We get to the bit where Martin Freeman and that nice girl off Gavin and Stacey are in the buff acting out a porn scene and a voice shouts out from the back. ‘Are they having SEX?’
‘Pipe down, Billy,’ Joe says with a smile.
Huge stage whisper. ‘They are having sex.’
Joe turns to me. ‘I think I need to vet the film more carefully next time.’ We both smother a laugh.
So it goes throughout the film, every time someone kisses, shows skin or does venture towards having sex, Billy shouts out, ‘They’re doing it AGAIN!’
Which kind of detracts from the film and adds to it at the same time. I think Billy definitely needs a girlfriend. We have ice cream at the interval and when the film ends, despite having seen it a dozen or more times, I still cry at the end.
In the foyer afterwards, I wait while Joe says goodbye to some of the families and I help Eamon to tidy up behind the bar and then give the girl with the sweets a hand in packing them away.
‘Sorry about that,’ Joe says when he’s finished.
‘No worries. You’re working. I understand that.’ Then I take my courage in both hands. ‘Do you fancy going for a drink or a coffee somewhere?’
‘Now?’ Joe looks as surprised as I feel.
‘It’s not late.’
He hesitates for a moment before saying, ‘I can’t. I’m sorry. I need to see that the residents are safely home. One or two of them like to wander off when no one’s looking. Plus I’m on the clock with Gina. The kids are in school tomorrow.’
‘Oh, I thought they were staying overnight with her.’
He gives a hollow laugh. ‘I should be so lucky.’
‘It doesn’t matter. It was silly of me to ask.’ Wasn’t it just.
‘Another time though,’ he adds quickly. ‘It would be great.’
‘Yeah. Of course.’ I try not to sound disappointed but it’s never going to happen. He has commitments. Loads of them. I get that. ‘Thanks for a nice evening.’
‘I bet you go home and watch it in peace now without Billy’s commentary.’
‘That made it much more fun,’ I say earnestly. ‘You have some very nice people living here.’
‘I’d better go.’ Joe glances over his shoulder, distracted. ‘I’ll see you at scuba-diving?’
‘Yeah. Sure.’
‘Thanks for coming, Ruby.’
‘My pleasure.’ I have to say this is possibly the most chaste date I’ve ever had. It’s not exactly a date though, is it? Never was.
As I turn to leave, he catches my wrist and kisses me lightly on the cheek. ‘I mean it about coffee,’ he says. ‘Let’s do it soon.’
‘OK.’ Then he dashes off to help someone carrying chairs.
I stand and watch him for a moment longer. And as I walk to the car, I have to stop myself from touching my cheek where he kissed it.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I drive home with a stupid smile on my face. Despite the refusal at the coffee fence, that was a good evening, all considered. Good film, Maltesers, cold ice-cream, hot man. The promise of a coffee-based date? Maybe. I’m still grinning when I pull up outside my granny annexe. That’s until I see Mason’s fancy car parked there.
I turn off my engine and sit in my car for a moment, wondering what to do. I’m going to have to get out, aren’t I? I can hardly sit here all bloody night. He knows it’s me in my slightly mouldy Mazda. With a sigh, I open the door. I’ve no idea what to say to him.
By the time I’m out of the car, Mason is standing leaning against my bonnet. It’s fair to say that he’s looking pretty hot. He’s wearing a crisp, white shirt, designer jeans and shoes that are most definitely handmade rather than from Next. He folds his arms and gives me a direct stare. ‘You’re avoiding me, Brown. Why’s that?’
‘I’m not.’
‘I’ve called you dozens of time and they’ve all gone to voicemail. I’ve left you invitations for dinner and yet nothing. Have you stopped eating?’
‘I’m busy. I did mean to return your calls.’ That sounds as lame as you think.
‘Like hell you did.’ He’s clearly not buying my excuses, yet he’s smiling when he says it. ‘I’m not used to being given the run around.’
‘That’s not my intention.’
‘Then come out with me now.’
‘Now?’
‘I’m going up to the club. Get your gladrags on and let’s hit the town. The night is young.’
