Page 26 of The Late Bloomer’s Playlist

Madonna/Sam Smith (with Madonna)

MATERIAL GIRL/VULGAR

David tilted his head to one side, then the other, then back again, but this time further. He was making me feel like a piece of abstract art. I didn’t think it should be that hard to work out what I was going for with the outfit. Smart, mature woman, ready for an evening wander around an art gallery, pretending to be highbrow, understanding, and informed. I would have thought it was obvious from the pencil skirt and loose-fit blouse I was wearing. I was torn between a blazer and a cardigan, which was actually what I’d asked for David’s help with – but he hadn’t stopped bloody staring at me since I’d walked into the living room. Any longer and I thought I might–

‘Will you answer the bloody question about the cardigan?’

–snap.

‘I don’t think it’s the cardigan that’s the problem,’ he said eventually, his eyes still narrowed. ‘Have you considered…’ David tucked his right hand into his armpit and cradled his chin with his left-hand fingertips; his eyes were at a squint now, and his lips puckered. ‘Have you considered burning the outfit and just starting from scratch?’

I threw the cardigan at his head, shortly followed by the blazer. ‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Okay.’ He wrestled his way free of fabric. ‘Well, maybe you should.’

‘You’re an arse.’

I wandered out of the living room, already yanking at the zip of my skirt as I went. David came padding out after me. I could hear the suck and release of his old man slippers on the floor, and I wondered when he’d last let one of his other women see him in those! Even David wasn’t Hefner all of the time, I thought spitefully as I yanked my blouse over my head and threw it onto my bed. It landed neatly on the mound of other clothes that both Fred and Lucy were using as a nesting space.

‘So at least my clothes are good for some– David!’ He stuck his head around the door, either ignorant or uncaring to the fact that I was half-dressed. ‘I’m not even decent,’ I snapped again, though the fact that I was boldly standing with my hands on my hips and making no effort to cover myself up may have undercut my outrage slightly. Still, it was bloody rude of him.

‘I know, you gorgeous creature.’ He winked. ‘I’ve now seen you semi-naked more than the average man my age sees his wife semi-naked in any week. Aren’t we good at being married? Now’ – he beckoned me towards the doorway – ‘come and see what we can find you.’

And of course I followed. Silly, silly Patti, I was already thinking as I traipsed half-naked down the corridor after him.

‘I really don’t think anything you…’ I petered out as I came to a stop in the doorway of his bedroom.

David was already positioned, rump in the air and humming away to himself – is he singing to ‘Material Girl’? – throwing one item of clothing after another out of the bottom drawer in his wardrobe. Something brilliantly red landed at my feet and I picked it up, held it shoulder to shoulder, and saw it was a slim-fit dress with a panel missing to reveal a portion of the wearer’s midriff.

Abso-bloodly-lutely not…

‘What is all of this stuff?’ I asked.

He looked up and assessed the damage to his room. ‘Things women have left behind.’

‘But this is a whole outfit?’ I gestured with the dress, and David smirked.

‘I know.’

‘David, my love.’ He turned to face me as I spoke. ‘I appreciate the effort, I really do. But I’m not sure you’re best placed to be helping me with this decision, after all.’

David’s frame of reference for good first-date attire was how easily removable something was. And while I loved that – for him – it wasn’t exactly the sort of message that I was looking to give Sheila. If I could find something to convey “you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in at least twenty years, I’d love to buy you dinner and maybe, further down the line, sleep with you with the lights off”, that would be my dream outfit for the date. Not only did I feel like I was asking too much though, I felt a bit like I might have been asking too much from David specifically in helping me find something that matched that tone.

‘Hm.’ His shoulders bounced with the noise. ‘Maybe you’re right.’ He repositioned himself on the floor to free his phone from his front pocket and within a hot second, he was pressing the handset to his ear.

‘David, who are you–?’

‘Ssh.’ He held a finger up and everything, and like a knee-jerk response, I felt my eyes widen. ‘Oh please, like I’d call for a chat…’ he said into the mouthpiece once the recipient had answered. ‘Patti is trying to choose her outfit for the date and… I know, that’s why I… Yes, can you bring wine? Red or white… No, we already have gin… Perfect.’ He threw the phone onto the small mound of clothes that was lying next to him once the call had ended. ‘Why don’t you go and finish getting out of that?’ He gestured up and down the remains of my draft outfit with a judgemental index finger.

‘Who did you call?’

‘Reinforcements.’

At least the reinforcements are bringing wine, I thought as I landed on David’s bed; doubly cushioned by the clothes beneath me. I made the foolish mistake of looking down at my half-clothed self while I was waiting there, too, and my husband knew exactly where that was going.

‘Don’t even start…’ he cautioned me with a raised eyebrow.

‘There’s a reason you don’t sleep with women my age.’