Chapter 13 #2
‘He never eyed me up. Probably because I had nothing up top to catch his attention.’ Serena patted her still-flat chest dispiritedly. ‘Am actually thinking of getting a boob job…’
‘What on earth for?’ I shook my head at the very thought.
‘So George Sattar might notice me. And, to be honest, the men I meet do seem to want a woman with a decent chest.’
‘Well then, you’re meeting totally the wrong men.
’ I felt suddenly cross on the behalf of all flat-chested women.
For heaven’s sake! Did women want men with oversized tackle?
I felt totally adrift with my lack of knowledge about men, dating and what appeared to be the going requirement.
Having met Dean at sixteen, and married at twenty, he’d been the only man – as well as his tackle – I’d ever known.
(And yes, before anyone asked, that was in the biblical sense.) No, take that back.
There’d been Dr Matt Spencer just last year.
He’d been in love with me, I knew that, but the sex side just hadn’t been good.
Not good at all. He’d seemed to spend the time in bed either apologising or clearing his throat, or apologising for clearing his throat, all of which were a total turn off.
‘So, where do you meet anyone round here?’
‘Me?’ I shook my head once more, decided I’d had enough and wanted to be at home with Lola. Things were still not right between us, and I didn’t want to give Lola any excuse for accusations of neglect. ‘Serena, I don’t meet anyone. I’m happy on my own. Just me, Lola and Mum next door.’
‘Well, if your mum’s about to marry into the Frozen lot, I can’t see her living in that little cottage much longer. I remember having a sleepover there once with you. Lovely, but small as I recall.’
Did Serena have issues about the size of everything? I made to finish my drink before reaching for my jacket.
‘So, dating apps then?’ Serena wasn’t letting it go.
‘Sorry?’
‘Listen, Jess, if you’ve finally got round to putting Dean Butterworth out of your life – and, to be honest, you can always steer him in my direction; we all fancied him at school, never quite understood how you ended up with him – then you need to get back out there.’
‘But I was never out there to begin with.’
‘Jess, please don’t tell me you’ve only ever slept with one man?’ Serena appeared as much upset on my behalf as she was shocked at my apparent lack of lovers.
I found myself blushing, never very good at conversations like this unless it was with Robyn. I could tell Robyn everything. I always had done and vice versa. Perhaps it really was about time I put myself out there a bit. I had a sudden vision of myself up to all sorts with a raft of different men…
‘Sorry?’ I shook myself slightly as Serena elbowed me.
‘You haven’t listened to a word I was saying.’
‘Sorry. What did you say?’
‘Dating apps. You need to get on to a couple of sites.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I think you’re lonely, Jessica. And soon you’ll be forty…’
‘Hang on,’ I protested. ‘I’ve only just gone thirty and, I can assure you, I’m not lonely…’
‘…and then it’s all downhill from there. Perimenopause, menopause, dry down below bits…’
‘You seem to know a lot about it.’
‘I read the articles in the Daily Mail women’s section.’ Serena pointed a self-congratulatory finger at herself.
I stood, but Serena suddenly pulled me down again. ‘Don’t let him see me! Hell, I didn’t realise this was his local.’
‘Who?’
‘Bloke at the bar.’
‘There’s at least five men at the bar.’
‘Really?’ Serena appeared to perk up somewhat at that, but almost immediately shrank down into her seat, turning her back to the bar. ‘What’s he doing?’
‘Who?’
‘The bloke at the bar,’ Serena repeated.
‘Which one?’
Serena turned surreptitiously, attempting to hide her face in her short blonde bob as she scanned the bar area.
‘Don’t apply for any MI5 jobs…’ I started to laugh.
‘MFI?’ Serena frowned. ‘He’s a postman.’
‘Obviously off duty – he’s not got a sack of letters or a black cat with him. Look, Serena, I’m sorry, I need to go.’
‘Just a few more minutes,’ Serena pleaded, ‘until he gets his drink and moves down to the other end of the room. The thing is, he sent me a picture.’
‘Well, that’s nice. Isn’t it?’
‘No, you know, a picture…’
‘Right?’
Serena tutted. ‘A picture of his… you know… his…’ Serena broke off, suddenly helpless with giggles.
‘Oh, a dick pic?’ I knew all about this strange but burgeoning phenomenon.
(I read my own brand of articles in the Saturday Guardian, albeit bought primarily for the Eat recipes.
Ravneet Gill’s chocolate and miso skillet cookie with banana ice cream in last week’s edition was to die for.) ‘And any message sent with it?’
‘Just: What do you think of this, then?’
‘And?’
‘And I replied: Quite magnificent.’
‘You didn’t!’
‘I did! Because, Jess, it was.’
I stared and then started laughing. ‘And now what?’
‘Now I want you to cover me as I make for the door.’
‘You really have been watching too many police dramas.’
‘Moi?’ Serena fashioned a gun with her two hands, pointing it at my head before slipping quickly out of the pub’s heavy oak front door and, for a split-second, I recalled the fun I’d had having Serena as my mate and backup when I was fifteen.
Once outside, I turned to Serena. ‘Is it all worth it? Really?’
‘Well, keeps your hand in, doesn’t it?’ Serena chortled at her own words.
‘So,’ she went on, pointing her car keys at me, ‘avoid Tinder unless you’re wanting casual sex.
Actually, maybe that’s what you should be aiming for, Jess.
Get a bit of practice in before your next big relationship.
And I wouldn’t bother with Hinge either.
’ She moved her head to one side, obviously thinking. ‘eHarmony—’
‘Sounds like a toilet cleaner.’
‘Yes, look at eHarmony. For starters anyway. See you next Thursday, fully kitted out. And let’s have something to report by then…’
‘Something to report?’
But Serena was off at speed, waving an encouraging hand in my direction.