4. The Journalist
FOUR
The Journalist
Monday, 14 January, 11.55pm
Earlier I was searching through Ladybird (trying not to think about Ace’s situation), lost in my fantasy of meeting a gorgeous man, mature in age and personality with the body of a twenty-year-old (ha, if only), when Leila rang. I had a bone to pick with her for twisting the truth. ‘You’ll have so many men after you,’ she’d said, ‘you won’t have time to keep up with them all.’ Hmm, no evidence of that yet.
‘It’s Jude. We had a row, and he stormed out,’ she blurted, followed by a loud sob. ‘We went out for lunch today and he was flirting so obviously with the waitress who couldn’t have been that much older than Mia. I pulled him up on it when we got home, and he said she was the one flirting with him, and he was just being polite. He said I was paranoid and jealous and needed to get a grip. Then he left. That was seven hours ago.’ She sobbed again.
I can’t bear to see her cry and joined her in sniffling as I told her it was a lovers’ tiff, and I was sure he’d come back when he’d cooled down. I wanted to reassure her, but I have to admit I’m not keen on Jude. There’s something about him I don’t trust, though I hardly know him, having gone travelling ten days after their whirlwind romance and wedding. But he seems to adore her, and she does him, so I keep my thoughts to myself.
‘Do you think I’m paranoid and jealous?’
‘No. You were right to voice your concern if it didn’t feel right. That’s not paranoid. If anything, he overreacted, but he was probably upset.’
‘We’re always having small arguments, but we make up quickly. The making up is the best bit.’ Yes, that sounded like Leila all right. ‘This is the first time we’ve been apart this long since we got married.’
That’s exactly what scares me about relationships. One minute you’re in heaven, having a romantic meal with your beloved, the next he morphs into Casanova before your eyes. It feels like another person is pulling the strings of your emotions, which makes me uneasy.
‘He loves you as much as you love him. I’m sure he’ll be back soon and apologise and you can make up again.’ That seemed to calm her down.
But does he really love her? Call me cynical, but Leila is quite wealthy, he’s fifteen years younger, and I know he’s persuaded her to invest ￡￡￡￡￡ in his recycled handbag startup. I can’t help questioning his motives, especially as he was in such a hurry to get married. I hope I’m wrong.
‘You don’t think he might have gone back to the waitress?’ she asked.
‘He wouldn’t be that stupid. He knows if he misbehaves, you could turn over in bed one night and flip one of your giant boobs over his face and suffocate him. Honestly, he wouldn’t stand a chance against one of those weapons.’
She cackled. ‘You always know what to say to make me feel better. What would I do without you?’
To cheer her up, I suggested we both pour ourselves a glass of wine while I showed her my matches. I sent her a few of the weirdest profile pictures. There was John, fifty-four, with his arms around a woman whose face had been scratched out. Rory, fifty-eight, had taken a mirror picture with the mobile covering his face, and Peter, sixty, whose photo showed only his forehead. Don’t get me started on people who can’t even manage to have their picture the right way up. We were still laughing when there were noises in the background.
‘I have to go,’ she whispered, giggling. ‘Jude’s back. I think he wants to make up. I’m going to join him in the shower.’
I wanted to tell her about Ace but thought it wasn’t the right time. She doesn’t need to hear about cheating husbands right now.
OK, back to shopping for men, strictly for sex. No point in searching for love. So much cheating in the world. Too much heartache. I’m better off on my own.
Tuesday, 15 January, 8.00am
After talking to Leila last night, I checked London Soulmates. My first match didn’t have a photo, but his profile said he’s a journalist, travels a lot and is looking for fun times. I told myself I must be open, and not discount him because there’s no picture. I messaged him and he replied even though it was past midnight. We exchanged a few texts before he suggested meeting at Grind in Covent Garden today. I can’t find his profile, though, so I hope he didn’t change his mind and block me.
And I can’t stop thinking about Ace. Texted him to see if he was coming on Saturday but he’s now on tour for ten days. He didn’t chat for long and sounded down.
Also texted Leila to ask about Jude. They’ve made out and made up.
11.30pm
Being open didn’t pay off. Let’s just say, there was no potential for sex. I went into Grind searching for my date. There were only two men on their own. One was about nineteen and the other one was not my type at all. Quite small, unkempt, and slurping noodles. As I walked towards him, he glanced at me then went back to slurping. Phew. I diverted and sat at the next table.
After a minute, a woman I didn’t recognise walked up to me. ‘Hello Sophia, good to see you. I’m just going to the counter. Can I get you anything?’ I thought she was a past client I’d forgotten, so I asked for a latte, and she went off to order while I racked my brain. Was it Sandra in Camden who had the cobalt metro tiles in her bathroom? Or Marianne in Highgate who liked the mad purple wallpaper with giant zebras? I couldn’t be sure.
‘How is your bathroom looking these days?’ I fished when she came back.
‘It’s … fine, thank you,’ she said, hesitant. Was she Sandra?
‘And you still like zebras?’
‘Erm, yes?’ She looked confused. Might be Marianne.
Awkward silence.
‘And how’s your … husband?
‘I don’t have a husband,’ she said. Was her husband dead?
‘Oh, I’m sorry … for your loss.’
‘What?’
