She shakes her head. ‘Busy with work. Following success of Rent Out My Dog site, now launch Rent Out My Husband.’
‘Sounds dodgy.’
‘Perfectly OK. Husband duties selected from limited drop-down menu. Includes mending dishwasher. Clearing attic. Mowing grass.’
It’s my turn to frown. ‘Do you think there’s a market for it?’
‘You say that about dog! This week five dog enjoying new home while owners take break. Husband surely as annoying as puppy? Wife need break from him. People on their own get man for whole day to do job. Win-win for all.’
‘Except for the poor husband. What if his wife ditches him afterwards like Doodle? Will I find one popping out from under my duvet with his tongue hanging out when no one comes to collect him?’
She gives me a long hard look. ‘You need sex. Go see Joe.’
I lift a chopstick out of the drawer to unblock the sink. ‘What I need is someone who can fish spaghetti out of the plughole.’
‘Will add to drop down menu. Talk to Joe. With new site can rent husband instead of Doodle, but better to get your own.’
The ground is frosty as I pick my way along the road, and I’m cheered beyond reason when a black cat dives in front of me. The luck is immediately followed by a queue-free van, which Joe is cleaning to keep himself either busy or warm. Waiting for me?
‘Hello, sluggy,’ he says.
Suddenly feeling shy, I give him a playful shove. ‘Extra shot today please. I need the caffeine to pep up a lacklustre Happiness Fair.’ I drink him in as he presses the coffee. He’s fully dressed for winter, in dark jeans and polo neck, bright blue North Face jacket, a black knitted hat and walking boots. ‘I had another session with your dad. He asked me if the spa outing met the criteria for a face-to-face meeting. And as he’s my client, I kind of feel obliged to nag you about it.’
‘It’s OK,’ he cuts in. ‘I’m happy to meet up with him.’
‘Dinner this week?’
‘Yep, let’s get it over with.’ I catch my breath at his handsome face and confident stance as he lounges against the bar stool. We’ve come a long way since we were just friends but I’m nowhere near doing what Eva suggested. While recent events have given me hope, and I’m intent on raising my game on the kissing front, Halloween still casts a long shadow.
As I send a text to Vince, Joe’s phone rings. I wonder if the mysterious ICE is on the other end. He cuts them off and puts his phone back in his pocket. They can’t be that important.
Over texts back and forth, Vince suggests tonight for the meet and Joe agrees, doubling down on his wish to get it out of the way.
Tell him I’ll book my private club. I’ll need you there too. Will send pin to venue.
They need a mediator to meet for dinner? How toxic is their relationship?
Back home I turn my full attention to the Happiness Fair, now regretting having ever proposed it. The clapping practitioner wants to talk to my tech guys about a raft of equipment. To demonstrate how to bang your hands together? Meanwhile goat yoga is asking for a much larger space than I can deliver, and the tarot card life coach wants to bring a snake.
I’m predicting the audience will be less than a hundred even if sales take off. My Twitter followers are spread around the world and can’t trek to London for a jolly, no matter how enticing I make it sound. And in the run-up to Christmas people are busy. Glancing into the garden, I notice what an eyesore the pile of conkers I collected a few weeks ago has become. I retrieve three to keep and place the rest of the rotting mass into a black sack. I spend the rest of the afternoon deciding what to wear to a father and son get-together likely to be more spiked than any of the husks this lot came out of.
Chapter 27
I leave the house at six for a seven thirty dinner but thanks to delays on the Underground still manage to arrive late. As I leave the Tube I check my hair and make-up on my phone– all fine although the white stole I added for extra sophistication looks like a neck brace after spinal surgery. Before leaving home, I popped one of the conkers into my pocket. If I keep it close, the superstition says, money will follow. And even if it doesn’t there’s a strong chance of warding off arthritis. There’s also a saying that men will be more virile if they carry one in their pocket. But then, Vince’s virility is evident in everything he does, especially on camera. And Joe? I can’t think about that. I need to stay focused on being Supernanny to two men who haven’t grown out of their childhood roles.
The lady on the door seems to know who I am. We walk at snail’s pace past a room full of chesterfields, and up the stairs into a restaurant. The dark green walls and wood panels are lined with enormous paintings of fox hunting, which is fitting because Joe and his dad are already having a spat. These men don’t need conkers. They need swords.
‘If we both live west of Marble Arch, wouldn’t it have made more sense to have dinner in Notting Hill or Ealing? I’ve had to pay the congestion charge to bring the van here from an event as well as feeding a parking meter. And it’s hardly neutral territory.’ Joe is in full on snark as we approach their table. Doesn’t bode well.
‘Would you have preferred the neutral territory of Nando’s?’ Vince gives it back. ‘As I’m paying I get to choose.’
‘I didn’t ask you to buy me dinner.’
‘But you didn’t mind having a spa day on my expense account?’ Once again I notice all the ways these two men are similar, from their jawlines and extra-long limbs to their vivacious characters. I kiss each of them on the cheek, their chairs scraping on the echoey floor as they stand to greet me. If I was expecting a club filled with celebrities talking over each other and popping drugs like Smarties I’d be disappointed. ‘You need neutral territory? Why? Are you going to duel?’
‘Don’t worry, I’m here to repair fences not break them down.’
I take a seat. ‘Ah, well, that’s my fee earned. Can I get drunk now then, Vince?’
