My Single Friend (16 page)

‘An earthy charm?’ I repeat, appalled. ‘Christ, where are those car keys?’

‘Oh Henry, he is lovely,’ I enthuse, lowering myself onto a seat at the kitchen table with legs that are still trembling with pain. ‘We’ve got loads in common, did I tell you?’

By the next day, I’ve forgotten all the horrible parts of my date with Paul and am finding it impossible to think about anything other than how gorgeous he is. This simmering sexual tension is no doubt fuelled by the fact that we still haven’t consummated the relationship. I’m determined to leave it a little while with this one: Paul has boyfriend potential – I can feel it. The last thing I want is to give in to temptation and get it on with him too easily, leaving him with any doubts about my
girlfriend
potential. So, after our drive back to Liverpool, we had an old-fashioned smooch on the doorstep and said goodnight. I’m bloody proud of myself. Though how long I can resist, I don’t know.

Henry looks up from his papers and smiles. ‘You did.’

‘It’s amazing, he’s so into
24
– just like me. And we’re both Leos.’

‘I thought you didn’t believe in all that stuff.’

‘I don’t, I just thought it was a coincidence,’ I tell him. ‘How come you’re working?’

‘I’m going through this report about a new malaria vaccine that’s being tried out,’ he says. ‘Things are at a pretty exciting stage.’

‘Do you think malaria will ever be wiped out?’

‘There’s going to be a long, expensive battle before that happens, but yes, I do. It’s got to be. Forget terrorism, Lucy – in terms of threats to the world’s population, nothing beats malaria. It kills as many people per day as Al-Qaeda did in New York on September 11.’

‘That’s one of the things I admire so much about you, Henry. You’re doing a job that will save lives.’

‘Not enough lives at the moment.’ He flicks through another paper.

‘Do you think there’s so little awareness about it because it mainly affects the third world?’

He considers for a second. ‘I do. That’s despite the fact that the majority of the victims are under the age of five. They’re just babies.’

I feel a wave of pride at what my best friend is doing and it makes me feel slightly choked.

‘Anyway,’ he says, putting his papers to one side, ‘I didn’t intend to change the subject. Does this mean you’ve got another date with Paul?’

I sit up and smile. ‘It does.
A third date
– can you believe it? It’s been like the Holy Grail for six months and now, bang, I’ve got a boyfriend. I’m not a complete dead loss, after all.’

‘Course you’re not a dead loss. Though do me a favour and try not to come back with any more injuries. I’m no expert, but I’m sure that’s not the usual turn of events.’

Henry is referring to my bloodied cheek, which is still as vivid after yesterday’s battering. Fortunately, I’m not going out with Paul until next week so I have a couple of days to let it settle down. It is then that he’s agreed to be my date at the North-west Business Awards, an important black-tie dinner I go to every year through work, and one at which I can’t wait to show him off.

‘How did
your
night out go?’ I ask. Henry, instructed by Dominique to get as much practice as possible, joined the rest of his rugby team on their post-match night out.

‘Not bad,’ he shrugs. ‘I got chatting to a couple of women. No phone numbers though.’

‘Don’t worry, Henry. It’ll happen. I promise you it’ll happen,’ I tell him.

But neither of us suspects how soon.

Despite the unpromising title, the North-west Business Awards in the first week of March is always a good night out. I have attended for the last three years, either as a guest of a client or on my company’s table. The main purpose of my presence is to schmooze around the room, picking up as much business as possible.

I admit, it doesn’t sound exciting. But because the award ceremony isn’t exactly succinct, by the time the ‘networking opportunities’ begin, people are usually so inebriated they struggle to stand upright, let alone try to win their next big contract. It usually makes for a lot of fun.

