Mr Right Now

Chapter 1

1

Bird poo and porridge were basically one and the same bloody thing as far as Kate was concerned. Well, at least they were when it came to stains. No matter how much you scrubbed, no matter what product you used, you were always left with a white residue that stood out a mile.

A pigeon had shit on her in the car park, all over the shoulder of her one decent work jacket. Old-style M the paper towel was disintegrating until the only things rubbing the stain were her fingers. Tears began to well up in her eyes. She had spilt coffee on her desk this morning and had to share the lift with Smelly Milo from the post-room; the Ready Brek was the last straw. It felt like her world was ending. This couldn’t be how it was going to be from now on. She didn’t want to feel tired all the time, inadequate all the time and she didn’t want to be sorting out soiled clothes all the time, especially her own. What was next? Incontinence and the nursing home? She was only just past thirty.

She was just about to give in to the emotion threatening to spill out when the door to the toilets swung open with a bang and in walked her boss, Miranda Marsh.

Blonde hair swishing, a reek of designer fragrance, and the familiar tip tap of her Jimmy Choo’s introduced her. Now was no time for losing control. A stiff upper lip was required and more restraint than a stag party in a lap dancing bar.

‘Oh there you are Kate,’ Miranda remarked, standing uncomfortably close to her as only she could.

She was wearing a Jigsaw suit that fitted like a glove. No charity shop cast offs for her; she was a Per Una woman if ever there was one. Miranda was a size eight, petite, always smart, always organised, completely bloody annoying and unstained.

‘Yes, here I am. Sorry, is Mr Coombs here already? I was just coming,’ Kate spoke hurriedly, putting her jacket back on and crossing the damp sleeve behind her, out of sight.

‘No he isn’t. He’s cancelled again! Silly bloody little man, that’s the third time. And this time, he didn’t bother to make up a plausible excuse, just muttered something about his granddaughter needing his professional opinion on buying an MG,’ Miranda replied with a sigh, turning away from Kate and checking out her reflection in the mirror.

‘Oh that’s a shame,’ Kate remarked, not meaning it at all.

She had a tonne of work on her desk already; she could do without meetings with clients until she had broken the back of it.

‘He’s a time waster anyway, that man. Too much money, not enough to keep him occupied in his retirement. I really don’t know why we bother acting for him. A change to his will here, a bit of conveyancing there and that ridiculous trust fund he insisted on setting up. It isn’t going to make us millionaires, is it?’ Miranda continued, putting her hands in her long, blonde hair and preening it.

Kate didn’t respond. She knew that the ‘us’ didn’t really include her; it meant Randall’s, the firm of solicitors they both worked for. Kate was a legal executive and Miranda was a solicitor. There wasn’t much difference in their legal knowledge and ability, but being a solicitor and the head of the department meant Miranda had her eyes on the prize that was partnership.

Kate, on the other hand, didn’t really know what she was doing practising law. It had been a choice between that and engineering, according to a very dodgy questionnaire she had gone through with her school careers adviser many years ago. There had been nothing else she had a yearning for. So she got on the study treadmill, looked at all the right books, attended all the necessary courses and passed all the exams for the heart-flipping excitement of drafting wills and dealing with dead people. Still, the pay was reasonable and she got the occasional bag of home-grown marrows from Mr Jarvis who seemed to change his will as often as he changed his fertiliser.

‘You haven’t forgotten Friday, have you Kate?’ Miranda said in a way that was more of a statement than a question.

Kate watched her; she was still looking at herself in the mirror and pouting her lips at herself. She looked like someone with a horrendous facial tic.

‘Friday?’ Kate queried a chill running up her spine. Oh God!

She knew exactly what Miranda was going to say next and she was desperately trying to sound like she didn’t for lots of reasons.

‘Yes, the dinner at the Grand, Peterson Finance,’ Miranda reminded.

‘Oh yes, yes, Friday, of course. I hadn’t forgotten, I just, couldn’t remember what day it is today,’ Kate answered lamely.

