The Dr Pepper Prophecies (16 page)

I think about this.

'No,' I say finally.

'Good,' Will says sagely. 'If you had felt ready, it would have proved that you are not.'

Now it’s my turn for the penetrating glare.

'Don’t you think you’re a little old now to be quoting the
The Chronicles of Narnia
?' I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

'You read
Harry Potter
,' Will protests.

'Everyone reads
Harry Potter
,' I exclaim. 'It’s an institution.  Besides, it’s not really a kids book, it’s a metaphor for the world at large.  It’s almost philosophical in its way.'

'So are
The Chronicles of Narnia
,' Will says firmly. 'And, for that matter, all the classics that are supposedly for children.  Besides, you know quite well that you did not see
The Order of the Phoenix
six times because of great philosophical truths – you just fancy Jason Isaacs.'

'Who doesn’t?' I protest. 'Besid
es, your greatest criticism of
The Lord of the Rings
films was that Liv Tyler wasn’t in them enough.'

We glare at each other for a few moments.

'Feel better?' Will asks.

'Much,' I say, nodding.

'Right, back to work,' Will says, coming to sit down opposite me.  He stares at the frighteningly long list of notes he appears to have been making ever since I recruited him to help. 'What do you need to remember to take with you?'

It’s like one of those Brownie games where you have to remember what was on the tray.

I chew my lip, thinking.

'Ummm…okay.  Watch.'

Will nods. 'Very important.  What else?'

I look around the room for inspiration.

'A map of how to get there,' I say, although I can’t for the life of me think what could have inspired that. 'The number of the place in case I get held up.  My mobile in case I get held up somewhere that doesn’t have a phone.'

'All very important,' Will agrees. 'Keep going.'

There’s more?  I was never any good at these games.

'Ummm…extra money in case I miss the bus and have to take the train instead.'

Will checks his list. 'Onto appearance,' he says. 'What things do you need to feel secure that you can maintain a professional image, come what may?'

Great, now I’m being interrogated by one of the presenters of
What Not To Wear
.

Okay, what do I take with me to the office?

'Hairbrush,' I say, 'and spare hair band in case the weather goes mental and I need to tie my hair back.'

'Yes,' Will nods encouragingly, 'but use your imagination.  What else could go wrong?'

I don’t want to start down that slope.

I groan. 'Can’t you just tell me?' I complain.

Now Will looks like my old maths teacher.  These personality changes are getting very disorientating.

'Mel, if I don’t test you
how can I see what you’re learned?' he asks patiently.

I think people drastically overestimate the value of tests.  I got a B in maths GCSE and I can barely add up.

I've always suspected that they mixed my paper up with someone else’s.  Fortunately I wasn't stupid enough to check.

'Fine,' I say, searching my creaking memory once again. 'Tights.  I need spare tights in case they get ripped.  Plus make-up essentials, a hand mirror…  I’m out.'

Will consults his list. 'That’s about all I came up with,' he says. 'Have you packed your bag?'

'Yes.'

'Picked out your outfit?'

'Yes,' I say, rolling my eyes.

'So, you’re all ready,' Will says confidently. 'Just get a good night’s sleep and it’ll go fine.'

'So long as Beth’s date doesn’t run too late tonight,' I point out.

Will tries to turn a snort into a cough.  It doesn’t work.

'Judging by the last one,' he says. 'I don’t think that will be a problem.'

'Just because the last one didn’t go quite as I’d hoped does not mean that this one won’t be a success,' I say, folding my arms. 'I expect a little more support from you.'

Will holds up his hands. 'Fine.  If it goes well, I’ll drive you home and go back.  Or leave her with lover boy if she prefers.  If he hasn’t begun rhapsodising about the artistic beauty of her black bean chicken.'

Pessimist.

**

Beth gets home from work, has a shower and appears dressed and ready inside half an hour.  Quite a change from last time.  Pessimism, it appears, is contagious.

This time her date is there when we arrive, although it takes me a few minutes to accept that it’s actually him.  He’s not exactly what I was expecting.  He’s…hmm, how to put this.  Geoffrey Rush, only twenty years younger and half his weight.  In a bad way.

Beth and Will both turn to look at me.  I pretend not to notice.  Beth’s love of Chinese food (fortunately or unfortunately) settles the question.

She bravely takes the lead and heads over to his table.  He’s using his napkin to clean the cutlery.

No, scrap that.  He’s using someone else’s napkin to clean the cutlery.

'Hello, Charles?' Beth says, the embodiment of poise. 'I’m Beth and these are my friends, Mel and Will.'

We’ve straggled along behind her.  Snow White and two of the seven dwarves.

Charles looks up from his polishing. 'No one in the restaurant business has standards anymore,' he complains. 'This knife is smeared, my plate is greasy and there is something drifting around in my water.  You should check yours.  Do you know how many germs are lurking around here?  And don’t even get me started on the buffet.  We really should go somewhere more hygienic.'

Beth’s smile flickers a little round the edges.  Will presses one finger into the small of my back, our old sign for ‘Say nothing, you’ll only make it worse.’.  I produce a credible attempt at a smile and settle myself decorously into a chair.  I may as well use the time to practise for my interview.

'Well…' Beth says, searching for a response. 'It’s very nice to meet you.'

'We should eat straight away,' he says strictly, eyeing each of us in turn. 'I react very badly to delayed meals.  I get terrible cramps.'

The three of us stare back at him.

'And avoid anything containing fish,' he counsels. 'I find that it has a laxative effect.  I once spent an entire night in the lavatory as a result of one unfriendly sole.'

