THE HUSBAND HUNTERS (22 page)

I had been dreading Saturday. Not because of going around to Nick’s for dinner. I was quite looking forward to that. No, it was because Rach had persuaded me to come with her to her cousin Alison’s house for the afternoon, to celebrate her son Ned’s third birthday party.

‘
C’mon, it will be good fun,’ persuaded Rach. In the end I said yes. I didn’t want to let Rach down, but ‘fun’ was not how I would describe the thought of a three-year-old child’s birthday party, with thirty little monsters all off their heads on E numbers. Picking the pins out of Kazza’s voodoo doll and sticking them in my eyeballs, seemed more appealing.

Rach and I arrived at the house at 3 p.m. and the party was already in full swing. It was full of predatory mums who were each convinced that their offspring was the cleverest child ever to be born in Britain.

‘Amelia is already learning her alphabet and she’s only twelve months old,’ one mum gushed.

‘Well, Henry is already potty training himself at 18 months, which is unbelievably advanced,’ the other mum shot back.

I groaned inwardly. Through the glass patio there was a scene of complete bedlam in the garden. Ten little bodies were mushed together in a bouncy castle erected for the occasion, bouncing off each other and screaming. The rest were running wild over Alison’s flower beds, climbing the wrong way up the slide, and two boys were pulling at each other’s hair to get control over the swing. It looked like a scene from Lord of the Flies. I expected to see one running up with a pig’s head on a stick. It was total madness. No one was still for even a second.

‘Aren’t they adorable,’ one of the mums said, coming to stand beside me by the smeared French windows. It was Amelia’s mum, who was also balancing a young baby on her hip.

I couldn’t say anything back without sounding very rude. So I smiled at her and said nothing.

‘Which one is yours?’ she asked. Before I could answer, one little boy came running past us, with a piece of chocolate cake in his hands. He put out his hand, and smack – the cake smeared itself all over my white jeans.

‘Never mind,’ said Amelia’s mum. ‘They are only having fun. It will come out.’ I wanted to shout at her that we weren’t in a zoo, and in the 1950s children were seen and not heard. They certainly weren’t allowed to run wild like a bunch of savages, so why was it okay to do that now.

‘Which one is yours?’ she persisted, ignoring my attempts to wipe the cake from my trousers.

‘I don’t have any children,’ I told her through gritted teeth. I wanted to add ‘not in a million years would I ever put myself through hell like this’. She looked at me as if I’d suddenly dropped in from another planet.

‘Well, why are you here, then?’ she asked me.

‘Good question,’ I wanted to say back. ‘Why on earth would I want to spend my Saturday afternoon in this utter madhouse, when I could be curled up on my sofa at home with a good book, or shopping in Karen Millen.’ I was saved from answering by Rach, who came up with a plate of food.

‘Oh good,’ I told her sarcastically. ‘Do you want to throw it all over my jeans and then I can have a full buffet on them.’ She looked down at my white jeans in horror and saw the remains of the smeared piece of chocolate cake all over them.

‘I’m so sorry, Bee, it will come out in the wash.’ I shook my head at her. Why on earth she wanted to do all this in nine months’ time, I’ll never know – but Rach looked like she was having the time of her life. She wiped chocolaty hands and faces, and peeled bodies off the floor of the bouncy castle and wiped away tears. I had to admit she would make an amazing mum. Suddenly instead of being worried about the whole artificial insemination thing, I wished from the bottom of my heart that it would work for her. She was a natural.

I managed to stay another two hours, then feeling like I deserved the Victoria Cross, I finally made my excuses and left. I opened the door of my flat in relief; bliss; perfect peace and quiet. My ears were still ringing from the party. It was worse than if I’d been at a club dancing in front of the speakers all night. I peeled off my white jeans and put them in the wash. Then I flopped down on the sofa. Scarlett was watching TV.

‘You look shot to pieces, Bee,’ she said. ‘What have you been doing all afternoon?’

‘I’ve been in a war zone,’ I groaned, covering my face with Heat magazine and shutting my eyes.