‘Good! Perfect! I knew you wouldn’t! I have finally found the dress after weeks of searching and I can’t wait to wear it. It’s just like the one Kate Winslet wore to the Oscars, you know the one, don’t you?’ Miranda spoke with a wide, red lipstick smile, turning her attention back to Kate and finally away from the mirror.

‘Er, um, yes of course, that dress. I can’t wait to see it,’ Kate replied.

She didn’t have a clue what Kate Winslet had worn to the Oscars on any year she had attended and she didn’t really care that much either. The Oscars had no place in her life at the moment and in fact, never had. The only Oscar she knew of was a woolly-faced owl in one of Bethan’s story books.

Kate smiled at Miranda and tried to ignore the extremely uncomfortable feeling that was creeping over her at the thought of a large social engagement she didn’t want to attend. She hadn’t been out much lately: a couple of dinners with some of her childminder Hermione’s friends from the Medieval Fair Society and a pizza and vodka night with her secretary Lynn and some of the other very young secretaries who seemed to be able to drink their own body weight in shots.

‘So, who are you bringing?’ Miranda enquired, looking straight at Kate with her ice-blue eyes.

They were shark’s eyes, large and emotionless, like a great white. They showed signs of ferocity but very little common sense.

Kate froze for a moment and gawped at Miranda as if what she’d said had been in a foreign language and she hadn’t a clue how to translate. And then she realised Miranda was still staring at her, waiting for her to respond. She needed to speak to stop her mouth from hanging open. What to say? Try not to scream.

‘I… haven’t decided yet,’ Kate said hurriedly, internally cursing herself.

‘I see! Checking out that little black book. I like it! Perfect! OK, well, Collins deceased calls for me; how are you doing with the Slater case?’ Miranda asked, turning the conversation back to business.

‘Fine, yes, I’m doing fine with that,’ Kate replied swiftly.

Yes, she was doing fine with that, not even registered the death certificates with the banks. Well, he’d only been dead three months and she’d been busy.

‘Good! Perfect! Let me have the papers when you’re done,’ Miranda said and flashed Kate another pearly white smile before heading out of the door .

Kate smiled back, waiting for the door to close. As soon as it did, the smile fell from her face. Who was she trying to kid? She just couldn’t cope. It was eight months on and she was as useless now as she was at the start. All she wanted to do these days was cry, cry and cry some more. Everything was hopeless; she had been a terrible wife, she was a terrible mother and a very extra terrible legal executive. And now today, she had terrible, terrible bird shite and porridge down her only good jacket. And if all that terrible stuff wasn’t enough, now she had to find a man to take to a dinner on Friday night. She didn’t know any men; she didn’t really know how to go about getting one. What was she going to do? Let herself be humiliated by Miranda like always? Turn up alone and be a laughing stock for not having a date, or cry off and be a laughing stock for trying to avoid turning up without a date? There was no winning situation here.

She could feel tears pricking her eyes but quickly the door opened again and Kate fixed her smile back on like it was a pair of false lips from a Christmas cracker. She eked the smile wider, acknowledging the entrance of Dorothy from accounts, stretching her mouth so wide that it hurt. She had got used to conjuring up a happy expression now; she had practised at home in front of the mirror. She had the ‘good morning’ smile for when she came into the office first thing. Not too wide with the mouth, crinkling the eyes slightly. She had the ‘yes, I’m absolutely fine, thanks for asking’ smile. Slightly wider with the lips, showing teeth. And she had the ‘life is wonderful, I’m getting on without him’ smile which was as wide as her lips would allow and complete crinkling of the eyes until they were almost closed. Oh and laughter if required.

She waited for bouffant-haired Dorothy to close the cubicle door and then she hurriedly left the toilets before she started up a conversation while she peed. She always did that and Kate found talking while listening to someone else peeing quite unsettling. It just wasn’t right.

