Rod Stewart
MAGGIE MAY
‘How much food are you making?’
‘Good God!’ He jumped and there came the hiss of hot oil. ‘Patti, think of my heart.’
‘If I was thinking of your heart we wouldn’t be having a fried breakfast. What can I do?’
‘Sit down and–’
‘Keep out the way?’
David’s head snapped up and he looked at me with a blank expression. ‘No, sit down and tell me everything about your philandering.’
‘Oh, David–’
‘Don’t you oh, David, me.’ He plated up a fried egg for me and one for himself, then dropped a second pan in the sink. ‘I haven’t seen you for three days!’
‘You haven’t been home for two!’
‘Now, that’s unfair.’ He pointed at me with the butter knife. ‘I turned down sex last night specifically so I could come home alone and be here for you this morning.’
I wiped a mock tear from the corner of my eye. ‘And they say romance is–’
‘Piss off and tell me about your romance. Two dates in two nights? Patricia…’
At the end of Date Two, Sheila had asked whether I’d like to see her again – to which I said a hearty yes, with such an enthusiasm that I will think of that embarrassment on my deathbed.
But we hadn’t made plans for it yet, and I was relieved that it hadn’t become three dates, three days running.
I wasn’t sure my heart could have taken it.
‘I know, it’s been a while,’ I answered.
‘I’ll say.’ He turned and pointed again, this time with a spoon. ‘You’re welcome, by the way.’
‘For what?’
‘The app!’ David spooned mushrooms onto both plates. ‘I helped you to meet the love–’
‘There is no love, you daft fool, there will be no love.’
David turned around with a plate of food in each hand and a cocked eyebrow. ‘Well I’m glad you’ve decided that already. Usually it takes you at least four months to decide you can’t love a woman.’
The comment stung, and David could tell.
‘Come on, Patti, you know that you… Actually, do you know what?’ He placed a plate in front of me. ‘We’re not doing the deep and introspective thing, not this morning at least. Eat your breakfast, tell me about your dates.’ He pulled out his chair opposite me. ‘Did you get laid?’
‘David,’ I reached forward to slap his arm, ‘I’m not you.’
‘Of course, darling, there can be only one,’ he answered in his best theatre tone.
I rolled my eyes, cut into my egg, and watched the yolk pour out.
‘Come on,’ David spoke around his first mouthful of food. ‘I’m waiting.’
I tucked into my breakfast, too, and regaled David with the details of intimidatingly large portraits of vulvas – ‘God, that sounds fantastic,’ he commented – followed by the second date, featuring dinner at a decidedly fancy restaurant.
Sheila had been open, honest, funny – and she’d insisted on paying the bill, which was another luxury I hadn’t had in a long old time, unless you counted David (which I didn’t).
The only awkward moment had been when she’d asked about previous relationships.
Sensing my trepidation at the time, Sheila had been polite enough to go first and she gave me a potted history of two long-term relationships; both of which had involved an engagement and neither of which had involved marriage.
She was still on good terms with both women, though.
‘Life’s too short for all that bitterness, isn’t it?
’ she’d said, and I’d mumbled like I agreed.
Though there were certainly one or two women in my past that I’d rather not see again for as long as I lived.
‘Christ, you didn’t tell her that you’re a complete phobe for relationships, did you?’
‘David, that is unfair!’ I snapped, going as far to drop my fork with a clang and point at him, too, just to underscore my outrage. ‘You are a phobe for relationships.’
He shrugged. ‘Both things can be true.’
‘Why on earth would you say that about me?’
‘Because, Patti, my love, it’s an absolute truth.
Tell me one relationship that you haven’t cut short as soon as things started to feel even slightly serious with the woman.
And, while you’re thinking on that’ – he stood and collected his plate from the table – ‘you can also think of the real and honest reason why you didn’t want me to set you up on that dating app. Are you done?’
I looked down at my plate and grabbed my fork. ‘With this conversation, yes.’
‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Tea. Strong.’ I spoke around the last of my mushrooms. ‘I’ve had a shock.’
David snorted. ‘Patti, I’m not saying anything cruel. Or anything you don’t know, for that matter, you just don’t like to admit it. But that doesn’t make it untrue.’
‘Well,’ I began in weak protest, ‘maybe Sheila will be different.’
He span around to face me and let out a dramatic gasp, both hands flying to his mouth. When he moved them away there was a Cheshire Cat grin on his face. ‘Maybe Sheila will be different,’ he said in a mocking, schoolgirl tone.
I narrowed my eyes. ‘I don’t think I like you this morning.’
‘We’ve been married for five years and together for a hundred.’ He took a few steps closer and kissed my forehead. ‘Frankly, I’m relieved you still like me on any morning.’
‘And that’s another thing,’ I carried on while David finally set about making tea. ‘I can’t talk about life, at all, without talking about you.’
‘Well, that’s a lovely thing to hear.’
‘But how do I refer you to you, David? That’s the problem.’
He leaned against the kitchen counter, folded his arms and scowled. The kettle’s slow boil was the perfect accompaniment to his expression. ‘You didn’t do anything stupid, did you?’
‘Like?’
‘Like telling her that you’re married.’
‘Well no, I didn’t, but–’
‘Thank everyone holy for that.’
‘But I’m going to have to eventually.’
‘Why?’ he blurted out. ‘I never tell women I’m married and it never causes any harm.’
‘It doesn’t?’
‘Well,’ he pressed his hands to his chest, ‘it doesn’t cause me any harm.’
‘You’re an idiot.’
‘That’s no way to speak to your husband.’
‘David, don’t.’ I propped my elbows on the table and rested my forehead in my palms. There soon came the soft thud of a mug being set in front of me, and the squeak of David’s chair as he sat back at the table. ‘I think I really like this woman,’ I admitted quietly, while keeping my eyes averted.
‘You know my thoughts on getting involved with women.’
I looked up at him. ‘I’m not sure I do, actually.’
David was wearing a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
It was a beautiful expression on him, and one that he didn’t show off anywhere near enough.
His smile was often pruned to impress; wide and toothy, to give everyone a flash of the teeth that he’d paid so much money for.
You’re an idiot, I thought but with a gentle, glowing warmth.
‘For you? My thoughts are that it’s long overdue.’
I smiled in return and asked, ‘And what about for you?’
‘That it’s mostly more trouble than it’s worth.’
* * *
Two cups of tea later and I was curled up in my armchair enjoying the hammer of rain outside.
I had nowhere to be, and after the excitement of the last few days it felt like a quiet bliss that I didn’t need to leave the house.
I turned my attention back to my book, the cat and mouse of an Agatha Christie classic – And Then There Were None – with Fred acting as a hot water bottle on my feet.
‘I’m going out.’ David’s voice cut through the quiet. ‘Do you need anything?’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m meeting someone for a coffee.’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘When will you be back?’
David narrowed his stare in return. ‘I don’t know.’
A laugh hiccupped out of me. ‘Then you’re not meeting anyone for coffee.’
He shrugged. ‘We might have coffee afterwards.’
‘Go.’ I waved him along. ‘Enjoy yourself. I have everything I need.’
David shouted his goodbye from the hallway.
In time with the front door clanging shut, my phone hummed with the notification for a new message.
Something in me shifted, like a soft and playful tickle happening somewhere in my stomach.
I’d never been especially bothered about my phone before, seeing it mostly as a necessary evil in case of emergencies.
Now, it was a mechanism for delivering short, sharp electric shocks straight to my chest. And sometimes other places.
I snatched at the handset and saw a notification for a new text. And I hoped, hoped, hoped–
‘Yes!’
–that it would be Sheila.
Sheila: How do you feel about dancing?