He leans in and we do cheek-kissing before he walks away with my phone number, promising again to call. I count to four before Helen flings open her front door and peers at me with a face like a Disney villain.
‘Things going according to your evil plan?’ I ask. ‘Will you be taking my voice in payment?’
She quietly closes the door behind her. ‘Actually, I thought you’d blown it with your one-word answers and complete lack of interest, but your silly rules seem to have worked. With my help, of course.’
‘Don’t get ahead of yourself here. He might not even call, and I’m certainly not going to be sitting by the phone. I doubt I’m his type.’
Helen throws her head back and laughs. ‘Just this once, can you think outside the box, Cat? You know what they say – opposites attract!’
‘But you’re missing the point, dear sister. Tom thinks I’m quiet – reserved even! Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally into him – for once you were right . . . but what happens to his opinion of me when the real me tumbles out, wild-eyed and swearing? I can’t keep her hidden forever.’
‘I know.’ She laughs. ‘He’ll run a mile. You’d better make sure you at least shag him before that happens.’
‘My thoughts exactly. Did you see his—’
Adam’s stubbly face appears around the door. ‘Is anyone going to help me clear away these dishes?’
Helen sighs and about-turns. ‘OK, grumpy. Night, Cat. Let me know when he calls you!’
‘Night, guys . . . I’M NOT HOLDING MY BREATH, YOU KNOW!’
Moments later, I’m inside my flat, pouring myself a Baileys and doing my best not to check my phone. He probably hasn’t even made it home yet.
At quarter past twelve, I turn off the television and get ready for bed. Face washed and teeth brushed, I slip under the sheets and turn off the light. I enjoy the silence, letting my mind drift off for an impressive twenty-two minutes before I bring my phone through to the bedroom and check for a message. I could easily continue checking for the next three hours, but instead I turn it off and close my eyes, refusing to be the kind of woman Guy Wright blames for her own singledom.
Chapter Ten