She sat back down at her desk, determined to have a proper stab at the Slater file. It was a horrible case, a farmhouse (agricultural relief), two small companies (business property relief), and an argumentative family (no relief at all).

She looked at her screen and stared at her reflection. It was horrible. What was she doing worrying about pigeon shit on her jacket when she looked such a mess? Her hair was a state because she hadn’t had time to shower and her straighteners were broken. It was also in desperate need of a cut. It was naturally dark and thick which had been an asset when she had time to brush and style it, but now it had started to resemble a Halloween witch’s wig.

Today, she also had larger-than-normal grey bags under her eyes due to Bethan waking her up at 2.30a.m. and 4.00a.m., unable to locate her dummy. And to top it all off, this morning’s lipstick, which she had scrawled on while reverse parking, was now just a thin line on her bottom lip.

She clenched her teeth together and swallowed another urge to cry. This was all Matthew’s fault. It wasn’t supposed to be anything like this. She should have been feeling confident, comfortable and settled in her life, not the complete opposite.

Matthew, her husband – well, ex-husband technically – had left her and a then sixteen-month-old Bethan, eight months ago. He claimed he hadn’t taken to fatherhood, it wasn’t what he wanted, it had never been what he wanted and she had pushed him into it. Kate hadn’t known what to say the day he announced this. Coldplay’s ‘Fix You’ had been playing on the radio, Bethan had been happily hammering on her highchair tray with a spoon and she had been standing in her dressing gown, milk down her front and Rice Snaps in her hair. He had mumbled something about going to his mother’s and then left the room. She was still stood in the same position, staring blankly at her babbling daughter, trying to take in his words, when he had come back down the stairs carrying two suitcases, already packed.

She had absolutely fallen apart. She hadn’t known what to do. She didn’t know who to turn to or what happened next. For days, she lived some sort of half existence where day and night merged together around episodes of In the Night Garden and Zingzillas . She couldn’t face work, she rarely got dressed and Bethan kept saying ‘Daddy’ at really inopportune times, like when she happened to let her eyes flit over the wedding photo on the dresser, or when she found an item of Matthew’s clothing in the laundry basket. She needed help.

Help had come in the shape of Hermione Wyatt. Realising that you didn’t get money in the bank by sitting around in your nightwear watching This Morning , Kate knew she had to go back to work. But because in her misery she hadn’t been able to face taking Bethan to nursery, she had lost her place there. At first, in angry tones, she had tried calling the manager a Nazi. Then when that hadn’t worked, she had offered to pay for the time Bethan had missed. The manager said no and Kate broke down, sobbing until the hand piece was wet, trying to quote passages of law in an effort to frighten Mrs Hitler into giving her back her place, but even that had no effect on the hard-nosed manager.

So, she found the nearest childminder with a vacancy and got Hermione.

Hermione was eccentricity personified. She spent all day potato printing, hula-hooping and biscuit making with three of her own children, and a strange-looking, dark-haired boy called Cyrus who would only communicate by whispering .

Her house was filled to the rafters with toys, books and beloved clutter she and her husband Philip had picked up on the far-flung adventures of their youth. The couple were into dreams, feelings and controlling your own destiny. Hermione read tarot cards and did rune readings as a sideline to her childminding. At first, that made Kate question her suitability but Bethan had warmed to her immediately and that was the only reassurance she needed.

In a short space of time, Hermione had become much more than a childminder; she had become a firm friend. She had helped her get herself together after Matthew left and was determined to stop her from looking back. It was a good job Hermione had taken on Project Kate because there was no one else. Her parents were dead and her Aunt Jess lived in Scotland and they weren’t exactly on the best of terms.

Hermione was her whole support network and she and Kate were all Bethan had.

It was almost 6.00p.m. when Kate rang the doorbell of the Wyatt house. She let out a breath, glad she was there, glad she wasn’t at work and glad she had stopped at the supermarket and bought a bottle of wine.

