Alice Brown's Lessons in the Curious Art of Dating (37 page)

Alice tried to smile, but she suddenly felt nervous.

‘I see a future for us, I really do.’ His forget-me-not eyes met hers. ‘I haven’t had a relationship for a really long time, and now that I’ve met you I don’t want to lose you.’

Alice’s smile froze. Why would he lose her? What was wrong?

John sighed heavily. ‘There’s something I need to tell you. I want you to know the truth so that we can move on . . . together.’

‘Oh, God, you
are
married . . .’ Alice blurted in a panic.

‘No.’

‘It’s Audrey, then. You’re having a relationship with her after all.’

Alice was beginning to feel sick.

‘Kind of,’ John said haltingly. ‘That’s what I need to talk to you about.’

Something hard settled in the pit of Alice’s stomach. She should have known this was too good to be true. John was too good. Women like her didn’t get to go out with men like him.

‘Things are complicated,’ John admitted.

He stared at the table, apparently lost as to what to say next.

‘So, you and Audrey are more than just friends?’ Alice heard herself ask. She could barely stand to hear his reply.

There was a long pause.

‘Audrey and I have a . . .
business
relationship,’ John said quietly.

‘What?’ In her surprise Alice forgot her nervousness. ‘Do you work in matchmaking as well?’

‘I work in a . . . related industry.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Please, Alice.
Please
don’t jump to conclusions.’

His eyes begged her. She nodded dumbly.

‘Audrey and I have a business relationship . . . where I agree to . . .
accompany
her on certain evenings.’

He looked at her to see if she understood. She looked back at him blankly.

‘Like the evening you met me. I wasn’t there as Audrey’s friend. I was working.’

‘What do you mean, working? Are you something to do with DIPS?’

‘Women – women like Audrey – can book me to come to functions with them. To be their surrogate partner.’

She still looked blank. John waved away the waiter who had approached their table, and took her hand in his again.

‘These women are single,’ he explained gently. ‘And usually their function is a work do or a wedding that they can’t get out of; they
have
to go to it. But they’re really worried. They’re embarrassed about going on their own. Or maybe they don’t want people to know they’re single. And so they book me to go with them.’

There was another pause.

‘I don’t understand.’ Alice’s voice came out small, almost a whisper.

John held her hand more tightly.

‘Alice, taking these women to functions, well, that’s my job. I escort them.’

‘Escort them?’ she echoed hollowly, her brain racing to keep up with the truth, but her heart already urging it to slow down and not get there.

‘Yes. They book me through my agent, and I accompany them wherever they need to go.’

She looked at his hand as it gripped hers tightly.

‘Alice, I’m a . . .’ He took a deep breath. ‘I’m a professional escort.’

There was a pause. The words fell on Alice’s ears. Something began to sink in. A cold, numb feeling crept through her body like a poisonous anaesthetic, shutting parts of her down as it went.

‘So these women pay for your company?’ Her voice was tight and strange.

‘Yes.’

‘And you do whatever they want?’

‘Well, not exactly. They pay for my company, nothing else.’

‘But you act like their boyfriend? You’re theirs for the night?’

‘I suppose so, yes.’

‘And this is your job? To go out with women for money?’

‘Yes.’

‘And that’s what you do for Audrey? That’s what your “special relationship” is? You pretend to be her husband, and she pays you to do it?’

He gave a small, silent nod.

Gently, Alice pulled her hand away.

‘Alice, please . . . Let me explain. It’s not as bad as it sounds.’

‘I’m not stupid,’ she said quietly, her voice shaking. ‘I might be easy to mock because I’m single and I like gardening and I don’t follow fashion. But I’m not an idiot. I know what this means.’

‘But it doesn’t mean what you’re thinking!’ John tried to reach for her hand again.

‘I do live in the real world, you know.’

‘I know, of course. But I promise, hand on heart, I escort them, nothing more.’

Alice struggled for breath, careful not to let John touch her. If he touched her she’d crumple, and she couldn’t risk that. If there was one thing she knew in the midst of this confusing, terrible wreck of an evening, it was the absolute certainty that she must not cry. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t even get the air into her lungs. ‘I need to go home now,’ she managed to force out. ‘I need to think.’