‘I thought you were going to that birthday party with Rach,’ said Scarlett, puzzled.

‘I did,’ I muttered from underneath the magazine. ‘I’m surprised I’ve come out alive.’

It took two hours of lying completely prone on the sofa with Scarlett bringing me tea and biscuits, before I felt ready to face the world again and go to Nick’s for dinner. I threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and headed for the front door.

‘
Where are you going?’ asked Rach, who had just back from the party.

‘To Nick’s, for dinner,’ I told her, grabbing my handbag.

‘Do you mean the photographer guy? I didn’t know you had a date with him,’ she said, in surprise.

‘God no, it’s not a date,’ I said quickly. ‘He’s cooking me some dinner because I tried to cook him that duck thing, that time I nearly burnt the flat down. He’s probably going to whip up some culinary masterpiece, so he can wind me up about it afterwards.’

‘He probably fancies you,’ said Rach.

‘No way,’ I told her, grimacing at the thought. ‘We have a love/hate relationship that is far more hate than love. Anyway he’s still going out with the pert-boobed student –he thinks I’m an ancient old crone in comparison. I’m only going because it’s a free dinner.’

Two days later we were sat around our usual meeting table at the restaurant - although it seemed very strange without Soph there. Instead there was one empty chair.

‘Anyone got any news to report?’ asked Kaz, who was sitting at the head of the table.

‘Bee had a hot dinner date on Saturday night,’ said Rach, giggling, nudging me hard in the ribs. I was suddenly faced with several pairs of raised eyebrows.

‘And?’ asked Tash.

‘It wasn’t a dinner date,’ I said, hastily. ‘It was only Nick who cooked me dinner because of my disastrous attempt the other week.

‘It was still dinner,’ said Tash. ‘It could constitute a date.’

‘Well, it wasn’t,’ I reassured her, ‘but I must admit that guy can cook.’

I hadn’t been able to believe it when I’d rolled up at Nick’s house that evening. It was surprisingly tidy inside and also really tasteful. I couldn’t imagine that Nick of the eighties’ disco wardrobe had managed to decorate and furnish a house in such a fashion. There were cream carpets and wooden venetian blinds at the window, a big brown leather sofa and white walls.

‘I like your house,’ I had called to him, as he was busy stirring pots and pans in the kitchen. I felt a stab of resentment. There was no smoke billowing out of his kitchen and he hadn’t run to meet me at the door completely panic-stricken, because he was about to burn to death. Everything seemed calm and in control. And the food was gorgeous. He’d cooked prawns in a lovely butter sauce with rice with stir-fried
vegetables, and then a baked Alaska, which is my favourite pudding of all time. I ate every single bit and even mopped up my sauce straight from my plate with a bread roll.

‘This is really good, Nick,’ I said a touch begrudgingly, after I’d finished stuffing my face.

‘Good,’ he said, smiling at me. ‘I like to see a woman with an appetite. I hate it when women pick at a few salad leaves.’

‘Oh, there’s no danger of that with me,’ I said, lightly. ‘Where’s Claire tonight?’ I asked him.

‘She’s at some student thing at the university,’ he said, clearing away the plates.

‘Weren’t you tempted to go along with her?’ I couldn’t resist mocking him. ‘I can just see you bopping away on the dance floor with all the teenagers.’

‘No,’ he said, seriously for once. ‘I prefer cooking and a quiet night in mostly. I think I’m too old for that type of thing, unlike you,’ he added, flashing me a grin.

‘
Now don’t start about the Fanny Wagon again,’ I warned him, shaking my finger at him and grinning. ‘Just because I got chatted up by an eighty-year- old man after being paraded around like a prostitute, don’t get jealous that exciting things don’t happen to you.’ Nick laughed and got up to carry the plates to the kitchen. ‘Stick with your young girls. At least they have teeth and hair,’ I called after him.

Nick popped his head back around the kitchen door. ‘Only just...’ he added, wickedly.’

‘
It sounds like you had a fun night,’ said Tash, digging for more information.