She had spent too long choosing the wine really. She had recently developed a liking for South African wine, primarily because it was cheap but also because she had found a brand that was 14 per cent and not too harsh on the taste buds. But they were sold out and that meant she had to investigate an alternative which in turn meant checking every price label for the best deal and finding one with the highest alcohol content. She had plumped for a 13.5 per cent Chilean.

There was screaming from inside the house and then thundering footsteps and growling. The door was thrown open and Philip grinned at her as he whipped a hairy troll mask off his face.

‘Hello Kate, come in. We were just re-enacting “The Three Billy Goats Gruff”, weren’t we kids?’ he spoke, letting out another roar and making all the children scream excitedly and run away from the front door and into the living room.

Philip was tall and lean with sandy-coloured hair that always seemed to flop down in front of his eyes. He had a permanent grin on his face that made him look like an oversized naughty teenager. He loved being with the children but was also equally at home burying his head in books about the lost treasures of far off tribal villages. Primarily, he worked at the university but he was also involved with lots of archaeological societies whose work took him all over the world.

‘I think that’s enough of the grumpy old troll now. Hello Kate, cup of camomile?’ Hermione asked as she appeared from the kitchen and scooped Bethan up in her arms.

Hermione was almost fifty, although you wouldn’t know it. She was one of those women who had sailed through pregnancy and childbirth and retained the figure she had when she was a young woman. She had skin that glowed, blonde hair that fell softly onto her shoulders and huge, kind, blue eyes. She was also capable and organised – annoyingly so. This was a woman who could wash up, change a nappy and make gingerbread men all at the same time. If she didn’t love her so much, Kate would most probably detest her for being so perfect.

‘Oh, I don’t know if I have time for tea tonight. I—’ Kate began, wanting to get home, crack open the Chilean wine and drown her sorrows.

‘Of course you have time, doesn’t she Bethan? Mummy has time for a cup of Aunty Hermione’s camomile tea, doesn’t she?’ Hermione spoke, handing Bethan over to Kate and leading the way into the kitchen .

Bethan put her arms around Kate’s neck and squeezed, hugging her tightly in agreement.

‘Just a quick one then,’ Kate agreed, kissing her daughter on the cheek and ruffling her hair.

‘Come on kids, who wants to watch The Jungle Book ?’ Philip asked the four children.

There were squeals of approval and running footsteps and they all thundered back into the lounge.

‘Bethan has been an absolute delight today, haven’t you sweetie?’ Hermione said, tickling under the little girl’s chin as Kate took a seat at the kitchen table and propped her daughter up on her knee.

‘Have you? What have you been doing with Mione?’ Kate asked, looking at Bethan intently.

‘Painting,’ Bethan responded with a smile.

Kate swallowed a lump in her throat; she was growing up so much. She was two, no longer a baby: a proper little girl.

‘Good girl! Yes, we did painting and then we made biscuits and then we ran around the garden and played hide and seek, didn’t we?’ Hermione spoke as she made the tea.

‘It sounds like you had a great time,’ Kate answered, bouncing Bethan up and down.

‘And did you have a great time at work? I would say probably not judging by those frown lines I can see,’ Hermione said, turning her scrutiny to her friend.

‘I have frown lines?’ Kate exclaimed, her hands reaching for her forehead and pressing at the skin as if to iron out any creases.

‘Beth, why don’t you go and watch the DVD with Philip and the others? I’m pretty sure they’ll be dressed up as bears and monkeys by now. Mummy and I need to talk about secret things,’ Hermione spoke, putting a finger to her lips and helping Bethan down from Kate’s lap .

Bethan ran out of the kitchen towards the living room and as soon as Hermione could hear roaring, monkey noises and laughter, she closed the kitchen door.

‘What’s happened at work today? I sense more than the usual “too much to do, too little time” vibe,’ she said, bringing the tea over to the table and sitting down.

