The Dating Game Page 6

  ‘Yes, but your marks are always lower than mine. Seven is really high for you.’

  ‘True,’ Gill admitted. ‘OK, here’s the second candidate,’ and again covering up the photo, she turned the sheet of paper containing Ronald’s details towards Debbie.

  ‘Forty-nine. Older man, eh?’

  She didn’t know the half of it, thought Gill.

  ‘He lives up in Loch Lomond. He might have a house overlooking the loch. Maybe even his own boat? Nice place to have lunch in the summer.’

  Gill couldn’t deny that. In Gill’s opinion, when the weather was good, there was no country on earth more beautiful than Scotland, with its diversity of scenery. The drive up Loch Lomondside was particularly rewarding. Pity that good weather came when least expected, without warning, and lasted all of two minutes.

  ‘I’m more bothered by the fact that he smokes than by his three kids.’

  Gill stopped her, ‘OK, I’ll think about that. Move on.’ She had no intention of meeting Ronald, so didn’t want Debbie to linger too long over his profile. She was more interested in knowing what she thought of Anton. She liked the name. Anton, it rolled off the lips nicely – very exotic sounding, a bit like its owner’s looks.

  ‘Well,’ said Debbie, summing up her thoughts on Ronald, ‘apart from the square name, why not Ronnie, after all, he seems quite interesting. In fact, are you sure he’s not a bit cultured for you?’

  ‘What are you trying to say? I’m some sort of philistine?’ Gill said indignantly.

  ‘No, but you’re hardly going to start spouting forth on art history, are you?’

  Clearly not. Gill had been to the Uffizi in Florence once, under duress. She had made the mistake of not booking her ticket in advance and had queued for two hours to get in. After being blown away by the first five enormous, floor to ceiling, religious paintings, she was fed up and could no longer marvel at how amazing they were.

  ‘I’m not quite so sure about him, but apart from being perhaps a little posh for you, I think he sounds OK,’ finished Debbie. She removed the coaster which was covering the photo.

  ‘Yikes! Forty-nine. There’s no way he’s forty-nine. He looks about sixty-five. Has he had Botox in reverse?’

  ‘Yeah, I thought he might be lying about his age, too.’

  ‘Lying? He should be prosecuted for fraud! That’s a gross misrepresentation.’

  Gill said nothing, as she was of a similar opinion herself.

  ‘So, can I take it, he’s a no?’

  ‘Yes,’ Gill smiled at Debbie, ‘of course he’s a no.’

  ‘Right, let’s see the last one.’

  Quietly confident over Debbie’s reaction to Anton, Gill repeated the process and showed Anton’s profile without showing his photo.

  ‘Oh. Nice name,’ said Debbie. ‘That was one of the names I had chosen if we had a boy, but Gerry was having none of it. Research Scientist. That sounds impressive. Or has he souped up his title, so he sounds more impressive? Maybe he does data entry.’

  Privately Gill had wondered the same thing, but she wasn’t about to let Debbie know this. Nor did she want Debbie’s judgment influenced negatively or positively by her comments, so she held back from berating Debbie for shattering her illusions.

  ‘He’s Russian. Sounds first generation and he’s just older than you and no more. That could be nice,’ Debbie winked at her friend conspiratorially. ‘Vladivostok. Do you remember work wanted me to attend that conference in Russia years ago, in the middle of nowhere? I think the nearest hotel chain was four hundred kilometres from it, in Vladivostok. That’s all I know about Vladivostok.’

  Gill knew even less.

  ‘Oh, he’s tall, too. I wonder if he’s ‘Dolph Lundgren in Rocky IV playing the Russian boxer tall’, or if he’s a tall, slim thing?’

  ‘Who knows,’ Gill said noncommittally.

  ‘You share some interests and you could always try Zorbing!’ teased Debbie.

  ‘Yeah, because I wouldn’t feel sick doing that,’ Gill said faintly. An ex-boyfriend had once bought her a Zorbing session as a Christmas present and she had been secretly delighted when the company had gone bust, before she had the chance to use the voucher.

  ‘I wonder how good his English is, though,’ Debbie thought out loud.

  ‘A lot of these boffins are used to speaking, reading and writing English,’ Gill clarified.

