The Dating Game
Authors: Susan Buchanan
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Humor, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Romantic Comedy, #Humor & Satire, #General Humor
THE DATING GAME
SUSAN BUCHANAN
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First published in 2012 by Susan Buchanan
Copyright © 2012 Susan Buchanan
Susan Buchanan has asserted her right to be identified as the
author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act
1988.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the
product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
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Table of Contents
Dedication
For Dylan, Declan and Rhys
Acknowledgments
Thanks go to Fi Broon for editing
Brad Covey for cover design
Yvonne Betancourt for eBook Formatting
Julia Gibbs for proofreading
http://www.facebook.com/proofreaderjulia
Susan Louineau, Melanie Hudson, Terry, Tracie Banister and
Laura Cowan, for being fabulous beta readers. Last but not least, my Twitter
family for their constant support
THE DATING GAME
Chapter One
‘You are
not
setting me up with
anyone ever again!’ Gill McFadden said, clattering her wine glass on the
table. ‘It has been a disaster every time. I should have seen this one
coming, too.’
‘Oh come on, Gill, they’ve not been that bad,’ said her best
friend, Debbie.
‘Yes, they have,’ Gill said grimly.
‘Let’s just start with last night’s fiasco, Graham, shall
we?’ sighed Gill, who then took a gulp of her Pinot Grigio, as if to give her
strength for the tirade she was about to unleash. Lisa and Angela, making up
the remainder completing the quartet of friends that evening, exchanged a
glance. They knew they were about to get an ear-bashing.
‘How did you describe Graham to me, Lisa?’ When Lisa didn’t
reply, her answer stuck in her throat, Gill continued, smoothing a strand of
her lustrous chestnut hair behind her ear.
‘OK, let me remind you. You assured me I would get on well
with Graham as we were almost the same age and he had no baggage. I think you
said he was a workaholic like me, but also liked going to the gym, so pretty
fit, in both senses of the word. Oh, and he liked reading and foreign films.
Am I close?’ At silent assent from her friends, Gill went on, ‘what you didn’t
tell me was that he’s five feet four, so three inches shorter than me, and in
the heels I had on last night, make that seven, and that he has the personality
of a gnat!’ Drawing breath and getting back into her stride, Gill counted out
on her fingers for emphasis. ‘He talked about the gym all night. He didn’t
once ask anything about me, apart from if I was a member at a gym, as he looked
me up and down. I now know more about pectorals, abdominals, protein shakes,
and the pros and cons of taking steroids, than I ever thought possible.’
Gill tried to glare at her friends, but Lisa was looking at
the ceiling, Angela at her shoes and Debbie had found the Guinness beer mat on
the table fascinating.
‘And, yes, he is divorced, but he’d only been married two
minutes and then got divorced. What does that say about his attitude to
commitment?’ Not waiting for an answer, by now not expecting one either, Gill
carried on.
‘Then, there’s his favourite book, or rather lack of. The
last novel he read was The Da Vinci Code and before that a text prescribed for
O’ Grade English! How does that make him interested in books?’
A particularly keen reader herself, Gill couldn’t fathom how
anyone couldn’t read a book a month at least.
‘And his love of foreign films? He looked a bit of a perv,
so yes, if they’re Swedish and include the words, “Yes baby, give it to me
harder!”’
Debbie snorted. She couldn’t help it. That set off Angela,
and as Lisa started howling, tears running down her face, before long even Gill
saw the funny side of it and her face visibly relaxed. Then she was laughing,
protesting between gulps for air, ‘It’s not funny. How would you have liked
it? I’ve barely been out for months, as you know. What a waste of a night.
Here was me trying to talk to him about Aldo Giovanni and Fellini and all he
knew about foreign film was Borat!’ The giggles from Debbie, and the fact that
Angela had to get up and run to the loo at Olympic speed, attracted the
attention of the vigilant barista,
‘Everything all right, ladies?’
‘No, I think we can quite categorically say, everything’s
all wrong,’ Gill managed to squeak. ‘But we’ll be fine, thanks.’
As the barman shrugged and walked away, Lisa said, ‘What
about him?’
‘What?’ asked Gill, ‘Brett?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s barely out of nappies.’
‘No, he’s not. He’s about twenty-five.’
‘Yes and much as I would enjoy the stamina of a twenty-five
year old, I would probably have as much in common with him as the workaholic,
iron pumping bore you set me up with last night. No, I think I’m much better
off on my own.’
‘You can’t give up, you’re only thirty-seven,’ Debbie put in
her tuppenceworth.
‘Yes, I can. I’ve had enough, really.’
