Behaving Like Adults (22 page)

‘But he seemed so
nice
,' moaned Claudia.

Don't they all, I thought. Issy, who'd vetted him, inspected her Russell & Bromley leather uppers.

That was merely the prelude. The real humdinger occurred when Gwen interviewed Elisabeth at the end of the night. It was supposed to be private, but Nige eavesdropped from behind an armchair. He came away, ashen-faced. ‘She . . . she . . . she
destroyed
us!'

At first, I thought we'd just underestimated the stigma of paying to get a date. It was one thing, advertising ourselves as cool and hip, bursting at the seams with gorgeous and clever people – it allowed beautiful women like Elisabeth to kid themselves that they were joining just another elite club, in addition to the Met Bar and Holmes Place. Girl Meets Boy had far more credibility than the traditional agencies, with their humdrum promises of marriage and air brushed photos of two plain people smiling dumbly in a rapeseed field. But, bottom line, we were still a dating agency, and however much Elisabeth wanted her five minutes of fame, she probably didn't want it on the basis that she'd paid a firm £200 to find her love.

‘It was the first time she'd
ever
done anything like this . . . it wasn't her sort of thing at all . . . in fact, she had a boyfriend . . . this was more the kind of thing you did for a laugh, with a group of girlfriends . . . to be honest, the men weren't up to much . . . the women were much prettier . . . the men were nerds . . . this kind of agency was for sad people . . . she'd never do it again . . . it was not a great experience . . . none of the men she'd been matched with were her type . . . nothing in common . . . didn't seem terribly professional . . . didn't seem to think about who they put you with . . . the owner Holly once shouted at her when she complained . . . no different from
Dateline
except probably less efficient . . .'

Nige drew breath, sat back. His incredulous expression was tinged with the guilty pleasure of a messenger important enough to deliver fatal news.

‘What, she actually
said
all that?' croaked Claw.

Nige pursed his lips. ‘Every word. And she's still at it, the silly tart!'

We all craned our necks and saw Gwen leaning forward on the edge of her seat, nodding sagely and smiling pixie encouragement. Elisabeth's prim little mouth was moving so fast it was a blur.

‘Jesus Christ.'

‘The two-faced cow. She ought to be horsewhipped!'

‘Why would she
do
this?'

‘You tell us, you're the blimmin' psychologist.'

‘Holly sweets, you're going to have to give a blinding interview. This is what you do. Ignore her questions, have certain points that you want to make and
make
them. This agency is about people having fun, not about finding husbands and wives. Our clients are beautiful people inside and out – and occasionally their insides are more beautiful than their outs, because while we accept that looks are something, they aren't everything. We offer people four dates a night, and while we
do
take great care to ensure that each pair is compatible, it's not
reasonable to expect every one to be a soul mate.
Comprends
?'

‘I'll try.'

Claw and Nige and Issy exchanged worried glances. As well they might. Gwen was like a shark mistaking a fatty in a wetsuit for a baby seal and thinking, well, this one tastes rubbery but a meal's a meal. Elisabeth had given her a sniff of a juicy story, and she no longer cared about the truth, the lure of a scandalette was irresistible. And maybe I no longer had the energy to defend myself.

Gwen fired accusations at me at the speed of TV lite and my brain scrambled. I bumbled, stammered, said ‘you know' a lot. Her questions were so sharp and twisty that I heard myself bleat, ‘No, we can't be a hundred per cent sure we've weeded out every criminal but my sister' – my
thister!
– ‘is a psychologist and she helps with our sorting process.' I had a nasty feeling that Gwen might edit out half of this sentence, starting from ‘but'.

Nige didn't cry, but only because he was filming for Courts the following day and couldn't risk blighting his moment of glory with puffy eyes. He cared deeply about Girl Meets Boy but Nige's deep is most people's shallow, no offence. By the time he'd made himself a hot chocolate and completed his beauty routine (Anthony logistics for men from Space NK, no less – I once asked if he used Clinique like every other modern man and he spat, ‘Clinique? That stuff is like paint stripper!'), the day's calamitous events would have seeped from his consciousness to make way for the serious business of Getting into Character.

