Chapter Three
‘You haven’t confirmed with Barney yet!’
Drat and I’d been so clever at avoiding Kate’s calls all week.
‘Admit it. You’ve been avoiding me. Don’t forget you promised.’
‘I did no such thing!’ I said. ‘Well, it wasn’t exactly a promise.’ I wasn’t going to give into Kate too easily. ‘Look, I will go on this speed-date—’
‘But?’
‘It’s just—’
‘What for God’s sake? What can go wrong?’
I could make a complete fool of myself. Dry up with stage fright. The list of potential humiliations ran into pages. In fact in my mind it was positively encyclopaedic.
‘Nothing, I guess. Just nerves. The thought of having to try and impress—’
‘Olivia! You put your make-up on, wear something gorgeous and be yourself. That’s all you need to do.’
Easy for her to say that. The whole idea filled me with dread.
‘OK. OK.’
‘If you don’t call Barney, I will.’
With an obvious sigh of resignation, I said, ‘I’ll call now.’
‘Go on then. Don’t forget, I have spies.’
She didn’t need them. Auntie Bren’s purple-shadowed eyes would haunt me for ever if I didn’t go on one of Barney’s dates.
Now was probably the right time to phone him, while I was feeling grumpy and out of sorts.
‘Barney Middleton,’ a voice snapped in my ear.
‘Hi, Barney. It’s Olivia.’ I resisted the urge to say, ‘Your grubby, disreputable younger cousin here.’
He’s had that effect on me ever since I was sixteen when Kate told him about the massive crush I had on him. God that sounds as if I go in for crushes on a regular basis. I don’t. I’ve had two in my life, Daniel and Barney. One of which was deserved, the other was NOT.
As an arrogant eighteen-year-old, already good-looking and self-assured, Barney found my crush very entertaining. He and his mates never missed a chance to embarrass me. Did me a favour though — I went right off him.
‘Hold on a sec.’ In the background I heard him say, ‘Get me another one in, Charles, would you? Same again . . . No, only one of my cousins . . . No, the other one.’
I could hear muted laughter.
‘Wondered when you’d call,’ he drawled. ‘Good job Kate’s on the ball. Said you’d phone eventually. You’re in luck. I’ve saved you a place.’
I pulled a face. Like it was really that popular.
‘See you on Friday. I usually insist on payment up front but because it’s you, you can pay on the night but make sure you turn up.’
It was as if he was doing me some massive favour out of the kindness of his heart. Not possible. He didn’t have one.
‘Friday!’ My voice came out as an embarrassing squeak. That was way too soon.
‘Yes, Friday, Olivia. Think you can manage that? Bloody lucky I can squeeze you in. Normally there’s a waiting list.’
‘Thank you so much, Barney.’ It was hard but I managed through great will power, not to add, ‘However can I repay you!’ What I did say was, ‘Don’t suppose you might be able to tell me where and when?’
‘Eight o’clock. Café Lulu. Don’t be late.’
Oooh! My fingers clenched involuntarily into tight fists. There’s something about Barney that just brings me out in hives.
He broke off again and over the hubbub in the background, I heard him say, ‘Make it a bottle then . . . get a decent one, Charles, none of that house muck . . . here, stick my card behind the bar . . . Still there, Olivia? Make sure you turn up.’
‘I’ll be there.’
No point asking where Café Lulu was. Obviously it was so hip any idiot would know. Thank God for the Internet.
* * *
Before I knew it Friday had crept up on me and the little gold top I was planning to wear was hanging up on the wardrobe door, ready for the big date. It kept talking to me every time I walked past.
‘I’m far too gorgeous and grown up for you . . . and even with that bra everyone will know you’re a titless wonder.’
My original plans had changed at lunchtime when Emily had flounced over to my desk and perched on the edge, fiddling with the paperclips and rearranging my pens for a minute.
‘You OK?’ I asked, knowing full well that she wasn’t.
‘No, I am sodding well not. Daniel has cancelled on me tonight.’
‘Really?’ That didn’t sound like him.
‘He’s going out with his dad and stepmum for a family dinner instead.’
‘Oh, bit rude if he’d already made arrangements with you.’
‘Yes, bastard. Now I’m stuck in on my own on a Friday night.’
Poor Emily, her idea of hell, having to entertain herself.
‘You could always come with me,’ I joked, never for a moment thinking she would.
Her eyes glittered dangerously and her mouth firmed into a line. I’d never noticed how thin her lips were before.
‘Do you know what . . . I think I will.’
Oh shit, now what had I done? The determined lift of her jaw suggested she was deadly serious.
‘Are you sure . . . I mean . . . I had to book . . . there might not be any places.’
‘Don’t be dense, Olivia. There are always places at these things. What are you wearing?’
In the end I had no choice but to agree to take her with me, and she insisted on accompanying me in my lunch hour on my mission to buy the perfect bra.
Of course she talked me into the most complicated thing known to man, but it promised serious cleavage no matter how under-endowed you were and was marginally preferable to the one that inflated with — no joke — a little pump.
That shopping trip was quite an eye-opener.
Chicken fillets, super-boost, balconies — who knew that bra designers needed degrees in mechanical engineering these days.
* * *
‘When are you going to get ready, Olivia?’ asked Emily, hopping up and down outside my bedroom door.
Already made-up, she looked gorgeous as always — no wonder Daniel was going out with her — and was halfway through straightening her white-blonde hair.
Natural, of course, she had Scandinavian ancestors.
If mine had been of a Nordic persuasion you could bet they’d have been great, hairy Vikings, not flaxen-haired princesses.
‘Sorry, on the phone to Mum.’
Emily shrugged. ‘We need to leave in an hour and a half. Thought you wanted a bath.’
No chance of delaying tactics with her around. She was itching to get going. Obviously she had all her questions worked out. Me, I was still dithering over my opening lines.
Was there any way of getting out of this evening?
Perhaps I could do myself an injury with those bra straps.
An evening in A ‘Avoid talking about films’ or ‘Ask your date about their favourite film.’ There was, however, universal agreement that you shouldn’t ‘Ask if they want babies.’ As if!
Perhaps questions would just pop into my head as I met each date. I tried to imagine what they might be like.
Lying back in the warm bath, two successful candidates popped into my head, leaving me with the delicious dilemma of which to keep. One was a famous architect, who wore Paul Smith suits and wined and dined me in all the best places in London.
Unfortunately my imagination had a practical streak, which insisted anyone that successful — he’d just designed the equivalent of the Gherkin in New York — would also be horribly busy at work and bound to be unreliable.
Alternatively there was the airline pilot who was proving irresistible.
Much more laid back with a wicked sense of humour, he wore nice crisp shirts that exposed just a smattering of blond hairs.
His faded jeans encased long lean legs and he had lovely broad shoulders with just a hint of well-defined muscles — he was quite a sexy package.
Although I could do without the little chip in his tooth my imagination had unhelpfully provided.
What’s more, he was desperate for me to go with him to Fiji.
As I was lying back in the warm water, daydreaming, listening to the gentle, pfft pfft of foam bubbles, the pilot just edged into the lead — chipped tooth and all — and was in the process of producing first-class air tickets, when Emily interrupted with a loud rap on the unpainted bathroom door.
‘Are you planning on the lobster look, Olivia?’ she yelled through the frosted glass.
Bugger. Time to get a move on.
‘Got your questions sorted?’
‘Nooo!’ I wailed, scrambling out of the bath, grabbing my watch. I abandoned thoughts of Fiji. I needed questions.