THE HUSBAND HUNTERS (8 page)

‘Paul, it’s Bee. I’m standing in the rain at the cinema and it’s nearly seven thirty. Can you let me know if you are going to be much later?’

I flicked the phone off and put it into my handbag. And waited...and waited. It got to 7.45 and I had this sudden awful feeling that Paul wasn’t coming. I dialled his number again and it went to answering machine.

‘Paul, it’s Bee again. It’s seven forty-five and if you haven’t stood me up can you give me a call,’ I said, adding a tinkling little laugh at the end to show I was joking about him standing me up.

Cursing the rain, I ran back towards my car, holding my black cardigan over my head.

I drove home, with my mobile out on the seat besides me, fully expecting to have to pull over when Paul called with his apologies. But the phone remained stubbornly silent. That’s really weird, I thought as I pulled my car into its parking space. Something must have happened to him.

But he never rang all evening. I sat with Scarlett watching
Sex in the City,
which I normally love. But tonight my mind wasn’t on it. I’d told Scarlett when I walked in that Paul hadn’t turned up.

‘That’s funny,’ she said. ‘It’s not like him at all.’ It got to 11p.m. and there was still no call from Paul.

‘Do you know what I think, and it’s an awful thought,’ I said, pressing pause on
Sex and the City
, and turning to face Scarlett. ‘I think he’s stood me up on purpose, to get back at me for dumping him last time.’

‘Nooo,’ she said, clapping her hand on her mouth. ‘I can’t imagine that Paul would ever do a thing like that.’ But when I rang Tash later that night, she agreed with me.

‘Unless his pet hamster has died or something really serious, then I think you’re right, Bee,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe he left you out for an hour in the rain like that, all because it didn’t go anywhere last time.’

‘If you think about it, it’s the perfect revenge, isn’t it?’ I said dolefully, picking at the telephone cord in my hand. ‘He got me dangling, exactly where he wanted me, and then he could drop me, exactly like I dropped him. I thought it was strange when he wouldn’t come in for a coffee last week. I think he had planned it all, right from the beginning, when I called him out of the blue. I gave him the opportunity to get me back on a plate,’ I added.

I was absolutely gutted. Paul had been perfect husband material - what all the HHC members had been searching for, ever since we set up the club.

And the shame of being stood up! My cheeks burned with it. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know anyone else who had ever been stood up like this before. Why did it have to happen to me? Why couldn’t Paul have been pleased that I’d called, and given us a chance?

My voice started to shake and wobble on the phone to Tash.

‘Don’t get upset, Bee,’ she consoled me. ‘Paul obviously wasn’t the man you thought he was. Give him the benefit of the doubt though, for twenty-four hours, in case he has ended up in Casualty, or his hamster has died,’ she added.

‘OK,’ I
said, although I could almost picture Paul listening to my jokey message about being stood up, with a manic smile on his face. In my mind, he had now become like a cross between Satan and Hannibal Lecter. I don’t even think they could be so cruel, I thought, flinging myself down on my bed, fighting back hot tears. Would I ever hear from Paul again?

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

CHAPTER FOUR

Soph and I hit the shops next Saturday morning. It was a bit of a ritual with us that we would go and check out Karen Millen, our favourite shop, on a Saturday.

Sometimes all five of us would go, which was a bit hectic, but more often than not just a couple or three of us would go, as the other two would have something on.

‘Love the shoes,’ I called out to her as she came down her path, wearing her dark jeans with some gorgeous silver wedges. She smiled.

‘TK Maxx, only a tenner,’ she called back, coming round to my passenger door.

The shopping centre was heaving when we arrived and it was a struggle to find a parking space even for my Mini.

‘It’s your school reunion tomorrow, isn’t it?’ I asked Soph, as we battled through the crowds of shoppers towards Karen Millen.

‘Yes,
I’m a bit nervous about it,’ she admitted. ‘And I hate things like that anyway, making polite conversation. After you’ve finished asking what people are doing now, I always struggle to make more conversation.’

