17. The Neighbour’s Son
SEVENTEEN
The Neighbour’s Son
Friday, 24 May, 11.30pm
I’ve been feeling low after The Networker deception, and no dating prospects on the apps. I need a bit of TLC. I’ve arranged to see Irene and Ana for afternoon tea. They sounded super excited about it. I have such fond childhood memories of them. Me and Sara spent a lot of time in their garden next door, playing and being fed cakes and biscuits. How sweet were they to even put a gate on our dividing fence so we could go in and out easily? Irene must be about eighty-six now and Ana was four years younger – practically a toy girl. Our parents were so open-minded for that time. The other girls in the street weren’t allowed to go near them in case they were ‘turned into lesbians’.
Saturday, 25 May, 11.30am
This morning, Joy arrived wearing one of the jumpers I’d given her. It was a bit tight around her pudgy belly.
‘It looks better on you than it did on me,’ I said, purely to be nice.
‘Yeah, maybe it’s ’cos you’re fat,’ she said as I choked on my coffee.
Now, the sun is shining, I’m on the train to Totnes and looking forward to seeing my honorary aunties.
5.40pm
On the train going home. Had a good journey down taking in the beautiful West Country scenery. When I got to the Magic Sip Teashop, I watched Irene and Ana through the window as they chatted, their heads close, until they spotted me and waved. They’re always so together. It’s lovely. I don’t know how Irene still manages to be meticulously groomed. Her hair had been dyed blonde and was coiffured to within an inch of its life. Her nails were painted red to match the lipstick on her angular face, and she was wearing her signature string of pearls and a yellow twinset. And she’s still so upright (she doesn’t just have a stiff upper lip), although she has more sharp edges now.
Ana, on the other hand, couldn’t be accused of over-grooming. She’s all mushy curves, wild grey hair, bushy eyebrows, and her pudgy neck and arms are covered in clashing metal jewellery. She fits right into the Totnes’ bohemian ways. I remember being a bit frightened of her when I was little. Back then, she still had her robust Russian manner before Irene softened her, but the accent is still there. On paper they would be a terrible match – Irene with her aspiring upper middle-class English ways, and Ana a free-spirited Russian gardener. But love works in mysterious ways.
‘Darling,’ Irene and Ana greeted me in unison.
‘I keep my finger crossed for your train to be on time,’ Ana said.
Irene pursed her lips. ‘Fingers, Ana, not finger,’ she whispered under her breath.
‘I didn’t touch anything,’ Ana said.
Irene tutted and turned to me with a beaming grin, flashing her too-white dentures.
‘I had a lovely walk from the station,’ I said.
‘Ah yes,’ Ana said, clapping her hands like an excited child. ‘Did you see the wailing willow tree? The blossom, so beautiful.’
Irene tutted.
Ana poured me a tea and leaned over conspiratorially, beckoning me to look inside her voluminous patchwork bag. ‘You fancy some wodka in your tea, dear? I have the hip flask,’ she said, tapping her nose. I nodded.
‘So, my dear Sophia,’ Irene began. I knew what was coming and dropped my sandwich distractedly.
‘Buttery fingers,’ giggled Ana. Irene gave her a resigned look but didn’t correct her and turned to me.
‘Have you seen any of the men you met on your travels since you’ve been back?’
‘I’m sorry, Auntie, but no, I haven’t,’ I replied, feeling slightly ashamed to disappoint them. ‘I’m working on it though.’ I told them about the dating challenge.
‘In fact,’ I announced mischievously, ‘I had a date with a woman a few weeks ago. She’s a journalist, really cool and great company.’ They both stopped mid-scone, and stared first at each other, then at me. I blushed and they probably thought it was because I was being coy, not that I’d made a twit of myself on that date.
‘My dear, we had no idea,’ Ana said.
‘I’m pleased for you, as long as you’re happy, dear,’ Irene said.
I couldn’t hold up the pretence and told them what had happened.
‘For a minute I thought we could go on a date double,’ Ana said, and burst into laughter.
‘Ah, how times have changed,’ Irene said. ‘You don’t have to hide your … sexuality,’ she whispered, ‘like a guilty secret nowadays. It wasn’t so easy in our time.’
Ana nodded in agreement.
‘You know, I leave my country and my family when eighteen years old. I think, it would be different in England. I can be free and open, and not afraid I will be arrested for loving woman. In England, the police, they’re not interested. But people judge. They make fun when they see lesbian woman. So, I decided never to tell anyone, but then I met Irene,’ Ana said, and reached for Irene’s hand.
‘Oh, please tell me the story of how you met. I know it by heart, but I love hearing it.’
‘Yes, it is an excellent story, my dear, isn’t it?’ Irene said, delighted to share her anecdote again. ‘I used to take my foreign students for a drink in the local pub after class sometimes. You know, to show them the British way of life and practise speaking English. One night, there was a big group including Ana. She was so beautiful and bubbly with a mane of curly black hair. Later, one by one, the other students left, until it was just me and Ana.’
Ana interrupted. ‘I went to bar to get wodka, to show Irene how we do it in Russia. She look at me from behind, I could tell.’
‘I was trying to be discreet, but I couldn’t help it, and I knew I was falling for her, but I didn’t know if she’d be interested in me. While she was at the bar, I noticed her open bag with a magazine’s corner sticking out. That’s great, I thought. She’s reading to improve her English, just as I’d suggested in class. I pulled it out, curious to see what it was,’ Irene said.
‘It was Playboy magazine,’ Ana jumped in again. ‘I find it under bed in hotel where I work after class. I read it a lot. Veeery good for my English,’ she bellowed, and winked at me.
Irene glowered at her for pinching her punchline, then turned to me with a smile and said, ‘The rest is history, as they say.’