‘Yes, of course,’ John said reluctantly. ‘But please, don’t think too much. This isn’t what you imagine. I’m still the same man.’

Alice stood up.

‘Be open-minded,’ he implored. ‘Just like you tell your clients.
Please
, Alice! Take your own advice.’

Quietly, Alice headed for the door.

It was midnight.

Pickles had gone for a protracted nocturnal prowl and Audrey lay in bed feeling utterly, dreadfully alone.

She couldn’t sleep.

Nothing worked: not hot milky drinks, nor counting sheep, nor a second glass of sherry. Nothing.

She hadn’t slept properly since the night of the ball, and things had only got worse since her terrible phone call with Geraldine. Questions kept swirling around her head, silently but deafeningly filling her mind, like an irritating advertising jingle stuck on repeat. Why was John refusing to take her bookings? What had she done wrong?

She lay unmoving, stiff within her nightie like a stone effigy on the lid of a tomb. It didn’t make sense. She hadn’t
done
anything. She didn’t look any different. She hadn’t said anything different. She’d just been as she always was.

So why was he doing this?

The only possible explanation was that he needed space to make sense of his feelings. He must have become confused, realized she was no mere client – that she was
someone special. Maybe that was why he’d put some distance between them? To pave the way to a new kind of relationship. That would explain his coldness when he’d dropped her off after the ball, and why he wouldn’t let her book him again. That must be it! He wanted to unmuddy the waters, clear away the debris of their old arrangement before coming to her, offering a new way; offering himself – his love – for free.

It was the only rational explanation.

John was tired. It hadn’t been a good night’s sleep. After Alice had walked out of the restaurant he’d paid the bill and walked home, hoping to see her somewhere on the way.

When he arrived home he’d realized he wasn’t ready to go in, so he’d kept on walking. He’d found himself outside Greenfingers garden centre, where he’d first bumped into Alice. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking. The place was shut; it was midnight! He’d turned round and come home.

John sipped his coffee and absent-mindedly stroked Buster.

He was just going to have to hope for the best, he thought to himself. Alice believed in happy endings. Surely she’d give him a chance to explain? He should sit tight and give her space.

Shouldn’t he?

He grabbed the phone and called Emily.

‘Just relax,’ she counselled calmly. ‘Give her the weekend to think about it and then call her on Monday.’

‘But what if the weekend’s too long? What if she comes to the wrong conclusions?’

‘She just needs time to digest why it is that you got into escorting – what your higher purpose is.’

There was an awkward silence.

‘You did tell her about Mum dying, didn’t you, and how lonely you were?’ she demanded suddenly.

‘Um, I’ve sort of mentioned it before. A while ago,’ John mumbled.

‘But not in connection with the escorting? You didn’t mention how it helped bring you back to life? You didn’t tell her how you help women win back their confidence, how you make them feel attractive again?’

‘I didn’t really get the chance,’ John interjected dolefully.

‘
Dad!
’ Emily used the same stern, exasperated tone that he remembered using with her when she was a child. ‘I told you to explain it properly, remember? It’s no wonder she walked out. She probably thought you were some stud for hire; that half the ladies in the city have had their wicked way with you!’

He heard her sigh.

‘Look, forget about waiting till Monday,’ she instructed brutally. ‘Too much damage will have been done by then. You need to call her now. Tell her you’re not the disease-ridden Casanova she probably thinks you are . . .’

John blanched at her frankness.

‘Tell her the truth!’ she commanded. ‘Tell her you haven’t had a date of your own choosing in over a decade. Tell her you haven’t had sex for even longer! Tell her you haven’t
loved anyone since Mum, but that you think you might be falling in love with her!’

There was a pause. Emily’s words echoed between them.

‘Well, it’s all true, isn’t it?’ she asked forcefully.

‘Yes,’ John conceded quietly. ‘It’s all true.’

He contemplated his coffee.

‘I’ve cocked up, haven’t I?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Dad,’ Emily said bluntly. ‘You’ve cocked up.’