  ‘Although it might be quite nice for him to be the strong, silent type, if his English is limited. Can’t imagine you’d need to be able to talk to him much,’ Debbie winked at Gill again.

  ‘Will you stop that? You’re making me nervous and it looks like you’ve got a twitch.’

  Just then their main courses arrived. They smelled and looked amazing.

  Realising just how hungry they both still were, they tucked in. Between mouthfuls, Debbie managed to add, ‘He has my vote.’ She’d uncovered the photo just after the waitress left and her eyes had gone out on stalks. ‘I think I like him even better than Charlie.’

  And there was the difference in their tastes. Gill did like Anton, but she thought Charlie was more suitable. Ronald was nobody under sixty’s cup of tea.

  ‘Each to their own,’ Gill said.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes then Debbie said, slapping her right hand against her forehead.

  ‘I’m such an idiot. I completely forgot to tell you, the girls are meeting us later in Chrysalis.

  ‘What?’ said Gill. ‘Have you told them?’

  ‘No, but you’re going to,’ she grinned at her friend then shovelled another forkful of sea bass into her mouth.

  Chapter Seven

  After finishing their meal, the girls split the bill.

  ‘I can hardly move,’ groaned Debbie.

  ‘Sheer piggery. I told you you shouldn’t have had the meringue.’

  ‘I know, but it sounded so good and tasted even better. There’s an extra five pounds towards the bill to cover my dessert.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Put it away.’

  ‘No, I always eat more than you.’

  ‘I know, I’m used to it, but we’re still splitting the bill fifty/fifty.’

  ‘Well, I’m buying the drinks then.’

  Knowing there was no use arguing with her friend, Gill closed her mouth.

  ‘That’s your taxi now,’ the waitress said.

  Scraping back their chairs, they thanked her and left the restaurant.

  ‘That’s four eighty,’ said the driver, as he let them out on Bath St. Debbie handed him five pounds fifty.

  As it was mid-week, the pub was pretty quiet. From Thursday onwards, it would be really busy, since live bands played there. They were usually quite good, too. Angela’s cousin had performed there recently and the four girls had gone to cheer him on.

  Debbie and Gill looked around to see if they could spot the other two. Debbie finally spied their friends in a corner by a large coat stand which seemed to be in danger of toppling over and landing on them. Gill saw Angela eyeing it warily. Lisa happened to glance up, noticed Debbie and Gill, and pointed them out to Angela, as they approached the table.

  ‘Hiya, how’s it going?’ asked Gill.

  ‘Great. We’re on our third cocktail already,’ slurred Lisa. She didn’t handle alcohol very well. But Lisa’s motto was why put off until tomorrow what you could do today and that usually meant enjoying herself. Who was to say she was wrong? Gill wondered, thinking of her workload. Plus Lisa always seemed to have some guy tagging along, when it suited her. Girls’ nights out, however, were just that – no guys allowed. Lisa was never serious about guys. She had no intention, even at thirty-five of settling down. She was having far too good a time for that. She had numerous ‘boyfriends’ to call upon, as and when she wanted and if they needed something more, she dropped them. She’d circumvented tradition. Men behaved like this all the time, why not women? she said. This way she had the run of her home. It wasn’t very large anyway. As a beautician she didn’
t make a great deal of money, but she still owned a small, modern two bedroom flat in the suburbs, in Robroyston. She didn’t want to have her peace shattered every evening with some guy rolling in from work, wanting dinner. Or even if he shared household tasks, she wouldn’t be able to do just as she pleased. Lisa could always be counted on to liven things up, but she also liked her own company. She chose when to meet people. Tonight she was clearly in party mode, since she was on cocktails. Gill hugged her friend, who was as always immaculately turned out. Gill put it down partly to Lisa being a beauty therapist, but also just because she was Lisa. She liked to look good, but she wore too much makeup in Gill’s opinion, and overdid it on the spray tan. That was mainly due to work and vanity. Lisa was obsessed with her work to almost the same extent as Gill, although Lisa could close the door on hers at five o’clock. She read every magazine aimed at beauty professionals that she could get her hands on. Gill kissed Angela on the cheek and sat down, as Debbie asked the girls if they wanted another drink.

  ‘No. We’re fine, thanks. We’ve just got these,’ said Angela.

  Lisa looked at her and then at Debbie as if to say, ‘speak for yourself.’

