Matchmaker Cat (A Romantic Comedy Short Story) (4 page)

‘I've got work
tomorrow.’

‘So have
I.’

‘Going in on my
first day with a hangover isn't quite the impression I want to
give.’

She laughed.
‘Rach, you're so straight sometimes.’

If I was
straight, I wouldn't be going to the pub on a Sunday night when I
should be at home putting my feet up and ironing my blouse ready to
make a good impression at the office. But if I was going to have
any sort of social life at all in Aylesbury, I needed to start
going out.

The pub itself
was surprisingly large inside. Its high ceilings and generous floor
area gave it a feeling of space. A family was tucking into large
plates of burgers and chips at one of the tables to our left. My
stomach stabbed me with another pang of hunger.

‘Drink?’ said
Sheila as we approached the bar.

‘Sparkling
water, please. No ice. But a slice of lemon if they have it.’

Sheila rolled
her eyes again, but she ordered my drink without further comment
and got a large glass of chardonnay for herself. Drinks in hand, we
walked round the bar to a kind of antechamber at the back where
four tables were tucked away. Around one of them, a group of
twenty-something blokes in football shirts were being loud and
drinking beer. Behind them, to the right of an old brick fireplace,
a woman on her own jumped up when she saw us.

‘Sheils!’ she
squealed. She got up and they hugged. She was a big woman with an
ample cleavage billowing out of her tight top.

‘This is
Rachel, the friend I told you about. Rachel, this is Gayle.’

I smiled at the
big woman and we shook hands awkwardly.

‘Sheils tells
me you've been living up north for the last millennia,’ said Gayle
as we sat down. She pronounced it 'oop north' in that cod Yorkshire
accent that southerners find inexplicably amusing.

Being a native
southerner myself, I tried not to be offended. ‘The Midlands,
really,’ I said.

One of the bar
staff brought over a towering plate of salad with grilled chicken
and bacon bits sprinkled on top. Gayle caught the woman's eye.
‘That's mine.’ And took it from her.

My stomach
growled like an angry dog overdue its supper.

Gayle picked up
her fork. ‘Don't mind if I...?’

We didn’t. And
so, while she tucked into her dinner, I picked up a menu which had
the same enticing picture of glistening spare ribs on the front.
They were tempting, but the thought of getting barbeque sauce down
my arm in front of Sheila's friends suggested I should really go
for something less messy.

‘What are you
having?’ said Sheila. ‘My treat.’

‘No,’ I said,
reaching for my purse. ‘You got the drinks.’

‘A sparkling
water? Hardly going to break the bank.’

I perused the
pages. ‘I don't know...’ Everything looked nice. ‘A burger?’

‘Two burgers
then.’

Sheila went
back to the bar to order, leaving me alone with Gayle and her large
plate of salad.

‘So,’ she said,
licking ranch dressing from her lips. ‘Have you got a fella?’

The word 'no'
stopped at my throat like a cough that wouldn't come. I remembered
the fun I'd had that morning. ‘Darren,’ I said.

‘Boyfriend?’

‘Husband.’

By the time
Sheila had returned from the bar holding her receipt for two
burgers, I'd told Gayle all about my fairytale wedding at the
castle in Italy. ‘Sheils, you didn't tell me your friend was
married?’

I shot Sheila a
warning glance. She looked at me with confusion, but got the
message and acted all innocent. ‘Didn't I?’

‘What about
you, Gayle?’ I said, getting in quick before Sheila gave the game
away.

She grunted.
‘Divorced. Frankenstein has the kids at the weekend.’

‘Frankenstein?’

‘Her ex,
Frank,’ Sheila explained.

‘I call him
Frankenstein because of the little monsters he created. You having
kids, Rachel?’

With my aged
body? Unless I got hitched real soon, babies would be out of the
question. ‘Me and Darren have talked about it, but...’

‘Don't,’ said
Gayle. ‘I thought Jimmy and Joe were rascals when they were two.
But at twelve and thirteen...’ she shook her head. ‘Boys!’

Gayle stabbed
at a cherry tomato with her fork. The prongs slipped on the skin
and the little red missile shot across the table. I parried
sideways and it flew past my arm.

Sheila giggled
into her wine. When she laughs she sounds like a constipated hyena.
It set us all off. I laughed until I felt the bubbles of my
sparkling water coming back up through my nose.

‘God!’ I
snorted, wiping my nose on the back of my hand. ‘And I'm not even
drunk.’

