Kismetology (10 page)

It
is
ages since we went on a date, but I don’t tell
him that. "I’m kind of up to my eyeballs in dates right now, Dan," I
say instead. "I like curling up on the sofa with you. Who wants more than
that?"

Who, indeed? I wonder…

"And it’s a bit of a luxury nowadays, isn’t it? Usually
we’d have your mother over watching
Coronation Street
, and suddenly
she’s occupied with all these dates," he adds.

"You see? It’s good for something, even if I’m not
finding the love of her life."

"Yeah, but she’s already met the love of her
life," Dan says. "With your dad. And they broke up. It’s never going
to be that easy the second time around."

"Dan, that’s it!" I jump up suddenly, light bulb
pinging in my brain. "I’m not looking for the love of her life. I’m
looking for the
second
love of her life. I’m expecting too much. I’m
expecting there to be instant chemistry, when maybe at their age they have to
work at it more."

"You’re saying old people can’t fall in love?"

"No, but maybe it’s not going to be the same the second
time around, and they’re expecting it to be. Look at us, Dan. You and me, with
the thunder bolt, and the knowing we had something special here from the first
kiss."

"We hated each other for a year."

"Yeah, but after the year, it was pretty special,
right? And I can’t imagine it ever being the same again if I was to fall in
love with another guy. Can you?"

"I have no plans of falling in love with another
guy."

"Oh, stop being awkward. You know what I mean. Love
won't be exactly the same the second time as it was the first time."

"I guess…" He answers slowly, like he’s making
sure to give the correct answer.

"Right. And what I’m saying is that most of the men
Mum’s meeting are divorced as well. They’re all fifty-ish, right? By that time
in your life, you’ve generally been in love, and for one reason or another,
you’ve lost that love. Surely, nobody can be as open to it as they were the
first time round? What if the men I’m choosing are like Mum and they’ve been
single for years, and they’re used to living on their own, and they’re just
dating because they feel they should do? Or maybe because they don’t want to
wake up one morning at seventy and still be alone? Or, possibly, because their
kids are pressuring them into it."

"What about widowers?"

"Nah. At least with divorced guys, you know they got
divorced for a reason. Whatever reason. They fell out of love with their wives
and they split up. With a widower, they’re still in love with the dead wife.
They’d still be happily married if something hadn’t have happened to her."

"Unless he killed her."

"Is this hypothetical?"

"Yeah."

"Then he’d be in jail. I hope. Because I don’t want to
be dating axe murderers."

"So, what are you saying?"

"I’m saying that they all have to try harder. Both Mum
and the men I set her up with. They have to be prepared to work at it, not just
go on one date and say, ‘
Meh. It’s not gonna work.
’"

"How do you intend to make that happen?"

I shrug. "I don’t know. Just talk to them about it, I
guess. Make sure they’re ready for dating."

I don’t have a good feeling about Fireman Jim. How much do I
wish his name was Sam, though? Fireman Sam would sound so much better. But I
might be wrong about the name, but I’m right about the feeling.

"No," my mum says on the phone that night.

"Okay," I say, already resigned to the fact that
this one isn't going to work out. I know she’s losing enthusiasm fast because
she didn’t even bother to come round to our house after this date. She’s just
phoned up instead. I have to come up with a good guy, and fast.

"Any particular reason why it’s a thumbs down to this
one?" I ask.

"He’s a fireman. I could never date a fireman. I’ve
seen
Ladder 49
, where the weirdly named Phoenix guy gets stuck in a
burning building. I could never spend every day waiting for that fire chief to
tell me my husband had died."

"Oh," I say. "Anything else?"

"No, other than that, he was lovely. I’ve never met a
man who enjoys
Corrie
before."

"Me neither," I sigh wearily. "So, are there
any other careers that are off limits?"

"No," she says on the other end of the line.
"Just nothing where they risk their lives every day. Yes, I know they’re
the heroes of the country, but not to the families who have to bury their
bodies. Just no job where he’s going to come home in a coffin at the end of the
day."

I nod then realise she can’t see me through the phone. I’m
about to admit this when I realise that I might give her the idea of running out
to buy a video phone, and we really don’t need that. "Yes," I say
instead. "I’ll talk to you in the morning."

