Confessions of a Serial Dater Page 15

  “It’s just a drink,” he says persuasively. “Go on—you know you want to,” he says, grinning his charming grin.

  Honestly, since when did no mean maybe?

  “Is everything alright, Rosie?” It’s Jonathan.

  I cannot turn around without bumping into handsome exes today.

  “Everything’s fine.” Why can’t they both just leave me alone?

  “Only I just wanted to make sure that you were alright. It must have been a scare for you,” he adds, and I so don’t want to be here making polite conversation with him.

  “Harry, meet Jonathan.” I’m just too exasperated to bother. “You have a lot in common. Me,” I add over my shoulder as I leave the scene.

  Uncle Bill takes the stage, and his voice booms over the loudspeaker system. “Everything’s under control,” he tells the room. “My daughter, Elaine, isn’t feeling quite herself, and because she’s pregnant, we thought it best she gets checked at the hospital.

  “But I know she wouldn’t want that to stop your enjoyment of the evening, and I’d like you all to continue to have a good time. Please raise your glasses to the bride and groom-to-be.”

  I’d better go check on my mother, I suppose.

  A half-hour later, as Auntie Lizzy and I settle Mum and Gran into the limousine Auntie Lizzy insisted on calling for them, I am still worrying about the Elaine situation. I am not the only one, because Mum, as usual, is worrying enough for the whole of London.

  “You’ll call?” Mum demands. “You’ll check with the hospital as soon as there’s news?”

  “Yes, Mum.”

  “Elaine’s never been one of my favorite relatives, as you know, but a family has to stick together in its time of need,” she announces rather dramatically.

  “I know, Mum,” I say again.

  “And you’ll call again when you get home? Just so I know you’re safe?”

  “Give the girl a break, Sandra,” Gran tells her. “She might get lucky and find some nice hunk to go home with,” Gran adds, which is not helpful.

  “Mother, Rosie’s not like—”

  “Sex is good for the soul. And for bad nerves,” Gran cackles as I close the car door. “You should try it sometime. In fact, I might give Sid a call when we get home. Or possibly Alf—I can’t make up me mind.”

  Mum really needn’t bother worrying about me getting lucky. She has plenty to worry about with Granny Elsie. And Elaine, of course…

  As I make my way back to my table, I don’t feel much like being cheerful. How can we have a good time, knowing that poor Elaine is in the hospital? But for Ned and Flora’s sake Elaine didn’t want the party ruined, so it’s only right that we at least try to follow her wishes, isn’t it?

  “Is she okay?” Jess asks me anxiously as I slide into my seat.

  So I repeat the sequence of events but omit the part about Luke and me in the bar.

  “Oh, it’s so awful, awful,” Jess says, putting her hand over her mouth.

  “She’s fine, really,” I say. “At least, the doctor thought it was just indigestion. Elaine thinks it’s indigestion, too, so that’s a good sign, isn’t it?” I am trying for upbeat.

  “The only thing awful here, I’m thinking, is Elaine’s strange desire to be the center of attention at all times,” Carmen says, her voice hard and unsympathetic, which jolts us all into silence. “I’m hoping I’m wrong, but if what I’m thinking is true, then I may have to kill her for doing this to Flora.”

  No. Surely not even Elaine would do something like that? I mean, she’s been a pain in the past, but surely she wouldn’t deliberately set out to wreck the party?

  “Don’t you think you’re taking this a bit personally?” Paul asks her.

  “No.” Carmen gives him a glare that would shatter stone. And then does a complete hundred-and-eighty-degree turn as she smiles and switches on the charm. “You just don’t know her very well, darling.”

  “But maybe it’s, like, real,” Jess says. “And if she did lose her baby, and we didn’t believe her, then that would make us heartless. Heartless.”

  “Um, I know Elaine’s pulled some horrible stunts in the past,” I say, “but even she wouldn’t do something so underhanded and—”

  “You two are so nice sometimes, I worry about you,” Carmen tells us. “Aster should take you on a nice minibreak,” she adds to Jess, and I know that this conversation isn’t really about Elaine.