‘We can soon
fix that,’ said Sheila. ‘How about some red wine?’

I gave her a
hard stare. We'd already had that discussion.

Sheila
shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’

By the time
Claire arrived, Gayle had set us off laughing about something else.
Claire was younger than the rest of us, probably in her early
thirties, and was the only one in a proper relationship. She had a
six month old baby at home which she'd just got off to sleep and
left with her genuinely real husband.

The last member
of the group to arrive was Katy, pushing forty and single in name
only because of her long standing ‘dull as dishwater’ boyfriend.
They'd been together for five years, but still maintained separate
homes as if their relationship were based on convenience rather
than love. Her straggly dyed blonde hair reminded me of how I used
to look when I was back in Leicester. She wore a pair of purple
rimmed glasses which she kept perched on the edge of her nose and
took delight in peering over whenever she got the opportunity.

‘How's your
burger?’ said Sheila.

‘Mmm,’ I said
through a mouthful. It wasn't as tasty as the smell had led my
stomach to believe, but it was still pretty damn good. Especially
as Sheila had ordered one with added mushrooms, bacon and cheese. I
chased the last smear of tomato sauce around the plate with a final
crispy chip and crunched.

‘Sunday's the
only night when I get to sit down with a proper meal,’ said Claire.
She'd ordered chicken with jacket potato and was picking at it like
an anorexic on a diet.

‘Doesn't that
delightful husband of yours cook for you?’ said Gayle. She'd
gobbled down all her salad and given up her pretence of calorie
counting by tucking in to a tiramisu surrounded by a lake of runny
cream.

‘Stewart?’ said
Claire. ‘You've got to be kidding. If he's not sitting down in
front of the telly with a beer within five minutes of getting home
from work, he's off for a boys' curry night.’

Katy, who was
sitting between Claire and me, leaned forward and looked over the
top of her glasses. ‘What about you, Rachel?’

‘Darren's a
great cook,’ I said. ‘Roast beef, duck a l'orange, tagliatelle
carbonara. Every night he brings some new creation out of the oven.
It's nice to come to a pub and have an ordinary burger,
actually.’

‘Seriously?’
said Claire.

‘I'm really
lucky,’ I said. Sheila kicked me under the table. I ignored her.
‘He likes to cook. And he likes to cook for me. It would be cruel
to ask him not to.’

‘Wow,’ said
Gayle.

‘Sounds like a
new love,’ said Katy. ‘How long have you been married?’

‘Only a couple
of months.’ I surreptitiously wrapped my empty finger in the napkin
on my lap. If I was going to keep this up, I needed to buy myself a
ring.

‘That explains
it,’ said Gayle, dropping her dessert spoon on her plate, virtually
scraped clean of cream. ‘It won't last, love, take it from me.’

‘Oh Gayle!’
said Claire.

Katy looked
over the top of her glasses at her.

‘What? I'm just
saying it like it is.’

‘Like it was
for you, Gaylster,’ said Claire. ‘It's not like that for
everyone.’

Sheila stood
all of a sudden. ‘My round, I think. Drink anyone?’

She took orders
from everyone around the table. ‘Rach, give me a hand will
you?’

We headed off
towards the bar, but as soon as we were round the corner, Sheila
stopped and turned to me. ‘You didn't tell me about Darren.’

‘It's just a
bit of fun, Sheils.’

She looked at
me sideways. She took my left hand and held it up between us. There
was no ring on my finger; not even a tan line. ‘You're not married,
are you?’

I snatched my
hand back. ‘Don't you think I would have told you if I was?’

‘So what's this
all about, Rachel?’

‘I'm fed up of
telling people I'm a 40-year-old spinster who works in
finance.’

‘But you
are
a 40-year-old spinster who works in finance.’

I glared at
her. ‘That's not the point.’

Sheila was
angry at me, I could see she was. And a little disappointed.
‘You're lying to my friends.’

‘It's just a
laugh, Sheils. Just for tonight, I promise. Let's see how far we
can take it.’

She frowned,
but something behind her eyes suggested she was considering it.

‘Less than two
hours ago, you were complaining I was too straight,’ I reminded
her.

She gave in.
‘Okay. But next time we tell them it was a wind-up.’

‘You're on.’ We
continued to the bar. I pushed the boat out a little by having a
dash of lime cordial in my sparkling water and we carried the
drinks back to the table.

The girls were
talking about sex when we got there.