‘It’s nearly eleven o’clock.’ That didn’t seem to bother me when I was asking Joe for coffee, did it? ‘I’ve got work tomorrow and I have a boss who’s pure evil.’
‘I’ve heard he’s a pussycat. And extraordinarily handsome.’
‘I can’t come to the club, Mason. It’s late and I’m tired.’
‘Charlie said you’d gone to watch a film.’
Thanks, Charlie. Remind me to kick her in the shins tomorrow. ‘Yeah, I did.’
‘A date?’
‘Not exactly,’ I say. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’
‘What did you see?’
‘Love, Actually.’
‘What kind of date is that?’ He turns up his nose.
‘A nice one. I enjoyed myself.’
‘So why home so early?’
‘I told you, it’s none of your business. It wasn’t a date, anyway.’
‘I can do nice, cheesy dates, if that’s what floats your boat. Come on,’ he wheedles. ‘Don’t make me beg. Play out with me. I’ll drive you home afterwards. You can have as many sparkly cocktails as you like.’
‘I’m not that easily bought.’ Though he already knows, to my eternal shame, that a weekend in Paris is my price. ‘I don’t think this is a good idea, Mason. We should continue our relationship on a purely professional footing.’
‘Bollocks,’ is his view on that. ‘We’re good together and you know it. Come on, Brown. Let your hair down. See what I did there? I’m a poet and I didn’t even know it.’
I can help but smile which only encourages him.
‘Go and get changed. Or come as you are. You look great either way.’
I sigh. I have no idea why but Mason is wearing me down. His club is nice, sophisticated and I think that one drink – or maybe two – wouldn’t hurt. I know what he’s like now. There’s no way that I’m going to get suckered in again. Besides, what am I going to do? Sit indoors by myself thinking about Joe and a date that might never happen? What if he was just trying to be polite? What if he has a change of heart and decides to warn me off again? Oh, man. This is doing my head in. I’m young – sort of – single, and I can either have an early night or live dangerously. I shouldn’t sit here waiting for a man that’s too busy to see me. Right? I’m looking to you to enable this.
‘An hour,’ I say. ‘That’s all. I want to be in bed by midnight.’
‘I can arrange that too,’ he deadpans.
‘By myself,’ I stress. Not with you. Not with Valerie or similar. ‘Will I do like this?’
‘You look fabulous.’
‘Now I know that you’re lying.’
‘Get in the car,’ he says. ‘There’s a Porn Star Martini with your name on it.’
I shake my head at him. ‘Charmer.’ Yet I get in his car, nevertheless.
The Vibe Lounge is busy for a weekday, but we’re shown to a reserved sofa in the corner. For the record, I have three sparkly cocktails – two more than I had pledged would pass my lips. What can I say? I have a weakness for the coloured drink. And for Mason Soames too, it seems.
We have a great laugh. He’s fun and naughty and it’s hard not to get caught up in his enthusiasm. He chides me again for not returning his calls. He makes me feel on top of the world and, when he takes me in his arms on the dance floor, we move well together in time to the smoochy music. Damn him. When he’s like this, I like him. A lot.
When I look at my watch it’s one in the morning. I groan. ‘It’s waaaaay past my bedtime. I’m never going to get up
in the morning.’
‘Come on, Cinders, I’ll take you home.’
‘I can get a cab.’
‘Won’t hear of it.’ So I take the last sip of my drink, grab my bag and we head to his car.
My eyes close as we drive through the deserted streets of Costa del Keynes and Mason turns up the stereo. Adele fills the car with hit tunes and I think I might sing along in a slightly drunken way.
When Mason pulls up outside the granny annexe again, I feel that I’d be happy to sleep in these comfy leather seats all night.
He turns to me and strokes my hair. ‘Here you are, Brown. Safely delivered before you turn into a pumpkin.’
‘It was the pumpkin that turned into Cinderella’s carriage,’ I inform him.
‘Whatever.’
‘Clearly, you’re no Prince Charming,’ I laugh.
He’s suddenly serious. ‘I could be. If that’s what it takes.’ Then he leans over and kisses me.