  Going into work hungover wasn’t quite as big a deal for Lisa as for Angela. You had to have your wits about you at all times dealing with thirty teenagers, particularly those at the secondary school in which she taught.

  Debbie returned shortly afterwards with drinks for everyone, except Angela. She’d read Lisa’s tacit instruction to bring her another cocktail.

  ‘So, what’s the occasion?’ Lisa wanted to know.

  Debbie looked at Gill and made a motion with her head of ‘go on’. Gill could have killed her. She hadn’t counted on telling the girls tonight. She hadn’t even fully considered what their response would be to the dating agency, never mind the candidates’ profiles secreted in her briefcase.

  Sighing, she decided to just blurt it out, glancing around first to ensure no one was close enough to overhear, ‘I’ve joined a dating agency.’

  ‘What!’ said Lisa, her jaw falling open in astonishment.

  ‘You’re joking!’ said Angela.

  ‘No, I’m serious,’ said Gill.

  ‘Oh, this is brilliant,’ said Lisa, as she wiped the table with a napkin. ‘So, are you on a website?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t work quite like that. It’s a professional dating agency.’

  ‘Oo-oh, a professional dating agency,’ Lisa mocked.

  ‘Stop taking the piss.’ Gill snapped.

  ‘But aren’t you afraid that it will just be full of saddos and weirdos?’ Angela asked.

  ‘Far from,’ butted in Debbie. ‘Show them the profiles,’ she instructed Gill.

  ‘Profiles? Oh, let’s see.’ She was more excited than a child on Christmas morning.

  Resigning herself to Lisa’s hilarity and fully expecting her to ridicule them, Gill bent down and removed them once again from her briefcase.

  Rather than go through the long, drawn-out process she’d permitted with Debbie, she simply handed Lisa the three profiles and sent a silent signal to Debbie not to comment.

  ‘Ooh, he’s nice, Lisa said, putting her index finger on Charlie’s picture. I like him.’

  Angela agreed. ‘I like his hair and those shoulders,’ she said, as she read the blurb on him. Lisa ignored the text completely, turning instead to the second photo. ‘Oh my God. Who’s this ancient guy?’ Then answering her own question, she said, ‘Ronald Fotheringham. Christ. Even his name sounds old and decrepit.’

  ‘Is this a real date for you?’ Angela asked, astonished.

  ‘Yeah,’ admitted Gill.

  ‘Aren’t you a bit concerned the agency isn’t matching you with like-minded people?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, to be fair, as you’ve all pointed out, Charlie is a bit of all right.’

  ‘I suppose,’ conceded Angela.

  ‘Here’s the last one,’ said Debbie, handing it over.

  ‘Anton. No, I don’t like the look of him,’ said Lisa. ‘He’s all cheekbones, but there’s something about his eyes I don’t like.’

  ‘I disagree,’ said Angela. ‘I think he’s gorgeous, soulful looking, tortured.’

  ‘Yeah, ‘cos tortured is a good thing,’ said Lisa sarcastically.

  ‘No, I think I know what Ang means,’ said Gill, ‘he looks like he has a story to him. I bet you he’s deep.’

  ‘Translate that as depressing,’ said Lisa.

  ‘The guy goes Zorbing for God’s sake,’ Ang said, ‘he’s hardly unadventurous, even by your standards.’

  ‘Well, he doesn’t do anything for me,’ said Lisa, a tad snippily.

  ‘He doesn’t need to do anything for you,’ Debbie and Angela said in unison. ‘It’s Gill he has to do something for,’ grinned Debbie.

  ‘Yes, Miss McFadden, what exactly would you like him to do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ spluttered Gill. ‘I haven’t even met him yet.’

  ‘Ah, gotcha, said Debbie, ‘you said yet. That means you’ve decided to meet him.’

  Thinking about it, Gill decided she had. Charlie too.

  ‘I haven’t told the agency yet if they can go ahead with any of these guys or not,’ said Gill.

  ‘Well, why not?’ asked Lisa, rearranging herself on her chair to make herself more comfortable.

  ‘Cos I only received them today and I wanted to discuss them with you lot first.’ It was only a tiny, white lie. She had always intended discussing them with Debbie. ‘I’ll reply in the morning, saying they can go ahead with Charlie and Anton.’

