9. FAT CHANCE
NINE
FAT CHANCE
Tess shoved open the door, entered the hall, hung her coat on her grandmother’s treasured Edwardian coat stand, and took a long hard look at herself in the age-stained mirror. Gerry was right, she did look tired and worn out, and she was worn out, damn it. She’d been working hard and there was still a backlog of orders to get through. The thing about working from home was that you never really stopped; no leaving it behind at five or six o’clock until nine the next morning. Even as she watched television, she was aware of the fabrics waiting to be cut out in the bedroom, which had become her workroom too. More often than not, there was a pattern pinned onto a fabric, spread across her cutting table, or on the floor, which took up half the room. It was too tempting to go back in there and cut the thing out, if only to fold up the table and clear the floor space. Then she’d make something fast, filling and fattening to eat late in the evening, washing it down with wine. But she’d been trying hard to change all that of late.
Now it was time to get started on Amber’s dress. And then she needed to find a nice, normal and hopefully not-bad-looking guy to bring to the wedding. She wondered if there was some way to check on these prospective MMM escorts before meeting up with them. MMM did not, of course, divulge any addresses, but considering she’d specified the ‘hearts’ had to live within a fifty-mile radius, it might be possible to vet at least some of them beforehand by checking the telephone directory or the business directory.
Tess wondered why she hadn’t thought before of checking up and doing some background research on some of her matches. One William Appleton of Appleton Catering Services, described by MMM as a go-getter and head of a catering empire, would like to meet her. She studied his photograph. He was thin-faced, slightly foxy-looking, with a pronounced Adam’s apple, but not unattractive. Pity about the catering empire though, when she was trying so hard not to think about food. Then again, perhaps he did diet meals. Most big companies did these days.
William Appleton lived in a house called ‘Maybill’ on Chestnut Avenue – which sounded leafy and respectable – in a London suburb only about ten miles away. They’d arranged to meet at the Blackbird, a well-known pub about halfway between their respective residences. But, pleased with her decision to be more thorough, at 11a.m. on the day, Tess decided to have a look at where this William Appleton lived.
She’d always thought of avenues as wide and tree-lined, which this one wasn’t. There was a noticeable lack of chestnuts, or any greenery for that matter; only a row of drab grey pebble-dashed semi-detached houses. She decided for sure she must have got the address wrong, as William Appleton, with his catering empire, would surely live in a large, detached house on a leafy street. She drove along slowly, studying the houses on her left – few of which displayed a number, let alone a name. At the end of the road she turned around and drove back, studying the houses on the other side. Then halfway along she saw it: a crudely painted sign saying ‘Maybill’, dangling from a ramshackle garden gate and partially obscured by a large, luridly painted van parked outside. Unable to believe what she was seeing, Tess decided she had to have a look – if she could find a parking space. She eventually found one some way down the road, and walked back to Maybill, edging her way around the van, which proclaimed in enormous red lettering on both sides: ‘Bill’s Burgers and Hot Dogs!’ Beneath, in smaller lettering, was written ‘Appleton Catering’.
Tess opened the gate at the exact moment an elderly woman, in a grubby dressing gown and bleached hair adorned with giant rollers, opened the door and stooped down to pick up a bottle of milk. Nice to know milk was still being delivered in Chestnut Avenue.
‘You looking for someone, love?’ she called out.
Tess cleared her throat. ‘Is this where William Appleton lives?’
‘William!’ she snorted. ‘That’s posh ! You after some burgers or somefink?’ Without waiting for a reply she shouted, ‘Bill-ee!’ before disappearing inside, clutching the milk bottle.
Tess stood mesmerised inside the gate as a scrawny man, a cigarette dangling from his lips and with an enormous gut, limped to the door. ‘The missus says you want somefink.’
She tried to think of something to say. ‘Do you only do burgers and hot dogs?’ she asked after a moment.
‘Yeah, that’s about it, darlin’. ’
‘Oh well, never mind,’ Tess said lamely. She thought quickly. ‘I understand, Mr Appleton, that you have an appointment at six o’clock this evening?’
He had the grace to look surprised. ‘So wot if I ’ave? Wot’s it to do with you?’
‘I thought I should tell you that the person you’re hoping to meet will not be there,’ Tess said, edging back through the gate. ‘And I don’t think your description of yourself was entirely accurate.’
‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,’ he snapped, as he went in and slammed the door behind him.
Tess closed the gate, edged back round the van, and headed towards where she’d parked her car.
‘You cannot believe anything you read in these descriptions,’ Tess ranted to Orla in the shop that afternoon. ‘Just as well I went to check him out.’
‘I wonder if he’d have turned up in his hot-dog van,’ Orla said when she finished laughing.
‘There must be some normal, nice men around somewhere on this planet,’ Tess sighed. ‘But I somehow doubt I’m going to meet any kind of “heart” through MMM. How’s the plumber, by the way?’
‘He’s absolutely fine. Very successful guy. You can keep all these so-called executives and the like. And I bet he’s as financially secure as any of them. Plumbers are like gold dust these days, you know. You’ll have to wait weeks for someone to come round to fix your leaking pipes because they’re so in demand. And they can charge what they like because people are so desperate to get things fixed. Certainly a whole lot better than some dodgy bloke flogging hot dogs.’
‘You’re right,’ Tess agreed. ‘Has he got any friends?’
She was making light of her strange dates but, deep inside, she wondered if there was something wrong with her . Why was she attracting all the wrong kinds of men? Apart from Orla she didn’t know anyone else who was Internet dating, so she couldn’t compare. But she’d read in the papers about couples who’d met online and were deliriously happy, accompanied by photos of them beaming ear to ear, arms entwined. Was MMM not the right site for her? However, she’d paid her money now and she might as well see it through.
At that moment the door opened to herald the arrival of Mrs Byron-Sommers. She waddled slowly into the shop.
‘Those cobbles will be the death of me,’ she gasped. ‘Anyway, I thought I’d come in for my fitting.’ She hung on to the counter while she tried to get her breath back.
Tess had been dreading this moment. Because of the nasty shiny mauve synthetic fabric Mrs Byron-Sommers had insisted on choosing for her dress and jacket, there was little she could do to minimise the woman’s enormous girth. And she would doubtless be expecting miracles.
‘I’m doing the best I can with this,’ Tess said, emerging from the workroom at the rear, carrying the hanger bearing the huge dress. ‘If you’d like to pop into the changing room, Mrs Byron-Sommers?’
There was a great deal of huffing and puffing before the woman finally emerged, like a galleon in full sail, and headed towards the mirror .
‘Can’t say it’s very flattering,’ she muttered.
‘I’ve done exactly what you asked me to do,’ Tess said. ‘Unfortunately that fabric is never going to hang well, and the colour is unforgiving.’
‘Are you saying it’s all my fault?’
Yes, Tess thought, that’s exactly what I’m saying. ‘Well, it was your choice, and, if you remember, I recommended the midnight blue silk, which would have been beautiful on you.’
‘But mauve’s my favourite colour!’ Mrs Byron-Summers did a slow, wobbly turn in front of the mirror. ‘I don’t like this. Can you do me something else? I’ve got my holiday in May, you know.’
‘Sorry, no. I’m up to my eyes in work. Perhaps later in the year? But why don’t I finish this one off for you? You may get to like it.’
Mrs Byron-Sommers waddled her way back to the changing room.
‘I’m never going to like this,’ she snapped. ‘And I doubt my Reg will agree to pay for it.’
All Tess wanted to do was get rid of her, go home, soak in the bath and pour herself a giant glass of Pinot Grigio. She felt exhausted after her visit to Appleton Catering Services and then this wretched woman. On top of that, she was now thinking that she wasn’t even a very good dressmaker. And if she ever found a nice man, chances were he wouldn’t fancy her anyway. She could see herself being a Silver Single for ever.
Her confidence severely dented, Tess headed home when Mrs Byron-Sommers eventually left the shop. As she opened the door her phone was ringing. It was Lisa, her daughter-in-law. ‘Matt’s on a trip to Dubai, and I’ve been asked to an amateur dramatic production of Abigail’s Party . My younger sister’s playing Abigail, would you believe! And my babysitter’s gone down with the flu, the au pair is on her day off, so is there any chance you could have Ellie for the night?’
Ellie duly arrived, hugging a large blue furry rabbit.
‘He’s called Baxter,’ said Ellie. ‘He’s my friend.’
‘He’s replaced Teddy as Ellie’s new best friend,’ Lisa explained, as she handed Ellie’s pink overnight bag to Tess. ‘And she chose the name.’