‘We did,’ I said, ‘but Nick and I are just friends - when we aren’t falling out. He’s not my type. He’s not dark and brooding enough.’

‘And he doesn’t jump into any lakes,’ added Rach, laughing.

‘Exactly,’ I added. ‘I need a man with a bit of mystery to get me interested.’

‘Yes, but it hasn’t worked for you so far,’ pointed out Tash. ‘Perhaps you need to change your priorities.’

‘Have you seen Mr Beale lately?’ I said, changing the subject. Tash suddenly looked coy.

‘Yes, I have,’ she said. ‘He and Hazel decided they couldn’t work things out. So she has moved out and is now living with her gym instructor. I’ve been going round to see him as he’s very upset.’ Tash looked around and could see our expressions. ‘He needs a shoulder to cry on and I’m helping him sort out arrangements for the children and things that’s all,’ she added quickly. You never knew with Tash. We all wanted to believe her, but she had the habit of surprising you when you least expected it.

The minutes came through the next morning.

PROGRESS REPORTS.

* Main priority is to find a man for Kaz. As she pointed out, she has been in a complete love desert for weeks now, and no one has come close to finding her a man. (I suggested the guy in Kentucky Fried Chicken with five stars from months ago, but Kaz looked at me in complete disgust. That's the thing about Kaz, she wants a wealthy unattached man and there aren’t that many of them floating around.) Kaz told us we all had to come back with at least one eligible man each at next week’s meeting.

* Voodoo Doll to be disposed of. (I had told the girls about the doll falling out of my handbag in front of Nick, and they were all horrified at the thought of me coming across like a mad old crone.) Tash said the doll needed to be destroyed so it couldn’t be seen by anyone else, and suggested that we burn it. Kaz was quite excited at the possibility of James’ Caroline suddenly spontaneously combusting, but we don’t want to be held responsible for Caroline dying some horrible ‘Joan of Arc’ type death.

Bee to put it in the dustbin.

*Baby’s names. As there is a possibility that Rach might be a mum in nine months’ time, we decided we ought to start thinking of some baby names. Tash told Rach firmly that she wasn’t to have any silly flowers or fruit as names, and nothing that would be more suited to an eighty-year-old.

‘
So Petal Honey Blossom Trixabelle is completely out then?’ Rach had asked, trying to keep a straight face.

‘
Absolutely,’ Tash had replied. ‘And so is Agnes, Mildred, Hilda, Sidney and any other such names that mums think are trendy at the moment, but in reality are going to cause the poor kid years of hellish teasing as soon as they start school.’

Rach to
only consider plain names, like Jane, Sarah, and Claire for a girl and Tom, John and James for a boy.

*The Unattractive Friend Theory. According to Rach research says that if you stand next to an unattractive friend when you go out, men will automatically think you are prettier than you actually are. Everybody got wildly excited about this and frantically started to think of all the unattractive girls we knew that we could perhaps befriend in order to go out with. Kaz said that her hairdresser’s daughter was particularly ugly - and her nickname at school had been Miss Piggy. She sounded perfect.

Kaz to speak to her hairdresser and see if her daughter fancies a night out.

*Bee progressing well in her cookery lessons. (I thought this was quite kind of Kazza as I’d only had one cookery lesson with Tash so far. I’d wanted to try the Duck a la Orange again, as I didn’t want to be defeated by it. Tash said she knew that I had a competitive streak, but she didn’t want to be in my kitchen whilst I burnt us both to death. In the end we settled for spaghetti bolognese instead as Tash said we needed to start with a good basic.)

*Nothing back from Jen yet. Bee to resend the email, in case it has got lost in the ether somewhere.

I did that one straight away. It must have got lost - there would be no other explanation for Jen not replying. As I pressed send, the phone rang, making me jump. I had to hold the phone away from my ear, because Rach was shouting so loud.

‘I’m pregnant,’ she screamed.

**************************************

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I couldn’t believe that Rach was actually pregnant – that one of the little George Clooneys had made it. It made me feel a bit emotional.

‘That’s fantastic news,’ I had told her, when she had stopped screaming long enough to draw breath.