‘There must be another way,’ agreed Lisa, as she readjusted
her charm bracelet, which had snagged on the fine hairs of her arm.
‘I don’t think so. We did have one thing in common, Graham
and I. Like me, he works a lot and didn’t I get to hear about that, too. Riveting.
I might be a workaholic, but at least I‘m not a bore about it. Am I?’ Gill
searched her friends’ eyes for confirmation when they didn’t answer.
‘No, no,’ Lisa added hurriedly. ‘You never talk about your
work,’ at which point the three friends dissolved into laughter again.
‘I don’t talk about it
all
the
time,’ said Gill.
‘No of course you don’t,’ Lisa didn’t even try to hide the
sarcasm in her voice.
‘Just ninety percent of the time,’ said Debbie.
‘I’m not
that
bad,’ said Gill.
‘Yes, you are,’ broke in Debbie, ‘and that’s why we need to
find you a good bloke.’
‘Well, that’s not going to happen. Maybe I should just
throw myself even more into my work.’
‘Oh that would be just great. Then you will have so much
more free time,’ dead-panned Lisa.
‘Gill, you already work from seven in the morning until
eight or nine at night, at least five days a week and you’re always on your
laptop at the weekend. There’s got to be more to life. You’re meant to work
to live, not the other way round.’
‘Really? Well thank you Miss Ross for that illuminating
insight, but I think I’ll just try and find more people jobs. I’m obviously
far better at that than I am at finding a partner.’
Chapter Two
Gill was fed up. Last night’s conversation with the girls
had left her feeling unsettled. How come her friends ended up with guys they
really loved and she didn’t? Well, apart from Angela. She’d met a man, fallen
in love, moved in with him, been with him seven years and had his baby. Then
he moved out. He needed space. What a cliché. You would have thought he’d
want to stay quite close to his ten-month-old son, but no, four hundred and
sixty miles away in Brighton was close enough apparently. Naturally Angela had
set the CSA on him, given that he’d only visited twice since he moved out and
on one of those occasions he’d even had the audacity to ask for a loan, instead
of actually paying his child’s maintenance. At least she didn’t have that
complication in her life, thought Gill, suppressing a shudder. Happy with most
of her life, the one area which wasn’t going to plan seemed to be the search
for a partner with whom she could share it.
As she tried to sort out a load of washing, Gill wondered
where she was going wrong. Of course she was a bit of a workaholic, she knew
that. But, there were lots of driven individuals out there these days. She
knew she wasn’t alone in that. Surely she could find a like-minded workaholic
like herself? They couldn’t all be married off.
With a sigh, Gill tried to think back to the last date she’d
been on which had actually shown any promise. Not this year. Last year? Oh
yes, Debbie’s cousin’s friend, who turned out to be married.
Colin was the last successful date she had been on. But
their tastes were too different and he worked away a lot. Not just down the
road either; Dubai to be precise. Good old Colin. Not the cheeky chappie
she’d been led to believe, quite the opposite.
Wonder what he’s doing these
days, thought Gill. Maybe I could call him up? Nah. That’s a bit sad, isn’t
it?
Yes, definitely sad
, her relentless alter ego agreed.
Oh shut up, you!
Before Colin, there was Clive. Again that had looked
hopeful. They’d gone to a Lightning Storm gig at King Tuts together, but it
had all gone downhill when instead of being the Sales Director she’d assumed,
he’d turned out to be a Funeral Director. He’d chosen to omit the word funeral
when they had first met. Urgh! The very thought made her stomach churn. But
she could have got past that, maybe, but not the lying. She didn’t do liars.
As Gill ironed her work trousers, she mused once again over
how best to meet men. Ironic when you thought about it. She met men every
day, in her capacity as a recruitment consultant, and had fancied loads of
them. But it wouldn’t be professional and Gill never mixed her personal and
professional lives.
After Angela had split from her other half, she and Gill had
even tried speed dating, just for a laugh. It had been a bit of fun, even if
it felt a little forced. Gill preferred things to be straightforward and had
felt a tad uncomfortable. By the end of the evening she’d been given two phone
numbers, but hadn’t called either. Was it really any worse, though, than
letting your friends set you up with their colleagues, friends you didn’t have
in common, extended family members and well, pretty much, anything with a
pulse? Probably not. But, as she’d sat there with her cards which held
various pieces of information about the potential dates, it had felt all
wrong. Clinical. Where was the romance? That’s not to say there might not
have been any, if she’d had the guts to call one of the interested parties.
