AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘How would you like to come on my boat?’ He leers at me, clearly amused by his innuendo.
Frankly, I can’t think of anything worse.
‘I’ve got an Audi TT too. I like to embrace my inner boy racer.’ Ho, ho, ho. ‘I usually leave it up here and get a cab home but if you’re not on the lash you could drive us back to my place. I’ve always got a spare toothbrush on hand if you fancy staying over.’
And then he winks at me. Truly, he does.
Do I seem to be so desperate? How can I be giving off any encouraging vibes when I haven’t said more than three words for the last hour? How can he think that I like him when ever fibre of my being is telling me to go home and scrub myself all over with a hard bristle brush just from sitting next to him? How can there be men in this world who are so seriously lacking in charm? If I stay here any longer, then I will know his entire life story while he knows nothing about me beyond that I’m a hairdresser.
I’ve been brought up to be nice, to be polite, to be kind to small furry animals, but I just can’t do this. It’s not me.
‘Can you just excuse me for a minute please?’ I say.
‘Little girl’s room?’
‘Yes.’ I ease myself from the low-slung sofa that does little to disguise Lewis’s businessman’s paunch.
‘Hurry back.’ He gives me a little wave and then, before I’m a step away from him, returns to his texting.
I see the sign for the restrooms and head in that direction. As I pass the bar, I see the young waiter who served us. ‘How much do we owe for the drinks?’
He tells me the damage and checking that Lewis can’t see me, I hand over the money and a nice tip. ‘Is there a back way out of here?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ he says.
Damn. I’m just going to have to be brave and face Lewis. All I have to do is tell him that this just isn’t working for me and go home.
Chapter Nine
Five minutes’ reprieve in the ladies loo should give me time to think of something pleasant to say to extricate myself. I slip inside and close the door behind me and breathe a sigh of relief. There’s no one else in here and I’m just glad to be alone for five minutes. A date with Lewis is like being cursed with tinnitus – there’s a constant irritating noise in your ears.
I wash my hands, fiddle with my hair and reapply my lipstick just for something to do. Then I notice that there’s a big, well, biggish window at the far end of the room. I look down at myself trying to work out the proportions. Could I get through that? I wonder. My bottom in particular, could well be a problem. It might be a tight squeeze but surely I could manage. Then I could slip away into the night and Lewis would be none the wiser.
Needs must.
I double-check that the cubicles are empty – which they are – and then go to the window. Thankfully, it isn’t locked and I’m sure with a bit of judicious wriggling I could fit through it. Just think Archie getting through cat flap, I tell myself.
Slipping off my shoes, I pull a little padded stool up to the wall and then stepping onto it, I haul myself up onto the windowsill and open the window. Ooo. The ladies room is only on the ground floor but the land falls away beneath the window and it looks a little bit higher than I’d imagined. The window overlooks a walkway that goes between a few bars and, at this time of night, there’s a gaggle of happy revellers wandering back and forth.
Sticking my top half out of the window, I ease and squeeze and wiggle until I’m half in and half out. Now I’m definitely like a fat cat beached on its cat flap. I hear my dress tear but who cares? A ripped frock is a price worth paying to get out of here without being bored to death. Now I’m dangling above the walkway.
‘Hello!’ I shout to the many girls walking by below me, oblivious to my plight. ‘Hello!’ I risk waving my arms.
Eventually a group of about six hefty, hen party ladies in bright pink tutus and DayGlo leg warmers stop to look up at me. ‘All right, love?’
‘Can you give me a hand getting down please?’ I ask.
‘Course we can. What the fuck are you doing up there in the first place?’
‘Escaping from a bad date,’ I explain.
‘I’ve had a few of those,’ the chief ballet dancer explains. ‘Know the feeling. You don’t want to break your neck though. Chuck us your shoes.’
So doing as I’m told, I throw the shoes that are in my hand and she catches them.
‘Good job. Now lower yourself down. We’ve got you, love.’
Heart beating faster, I ease myself off the window ledge, my knees scraping on the brick wall, and sure enough, I feel the secure hands of the ballet dancers grab my legs and hold me aloft. They all totter one way and then the other and a bizarre disco version of Swan Lake springs to mind. Yet within a minute, and true to their word, they manhandle me down to the ground.