  “But she does have a point,” Philip points out. “And at this time, we should give Elaine the benefit of the doubt. God would give her the benefit of the doubt. Although I wouldn’t put it past her to—No, sorry people. Scrub that.”

  “You are too nice sometimes, too,” Carmen tells him, patting his hand. “But I guess it comes with the territory. Phil, if you could go on a nice, calming minibreak, where would you choose?”

  “Don’t you think you’re jumping to an overreactive conclusion?” Paul asks, totally missing the minibreak hint. “Because you do have a tendency to overreact before you get all the facts.” He obviously likes to live dangerously.

  “You just don’t know Elaine,” Carmen tells him with a dangerous glint in her eye. “But darling, how can you base a judgement on three seconds of talking to the woman?” she asks. Her voice is so reasonable and understanding that I’m starting to worry. “You only met her for the first time, tonight, whereas we,” she waves an arm around, “have known her for years, and it’s not the first time she’s rained on someone else’s parade.”

  “Yes, but what happened?” Charlie says impatiently. “I had to put off a highly important telephone call for this, I’ll have you know.”

  “Well, let’s see,” Carmen says. “Not that I think that your cousin is a lying, conniving cow who hates not to be the center of everyone’s attention,” she says. “Who figures out a way to grab it back when she’s not. But as it happens, the minute the room fell silent because Ned was about to make his speech about how lovely and wonderful Flora is, and how lucky he is that she’s agreed to be his wife, Elaine’s contractions started. Which caused a panic, and thank God Ned didn’t have to go to the hospital with her, which is probably what Elaine wanted, but didn’t get,” she finishes with a flourish.

  “You’ve got to admit it does sound a bit far-fetched,” I say. I think Carmen’s taking this a bit too personally, too.

  “Well, even if it is true—and I’m not saying that it is true—it didn’t work,” Charlie jumps in. “Thanks to Rosie’s utterly gorgeous doctor friend, the groom is firmly back in place having fun with his bride-to-be.”

  I do wish Charlie hadn’t mentioned Luke.

  “What gorgeous doctor friend?” is Carmen’s immediate, unsurprising response.

  “Well, I think you’re being a bit harsh on her,” Jess starts, then stops as she catches up with us. “Is it the same one as before? The one you snogged at Christmas?”

  “He’s not my gorgeous doctor friend.” I avoid giving a straight answer. I can’t quite lie to them, so will instead give the impression by careful choice of words. “I’m glad he was able to take over, though. It would have been a damp party without the groom,” I add, trying to change the subject.

  “You were getting on like a house on fire for two people who’ve only just met.” Charlie rides roughshod over my attempt. “You should have been there,” he adds to Carmen, who hates to miss out on anything. “Gorgeous, fascinating, rich—and totally into our Rosie. My fuck, I nearly self-combusted from the heat and smoldering looks flying in that bar.”

  “Charlie’s love gin-and-tonic strikes again,” I say to my friends. “It was just a casual chat, that’s all. I’ll probably never see him again—which is fine,” I add, and then change the subject again. “So what’s happening with the wonderful Lewis?” I ask Charlie, who immediately takes the bait and launches into a blow-by-blow account of their conversation.

  “I know a nice doctor,” Jess confides in me just as Charlie is describing Lewis’s eyes. “At least, Mu
mmy does. She absolutely swears by Dr. Lockwood, and how nice he is, and what a shame it is that an eligible young man like him doesn’t have a nice girlfriend. I think he’d be perfect for you. Perfect.”

  Great. That’s all I need to complicate my life. But it’s a sweet thought.

  “Thanks—but I don’t think—” Actually, I think I’m getting on very well with my nice, organized, man-free life. Apart from the lack of sex…

  “And he likes feet—he specializes in feet. So on the plus scale, you’d never have to be embarrassed about your shoe size again.”

  “Well—” Why did Jess think me, doctors and feet, all in the same thought?

  “Mummy thinks he’s an angel—she won’t let anyone else near her bunions.”