CHAPTER 18

Alex, the one who’d left a message
last night is early. Or I’m late. That would be more like it. The hostess leads
me over to the table where he’s seated. Oh. Well, that’s weird. I think he
must’ve sent his son.

"Hi," I say cautiously.

"Hey, are you Mackenzie?"

I nod. "And you are?"

"Alex. We spoke on the phone."

"Alex," I repeat. "You’re Alex?"

"Indeed I am."

"But you’re… young."

"Yes, you don’t mind do you? I thought your mother
would like a toyboy."

"Are you kidding me?" I say. I haven’t even sat
down yet and I’m seething. I’m suddenly so mad that the proverbial red haze has
descended across the entire restaurant.

"Didn’t my ad explicitly state that I wanted someone
forty-five to sixty, tops? And you’re what, thirty?"

"Twenty-seven."

"Twenty-seven.
I'm
older than you, and you
expect me to set you up on a date with my
mother
?"

"Chill, sweetums. An older woman always digs a younger
guy. I’m doing you a favour, love. Now sit down and I’ll get you something to
drink."

"Are you serious? You’re
two
years younger than
I am, and you expect to get a date with me or my mother?"

Who does this guy think he is? Like I don’t have men messing
me around enough, I get a child, literally, a twenty-seven year old child who
evidently can’t read, responding to my ad and treating this whole thing like
it’s some kind of big joke, when obviously it’s not. "I’ve never met
anyone so arrogant in all my life." I wave my arms around to emphasise my
point.

"Whoa. Calm down, bitch. It was just a suggestion.
Spark up the old granny’s love life, y’know."

"What’s going on, Mac?" Dan asks, coming over.
"Are you okay?"

He has Max with him, obviously all the commotion I’m making
has attracted them both. But I’m seriously pissed off.

"Oh yeah, I’m fine," I say, waving my arms around
some more. "But this," I point at him. "This, this is Alex. You
know, Alex, the one I spoke to on the phone last night and thought he sounded
young. As it turns out, he is." I let out a borderline hysterical laugh.
"Look at him. Twenty-seven. Twenty-fucking-seven, he is, Dan. And he
thinks that Eleanor would like a toyboy." I’m raging now, and I don’t
care. "How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to take this
seriously if half the men in Bristol think I’m a big joke?"

"Shh, baby, calm down," Dan says, trying to wrap
his arms around me.

"Don’t ‘baby’ me," I yell at him. "What do
you think I am, some kind of dog?"

He holds up his hands. "So you met an asshole, so
what?"

"Hey!" Alex chimes in from the chair where he’s
still sitting down.

"You can shut up," I tell him quickly. "Who
the hell do you think you are? Don’t talk to my boyfriend like that."

"Your boyfriend works in the restaurant where you’re
taking me on a date?"

"I’m not taking you anywhere. You’re a horrible,
horrible, little man. I hope you choke on your oysters." I don’t know
where that came from because there are no oysters anywhere to be seen, but
since Max is the fish guy, I’ll put it down to that. I look around for
something to chuck at Alex. I wish there was a jug of water or something
nearby, because it would look lovely cascading down his Armani jacket. Why do
men that age go around with huge designer labels on their fronts? Do they
really think it impresses women? Dimwits.

I spy a glass of wine on the table next to me. The old man
and woman occupying the table have stopped eating and are staring at me in
horror. "Sorry," I say to them as I pick up her glass of red wine
before anyone can stop me and tip it over Alex’s head.

"There, that’s better," I say, thanking the woman
as I place the empty glass back on her table.

"Okay," Dan says in his domineering voice.
"You," he points at Alex, "are paying for any damage, and then
you’re barred from this restaurant."

"But—" Alex goes to protest, but Dan leans forward
wearing his most threatening face.

"Or," Dan snarls. "We can take it
outside."

"Fine," Alex holds up his hands. "Fine. Crazy
bitch."

"Don’t call my girlfriend a bitch." Dan steps
towards him. "Apologise now, or I’m going to get my meat cleaver."

"Fine, sorry," Alex says huffily and stomps away.

Dan rubs my shoulders. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." I nod. "Sorry, I don’t know what came
over me." I look around at the chair Alex pushed over in his rush to get
out, currently lying in a puddle of red wine on the floor. "Sorry
everyone," I say loudly to the other customers.