In one now infamous year, some stockbrokers from one of the city’s most traditional companies joined forces with the runner-up of the Best Fledgling Business Award – the boss of an online jewellery company specializing in pretty tasteless, but apparently profitable, earrings – and together, they persuaded half of the room to decamp to a karaoke emporium across the road after the bar had closed. The sight of Rathclays’ Chief Executive – a man usually straighter than his golf club tie – singing ‘Summer Lovin’’ with the diamanté-clad co-owner of
earear.com
has to be one of the enduring images of that year’s corporate calendar.

I have more reason than ever to look forward to it this time: Paul is my date. The only downside is that, having spent my entire overdraft on outdoor-wear, I couldn’t afford a new outfit. Not without the bank reclaiming all my credit cards and setting fire to them.

So I am being forced to wear one of my wardrobe staples – a slinky strapless dress in deep scarlet.

‘What time are you going out?’ Henry shouts from the living room.

‘I’ve got to be there for six-thirty,’ I say, popping my head round the door.

‘Did you want a lift?’

‘Do you mind?’

‘Not at all . . . oh, nice look.’

I’m sporting a headful of bendy rollers that make me look like a great, pink, re-incarnation of Medusa.

‘I’ve always thought this headgear was under-rated,’ I say, touching the rollers. ‘Oh, is that my phone?’

I have a permanent mental block over where I’ve left my mobile and have often thought about attaching it to the end of a piece of string then threading it through my coat-sleeves like Mum used to do with my mittens. Someone should patent the idea. Put something like that on
Dragon’s Den
and they’d be chomping at the bit.

‘Oh God, what have I done with it?’ I ask, throwing cushions and magazines on the floor in a desperate attempt to locate the ringing. ‘Hang on, it sounds as if it’s in the hallway.’

‘Kitchen,’ says Henry.

‘Are you sure?’ I scuttle out. ‘There must be something funny going on with the acoustics in this place because I could have sworn—’

I spot the mobile in the kitchen, next to the kettle, and dive to answer it, but it rings off before I do. I look down and see Paul’s number marked
missed call
.

I press redial, but first he’s engaged, then the phone goes onto messages. After three attempts, my phone rings again. It’s my voicemail.

Hi, Lucy, it’s Paul. Sorry to have to do this so late but something’s come up and I can’t make it tonight. Unavoidable, I’m afraid. Hope it doesn’t cause too much of a problem. Speak soon. Bye.

‘Oh God,’ I groan. ‘What am I supposed to do now?’

‘Something the matter?’ Henry squeezes past me to flick on the kettle.

‘I . . . um . . . yes. I’ve been stood up.’

‘Aren’t you supposed to be leaving in an hour?’

I look at my watch. ‘Forty-five minutes. Oh
God
.’

‘What happened to your date?’

‘It was unavoidable,’ I tell him. ‘
Really
unavoidable. Family business. Paul didn’t go into detail, but it sounded serious. And he was so apologetic. I mean,
really
apologetic.’

Henry continues to frown.

‘I’m going to look like an idiot turning up without a date. And Roger will be furious at paying a hundred odd quid for a place that’s now going to sit empty. This is a nightmare.’

‘Could Dominique go with you?’ asks Henry.

‘She’s already going – on someone else’s table.’

‘What about Erin?’

‘At her grandma’s seventy-fourth birthday party,’ I continue. ‘Anyone would do at this stage.
Anyone
.’

Henry pauses. ‘I’m not doing anything.’

I think for a second. ‘You’re right. You’re not, are you? Okay, Henry, let’s see how you look in a tuxedo.’

It turns out that Henry looks rather good in a tuxedo.
Really
rather good. I was surprised – and relieved – to hear that he owned such an item, but then I remembered him buying it last year after being nominated for some science award at a ceremony in London.

I never saw him at the time, so can’t make comparisons. But tonight, his skin is cleanshaven and smells of an alluring aftershave, the tux gives his already substantial frame more stature, and his hair has been carefully ruffled in a way that would do Anton proud.

As our taxi pulls up outside St George’s Hall, Henry steps out to open the door for me and it strikes me how he looks – to use my mother’s phrase – ‘the part’.