‘You should get
one of those doo-dahs,’ said Claire to Gayle.

‘Dildos,’ Katy
corrected.

‘With two boys
in the house?’ said Gayle. ‘Not likely.’

Sheila passed
the half of cider to Gayle and the bottle of vodka orange to
Claire. I handed Katy a G&T.

‘Gayle's
complaining she's not had any since she chucked Frankenstein out,’
said Claire whose skinny frame meant she was blotto already.

Gayle gave her
a hard stare. ‘Can you say that a bit louder? I don't think they
heard you over the other side of town.’

‘I'm only
sayin', sometimes a girl's gotta help herself.’ Claire took a swig
from her bottle. ‘What about you, Rachel? How's Darren in that
department?’

I sat down and
cradled my water and lime close to my chest. ‘Sex with Darren? What
can I say?’ I rolled my eyes like the very thought tingled my
insides. ‘Oh. My. God! If you know what I mean!’ I grinned and sat
back in the chair.

The others -
even Sheila - instinctively leaned forward; anxious for more.

‘Three. Times.
A night,’ I said.

‘Seriously?’
said Claire.

‘He's
insatiable!’

‘But is he
good?’ said Gayle.

‘Fireworks
inside of me.’ I hid my smile behind my glass as I sipped my
water.

‘Where did you
find him?’ said Gayle.

‘They don't
make Darrens in a factory,’ I said. ‘He's a one-off. And he's only
interested in pleasuring me.’

Gayle blinked
several times as if trying to expunge the image from her mind.
‘Maybe I'll get one of those doo-dahs after all.’

We giggled.
Like a bunch of tipsy schoolgirls drooling over a picture of a pop
star in a magazine. It was fun. Much better than a discussion about
my hopeless real life.

The call went
out that the pub quiz was about to start and pens and paper were
delivered to all the tables taking part. We spent the next hour or
so arguing about what river Niagara Falls was on and what number is
next to 17 clockwise on a dartboard. I managed to look intellectual
by knowing that South West Africa is now called Namibia, and earned
sad points for remembering that Johnny Morris was the first
presenter of Animal Magic.

We came second
to last with a pathetic 9 points out of 20. Niagara Falls turned
out to be on the Niagara River - not the Hudson, like Claire
insisted - and number 3 is next to 17 on a dartboard.

It was almost
eleven by the time Sheila made her obligatory last trip to the loo,
we said our goodbyes and left the pub.

‘You're
incorrigible!’ she said, still giggling, as she tottered over to my
car in high heels, giving added meaning to the term 'tipsy'. ‘Three
times a night - in your dreams!’

With a bleep,
my Fiesta unlocked and we got in. ‘It's not unheard of.’

‘But it's not
real,’ said Sheila. ‘Get his end away, then turn over and keep you
awake with his snoring for a couple of hours - that's a real
man.’

‘Not my
Darren.’ I placed my hand on my heart and fluttered my eyelashes.
‘He's perfect. After he's set off a firework display inside my
body, I lay there stroking his firm muscles until he's ready to
pleasure me again.’ I managed to keep a straight face until the
last word, then burst out laughing.

‘Stop it,’ said
Sheila, tears of laughter running down her face. ‘You're making me
horny and I've got to go to work tomorrow.’

‘Work!’ I'd
almost forgotten it was my first day at the new job in the morning.
I clipped on my seatbelt and started the engine. ‘Come on, let's
get you home so I can get me home and get some sleep.’

We giggled to
ourselves as we made our way back to Bedgrove and had pretty much
exhausted our funny bones by the time we got to her place.

‘Thanks for the
lift, Rach,’ said Sheila as she got out.

‘You're
welcome.’

‘Give my love
to Darren!’

I smiled. ‘I
will.’

*

It was a five
minute drive to Elmhurst at that time of night and I was pretty
tired when I got there. I'd moved in less than a week before and it
still didn't feel quite like home. I'd managed to unpack most of
the boxes and throw some paint on the main bedroom wall, but the
place was still acclimatising to me.

There was
something different about it when I walked into the hallway. The
light was on in the lounge and there was a smell that wasn't quite
right - sort of perfumy. I stood for a moment, looking at the soft
glow coming from underneath the lounge door, trying to remember if
I'd left the table lamp on. The police say to always leave a light
on in your house when you're out to deter burglars. Except, I'd
just taken on a mortgage and was trying to keep the electricity
bill down.