I nod. After Helen went to university, mum coped because she still had me around. But five years later it was my turn, and she begged me not to move into student digs. Maybe I should have stayed, but I desperately needed to spread my wings: I left for Manchester. Helen and I visited as much as we could, but I could tell she was lonely. For instance, everything in the house was spotless – it wasn’t the home of someone who had a life; it was the home of someone who had nothing else to do but clean.
‘It’s hard,’ I sigh, my lip beginning to tremble. ‘What if this is it? Just me and Grace until she moves out? Mum might have been able to cope with that, but I couldn’t. I don’t want this to be . . . it.’
I wipe away a tear before it begins its descent down my face and then reach in to hug my sister, who squeezes me back tightly. ‘You’ll be happy again, Cat, and when Grace comes home to visit, she’ll come back to a home that’s full of life, not one that’s shrouded in memories. Don’t ever let a man get the better of you – that’s all Peter is. Just one man. Now, pull yourself together and make me a decent coffee – this stuff tastes like tar.’
I sniff and laugh at the same time, taking her half-full cup with me to the kitchen. I feel exhausted but hopeful. Fuck today. Tomorrow will be better.
The Lowdown magazine – Saturday 8 November 2014
My choice or yours?
In the modern world, dating is a two-way street. Relationship decisions are made together and, in between all of this important and undoubtedly sexy decision-making, men and women have meaningful conversations, touch below the waistline and happily participate in all the fun things that are forbidden in The Rules of Engagement.
I’m not allowed to do any of this. The only decisions I get to make are what to wear on the date of his choice and, eventually, the best way to dispose of his body when I inevitably snap. But I promised to follow the rules until the bitter end, and I’m a woman of my word.
But an unexpected obstacle got in the way: Mr X was taking far too long to organize our third date and I was forced to move things along myself. Why? Because my deadline waits for no man; not even a handsome English one with a gym membership and stylish hair.
I’ll admit – I did things I’m not proud of. With a little help from various people, I randomly appeared at his workplace wearing something low-cut and then pretended I had better things to do other than be there, even though I had actually spent the whole day plotting the situation. It wasn’t my finest hour, but it worked. The following day we had lunch.
It was a very pleasant lunch, my chat was marginally more interesting (his was certainly more revealing) and neither of us felt the need to overturn the table and have a full-on fist fight by the end of it. He isn’t perfect, but then, neither am I.
Oh, did I mention that we kissed? Yes, our lips touched and saliva was exchanged, as was talk of another date. It’s a good day to be me.
So what happens on date four? It seems I’m still not allowed to choose the venue or reveal anything about myself that might cause him to cry or vomit. Oh, and still no sex. Not even outside-the-clothes crotch rubbing is allowed at this stage. I hope this is killing him as much as it’s killing me.
Chapter Thirteen
Back in the office today and I’m pleased to see Leanne back from her holiday looking slightly sunburned and sporting hair braids. She swoops on me when I walk in.
‘You’re here! I looked for you at the station this morning! I’ve just caught up on your column and I’m expecting you to buy me sweets to thank me for recommending this genius book. Tell me about your mystery man – I want details!’
‘It isn’t genius, Leanne, it’s fucking torture.’ I place my jacket over my chair and sigh as I sit down. ‘And it’s hard bloody work.’
Her head tilts to one side and she throws me a sympathetic look. ‘I know. You have to make compromises. I remember when I first started seeing Charlie. I had to pretend that I didn’t find The Big Bang Theory funny or watch clips from Pitch Perfect on a daily basis because he despised those things.’
‘But Pitch Perfect is THE ultimate film!’ I point out, completely ignoring The Big Bang Theory – I’m with Charlie on that one. ‘This is crazy. Why are we changing who we are for men?’
‘Because you’re all nuts?’ mumbles Gordon, without even looking up.
‘No, because Charlie was more important than amazingly funny female singers engaging in voice battles with hot geeky men. Now we’ve been together for two years, and he loves me enough to not care that I love them almost as much as I love him.’
I look over and see both Patrick and Gordon pretending to work but smirking like schoolboys.
‘What I’m saying,’ she continues, ‘is that once he loves you he won’t care that you’re a bit off the wall. You just have to limit what he finds out until that happens.’
‘Off the wall? Are you implying I’m weird?’
‘Not at all!’ she protests.
‘Yes, she is,’ Patrick mutters.
‘Shut up, Patrick. All I’m saying is you’re different and that’s why we all love you . . . Don’t say anything, Patrick!’
Patrick does as he’s told, slinking out of the office with his coffee mug, tail between his tiny legs. He hates it when Leanne tells him off.
‘So when’s the next date? Has he called yet?’ Gordon interjects. I glance round to see him tearing pages out of a newspaper. ‘For our fourth date, I took the wife to a hotel in Aberdeen.’
‘Against her wishes?’