Claw was pale with fury and Issy and I had to physically restrain her from punching Elisabeth in the face. My baby sister is unlike most women I know in that she doesn't shirk from a fist fight. ‘And please don't say anything, you'll only make us look worse,' said Issy. True. Claw has a filthy mouth and when the occasion demands it, even ordinary everyday objects are c***ing. This alone has led
to a bust-up in which Claw yanked out a great clod of a woman's hair and nearly got sued for it.

I almost enjoyed recounting the tale to Manjit on Wednesday morning.

‘You seem chilled about it though,' he said. ‘Tip your neck from side to side.'

Of course I did, I had bigger fish to fry. For instance, the mysterious case of Elisabeth's
boyfriend
.

‘I reckon I know why she did it,' announced Manjit, reading my mind. ‘Oh?' I said, ‘oh' being a very plain version of the sound I made which had more peaks and troughs than the Lake District.

‘Yeah,' said Manjit. ‘Turn to your right, bend your right leg, keep the knee about the ankle, stretch your left leg, press gently on that inner thigh. She tried to get heavy with Nick and he wasn't having none of it. Told her exactly what the score was, and she was
not
happy.'

My balance is poor at the best of times, I nearly toppled over. ‘Really? And what
was
the score?'

‘You know. One arm across your chest, press the upper arm with the other hand, stretch the muscle. They go out to eat, she snogs the face off him, the second time she sees him she's already telling him he'd look more respectable if he cut his hair' –

I suspected that if Manjit didn't keep his regular appointments at Cut And Thrust, Bo would chop off his locks in the middle of the night with a pair of kitchen shears. But tales like this did Manjit good, it made him realise that other men also suffered.

– ‘and he couldn't be doing with it. It was like, three dates, and she's acting like he's her property. Now, you've got a few techniques, you got to decide which of them you feel most comfortable with. The palm strike, the elbow, the knee. I tell you, don't bother going for the groin, it's where it is for a reason, hard to get to – well, heheh, depending on who you are, I mean, Nick's groin
was easy enough to get to, eh? Er, sorry, yeah, a good knee in the thigh, that's going to hurt. Try it on the pad. Beautiful. Did I tell you about a kick to the kneecap? No higher. Best if you can aim it slightly to the side, not with the toe, use the whole of your foot, hard enough, you'll knock the patella right round! So yeah, he tells her she's a nice girl but he thinks they should call it a day, he's just come out of a heavy relationship, mentions your name and like, he says, she nearly keels over! He thought she knew, but she didn't and when she finds out, like that, she was—'

‘Not happy?'

‘Not happy. And when you use any of these techniques, like the palm strike, yeah, best if you shout a command as you do it. That shows them you mean it, really freaks them out. Shout it, like “GET BACK!” Really, Hol, scream it, top of your lungs, don't be British about it. Apart from scaring them shitless, it makes you breathe out, it tenses your abs, gives the strike more power. So she goes, “What, Holly Appleton, from Girl Meets Boy?” and he goes, “Yeah, I was with her for five years, we lived together, we were engaged and everything, she broke it off.” And she goes when, and he tells her and he says he's still upset, and he says her face went all rubbery and she stormed out the door. So try it, yeah? – “GET BACK!”'

‘So – GET BACK! – he said he was upset?'

‘Yeah. Upset. “I still feel upset”, is what he said.'

‘When was this?'

‘Day before yesterday. I reckon she quite liked him, so I reckon she's a bit put out and she's got it in for you. Saw her chance with the telly people and went for it. That's what I reckon. Bit louder. Try again.'

‘Manjit,' I said. ‘I think you are, as ever, right.
GET BAAAAAAACK!
'

The shame was that when I returned to the office, even though Claudia was in blatant mourning for the agency (all
that was missing was a black veil), I found it hard not to smile.

‘I don't know what you're so cheerful about. Your firm's going to go under if we're not careful. The accountant just rang saying he's not received this week's cheques,
or
last week's. And I've just opened a letter from the bank which informs you that you've reached your overdraft limit on the business. Something to do with a
five thousand pound
payment to a company called ADT. What the hell's going on? What's ADT, for fuck's sake?'