‘Nothing, it was the same as every day. I played my usual inadequate self, I didn’t get half the things done I should have, Lady Dragon Miranda spent all day doing that really annoying laugh of hers and saying “perfect” every second word to anyone that came in contact with her. Oh yes, and I have to find a date to take to a function I’d hoped she’d forgotten about – this Friday,’ Kate responded, taking a large swig of her tea.

‘Would you like some sugar for the shock?’ Hermione questioned.

‘It isn’t funny! It’s one of our really big clients and one that actually likes me. It’s some banquet thing at the Grand. It’ll be dressing up and looking nice and talking to lots of people I have nothing in common with. Oh, and did I mention I have to take a date. A date, Mione! I don’t know any men! Unless? Yes, of course! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before! Can I borrow Philip?’ Kate asked, leaning almost excitedly across the table towards her.

‘Afraid not, sweetie – Philip’s off to Africa tomorrow. He’s away for a week supervising digging for ancient artefacts,’ Hermione replied.

‘Then I’m well and truly buggered. What am I going to do?’ Kate asked, putting her hands in her hair and leaning on the table face down.

‘Don’t you still have that business card I gave you?’ Hermione questioned, drinking some of her tea.

‘Oh no, I’m not doing that. That’s for desperate people,’ Kate said, lifting her head up and knocking her cup with her elbow, making some of the contents spill out on the table .

‘And what are you if not desperate for a date – this Friday. I don’t see you have any other option.’

‘I cannot use an escort agency! Did you hear that? Even saying it sounds sleazy! It would be like using a male prostitute,’ Kate exclaimed.

‘Well, my friend Libby – you’ve met Libby – she comes here for readings. She absolutely swears by this firm. She uses them all the time, purely for company; they go out for a meal or to the cinema. She’s a professional just like you and she doesn’t have time for a relationship. She’s been burned in the past, just like you, but she loves male company. For her this is an ideal solution. I think her “friend” is called Jonny,’ Hermione informed.

‘I feel sick,’ Kate responded.

‘I think you should look at this a different way. You’ve created a negative vibe about this function. You think it’s going to be dreadful, it won’t be fun, you’ll hate it and you know what I think about self-fulfilling prophecies. If you think it’s going to be terrible then it will be,’ Hermione told her.

‘I still feel sick.’

‘It’s an opportunity to dress up, get your hair done, have a few drinks and some posh food with some gorgeous guy sat next to you. Wouldn’t that stick it to the Lady Dragon?’

‘I can’t take a male escort; it just wouldn’t be right. I don’t do that sort of thing.’

‘The card has the website address on it; at least have a look while you’re trawling through your old address books, looking for an alternative,’ Hermione suggested.

‘D’you know, I don’t think I have the card any more; what bad luck,’ Kate remarked, drinking down the remainder of her tea.

‘Isn’t it? Luckily, I have another,’ Hermione responded and she magically produced the card straight away from a large, towering pile of paperwork on her kitchen worktop.

‘Are you sure you’re not a witch?’ Kate enquired, reluctantly taking the card from her friend’s hand.

‘Are you sure you haven’t forgotten how to enjoy yourself?’ Hermione retorted.

She looked at the business card, rolling it around her fingers.

‘Perhaps I have,’ she admitted with a heavy sigh.

‘Then get back out there and start living your life again. Your life sweetie, not just Bethan’s. You’re a brilliant mum but even brilliant mums need a break and yours is long overdue. Ring the number, book yourself a date, buy something new to wear, and Friday night, leave work early, get your hair done and enjoy yourself! Bethan can stay the night here – my three love having sleepovers and with Philip away, I won’t know what to do with myself. You’ll basically be doing me a favour,’ Hermione insisted with a smile.

‘It sounds like I don’t have a choice. Have you been reading runes for me again? Is this function something I have to attend for my greater good?’ Kate asked.

‘I’m saying nothing more; you don’t believe any of that anyway,’ Hermione replied and she pretended to zip up her lips.