  “Wow, man, was that like dramatic or wot?” Aster has at last decided to grace us, and Jess, with his presence. “I fink I’m going to write a song about your cousin. What do you fink? Move over, will you, Vicar,” he says to Philip, who obliges, albeit a bit reluctantly. Aster slides into the seat next to Jess and puts his arms around her.

  “I think that’s wonderful,” she says, gazing into his eyes. At least it’s distracted her from the foot doctor.

  “Yeah. I’m gonna call it ‘Only Wimmin Bleed.’ Good title?”

  “Actually, old chap,” Philip says, rather coldly, “I think you’ll find that one’s been done before.”

  An hour later, as soon as is decently possible, after I have spent enough time making the rounds and generally pretending to be happy, bright and unconcerned about anything, after I have fairly successfully avoided Jonathan and Harry and avoided committing to a date with the foot doctor, I make my escape.

  My feet hurt from the pinchy shoes.

  My head hurts from all the events of the day.

  My heart hurts, just a bit, but this is only because it is Valentine’s Day, and everyone else seems firmly entrenched in coupledom.

  Except for poor Elaine…

  I want to go home, phone the hospital, put on sweats, watch late-night TV, and eat simple comfort food. Beans on toast comfort food.

  And as I wait outside the hotel for the next black cab to pull up, I take off my shoes and feel instantly better.

  I feel even more instantly better a few seconds later. Instantly better, but at the same time instantly scared to death, too, when a cab pulls up and out climbs Luke Benton.

  12

  An Apple a Day…

  Rosie’s Confession:

  …Keeps the doctor away. Or so they say.

  I may have to give up apples for life…

  “She’s absolutely fine, just a false alarm,” is his opening line, and I feel instantly guilty because just for a moment I’d forgotten all about Elaine.

  “Um, that’s good news.”

  “Tell me you’re not leaving already?” he adds, and my heart jumps into my throat.

  Sexily rumpled, he looks almost disappointed, and I want to smooth the tired lines on his face. In fact I want to do more than smooth them, I want to kiss them. Actually, I want to kiss his mouth. More than his mouth. Dangerous thoughts…

  “Well, I thought I’d have an early night, you know, catch up on some, um, sleep,” I trail off, and wish I hadn’t thought about bed. Because thinking about bed makes me think about Luke in my bed. And I think it’s making Luke think about being in my bed, too, judging from the way both of his sardonic eyebrows have just gone up in a very suggestive manner.

  “You know, after the, um, busy day I’ve had…and things are quieting down in there…” I try to recover the situation. I really want to tell him how glad I am to see him, how grateful I am to him for taking charge of Elaine, and how I’ve changed my mind about leaving now that he’s back.

  “Ah, another of those days?” He takes a step closer, and I can barely breathe, because he’s just so edible. “I’m desperate to know all about it.”

  And I’m even more desperate to kiss him.

  “Well, um, my feet hurt, and I can’t turn around without falling over ex-boyfriends, and garden gnome problems, and I’m hungry—not that I’m a great cook, in fact I’m a terrible cook despite my best efforts, but I can manage beans on toast, and I feel like beans on toast. Plus, I need to check out my bathroom leak,” I say, wishing that I had a script. And a non-babbling tongue.

  “That’s tragic,” he says, shaking his head.

  “Not for my stomach, it’s not. However, it is for my kitchen ceiling,” I babble some more, as he takes another step closer.

  “You had me on the garden gnomes,” he says quietly, and I shudder. I haven’t had him at all, but I want him. I’m sure it’s written all over my face. “You know, plumbing and delivering babies have strong similarities. I’m pretty handy with a wrench and a U-bend.” Oh, but I bet he’s handy all around. Such lovely, slim fingers…

  “So, um, Elaine’s really okay?” I squeak inanely as he moves closer still. Yes, I am a coward, changing the subject, because although I want to know what else he’s handy at, things are moving too fast, and I can’t think straight.

  “Absolutely. Total false alarm. She’s resting comfortably,” he says, then smiles a bit ruefully, which jangles my already jangled nerves. “Although your aunt does seem very—devoted.” His eyes crinkle in a smile. “I had to, um, persuade her to leave her daughter in peace for the night.”