I’ve been to loads of events here since the hall was restored, but it never ceases to take my breath away. From its Corinthian columns to its imposing steps, the never-ending fluted pillars to the colossal bronze statues, there’s nothing understated about this place. In fact, it’s as flashy as they come – nineteenth-century style.

We head into the main hall, which is the epitome of Victorian opulence, all chandeliers and friezes, Minton tiles and Arabesques. The event organizers hardly have to try to decorate this place: nothing more than the crispest white linen and elegant fresh flowers are required.

‘You seem more relaxed tonight than you were at that bar the other week,’ I tell him. ‘What’s your secret?’

‘No secret,’ he laughs, picking up two flutes of champagne and handing me one. ‘It’s nice to be out without the pressure to get someone’s phone number. Without having to perform.’

‘You never know, you might meet someone tonight who—’

‘
No
, Lucy,’ he interrupts. ‘Tonight, I’m having a break. Being myself.’

‘That’s all anyone wanted you to be,’ I tell him.

I feel a hand on my elbow and turn around to see Roger Peaman, my boss. He’s trimmed his beard tonight and looks rather dapper.

‘Lucy, how’re things?’ He kisses me on the cheek.

‘Great, Roger. Have you met Henry?’

‘Lovely to meet you.’ Roger shakes Henry’s hand. ‘You’re the optician, right?’

‘Oh no, Roger, that’s Paul. He couldn’t make it.’

‘I believe you’re in the running for an award,’ Henry says, removing the need for Roger to feel awkward.

‘Best Marketing, PR or Advertising Agency,’ Roger beams. The award has been on his mind for weeks. He tries to pretend he’s not bothered but is about as good at nonchalance as a four-year-old on Christmas Eve.

‘Of course, there’s a lot of competition. About twenty firms are in the running. Still, it’s nice to hear people say we stand a chance.’

‘Of course we stand a chance, Roger – we’re the best,’ I say.

My boss chuckles and nods to Henry. ‘I dread to think what she says behind my back.’

Roger is soon off working the room and we’re joined by Tom Mathews, a young design company entrepreneur, and a glamorous brunette called Rachel, who I assume is his latest squeeze.

Tom’s company is one of Dominique’s clients. She’s managed to foster an extremely positive client-agency relationship, despite (or perhaps because of) flings with Tom, his Marketing Director
and
his Creative Director.

‘How are things, Tom?’ I kiss him on the cheek. ‘Is Dominique keeping you satisfied these days?’

As the words escape from my mouth I realize how inappropriate they are in the presence of his girlfriend, and blush. Tom doesn’t seem to mind.

‘You know Dominique,’ he replies with a cheeky smile. ‘She takes a personal interest in keeping us all satisfied. What line of business are you in, Henry?’

‘Nothing like anyone here, I’m sure,’ says Henry, clearly self-conscious. ‘I work for the Tropical Medicine Research Centre.’

‘Really? How
fascinating
,’ gasps Rachel. ‘I used to live next door to one of the senior people there – Professor Stevens?’

‘I know him well.’ Henry’s eyes light up. ‘I’d consider him a mentor. Fantastic guy. He’s retired now.’

‘I know,’ she replies. ‘It’s years since I lived next to him, but I tell you . . . some of the work you do there – I take my hat off to you, honestly.’

Henry’s self-consciousness starts to melt away.

‘Henry’s working on a cure for malaria,’ I add proudly.

‘Really?’ sighs Rachel. ‘That’s
amazing
. You make what anyone else in this room does feel trivial.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ laughs Henry, flashing a look at Tom.

‘Don’t worry,’ grins Tom. ‘She’s right. Besides, I never argue with my little sister.’

‘Oh, you’re sister and brother?’ I ask.

‘I’m afraid so,’ she jokes. ‘Ooh, I must go and catch up with Nick Dickinson. Henry – I
have
to sit next to you at dinner. I’m dying to hear more about what you do.’