‘Well, it was lovely seeing you Sa … Ma … Sorry to be rude, but I’m actually waiting for my date.’
‘Is this a joke?’
‘No! I really am on a date,’ I said, indignant. Was it so impossible that I could be on a date?
‘Well, unless you’re on two dates, I’M your date.’ She sighed. ‘Let’s start again. Hello, I’m Lee.’ She offered a handshake, and I took it, as the penny dropped.
‘Lee?’ I gasped inside and realised that last night’s drinks may have impaired my vision somewhat when I picked him. I mean her. How the hell had I ended up in ‘women seeking women’? No wonder I couldn’t find her this morning. ‘Sorry, your profile didn’t have a picture … and I…’
She was gorgeous and definitely all woman. Her warm brown hair was in a top knot, and she was wearing yoga leggings and a cashmere jumper casually draped off one shoulder. She was just the kind of person I’d go for, if indeed I wanted to go for a woman. But that’s not going to happen. I know what I like, and it involves a penis. She talked about her dating history while I waited for the right moment to tell her about my drunken mistake.
‘Are you OK? You seem a bit distracted?’
‘I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache,’ I lied.
‘We should do this another time,’ she said, annoyed, pulling her jumper off her shoulder and picking up her bag to leave.
‘Don’t go. Please. I have a confession to make,’ I said. She sighed, raised an eyebrow, then put her bag down. I told her what had happened.
‘That’s the funniest dating mishap I’ve heard in a while,’ she said, laughing.
‘I’m so sorry. You seem nice, and I didn’t want to offend you,’ I said.
The dating tension having vanished, we hit it off. She told me how her wife had sent her a selfie of herself in bed with another woman by mistake. I told her about The Traitor and how he’d cheated on me in the worst possible way with the worst possible person.
‘Jeez, that’s awful,’ she said.
‘It was, but the way I think about it is, if it hadn’t been for that prick, I wouldn’t have run away and climbed the Himalayas, walked the Inca Trail or seen the amazing Meiji shrine in Tokyo.’
On the bus going home, I got a text from her.
Hi Sophia, it was lovely to meet you today, even though it was under false pretences. We should go for a drink some time. Lee x
You could have been from anywhere, Italy, US or China
But I wasn’t expecting someone with a vagina
I thought I should declare my sexuality
That sex with a woman is not my thing in reality
My confession made me blush
I know I sounded like a complete lush
I wasn’t there for a bit of fluff
I wanted something altogether more rough
I must admit you are a fabulous chick
But you lack the prerequisite prick
You are attractive, warm and canny
But sorry, I’m only into my own fanny
I didn’t kiss a girl to see if I liked it, but hopefully I picked up a cool new friend.
One more liker today, but nobody I want to like back. His profile picture is spooky. Like a Hitchcock movie poster, with half of his face in darkness.
P.S. At least I have my travel card, so going to dates is free. Have 60+ Oyster card, will date. I’m loving the seniors’ discounts and free stuff. cheapskate60s.com
Wednesday, 16 January, 11.30pm
Went to see my favourite clients Cassandra and Edward. They’re changing the master bedroom again. I love working with adventurous clients who’re willing to take risks, but it’s always a challenge to get these two to agree. I’ll have to come up with a compromise scheme to keep them both happy.
Texted Sara and told her about my ‘women seeking women’ date. She said, ‘Why do you drink so much?’ #JudgementalSisterAlert. If I do strangle her, would a court of law convict me, given the hugely mitigating circumstances?
Texted Kelly yesterday to ask her about Ace but the texts were not delivered, and her phone just kept ringing when I called. Then I tried to look at her socials, but she’s blocked me! WTF? We were never close, but I didn’t think she’d erase me from her life.
P.S. I’m still feeling guilty about The Ice Skater. I wish I could just acknowledge I made a mistake, learn from it, and move on, but as usual I’m beating myself up and finding it hard to forgive my bad behaviour. I need to be kinder to myself and accept everyone makes a mistake, but I can’t help judging my own actions harshly.
Thursday, 17 January, 11.30pm
It’s mid-January and I’ve managed three dates so far. The first date – unexpected one-night-stand – was with a toreador fond of a full bush. On the second date, my dreams of becoming an Olympic figure skater were dashed. And the third date was lacking the essential equipment.
Sitting here in bed alone, surrounded by empty silence, I’m missing the intimate contented silences of a relationship, and aching to have someone’s arms wrapped around me, our legs intertwined. I yearn to experience real intimacy, to be known and be cherished, but past betrayals by The Traitor and others haunt me. There’s a longing in me to have someone I trust to see all of me, but the thought of being fully exposed paralyses me with fear. When I first fell in love, I gave my heart oh so freely, but after it was shattered too many times, I hid the broken pieces behind an impenetrable wall of emotional defence. Can I take a risk again? I know I come across as self-assured, and in many ways I am, but if I dig deep, I’m terrified of experiencing that pain again. If I dare to bare my soul, would it survive another crushing blow? Until I feel brave enough to be vulnerable, I’ll settle for fun. At the same time, part of me mourns the lack of emotional fulfilment in my life. Will I have to get used to falling asleep alone, in solitary silence?
P.S. I registered on Kindling and messaged a couple of potential dates tonight. Fingers crossed.