‘It’s such a sweet story. Sixty years later, you’re still together. I’ve given up on love.’ I sighed.
‘So, you not going to see the woman again?’ Ana asked.
‘No. I think I prefer penis after all,’ I said, and we all giggled. ‘I’ve been on lots of dates though.’
I told them about my dating experiences so far:
An opera buff who made a bull of himself.
An ice skater who wanted to wait.
Two weird cinema encounters.
An exceptional room service experience.
A teacher who turned me on (to dance).
A concrete date that bored me stiff.
A Cuban with a glint of gold.
A brutally honest type.
A guru who performed magic with chocolate.
The fast young men who didn’t wait for me.
A professor of footology.
A caress interruptus incident in a bathroom.
A banana-brandishing boor.
An ageist arse.
And a devious married man with an exceptionally large bar bill.
‘That sounds exhausting, my dear,’ Ana said.
‘We should introduce her to our neighbour’s son,’ Irene said to Ana, who nodded and clapped her hands.
‘His name is Anthony, and his son is also Anthony, but they call him Tony. Anyway, Tony moved back down here to be near his dad. He’s a lovely man and he’s single now. You’d like him, Sophia.’ She took out her mobile and searched for a long time, as though searching for the meaning of life itself. Finally, she found Tony’s number and made me promise to contact him.
We finished our tea, and I stood up to gather my things and head to the station. ‘It’s been a tonic spending time with you. I’m going to carry on dating and find fulfilment if not love,’ I said, tearing up. I’d missed them so much. Everyone needs aunties like Ana and Irene. We hugged goodbye and as I left, I said, ‘Tony, here I come.’
‘I hope you come with whoever you want,’ Ana shouted after me as Irene winced. I giggled and bounded off.
Feeling buoyed, I texted Tony.
Hi Tony, this is Sophia. My aunties/your neighbours Irene & Ana may have mentioned me? They suggested we should meet up if you’re up for it.
Hello Sophia, did they? That’s good of them. I’d like that. I don’t get out much these days
We’ll have to do something about that! I live in London. Do you ever come up? Or we could meet in the middle somewhere?
A day out in London? yes I’d like a day out in London I can catch any train after 9.30am
Hmm, sounds like a homebird, but he has just been through a divorce.
That’s fine, how about Tuesday at 6.30pm near Paddington Station? I know a nice Italian for an early dinner. I’ll text you the details.
Yes, I shall look forWard to that I’ll go to the station tomorrow and buy my ticket. nothing fancy for food please.
Pizza is hardly fancy. Oh, my lovely aunties, have you paired me up with an oddball? I thought about asking for a photo or his surname to check him out but decided it might be fun to make it a blind date.
11.30pm
I’ve booked a table at Giovanni’s for Tuesday. Feeling a bit excited but mostly apprehensive.
Tuesday, 28 May, 11.30pm
I sat in Giovanni’s with a glass of red courage and waited. Tony’s train was getting in at 6.15pm so there was plenty of time for him to make the five-minute walk to the restaurant.
‘I hope the beautiful signorina is not kept waiting for much longer,’ said the swarthy waiter with a husky voice. That place is such a cliché. I love it.
‘You can always join me to make me feel better if he doesn’t turn up,’ I flirted, and his face flooded. It’s so cute when men blush.
At 6.40pm, no sign of him, and no response to my texts. Then an elderly man came in looking worried and exhausted, and on seeing my bright blue dress, smiled and shuffled towards me. Very slowly. With a stick.
WTF? Then the penny dropped. Not getting out much, bad texts and going to the station to buy his ticket after 9.30? I was on a date with Anthony Senior! The waiter helped him sit down, then smirked at me as if to say, ‘I don’t think much of the competition’. By then, I’d processed my shock and asked Anthony Senior about his train journey.
‘Oh goodness, I’m feeling puffed out. I must have taken a wrong turn out of the station and got completely lost. My son told me to use the map on my phone, but I don’t know how to work the blooming thing. By the time the nice young lady helped me find this place, I’d been walking for ages. My knees are giving me gyp.’ He sighed long and hard.
We small talked for a while.
‘It’s lovely to be here with you, Sophia, but can I ask why Irene and Ana suggested we meet? Are you in the pottery business like me? If I can be of any help, just say the word.’
‘How shall I put this? I thought I was coming on a date with Anthony Junior.’
It took a second or two, but he started laughing and so did I.
‘Anthony Junior will be jealous of me. Wait till I tell him.’
He told me about the family pottery business, and I gave him the highlights from my travels. He was a total sweetie. We had dinner. Nothing fancy, of course. And we shared a bottle of wine. It was a pleasant evening despite the mix-up and lack of romance potential. I walked him to the station, worried he might stumble after an alcoholic evening. Before putting him safely on the train, we took a selfie on his phone and sent it to his son. Let’s hope the son is interested and is as lovely as the father.
Thursday, 30 May, 1.30pm
Took Lisa and Hannah to a specialist supplier this morning to shop for princess stuff for her bedroom. As the lift doors opened and Hannah had her first sight of princess heaven, she whistled and said, ‘Oh fuckerty fuck.’
Lisa said she didn’t know whether to be mortified or proud of her for using the words in the right context.
I wonder if I would have been a disciplinarian type of mother. No, I think children should be allowed to blossom in their own way. If I had a Hannah in my life, I would let her flourish and be herself, not attempt to tame her with too many rules. Even if it involved saying the odd ‘fuckerty fuck’.
Friday, 31 May, 11.30pm
Boy am I glad May is over. It started bad and went downhill. The alarming statistics are:
One ageist rejection, one time-based rejection, one unwanted sexual advance, one snubbing, one deception, and one case of mistaken identity.
On the positive side:
One lovely project (even if just a toilet).
brING ON JUNE!