  ‘Oh, this is so exciting,’ said Lisa.

  ‘I hope they’re nice blokes,’ said Angela. ‘You deserve one.’

  ‘Well, I’m not intending to get hitched or anything,’ Gill was keen to clarify. ‘I’m just going to go on a few dates, see what happens, find out if we like each other.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Lisa said. ‘We know you. Within six months, you’ll be a couple, doing coupley things and hardly having time for us.’

  ‘Oh c’mon, you know that’s not true,’ said Gill.

  Debbie coughed, ‘Well, it kind of is. That’s what you do, Gill. You get all loved up and then get tunnel vision and we don’t see as much of you.’

  ‘But this is different,’ said Gill, aggrieved that her friends thought she would ditch them when some bloke came on the scene.

  ‘I know and we’re happy for you, should it come to anything of course, but just don’t be all or nothing. Find a happy medium this time,’ Angela said.

  Gill knew her friends were right, but it would be easier in any case. She couldn’t dedicate a lot of time to a guy anyway; she had so much to do running her company. That hadn’t been a consideration last time around.

  ‘Anyway,’ Lisa shrieked, ‘more importantly, what are you going to wear? You can come by the salon beforehand, or I can come to yours and make you your most be-a-yootiful. Give you a complete makeover.’

  ‘Thanks, so what you’re telling me is I need an overhaul,’ Gill was a little offended.

  ‘No, of course not, but c’mon, this is what I’m good at. Emphasising your assets. You don’t wear much makeup. I can do your colours for you properly and then apply makeup to suit. Nothing too heavy, I promise. Guide’s Honour.’

  Gill strongly doubted Lisa’s Girl Guide credentials, but thought better of saying so.

  ‘OK, I suppose, but it better be tasteful,’ she warned. ‘And I best not be any shade of orange.’

  ‘You’ll look great,’ Lisa assured her.

  The girls spent the rest of the evening discussing how dressy Gill should be and whether they had anything appropriate to lend her to wear.

  Before long it was last orders. Getting into two taxis on Bath St, the girls went their separate ways home.

  Chapter Eight

  Next day Gill was pretty hungover and she rose later than usual. Her head throbbed and she didn’t want to take any painkillers before eating anything. When s
he got to work, she would beg Janice to run across the road to the café and get her a muffin. She was thankful that the car was in town. The walk to the bus stop had done her good and she needed the fresh air. She didn’t even care that it was raining.

  She’d e-mailed Caroline Morgan from Happy Ever After last night around midnight from her phone, confirming she would meet Charlie and Anton. What was she like? Caroline Morgan would probably be dissolving in fits of mirth, seeing how desperate Gill was, replying to a dating agency e-mail at midnight. She probably realised it had been sent after a few drinks, whether for courage or celebration. In any case, this morning, Gill felt more than a little mortified.

  Janice arrived not long after Gill.

  ‘You look rough. Good night?’ she asked Gill.

  Janice didn’t mince her words.

  ‘Yes, but I’m feeling a touch delicate this morning,’ admitted Gill woefully. ‘Would you be an angel and get us some supplies from the café, please? I could murder a blueberry muffin and a latte.’

  Although they had a perfectly good cafetière in the office, sometimes Gill just needed a professionally prepared latte.

  ‘Coming right up. Can’t have you going around like that all day. You’ll scare people. Go and put some makeup on,’ and with that Janice dug into the piggy bank Gill kept for their café jaunts and upended eight pound coins into her palm. As Janice headed over to the café to fetch their elevenses, even if they’d be long gone by nine thirty, Gill pulled out her compact and examined her face. ‘Ugh.’ She didn’t like what she saw. Never mind a caffeinated latte; she should probably be drinking five litres of water to rehydrate her skin. That’s what Lisa would tell her. Lisa might drink like a fish, but she always had a pint glass of water beside her, which she sipped alternately to her cocktail/wine/spirit. Unzipping the make-up bag she kept in the office for emergencies, of which this was one, Gill slowly applied foundation then concealer to the enormous bags under her eyes and flicked her mascara wand briefly over her eyelashes. Janice was right. She didn’t need to feel like crap and look like crap. Gill got up and walked over to the oval mirror which stood at one end of her office. A slightly improved version of her stared back.