Chapter 15
Dorothea checked for the third time that she had Tony’s clutch of letters and his two photographs in her handbag. She patted her hair in the mirror; her stylist had used so much hairspray that it now felt like she was wearing a crash helmet, but it was better than arriving at her lunch date looking like Worzel Gummidge. Date . Date . The word sent a shiver of excitement to her stomach and caused it to somersault. She hadn’t been on an actual date for at least sixty years, since she and Arthur started courting. But Arthur had been dead two years. The initial grief had been so all-consuming that Dorothea hadn’t wanted to even poke her head outside the front door. Then Fiona had helped her to move to this flat and Dorothea had realised that she had to make a new life for herself or drown in the never-ending loneliness. Fiona visited when she could, but one daughter couldn’t be expected to fill every hour of every day. Responding to Tony’s advert in the free newspaper had felt like a betrayal of her marriage vows, but gradually the pleasure she’d gained from their correspondence had dimmed her guilt; she was the one left behind when Arthur died and she had to get through it as best she could. Tony used a PO Box number instead of his address, which had seemed a bit cloak-and-dagger. Her first instinct had been to respond with her actual address, but then she’d read the advice at the bottom of the lonely hearts column about divulging only a minimum of personal details and meeting in public places until you could be sure that a prospective partner was genuine. So she’d gone to the main post office in town, somewhere that she wouldn’t be recognised, and taken out a three-month PO Box subscription. It wasn’t cheap but Fiona would never forgive her if she got burned playing with fire. As it was, Fiona would never find out about this lonely-hearts foray. If it worked out, she and Tony would cook up some imaginary way that they’d met, and if it didn’t work, well, her ultra-efficient and controlling daughter would be none the wiser.
The bus was five minutes late and then it got held up by temporary traffic lights. Dorothea was flustered by the time she entered the café and scanned the room for a good-looking, older man with silver hair, large black-framed spectacles and holding a copy of the Daily Mail . Tony spotted her first and waved from a table in the corner. As soon as she reached him, he stood up and kissed her full on the lips. Before she could react, he pulled her close for a hug and then kissed her on the lips again.
“Oh!” Dorothea staggered backwards as soon as she was released.
Tony hurried round to her side of the table, pulled out the chair for her and helped her off with her coat. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you in the flesh, Dorrie.” He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze before taking his own seat opposite her.
“Dorrie?”
“Lovers always have nicknames. Dot sounds common. Dotty sounds like a dog’s name. So, Dorrie it is, darling.”
Dorrie. Darling. Kissing on the lips. None of this fitted with the Tony she’d imagined from his letter. Was this how the dating scene was in the twenty-first century? Even for oldies like themselves?
“Aren’t you going to say anything, Dorrie?” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “I’m feeling a bit emotional and over-awed as well. Meeting you in the flesh and taking our relationship to the next level is fantastic.”
He must think she was a tongue-tied numpty. She had to respond in some way. “It’s lovely to meet you, Tony.” She looked around for inspiration to get the conversation onto a more neutral footing. “Is that the menu? I could eat a horse.” It was a lie. Tony’s greeting had robbed her of what little appetite first-date nerves had left her with.
“I like a woman with a healthy appetite.” His eyes glinted unnervingly as he passed her a menu. He leaned across the table and she felt his breath on her face. He’d eaten garlic the night before. “Have whatever you like, this is my treat.”
He was too effusive and overpowering. She looked at the menu. Tony wasn’t pushing the boat out to impress her. The most expensive thing was a jacket potato with a smoked salmon, scrambled egg and mayonnaise filling. She ordered it. Tony had the same. “We’re a match made in heaven,” he said, winking at the waitress. Dorothea thought how different, in a slimy way, Tony was from her late husband.
“Tell me about where you live?” he asked between large mouthfuls of potato. “You mentioned a flat but you didn’t say where it was. I’m in a bungalow in Gleneagles Road.”
The growing line of tension across her shoulders pulled taut. She spent some time dissecting bits of pink salmon and remembering the advice in the newspaper. “Just a small flat in an anonymous block. Nothing special.”