‘They're a security company,' I muttered. ‘I've had the security on the house updated.'

‘What! And they charged five fucking grand?'

‘It needed a lot of updating. Look, I'll pay it back, okay?'

I expected fireworks, but Claudia merely shook her head and shrugged.

I gave her a second glance, and was shocked. Surely this couldn't
all
be because of yesterday? Why hadn't I noticed before? Her nails were bitten so far down, the skin at her fingertips was ragged and bleeding. She had black rings around her eyes and a pinched miserable look to her. Even her shoes were sober, flat red ballet pumps with gold buckles. Well, sober for
her
. I wondered if she had suspicions about Stuart, but I guessed she'd forgotten him. Whatever her problem was, the signs pointed to something internal.

‘I'm not cheerful,' I added. You shouldn't be cheerful, your business could be in serious trouble, I told myself. Bloody overdraft limit. Maybe it
was
a problem. But I couldn't rise to it. Yeah? So? Worse things have happened.

My mind kept darting back to Nick telling Elisabeth where to go, saying he was still upset about the demise of our relationship. Even though it had fuelled her resentment and prompted that spiteful speech to our pixie on the scene, Gwen Rogers, it was worth it. To know that despite everything, I could still affect him. Call me contrary, that was important to me. Of course, whatever he'd said to
Elisabeth was just an excuse. But he'd told
Manjit
he was ‘upset'. For Nick to locate an unwelcome emotion and actually express it – this was progress.

‘Claudia,' I said. ‘You deserve a break. Why don't you take the rest of the day off?'

She didn't need asking twice.

An empty office is never quite silent, there's always an underlying hum. But for the moment it was good enough, and I lent back in my chair and sighed. When my mobile rang I pounced on it in a guilty scramble, as if I'd been sitting in a concert hall.

‘Hello?'

‘Holly?'

The breath caught in my throat. I felt like an empty glass, being slowly filled to the brim with ice water.

‘Lovely to see you on Friday, thanks so much for inviting me. It was great to see you again. I've missed you, Holly, I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to talk. The only reason I haven't called is because I've been up to my neck in probate! But that's what you get for doing what your parents tell you and going into law! I hope you liked your present.'

It's a measure of the veneration I have for presents that I was able to say to Stuart, ‘What present?'

There was a pause. Then, ‘Are you serious? One second.' I heard a vague rustling. ‘I'm appalled. Your present is right here, under my desk! I forgot to bring it. Tell you what, are you in tonight, I'll bring it round after wor—'

‘No!'

Silence.

‘Look, I' – the words fell over themselves in the rush to get out of my mouth – ‘I'm not in tonight, I mean, look, I'll come to your office, um, is Camille there?'

‘She's right outside,' replied Stuart. He sounded amused, and my heart scrunched, painfully, like a wrung-out dishcloth. He was
patronising
me. And what the hell was I doing, agreeing, no, volunteering to go to his office? If I
saw this man in hell, it would be too soon. My ever-present fantasy was to blast him to a red mist with a machine gun. I could feel its power in my hands. I could feel its heavy vibration as I aimed it at Stuart and squeezed the trigger, I could feel that gun shaking me like a dog shakes a rat. I could feel the sick, sick pleasure of killing. And yet. It was as if there were a barbed wire entwining my soul which pulled me gently towards him. In my fuzzy head was the notion that I must face my demon and, if necessary, re-enact the . . . scenario. Because this was the only way to undo my terrible
impression of events
.

‘Look, maybe I shouldn't come, I—'

What was wrong with me, that I couldn't make an affirmative statement?
Look, maybe?
Why couldn't I say, ‘I won't be coming, goodbye'? Why was I sodding well asking permission?

‘Oh, don't be so defensive,' said Stuart smoothly, and I couldn't blame him. After all, I'd left the gate open for this. ‘Do come. We should raise a glass, at least, to my new clients.'

I trotted into the trap. ‘What new clients?'