‘Why is he called Baxter, Ellie?’ Tess asked, as her granddaughter propped him up on the settee with great care.
‘’Cos that’s his name, Nana.’
‘Yes, but why is that his name?’
‘Because I like it,’ said Ellie, looking around. ‘Where’s Dylan?’
‘He’s outside somewhere,’ Tess replied.
‘Does he catch mice?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid sometimes he does,’ Tess said. ‘That’s what cats do. He probably reckons he’s doing me a great favour since I’m so useless at catching mice for myself.’
Ellie thought for a moment. ‘You should try, Nana; Dylan could show you.’
Tess couldn’t fault Ellie’s thinking. That settled, CBeebies was selected on the television and Ellie, thumb in mouth and clutching Baxter tightly, proceeded to watch In the Night Garden .
Because she’d spent half the morning checking out Appleton Catering Services and all afternoon in the shop, Tess had missed her daily walk. In fact, she hadn’t walked for several days, and she was feeling stiff and out of condition. As she prepared supper in the kitchen she did a few shaky knee bends and squats, which she’d been told were good for toning the thighs. Heaven only knows, her thighs certainly needed toning. She groaned as she straightened up.
‘Why are you making funny noises, Nana?’ Ellie, still clutching Baxter, had appeared in the doorway.
‘Just trying to do some exercises, Ellie.’
‘Mummy does exercises,’ Ellie said, ‘’cos she’s having a baby. Are you having a baby, Nana?’
‘No, no, Ellie, I most definitely am not having a baby.’
Ellie looked doubtful. ‘You might be though,’ she said, staring at Tess’s tummy. Then, before Tess could come up with a suitable reply, she asked, ‘Can I sleep in Daddy’s bedroom tonight?’
‘Of course you can,’ Tess replied. ‘You know it’s your bedroom now whenever you come to stay.’
‘And Baxter’s?’
‘Oh yes, Baxter’s too.’
It was after supper as Ellie was getting ready for bed that she asked, ‘Where’s my dress?’
‘Your dress?’
‘For Auntie Amber’s wedding.’
Tess tried to think if and when there might possibly have been any reference whatsoever to a dress for Ellie to wear at Amber’s wedding, where she was to be a flower girl.
‘Well, Mummy hasn’t actually asked me to make it yet,’ she said.
‘Silly Mummy. And it has to be pink. That’s my very most favourite colour. ’
It was the end of April, the wedding a mere three months away, and Tess still had a further sixteen pounds of weight to lose and a man to find. Could that possibly be achieved? Since her brief encounter with the hot-dog man she’d done nothing further about finding an escort. But as Orla constantly reminded her, she’d paid her money to MMM and there were another three or four possibilities out there. Not to mention the cruise, which Orla had already booked for them both.
It was while she was entering some measurements in her diary that she noticed the date: 29 April, the anniversary of David’s death. She recalled the day she’d first met David, when her old VW Beetle had come to a grinding halt right in front of what she took to be a garage. And wouldn’t you know, that was the day she’d left her mobile on charge at home. Well, if you’re going to break down, she thought, you might as well do it right in front of a garage.
Then, as she emerged from the car, Tess became aware that it wasn’t exactly the sort of garage she’d had in mind. It was a rather smart showroom, selling all manner of sports cars and classic motors. Her heart sank. Well, never mind – perhaps they could recommend a garage or at least let her phone for the breakdown service.
When she walked into the glossy showroom, a stockily built man, who’d been sitting behind the highly polished mahogany desk, stood up and walked towards her. He had a friendly face.
‘Can I help you?’
‘I’m not sure you can,’ Tess replied, and then recounted her tale of woe. ‘And I forgot to bring my mobile with me… ’
He smiled reassuringly. ‘What type of car is it?’
‘Oh, it’s just an old Beetle. It’s right outside.’
‘Great cars, Beetles. I’ll get Nick to have a look at it. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to call your breakdown service?’
‘Oh, no, no, I’d be happy for you to look at it. But I don’t want to be any trouble…’
‘That’s settled then,’ he said firmly, picking up the phone.
He had lovely blue eyes and a mischievous smile, but Tess felt instinctively that she could trust him.
Nick, who was obviously the mechanic, duly appeared.
