Chapter Fifteen
‘There you are,’ said Alice, as I got out of my car. ‘I was just about to give up and go home.’ She sounded cross.
‘Sorry,’ I said, pointing the zapper at the car. The central locking system immediately engaged with a loud clunk. I turned back to Alice. ‘I was dropping some stuff off at the hall in readiness for this Saturday’s fete.’ I gave her an enquiring look. ‘What’s up?’
‘I’ll tell you what’s up.’ She pursed her lips. ‘We’ve been blown out.’
Ah. Liam had been in touch. I was relieved to hear her say we rather than I. It softened the blow for her. Even so, I hoped Liam had kept his promise about gently letting her down.
‘Oh dear,’ I said innocently. ‘I presume you’re talking about Liam and his mate, Ben?’
‘Yes,’ she bristled. ‘I tried to pin Liam down for an exact date and time and he texted back some waffly nonsense about being horrendously busy and that we’d have to take a raincheck.’
‘Okay,’ I said, opening the front door. ‘So, it isn’t an actual no. It’s more a not right now.’
‘Ha!’ she harrumphed, following me inside. ‘What he doesn’t realise is that he’s missed his chance with me. I’m not hanging around while he plays hard to get. I’ll have you know’ – she exhorted – ‘that men are lining up to take me out.’
‘Really?’ I said, going through to the kitchen. ‘I thought you weren’t seeing anyone at the moment.’ I picked up the kettle and stuck it under the tap.
‘I’m not,’ she said gloomily. She dumped her handbag on the kitchen island, then perched on a tall stool. ‘Not that I haven’t had offers,’ she sniffed. Her tone was defensive. ‘I’ve downloaded a new dating app, and the men have been – virtually speaking – queuing up.’
‘But that’s brilliant, Alice,’ I said, swinging round to face her.
However, rather than looking jubilant, she appeared crestfallen.
The water level in the kettle ran over and I smartly turned back, pouring away the overflow before turning off the tap.
‘After all’ – I continued – ‘it’s a terrific boost to the ego to be in such demand.
’ I flipped the kettle’s switch, then went to the larder in search of biscuits.
‘Oh, it’s great to be wanted,’ she said miserably. ‘But I doubt many of the men after me are in much demand themselves. Their profile pictures aren’t exactly flattering.’
‘In what way?’ I said, extracting some chocolate cookies from the back of the cupboard.
‘They all look like serial killers.’ She watched me rip open the packet before tipping some biscuits onto a plate. ‘Honestly’ – she leant forward and took one – ‘dating at our age is like looking for a parking space at Bluewater on a Bank Holiday weekend.’ She bit savagely into the biscuit.
‘Think of the benefits of not having a partner,’ I soothed, just as the kettle came to the boil.
She gave me a look of disbelief.
‘Such as?’ she demanded, spraying crumbs everywhere. Her expression was akin to someone who’d been told it was better to ski on mud than snow.
‘Such as not having to pick up whiffy socks or smelly underpants.’ I opened another cupboard and grabbed a couple of mugs.
‘Not to mention ironing endless shirts,’ I added, slopping boiling water over teabags.
‘Or being their mummy when they take to their beds with man flu.’ I tipped some semi-skimmed into the cups, then wiggled the teabags about.
The milky water instantly turned golden brown.
‘Or the fact that men never make the bed, not even when they’re the last one out of it.
Nor do they wash away the ring around the bath, or clean their toothpaste off the sink’ – I was in my stride now as I set the cups down on the island – ‘and since when did they ever pick up the bog brush and give it a twirl around the toilet bowl?’
Alice pulled a face.
‘Ewww. Did you do all that for Peter?’
I pulled my own face.
‘And some.’
I wasn’t going to tell Alice about Peter’s propensity to sometimes drink too much and then later regurgitate it not only all over the bed, but over me too.
The last time it happened was around three in the morning. I’d been hauled out of a dreamless sleep with warm vomit spilling over my hair. The stench had shot up my nostrils and made me heave.
I’d stripped the bed, then stomped off to the shower, angrily informing Peter that if he ever did it again, I would kill him. And I’d meant it.
‘What about sex?’ asked Alice, reaching for another biscuit.
‘What about it?’ I said cagily.
‘Well, despite men being messy buggers, they are rather useful in the bedroom.’
‘Really?’ I grunted.
I couldn’t remember the last time Peter and I had been intimate. Possibly somewhere between him giving me an HPV infection and, later, pubic lice. Not that I was going to share either of those little gems with Alice.
‘Don’t you miss it, Jen?’ she prompted.
I certainly didn’t miss going to the doctor and listening, red-faced, to her advising a trip to a sexual health clinic.
I took a sip of tea and pretended to give Alice’s question some consideration.
‘Well, I’ve already told you that Peter and I weren’t together in the true sense of the word. Before he died, we were estranged. Pretty much two people living under one roof, but two different lives.’
‘What went wrong?’ Alice took another cookie, broke it in half and then dunked it in her tea. When I didn’t immediately answer, she gave me a bashful look. ‘Sorry. That’s a very personal question. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.’
‘It’s fine,’ I said, waving away her apology. ‘The truth is that it wasn’t any one thing. It was everything.’
‘Everything?’ she said, wrinkling her brow.
‘Yes,’ I sighed. ‘Just… everything. That and falling out of love.’