‘How many people will be there?’ I asked, spotting the doorway of Karen Millen and diving inside, pulling Soph in with me.

‘It’s a reunion for all the school years in a five-year period,’ said Soph. ‘So there will be lots of people there, and probably loads that I don’t know from all the years above me. It’s being held at one of the hotels in Manchester and they will need all that room to fit everyone in. I know there’s a couple of girls who are going, who are linked to my Facebook site,’ she added, pulling at a knee-length silver dress and holding it up to her. ‘So at least I will know someone there.’

Soph decided to try the dress on. She’s more patient than me. I will often buy clothes on impulse without trying them on, and then invariably I get them home and they never look as great on as they do on the hanger. I trailed to the fitting room after Soph. When she emerged a few minutes later, I had to admit she looked stunning.

Soph is one of these annoying people who can eat as much as they like and they always stay stick slim. She never eats fruit or vegetables, her favourite meal out is a McDonald’s’, and she lives on Ripple bars. Yet her skin is always peachy and she never has a single spot. I only have to look at a bag of crisps and suddenly Mount Vesuvius erupts on my chin.

‘Definitely get it,’ I instructed Soph. ‘You’ll have all your former pimply school chums queuing up for you looking like that.’

She slipped out of the dress.

‘Have you heard anything from Paul since he stood you up?’ she asked, threading it through the hanger. I shook my head.

After that awful night I had given Paul twenty-four hours, and still there was no phone call. And when I had got back from work the following day - where I’d managed to avoid Nick and his teasing questions - Scarlett had come to meet me as I walked through the front door. By her expression - she could hardly meet my eyes - I knew it was bad news.

‘It’s not your fault,’ I said, hanging up my coat. ‘I can’t believe that anyone would stoop so low.’

‘I know,’ she agreed.

I told Soph this latest snippet of information.

‘The absolute bastard,’ she raged. ‘I can’t believe that anyone would do that. Why did he lead you on in the first place, if he never intended to carry on seeing you?’ I shrugged. There was no point in crying any more tears over Paul. I had to move on and find myself a real husband. There were plenty more fish in the sea - we just had to find them.

We walked to the till. Typical for a Saturday there were about ten women queuing up in front of us. One woman had a little girl with her, who looked about two. The little girl reached up to the dish of boiled sweets on the till. Her mum wasn’t even watching as she unwrapped the sweet and popped it in her mouth, she was too busy arguing with the till assistant about a top she’d brought back for a refund, with no receipt.

My attention was suddenly caught by a glittery purple top hanging on one of the rails. I was about to go over and look at the price tag when Soph grabbed my arm.

‘The
little girl is choking,’ she cried. The mum was frantically shaking her daughter by the shoulders.

‘Spit it out,’ she shouted at her. But the little girl couldn’t. She couldn’t breathe. Quickly, Soph pushed me aside and picked up the girl, who was by now red in the face with the effort of trying to breathe. In one swift motion Soph knelt down besides her, laid the little girl face down across her knee, and banged her hard several times on the back. Everyone in the shop had stopped what they were doing and were watching the drama unfold. Suddenly the sweet came flying out and landed on the floor. The girl started coughing and crying all at once and Soph set her gently back down on the floor. The mum had tears streaming down her face.

‘Thank you, oh thank you so much,’ she sobbed to Soph, grabbing her in a hug. ‘If you hadn’t been here, I don’t know what would have happened. Come on, Amelia,’ and still crying, she scooped the little girl up into her arms, grabbed her bags and rushed out of the shop.

‘God, that was quick thinking,’ said the sales girl to Soph. ‘I wouldn’t have known what to do.’

Soph paid for her dress and we walked out.

‘Let’s go for a coffee, I need it,’ she said.

‘How on earth did you know what to do?’ I asked admiringly as we walked into the nearest Starbucks.