‘Would you have a look at this lady’s Beetle out the front there? See if we can be of any help?’
Nick looked curiously at Tess. ‘You got the keys?’
As he headed out of the door she said, ‘This is so kind of you!’
Her benefactor smiled disarmingly. ‘It’s quiet here today, so no problem. Now, how about I make you a cup of coffee? And what do I call you?’
Within minutes he was calling her Tess and she was calling him David, and he was telling her that he owned this business because he had such a passion for vintage and classic cars. And she was telling him about Curvaceous and measuring up larger ladies. They were chatting and laughing like old friends when Nick reappeared, spanner in hand, shaking his head sadly. The car was old, he said; this had gone wrong, that was broken beyond repair, and everything else appeared to be on the point of collapse. In his opinion it would cost more than the car was worth to put it all right. He suggested she had it towed to her own garage for a second opinion, and then he disappeared .
‘Not a great prognosis,’ said David.
‘I’ve known for a while it was on its last legs,’ Tess admitted. ‘I’ve been saving up for something newer. I fancy a Ford Focus.’
David appeared to be deep in thought. Then he said, ‘Would you consider letting me buy it from you? It’s a classic, you know, and I could give it new innards.’
And so, on that spring day Tess found herself a new lover, who gave a generous price for her old Beetle and, with his trade connections, succeeded in finding her the almost new silver Ford Focus that she was still driving today.
David was a gentleman. He was the kind of man she’d love to meet again, but they weren’t exactly thick on the ground. Perhaps the next man she’d meet would restore her faith in the opposite sex.
The next man happened to be one Andy Barrymore.
Andy Barrymore was, according to MMM, the owner of the prestigious ‘Beeches’ at nearby Ferndale. The Beeches was a boutique hotel with a famous cocktail bar, gourmet restaurant and spa. How could such a successful man be looking for companionship on the Internet? He looked handsome too. In his MMM photo he appeared silver-haired, dark-eyed and had nice teeth which, hopefully, were his own. With thoughts of Benedict entering her mind, Tess wondered for a moment if this Andy might be gay. Surely not? Why would he be seeking a lady ‘for companionship, outings, and sharing a cocktail or two’ if he were? In the next paragraph he explained that he was so busy with the Beeches that there was never time to meet nice ladies and, if anyone cared to contact him, he’d be delighted to introduce himself properly and show off his hotel, his cocktails and his gourmet restaurant. This, Tess reckoned, was her kind of man. But with memories of Appleton Catering Services, she decided to investigate the venue.
The Beeches – surprise, surprise! – was actually surrounded by beech trees at the end of the village and, according to the sign at the gate, had a four-star rating. From what she could see through the trees it was a large Edwardian building, but she decided to go no further in case Andy Barrymore himself should see her checking him out. Then again, perhaps an astute businessman would be impressed by her thoroughness.
Well satisfied, Tess set off for home, hoping she’d be successful in getting a date. There must be a long queue of women hoping for the cocktails, the gourmet meal and, not least, the man himself. She suspected he would not be alone for long, so she drove straight home, got onto her laptop, and requested a meeting. Two hours later Andy Barrymore replied, saying he’d be delighted to meet up with her next Thursday evening, at the Beeches at 6p.m. Would that suit? And why didn’t she bring along an overnight bag so that she could enjoy his hospitality without having to drive home afterwards? He could arrange a room for one night – would that be OK? That seemed very OK to Tess, although she wondered if she’d be expected to pay for the room, which would most likely be very expensive, thanks to all those stars. But what the heck!
Tess decided not to tell Orla. At the mere mention of cocktails and the rest, Orla was very likely to put the plumber on hold and head for the Beeches herself. In fact, Tess suspected that Orla was beginning to tire of her lover. She still hadn’t got the new bathroom he’d promised, and Tess noticed that she was often connected to MMM when it was quiet in the shop. And the fact that she was so keen to go on this cruise did not tally with her being madly in love. It was a wonder that she hadn’t come across Andy Barrymore herself. Perhaps she had, and wasn’t letting on? So she didn’t tell Orla anything. Not that she was going on a date with someone who owned a hotel, or that she’d checked the place out in preparation. If she told Orla she’d researched the place, and mentioned the gourmet restaurant and the cocktails, Orla would be green . And not only would she be envious, she’d probably apply to meet him herself. And this guy was not for sharing!