  “That’s a very diplomatic way of putting it.” I look up at him, because he’s standing right in front of me.

  We lapse into silence, and I can’t think of a thing to say, because all I can think about is the last time we stood by a waiting cab.

  “So, here we are again,” Luke says quietly.

  “Yes. You came back.”

  “Well, I thought I’d, you know, catch the last of the revelry. Either that or stay at the hospital. And they don’t need me for now. Just thought, with it being Valentine’s Day—”

  “Yes?”

  “That I might at least get—”

  The word “laid” springs instantly to mind.

  “Fed. Going home alone to an empty house and a microwaved dinner for one just wasn’t tempting.”

  Interesting snippet of information.

  “You’re in luck if you want dessert. The buffet’s been cleared away, but I think there’s still cheesecake.” I want to take him home and feed him. I want to take him home and do more than feed him…

  “Tell me something.”

  “What?” I hold my breath.

  “Why do you wear shoes that are too small?”

  “Because.” God. I can’t be bothered to lie. “Because I have large feet. And wide feet. I have problems getting shoes to fit.”

  “They don’t look huge to me,” he says, looking down at my feet, then back up into my eyes.

  “Tell that to my blisters.” My voice is breathy, expectant, and I can’t help it.

  “Well, I think your blisters need medical attention.”

  “You do?” Instant images of Luke sucking my toes spring to mind. Not that I’m a foot kind of person. Actually, I am a foot kind of person. I have very ticklish feet. Sensitive feet…

  “Yes. I think they need—”

  “What?” What do they need? Spit it out, I want to scream, but I don’t, because screaming requires additional energy, and I can barely move.

  “—a meal,” he says, so close to me now that every single cell in my body is on red alert. “Everything feels better when you’re—sated. Medically proven fact.”

  “Really?” I ask, mesmerized by him.

  “No, I made it up because I thought we could, well, go and get something to eat. Together. Beans on toast,” he adds, and I laugh, but it’s a nervous laugh. I’m anticipatory, edgy, and incredibly aware of him. Aware of the things that we’re saying, yet not saying.

  “I haven’t got all night,” the cab driver says, pushing his head out of the window. “Make up yer minds, will yer?”

  And Luke’s so close now that I can almost feel his body heat, and I w
ant to touch him.

  “There’s a great café in Victoria Station. It does bacon, eggs, beans on toast…we could meander down there and…” He trails off.

  And then I realize something. He’s just as nervous as I am. At least I think he is. This thought is enormously empowering.

  Oh. God.

  I really shouldn’t do this. I should run, screaming, for the sanctuary of my nice, safe, organized little house. To my nice, safe, organized life.

  But oddly, barely knowing him, I trust him.

  “Or we could go back to my place,” I say. And I can’t believe I just said that. What must he think? Actually, he’s probably thinking that I’ve just invited him to have his way with me. He’d be right. “Um, I make a mean plate of beans on toast,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice steady and failing miserably.

  “Sounds…delicious,” he says, lowering his head, pausing, as if asking permission. “What’s for dessert?”

  I move my face closer.

  “Is he getting in the cab with you, or wot?” the cab driver pushes, but I barely notice.

  “Well—”

  “Yes,” I say.

  And then he kisses me.

  Love is a many splendored thing, I sing to the bathroom tiles the next day, as I scrub between them with an old toothbrush. And then I giggle like a mad fool when I catch sight of myself in the mirror.

  My skin is flushed, my eyes are bright, and my hair is glossy and full. It must be true what they say about women in love having that “glow,” because I’ve definitely got a glow.

  I’m in love, I’m in love. With a Wonderful Man.

  God. Now I’m channeling Mitzi Gaynor and South Pacific. How corny can I get?

  More so, it seems…as corny as Kansas in April, I want to run up and down the stairs, I want to spin around in circles, I want to shout about my Some Enchanted Evening from the Highest Hills and to the Golden Daffodils…

  Yes, I know I sound hackneyed and trite, but I can’t get all those old, romantic songs out of my head. I blame my grandmother for making me watch all those musicals with her. She was right about the sex, though…