Anyway, it was all in the past. For now, Gill had decided she was a man-free
zone. Give herself three months of steering clear of them, but not in a ‘cross
the road to avoid them’ kind of way. No blind dates. No ‘chance’ encounters
engineered by her friends. No making up the numbers at dinner parties. It was
time to make a stand.
Gill stood waiting for the bus from Shawlands to the city
centre. Her initiative from last month had been to become greener and of
course, she couldn’t hack the traffic over the Kingston Bridge every day. At
least on the bus she could read, work or listen to her iPod, or even, as she
often did, have a snooze.
Finally the familiar bendy bus pulled into the bus stop and
after assisting an elderly lady in before her, (Gill thought good manners cost
little), she boarded the bus, flashing her monthly pass at the driver.
Fortunately she managed to get a seat. One of the many
drawbacks of public transport, Gill felt, apart from potentially being
subjected to verbal abuse, or sitting on seats the great unwashed had
frequented before you, was not getting a seat. If you were lucky, you had a
strap above your head to hold onto which, thanks to the heels she was wearing,
she could just about reach. That strap was the only safeguard of your survival
if the driver chose to swing the bus around corners and catapult you through
the window, or on top of other unwitting passengers. Gill also hated when the
buses were jam-packed. Every sweaty male seemed to stand beside her, and to be
honest it wasn’t her idea of a relaxing journey into the office, nestled in
some stranger’s left armpit, holding her breath and wondering if she was the
only one who knew what shower gel was. Reaching a free seat, she barely had
time to pop her black leather portfolio case onto her lap and push her umbrella
between her knees to the floor below, before a grossly overweight man hefted himself
into the seat next to her, firmly wedging her between him and the window. Why
did it always happen to her? Could she not get a break, just for once? As she
tried to exhale without touching him, he turned and smiled at her. Oh great,
that was all she needed. Keeping her gaze blank, Gill studied the adverts. An
advert proclaiming the arrival of Elaine C Smith in panto – again. Another for
the PDSA. One for laser eye surgery. Teeth whitening. A nail bar. A common
theme was starting to appear on these later posters, Gill thought.
Self-improvement. Obviously advertisers think we’re just a nation of shallow
creatures. What was the next one? Happy Ever After – the dating agency for
professional people. ‘Short on time? High in qualifications? Half price
joining fee – offer ends 30th September. Visit our website below.’
Interesting
, thought Gill.
Not that I’ll be doing anything about it, but I wonder what they
offer that online agencies don’t? Probably just more of the same
. Yet,
she mentally stored the website, so she could check it out later.
‘Is that quarter to one already?’ Gill asked her assistant,
Janice.
‘Seems to be. It
has
gone in
quick.’
‘You’re not kidding. Listen, would you mind nipping over
the road and getting us some lunch? My treat,’ Gill added when she saw Janice
look pointedly at the rain battering against the windowpanes.
‘Sure, no problem. Can I borrow your brolly?’
‘Yes, it’s in the rack.’
Once Janice left the office, Gill typed Happy Ever After’s
website into her browser. A photo of a smiling man in his early fifties
greeted her, with twinkling eyes behind designer glasses. As the pages loaded,
a very sophisticated forty-something woman, in a red cocktail dress, diamonds
adorning her fingers, earlobes and neck, joined him. Next a gorgeous guy, whom
Gill reckoned to be in his mid-thirties, came into view, sporting a tux and a
cheeky grin, looking very debonair and akin to Daniel Craig’s version of James
Bond. Finally, a model-like girl, possibly in her twenties, in what resembled
a debutante ball gown, holding a champagne flute, completed the set. The
website was glossy with a sophisticated font, Gill noted. If it had been on
paper, it would have been an embossed letterhead.
After scrolling through each page in turn, Gill clicked on
Contact: Caroline Morgan – co-founder, followed by the names of several
executives. She was quietly impressed by the fact that the founder appeared to
meet every single one of her clients before passing them over to an associate
for the day-to-day running. However, she was aghast at the cost. Eight
hundred pounds joining fee! Oh, wait a minute, there had been a special offer
on, hadn’t there?
Gill was just about to act on impulse and ring them up, when
Janice burst through the door, awkwardly juggling two
lattes
and paper bags brimful with muffins and baguettes. Quickly pressing the
spacebar, Gill activated her screensaver.
‘It’s torture out there. The town’s mobbed.’
‘Hmm,’ murmured Gill, her thoughts elsewhere. She only
really tuned in to Janice when she handed over her
latte
.