"Men are useless twats," someone says in the
background, and someone else contributes a "hear, hear."

I smile.

"Mac, come with me," Dan says.

I follow him out to the kitchen. "Sorry," I say
again. "This is just so frustrating."

"I know," he says, and hugs me tight to him.
"But it’ll get better. You’ll find someone great, I know you will."

"I thought I was the one who had faith in this?"

"Well, if your perseverance isn’t enough to convince
me, then I don’t know what is."

"Sorry about the mess," I say, suddenly fearing
that he’s going to ban me from the premises.

"Don’t worry," he says, obviously seeing straight
through me. "All I could see was that guy in the wrong. You’re welcome
here any time."

You see? Being the girlfriend of the head chef rocks.

CHAPTER 19

After that little
incident
I
don’t want to meet another guy ever again in my entire life, but there are
messages waiting in my personal mailbox from the dating page, and they need
responding to. I have to carry on. Or put up with a lifetime of plants killed
by dog pee.

"You can’t just give up, Mac," Dan says when we’re
curled up on the sofa that night.

"I know," I groan. "But it’s useless. There
are two more messages in the mailbox, and one of them sounds like the missing
link between the caveman and the monkey."

"The other one?"

I shrug. "Sounds like an old man."

"How old?"

"Well, today I met a twenty-seven year old, if I
respond to this guy, I might be meeting a ninety-seven year old."

Dan laughs.

"Seriously, what is it with these guys who can’t read?
Forty-five to sixty means forty-five to sixty, not nineteen to a hundred and
two."

"You should give them both the benefit of the doubt.
Forget about being polite and nice to them. Take them to Belisana, if they’re
useless, tell them that, then get up and walk out. Stop wasting your time
talking to men you know aren’t gonna make the grade within the first five
seconds. That way you won’t waste your evening on the missing link."

I nod. Deciding to take his advice, I bite the bullet and
dial the phone number of the missing link, seeing as I’m doing this first come
first served. Besides, the other guy might have died of old age before I get
around to replying to his message, and that would be one less date for me to go
on.

Missing Link doesn’t sound quite as inane on the phone, so I
arrange for a seven o’clock dinner at Belisana the following night. Getting
right back on the horse and all that. Or is that closing the stable door after
the horse has bolted?

The first thing I notice about him is that he’s the right
age. At least, he’s not twenty-seven. This is a plus, and already puts him way
ahead of the last date on the leader board.

"Hi," he says. "I’m Len."

"Mackenzie. Nice to meet you."

He sits down without shaking my hand. This is good because
his hands look kind of gnarly, and there is an unconfirmed substance lurking
under his fingernails. Ugh. Bad hands are my number one off putter. Plus? He’s
going on a pseudo date. He should be trying to impress me. Is it really too
much to ask that a man be able to run a nail brush across the tips of his
fingers? Even an exfoliating soap would do the trick.

"So," he says, smiling so his yellow teeth stick
out past his bottom lip. Oh dear.

"Your mother wants to date a stud like me, does
she?"

I pause. Is he being serious or should I laugh because he’s
obviously making a joke? Stud? Yeah. Try toad. He has about the same number of
warts.

"So, what do you do for a living?" I ask, trying
to avoid the stud question completely.

"I’m on the dole," he announces proudly.

"Really?"

"Uh huh. Cool, huh? I get paid for sitting on my bum
all day. Let the government cough up my paycheque."

Again, I’m not sure whether he’s trying to be funny or is
tragically deluded.

"What do you want to order?" I ask, tapping the
menu.

"I don’t know. I don’t usually eat anywhere as
expensive as this. I like a nice McDonalds."

Oh wow. This guy just exudes class. But then again, if he’s
on the dole, he probably can’t afford to eat somewhere like Belisana. I
couldn’t afford it very often, if it wasn’t for the fact that Dan works here. I
briefly wonder if I should cut this Len a break and tell him it’s on the house,
but then I think better of it. I don’t want him ordering one of everything off
the menu just to put in a doggy bag and eat for his lunch the rest of the week.
Dan would kill me. So I keep my mouth shut. If he offers to pay then I’ll tell
him not to bother. But from the way he’s salivating over the menu, I doubt he’s
going to get that far. I swear I see drool on his chin.