I think it’s the sparkly drinks, but my resistance is very low. When his hands move over my body, it takes all my effort to say, ‘I should go.’
‘Let me stay the night,’ he murmurs against my neck.
‘No, no, no.’ I shake my head and my brain hurts. ‘Seriously bad idea.’ I grasp for the door handle to make my escape before reason deserts me.
‘We’re good together. You know it.’
‘We’re not. You’re my boss. I’m your minion. You’re upstairs. I’m downstairs.’
He shakes his head at me. ‘I have no idea what that even means.’
Obvs Mason doesn’t stay in at night watching crap telly.
‘Let me stay.’ His lips move over my neck. ‘I know all the funny little noises you make now and I want to hear them again.’
I push him away and wag my finger at him. ‘You don’t know all my funny noises.’
‘I don’t?’ He looks shocked. ‘There are more?’
‘That’s something you’ll never know,’ I tell him.
Mason sighs ruefully. ‘You’re making a big mistake, Brown.’
‘I’m so not. See you at work, Mr Soames.’ I lurch out of his car, totter up the path and then clamber up the stairs to my granny annexe eyrie. Blimey. I don’t remember the stairs being this steep. Do you think the landlord has had them changed while I was out?
As I fumble with my key in the lock, I hear Mason’s car roar off into the night. I go through to the bedroom and fall onto the bed face first.
‘I had a very narrow escape,’ I mumble to cardboard cut-out Gary Barlow, turning my head to look at my guru. ‘He’s such a good kisser. But if I’d let Mason stay the night Charlie would have killed me, resurrected me and then killed me again.’
And, with that thought in my head, I greet oblivion.
Chapter Forty
I haven’t heard from either Joe or Mason. Seriously, it’s either feast or famine here. Two men in one night – not in the biblical sense of the word, obvs. Given my slight aberration in Paris, I feel the need to reiterate that. Then not a word. Since our late-nite impromptu clubbing get together Mason has stopped the ten phone calls a day and he’s only been into the pub when I’ve not been on shift. I wonder if that’s deliberate or whether he’s tied up with the Vibe Lounge. Joe didn’t turn up to scuba-diving again this week, so I had Bob. Again, not biblically. Bob said he thought Joe had to go to parents’ night at school for one of the kids or something. He might have rung me himself and explained that though. No? And the promised coffee date? Not a sausage.
Still, I don’t care. Men are more trouble than they’re worth. I don’t understand them at all and yet women are supposed to be the tricky ones. Pah.
I haven’t seen Charlie all week as our shifts haven’t coincided – which is a rare thing as we normally persuade our manager, Jay, to put us on the rota together. Though he doesn’t take much persuasion as he calls us the Dream Team and not in a sarcastic way.
However, we’re both off work today and are going on an outing together. There’s a Gary Barlow festival on at a local hotel – GaryFest. Even the rubbish name can’t put us off. Charlie has got us Platinum tickets which include a glass of prosecco, tickets to all the talks about all things Barlow and a performance by a well-known tribute act. Though I have to say I’ve never heard of him.
We’re getting ready at Charlie’s place. I have my Let it Shine! T-shirt on again. Charlie’s instructions. She takes a photo of us pouting at her phone. I comb my hair, put my lippy on and think that I should, at least, listen to the new album before we go to GaryFest.
‘I’ve just tweeted the photo to Gary to let him know where we’re going and he tweeted me back!’
‘What did he say?’
‘Cool.’ She shows me the tweet.
‘Is it really him? He has over four million followers. Surely he has a team of minions to do it for him?’
‘Gary wouldn’t do that. He follows me, you know. That’s as big a deal as it gets.’
‘Why? What do you tweet about?’
‘You shagging our boss.’
I asked for that. ‘I’d like to point out that I haven’t had so much as a phone call from Mason since our night at the club.’
Charlie screws up her eyes and stares at me. ‘What night at the club?’
Ah.
‘I sort of went out with him to the Vibe Lounge again last week. We had a nice time. I thought everything was OK between us again.’
‘What are you like? You could give Mrs Gullible lessons in being gullible.’