‘I saw it on telly once,’ said Soph. ‘And that’s what they did. Laid the kid on their knee and banged it hard. That kid had swallowed a coin, and it flew out, just like that sweet did. Get me something with about ten spoonfuls of sugar in it,’ she called to me, as I went up to the counter. ‘I need it for the shock.’

I couldn’t wait to tell the girls about Soph’s heroic life-saving moment in Karen Millen. We had decided to go out for a few drinks at our local pub.

‘I can’t believe it,’ said Tash, when we recounted the story. Well, I was doing most of the telling, as Soph was quite embarrassed when I kept referring to her as a hero.

‘Honestly it was nothing,’ Soph kept repeating modestly. ‘Anyone would have done the same.’

‘I didn’t,’ I retorted. ‘I was about as useful as a chocolate fireguard.’

‘We should all stop watching re-runs of
Sex and the City
, and start watching more educational programmes like
Casualty
and
Holby City
,’ said Kaz.

‘Anyway, Soph, is
there going to be anyone eligible and good husband material at this school reunion tomorrow?’ demanded Tash, changing the subject.

‘I don’t know who’s going to be there,’ said Soph.

‘Can
you remember any boys from your class?’ asked Rach.

‘Well, there
was Joe, who lived down the road from me and walked home from school with me a couple of times,’ said Soph. ‘But then one day he suddenly pushed me against the creosote fence in the passageway in between our roads and tried to kiss me. We were only eleven and it was gross. He licked me like an over enthusiastic puppy, and he’d just eaten a digestive biscuit too, so the crumbs were all over my face.’ We all mentally crossed Joe off the list of possible suitors for Soph.

‘Then there was William who was tiny. I think he had some sort of growth disorder,’ said Soph, thinking hard. ‘The top of his head only came up to all our shoulders and he had these little pointed ears, so we were all quite frightened of him.’ Unless William had recently had a growth spurt, he was crossed off too. Suddenly the school reunion wasn’t looking too hopeful.

‘But there are another four years above me who are also going,’ added Soph. ‘So I might find a tall dark stranger lurking somewhere.’

I phoned Soph up the following afternoon to wish her luck for the school reunion.

‘Are you going on your own?’ I asked her.

‘No, the two girls who are on Facebook have offered to pick me up,’ she said. ‘None of us want to go in on our own, so we are all sticking together.’

I couldn’t wait for the update, and neither could any of the girls. We had arranged an HHC meeting for the Monday night, so we could hear all the details asap.

We all turned up early, waiting expectantly for Soph. She came in and plonked herself in the chair next to Rach.

‘Well, it was pretty good,’ she said, laughing at us all. ‘Joe is good looking now and runs his own car sales business.’ We all grew an inch with excitement. ‘But he’s married,’ she added. You could hear the hiss of disappointment around the table, and we all sank back into our chairs. Soph told us that there were plenty more men there, who were all nice, but no-one who had caught her fancy.

‘One of the guys there was a farmer - and you know how I love a rough and ready farmer,’ she said, laughing. ‘But he was blond and I don’t go for blonds.’

‘Well, you could have given him a try - he could always dye his hair brown,’ I said, encouragingly.

‘Maybe
in ten years’ time, if I haven’t found a husband by then, at the next school reunion I’ll meet up with him again.’

‘By that time he’ll already be married and have a couple of kids swinging from his tractor,’ I said. ‘Honestly, Soph, you’ve got to grab opportunities like this by the throat.’ I was almost for marching her into the local branch of Kentucky Fried Chicken when she’d spotted the guy with five stars months ago, and asking him whether he was available.

‘I know you’re the youngest of us all, Soph, but after the age of thirty-five, everything starts to go downhill,’ warned Rach, ‘and you want to find a husband before that. A woman who works at the hospital with me was moaning about it the other day. She said after thirty-five, everything starts to hurt when you get up in the morning, your eyeliner doesn’t go on quite as smoothly because of the lines at the side of your eyes. Your boobs start heading south and so does your ass. Basically everything starts to ache, droop and hurt for the next forty years - if you’re lucky to live that long,’ she added gloomily.