“Everything is special about you. I loved the way your hips shimmied as you walked over to me. You are fragrant, with a face at least a decade younger than your years.”
In her letters she’d already knocked ten years off her age but, even with the thickest layer of foundation and under-eye concealer, there was no way she could pass for sixty-five — that was only five years older than Fiona. He was coming on too strong. But she should give him the benefit of the doubt. It could be nerves. Men got nervous about meeting women just as much as the other way around. She needed to show some interest in him. “You mentioned the U3A History Group in your letters. What period are you studying?”
He looked awkward and mumbled something about Henry VIII. “But we don’t want to be young ones discussing school. Shall we skip dessert and cut to the chase?” The waitress was clearing their plates. “Can we have the bill, please?”
“What do you mean? I could pay for pudding.” Dorothea had had her eye on the giant pieces of carrot cake inside the glass counter. She could never indulge when Fiona took her out because of her daughter’s unbelievable self-control. Eating such treats in front of Fiona took away the enjoyment. The waitress hovered, looking from Tony and back to Dorothea.
“We’ll have cake to take away.” Tony gave Dorothea a meaningful look. “Add two pieces of that red velvet cake to the bill.”
Surely he didn’t intend them to sit on a park bench in the biting December wind to eat the cake? It was sunny, but not sunny enough for a picnic — however romantic that might be. And it would have been polite to ask which cake she preferred. He carried the white cardboard box as they left the café.
“Where are we going?”
“I suspected you might be reticent about giving me your address on our first meeting, and . . . there are reasons we can’t go to mine. I’ve booked a room at the Birnside Hotel.”
“The Birnside Hotel?” Dorothea was totally flummoxed.
“It’s walking distance.” Tony offered his arm. Feeling unsteady on her feet after all that had happened, she took it. “And very discreet.”
Discreet. Suddenly the alarm bells jangled. She extricated herself from his arm and they both stopped walking. How had she not realised before? There was only one reason for a man to take a woman to a hotel room in the afternoon.
“No thank you, Tony.”
“What?”
“There’s been a misunderstanding. Thank you for the lunch but I’m not going to the hotel. Please don’t contact me again.”
“Wait a minute! You can’t lead a man on and then scarper. I’ve taken the Viagra and paid for the room.”
Trembling, Dorothea turned and walked towards the centre of the town. She was aware of Tony following her. She couldn’t go straight home; he mustn’t know where she lived. Loneliness had made her let down her guard. She had been incredibly stupid. Please God, don’t let Fiona find out. Something like this would never happen in Fiona’s ultra-controlled life. She went into the library and straight to the ladies’ toilets. She didn’t come out of the cubicle for thirty minutes. Then she asked the library staff to call her daughter because she wasn’t feeling well. Tony could easily follow her onto a bus but, unless he was hovering outside in a car, it would be impossible for him to tail Fiona.
For a panicky few minutes, she’d half expected her daughter to refuse to come because it wasn’t one of those days marked in bright orange on the calendar. But Fiona didn’t let her down. And her face was full of concern when she arrived.
Dorothea had intended to plead a headache but as soon as she was safely in Fiona’s car she couldn’t stop shaking and sobbing. The whole story came out and Fiona was more understanding than Dorothea had dared to hope. There was no reprimand, just consolation.
“Don’t worry, Mum. You did all the right things, using a PO number and meeting in a public place. When Joe and I met . . .”
“When you and Joe met, what?” Had she ever asked how Fiona and Joe met?
“Need to concentrate.” Fiona clammed up and gestured at the lorry in front of them, which had suddenly decided to stop and reverse.
Later, Dorothea tore all of Tony’s letters into tiny strips and sobbed for a full half-hour for the companionship she thought she’d found with a new man, for the naivety she’d shown in believing it was possible to find a second life partner, and for all that she’d lost when Arthur died. She even began, very vaguely, to understand Fiona’s philosophy on staying in control of each and every relationship. It wasn’t right under all circumstances, but it was now obvious to Dorothea that there were certain men who couldn’t be trusted. Then she broke her own rule about not drinking alone and had two glasses of brandy to help her sleep.