‘I know. That’s it though. I’m finished with him.’
‘I don’t mean to be mean, but it sort of sounds like he’s finished with you.’
‘Thanks, Charlie.’
She puts her arm round me. ‘Don’t be down, we’re going to be immersed in all things Gazza Bazza and you won’t be able to stay miserable for long. A little dose of Gary cures all ills.’
So we head off to the hotel and I’m surprised to see that it’s already packed when we get there even though it’s not yet eleven in the morning on a Sunday and, by rights, as I’m not at work I should still be in bed. Take That music fills the air.
There are a few hundred women of all shapes and sizes, many of them wearing similar T-shirts to our own. Amid the women, I spot a solitary bloke. Nice Paul is standing chatting in a little roped off area reserved for those fans bearing the coveted Platinum ticket. ‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Your mate is over there.’
‘Oh,’ Charlie says and, if I’m not very much mistaken, she brightens considerably.
We queue to exchange our tickets for two wristbands and, as we finally head towards Nice Paul, he sees us and swiftly brings over two glasses of prosecco. Might as well start as we mean to go on.
‘Good to see you, girls.’ We clink glasses together. ‘Here’s to a great day,’ Paul says.
So we drink prosecco, go to talks about Gary and his life, buy Gary memorabilia – not me, but Charlie and Paul. I watch them, heads together, cooing over old photos of Gary, autographed posters or coasters with Gary’s photos on them as if they were priceless antiques. All of the Barlow stuff you could ever require is here to buy. While they’re busy I grab them both a mug that says ‘Keep Calm and listen to Gary Barlow’ and quickly pay for them, before secreting them in my handbag. They will soooo love them.
At lunchtime we avail ourselves of the barbecue buffet and sit outside on the grass while the fluffy clouds drift above us in a sky that’s, quite fittingly, sky blue. We listen to a set by one of the foremost tribute acts and, I’m no expert, but he certainly gives it a good go. Mr Barlow’s fans seem more than appreciative.
We are all proseccoed out by mid-afternoon and in desperate need of the more traditional British refreshment – a good cup of tea. So Nice Paul goes off in search for one for us.
I lie back on the grass, enjoying the feeling of the sun on my face and realise that I spend far too much of my life indoors. ‘He’s nice,’ I say.
‘Yeah,’ Charlie agr
ees. ‘He’s not Gary but he’s pretty good.’
‘I don’t mean the tribute act. I mean Paul.’
‘Oh. Yeah. He’s great too.’ Though she still sounds quite non-committal about him. Surely his quiet charm must be having some effect on her?
‘I’m having a lovely time,’ I start, ‘and I get that Gary is a totally fabulous human being.’ All these ladies can’t be wrong. ‘But why spend your life following someone unattainable when there’s a great bloke right next to you?’
‘Paul?’
‘Who else? He seems so nice and you patently share the same interests.’ Actually make that ‘interest’ in the singular. ‘He clearly likes you. It could be the start of something special.’
‘I’ve been married, you know.’ Charlie picks at her fingernails. I look at her aghast. ‘Seriously? I thought you were resolutely single? All the time I’ve known you and yet you’ve never said a word about that?’
Charlie looks at me with tears in her eyes. ‘There’s a very good reason for that, Ruby.’
Chapter Forty-One
My brain tries to make sense of this unexpected revelation. I’ve known Charlie for months now. She’s my best mate in the world and I’d no idea she was hiding this from me. As she said, there must be a very good reason. I thought we told each other everything. She knows all about my dismal marriage, especially Simon and the Crystal Vajayjay. She’s had chapter and verse on that. She probably feels as if she’s seen it herself. I know I do.
Charlie looks down at her feet as she continues. ‘I try very hard to pretend that he doesn’t exist, that he was never in my life at all. I don’t even like to say his name. ’
‘Oh, Charlie, why? Was he that bad?’
She nods, clearly upset to be recalling their time together. ‘A shocker.’
I can tell from her expression that it’s clearly painful for her, so I put my arm round her. ‘My poor girl. No wonder I’ve never heard you talk about him. But we’re friends. You know you can tell me anything.’