Chapter Four
In the cab on the way home, Emily was positively fizzing. She perched on the edge of her seat, one leg crossed, jiggling up and down with excitement.
‘Well, who’d have thought? That was an interesting night. I’m so glad you suggested we go.’
I didn’t have the energy to remind her that she’d invited herself.
‘Barney definitely knows all the right people.’
‘Mmm,’ I replied, feeling a bit woozy. Despite my best intentions I’d succumbed to an extra glass of wine or two. I felt a bit light-headed as the taxi swayed around corners.
‘What fun, though. Such a mix of people. Olivia — are you still with us?’
‘Sorry, my brain’s a bit scrambled.’ And my stomach. ‘Wish I’d taken notes — some of them blurred into another towards the end.’
Ned turned out to be as good as it got. There were enough sparks there to fire up a very small Bunsen burner. Two others had been a bit on the hopeless side. Both probably still lived with their mother and were the kind I needed to steer clear of — the ones you go out with because you don’t want to hurt their feelings and three weeks later you’re inventing dead relatives and funerals in the Outer Hebrides to avoid another date.
At least with this speed-dating malarkey it was much easier to be hard-hearted. You could say no at the outset without hurting anyone’s feelings.
My fabulous question had met with mixed results but sorted the men from the gentlemen. Not one of them, not even Ned, came up with the right answer, which was, of course, flight as long as you don’t have to wear the tights. I’ve always had a bit of a thing for Clark Kent.
Emily was still fidgeting. She’d clearly enjoyed herself.
‘I can remember them all. There was one complete weirdo, asking me whether I could fly? Complete beer monster. Too boy-next-door for me.’ She wrinkled her nose.
That would have been Ned then.
‘That tall guy was nice, good-looking and very smart. Likes Japanese food and knows this lovely restaurant in Soho. His brother’s just written a screenplay. Offered to take me to a private screening.’ She smiled for a moment. I might have known she’d find Anthony attractive.
Then her face dissolved into a disgruntled scowl. ‘Oh my God. Did you get that short chap? Did you see that tank top? His granny must have knitted it. So much for exclusivity. How on earth did he get in past the pneumatic blonde bouncers?’
She did rattle on sometimes. My brain was addled. I was ready for bed.
‘Who?’
‘You must remember.’
I forced myself to concentrate. Tank top? And then it came to me. ‘You mean the one in blue chinos, a bit of a Tom Cruise lookalike.’
‘He was short enough, I suppose.’
‘Don’t be mean, Emily, he did have a touch of Cruise about him. He was quite good-looking in a Clark Kent kind of way. If he took those glasses off and did something with his hair he’d look a lot better.’
‘You and your CK fixation.’ She tutted. ‘He was all right, I guess but you’d have thought he’d splash out and buy a new pair of glasses. You know, try and make a good impression. Did you see the state of them? That silver duct tape holding the lenses in. Talk about style disaster.’ She shuddered.
‘So you didn’t tick his box then?’ I asked, expecting her to say, of course not. She shifted in her seat, picking at her thumbnail.
‘Speaking theoretically,’ she began.
A get-out clause if ever I heard one.
‘If. .. I was in the market... which of course, I’m not.. . because I’m going out with Daniel... but if I wasn’t... there were a couple of guys, you know... I might have been interested in. That screenplay guy was quite promising. Do you know he completes theTimescrossword every day?’
‘Yes he did mention it.’ Three times.
‘And he loves sushi.’ She sighed. ‘Clever, sophisticated and gorgeous.’
Surely she must have realised the only person he was ever going to be interested in was himself.