As they tucked into their sandwiches, Gill ran through in
her mind what she’d just read online. Happy Ever After’s client base comprised
almost a thousand current prospective dates, with an approximate fifty/fifty
split between men and women. Their clientele were professional people too busy
to find a date in the normal way. So they chose to join an elite club of
potential mates. The matching service the agency provided guaranteed you would
only be offered profiles of like-minded individuals. Their clients included
company directors, lawyers, accountants, stockbrokers, doctors, bankers and
wealthy investors, retired early and living off their investments. Some were
simply too shy to find a date for themselves and required some help. After the
registration fee, it cost thirty pounds a month. Well, that didn’t sound too
bad, but the initial joining fee, even if half price, would be hopefully enough
to deter time-wasters and the wrong type of clientele. Maybe she’d give it a
go. She’d keep it to herself for now. If her friends knew, they’d be all over
her like a rash, at the thought of her even considering it. Gill knew they saw
her as unlucky in love, the only one amongst them who hadn’t had a serious relationship;
no engagement, marriage or kids. They didn’t count Barry. They saw that as
more of a blip.
With that thought and after demolishing the last morsel of
her lunch, Gill dabbed at the edge of her mouth with a tissue and said,
‘Actually I might leave a bit earlier tonight. Miss the
traffic that way. I’d get so much more done at home without interruptions.’
Janice’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re leaving early?’
‘Yes, think so, why?’
‘It’s just you haven’t left early since dinosaurs last
roamed the Earth.’
‘Very funny. I just feel like being spontaneous for a
change. My last appointment’s at three. You OK to lock up later?’
‘Sure.’
‘Right, well, I best go and prepare for my one thirty then,’
said Gill, picking up his CV and her latte, as she crossed to Meeting Room One.
In reality, she wanted time to herself to figure out what
should go in her dating profile. Even though she didn’t know what would be
expected of her, she began composing a physical description of herself in her
head, then her likes and dislikes and most importantly, what she was looking
for. What was she looking for? Friendship and perhaps something more? Someone
to have a kiss and a cuddle with and in time, rampant sex? A deep and
meaningful relationship?
The wall clock read ten past one. Before she could change
her mind, Gill dialled the number she’d memorised from Happy Ever After’s
website. It rang six times and then the answering machine kicked in, informing
her they were at lunch, but if she would like to leave her details and a message,
her call would be returned as soon as possible. After a moment’s hesitation,
whilst she pondered the lack of professionalism in not having anyone available
during lunchtime, Gill managed to stammer out a short, not terribly eloquent
message and left her mobile number. She couldn’t get off the phone quickly
enough. She hoped she’d done the right thing. Oh well, too late now. She
picked up the next candidate’s CV, glancing briefly at her watch as she did
so. Fifteen minutes. If he wasn’t prompt, he could forget being put forward
for interview. Punctuality was key in Gill’s world, and there was no place in
the current job market for tardiness.
‘That’s your candidate here,’ Janice’s voice burst into her
thoughts,
‘Send him in, please. Thanks Janice.’
Thank goodness the day was over and the weather had cleared
up. Now that Gill had made up her mind, she was determined to pay a visit to
Happy Ever After’s offices in Park Circus, which fortunately she could walk to
from the office. Thinking she may as well get some exercise, too, Gill set off
at a brisk pace on the twenty minute walk.
Smoothing down her chestnut curls with some fixing product
and checking her reflection in the wing mirror of a handily positioned transit
van, to satisfy herself she had nothing stuck between her teeth, Gill decided
she was ready. Looking left and right, to ensure no one she knew was passing,
Gill sped up the stairs of the Georgian townhouse which housed Happy Ever
After’s dating agency.
She recognised the foyer from the website, all Italian cream
marble. It would have appeared clinical if not for the array of potted plants,
and strategically placed vases of flowers dotted around. Behind a balsawood
desk sat a perky, pretty receptionist.
‘Good afternoon. Welcome to Happy Ever After, how can I
help you?’ the girl smiled at Gill.
‘Hi Millie,’ said Gill, reading the receptionist’s name
badge on her jacket, ‘I was hoping to see a consultant.’
‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘No, although I did leave a voicemail at lunchtime.’
‘Oh, you must be Gill McFadden. I passed your message to
Caroline Morgan, the director. She’ll have you on her call back list, if she
hasn’t rung you already.’
‘No, she hasn’t,’ said Gill, pulling her phone out of her
bag. Missed call, one new message. As Gill listened to her message, she nodded
at the girl, smiling. Ending the call she said, ‘That was Miss Morgan, asking
me to contact her at my earliest convenience. I suppose that would be now,’
Gill pushed her luck.