I think modern society must have rendered natural selection obsolete – that’s the only explanation for how this guy can have survived this far.  God forbid he ever procreates.

Would he consider it hygienic enough?

'I’m going to get food,' Will says, breaking the uncomfortable silence that
Hygiene Guy is oblivious to.  He gets up, his hands on the table. 'You’re right.  Lack of food, very unhealthy.'

'Me too,' Beth and I say in unison.

Charles smiles, pleased.  He also looks a little surprised. 'Excellent,' he says. 'It’s so rare to find people who understand that.  Remember, no fish.'

I never thought I’d live to see the day when eating sweet and sour fish balls would constitute an act of rebellion.

'This guy or the last one, which would you least like to get stuck in a lift with?' Will murmurs to me, as we both load up our plates with egg fried rice at the buffet.

What a choice.  Morbid art freak or paranoid germ freak?

'Frankly,' I say, having given it careful consideration, 'if I got stuck in a lift with either of them, I think I’d force the doors and jump for it.'

Will grins. 'Him, the other guy and me.  Marry, shag, push off cliff.'

Easy one.

'I’d push them both off a cliff,' I say, extracting a stray mushroom from my rice. 'I never understood that game.  What on Earth is the point of getting married if you’re not going to have sex?'

Will searches the buffet for things he can eat and sighs. 'No more blind dates,' he says, taking another spoonful of egg fried rice.

Charles, returned with a plate of the dullest noodle dish on offer, starts scrutinising our dishes for any bi
ts of fish that may have crept in.  He pulls a hair out of Beth’s black bean pork and looks at it like someone’s tried to assassinate her with it.

'This is beyond belief,' he complains. 'I’m not going to let them get away with this.  Waiter!'

It’s a buffet, for God’s sake.

'You!
' he shouts to the seating host. 'Get over here!'

As one, Beth, Will and I slide down in our seats.

**
 

'I’m absolutely positive that it’ll be third time lucky,' I say, whe
n Charles has hurried off home to ‘preserve his circadian rhythms’.  Whatever that means. 

Although, to be perfectly honest, even my optimism is flagging a little.  I thought I’d encountered the worst the male species had to offer and now I f
ind there’s a whole other underclass that I knew nothing about.

Will and Beth stare incredulously at me.

'You’re not actually suggesting a third one?' Will says in horror. 'I’ve just stuffed myself with food I don’t even like in a guilt-driven attempt to convince the chefs here that their food is not really on a par with human excrement, as Disaster Date Number Two seemed to think.  I am not doing this again.'

I turn to Beth hopefully.  This can work out, I tell her telepathically.  Just give it one more try.

I don’t want to have messed this up.  And I really can help her.  I know I can.

Beth sighs. 'Mel, this wasn’t a bad idea.  It might have worked.  But I don’t think I can take another night like this.  Two is enough.'

'But the next one could be Mr Right,' I insist. 'You could be throwing away your chance at true love.'

Will leans forward. 'Mel, remember telling me that I was looking in the wrong places?  Well maybe this is the wrong place for Beth.  She’s not meeting people she has anything in common with.  It makes much more sense for her to meet people through doing the things she enjoys.'

'But all she does is work,' I protest.  I turn to Beth.  'Name one place you go other than work.  And the supermarket doesn’t count.'

Beth bites her lip.

'Maybe they're the perfect places for Beth to meet someone,' Will points out, sipping his drink.

'Yes, but the guys there are all so dull,' I exclaim.

'I don’t find them dull,' Beth says quietly.

'Yes, but…' I start.

'But what?' Will interrupts. 'But Beth’s dull too?  Just because she doesn’t share your taste in men.  Which, it has to be said, is not exactly exemplary.'

That hurts.  Not the words, but because it’s Will saying them.

'You know I didn’t mean that,' I say, wrapping my arms around myself.  I turn to Beth. 'I didn’t.  I just…the whole point of this was to help you meet some guys who are different.  Exciting.  For fun, not book clubs.'

'I like book clubs,' Beth says mildly. 'And if I’m going to date someone, I want him to be steady and secure…and maybe a little dull.  I’m not looking for the glamorous kind.'

'Glamorous can be fun sometimes,' I say lamely.

Beth nods. 'Sometimes,' she says quietly. 'But it's not something I want long term.'

I suddenly feel very far away from both of them.

'Why don’t we just go home?' I say, gathering up my things. 'I have a big day tomorrow.'

'Beth?' Will asks.

Beth nods. 'I’m ready to go.  Even I couldn’t manage anymore.'

I’m not exactly on top of the world as we pay the bill and trail out.  In fact, I’m not even sure if I’m on top of the carpet.  Party of three with Will and I’m the third wheel.  It feels strange.

And not nice.

I’m dreaming.  Or, at least, I’m fairly sure I am.  The dancing gnomes I saw not long ago seem to suggest it.

I’m strapped into what appears to be an electric chair, except that Anthony Hopkins is coming towards me carrying a Black & Decker power drill, which I think may be destined for my skull.

On balance, I think this might be a good time to wake up.

I open my eyes and blink at the real world.  I see it first through satin, then cotton, then some light muslin, until it finally comes in focus.  Rather as if God pressed the tracking device on his remote control.

And then, of course, I realise that the drill is real.  Except that it’s making contact with the road outside my window.

There has to be a law against this.  I mean, road works at seven o’clock in the morning?

Wait a minute.  What self-respecting road-digger starts works at seven?  Or, for that matter, what road-digger period?

I snatch a quick ice-cream sundae in Denial during the time it takes me to roll over and let my eyes make contact with my clock.  I already know what I’m going to see.