Читать книгу The Dating Game - Carolyn Caterer - Страница 7

Date #4: Chris

The next date was taken purely on the basis that I wanted to have a bit of fun and, being targeted by a 26 year old was rather flattering to put it lightly. Obviously I took a great deal of stick from my brother Patrick;

“Well I suppose you are only just old enough to be his Mother!”

“Oh how very funny. If the roles were reversed and you were dating some young thing everyone would be saying ‘Good for you, you lucky dog’ or whatever it is. Just look at people like Rod Stewart and Michael Douglas, no one bats an eyelid when they wed much younger women and go on to have kids with them. When it is Joan Collins however they all greet the news with disbelief or horror. Talk about double standards. Anyway I am just going to go out there and enjoy myself and see what happens”

I wasn’t one hundred per cent sure that Chris was going to turn up to be honest. We had arranged the day and time and yet, when I confirmed on the day I didn’t get a response from him. I had arrived early and was parked outside the restaurant, not wanting to go in just in case he was going to stand me up and leave me sitting on my own looking a rather sad figure surrounded no doubt by every young couple within a ten mile radius just to run in my single status.

I sent him another text but still nothing as the ticking of the clock on my dashboard seemed to get louder and louder as if it were counting down to a disappointing anti climax.

I then noticed a man walking up and down the street looking a bit flustered and bearing more than a passing resemblance to the photograph I had seen on the website.

I stepped out of the car and walked towards him. “Chris?” I said a little more hesitantly than I had intended and he spun around and smiled at me awkwardly.

“Jen, hi” He took my hand and shook it enthusiastically. No limp handshake here, thank goodness. “I am so sorry, my mobile has died and so I haven’t been able to text you to confirm. I was half wondering if you would turn up and so have been walking around, not wanting to go in and sit on my own all evening.”

He smiled again and it was really quite endearing; it had a boyish lop-sided quality about it and it made me want to take care of him. Good grief I was in danger of taking a motherly approach. I ordered myself to snap out of it immediately.

Chris was dressed in dark green trousers with a stripey shirt, carefully chosen it would seem, to disguise the fact that it had probably not seen an iron since its purchase. However he looked pretty presentable and I noticed he had lovely clean fingernails, which is always a good thing. He had short light brown wavy hair, with blonde highlights that I concluded couldn’t be natural so he must be interested in his appearance. He was also discreetly sporting a fairly expensive watch. It was an interesting combination and one which I found quite appealing.

As an extra bonus he didn’t seem to be looking at me with complete horror so I cannot have been looking that old! I thanked the cosmetic companies for introducing light reflecting technology into their make-up products, thus helping me to belie my years.

I had wondered if he was coming out with me as some sort of bet with his mates and that they were in fact all hiding inside the restaurant ready to sit in judgement of my suitability. I was feeling more nervous than I had on any of my previous dates and I realised it was because I felt that there was more at stake here than there had been up to this point.

He shifted from one foot to another as I said hallo and, after a slightly awkward handshake plus a quick peck on the cheek, we walked into the restaurant. Now, I don’t mean to be critical of the younger generation and yes, I know that this may make me sound like a grumpy old woman, but what seems to have disappeared from the male portfolio in terms of etiquette, is the ability to take command of a situation and that leaves you floundering around as you try to work out your role on an evening out.

(Note to all you men out there; women like the man to sort out the table on a date and to look after her. It is not the role of the woman to do it. Yes we are perfectly capable of doing so and make decisions all the time, but we like our men to take command and treat us like a princess!)

We stood in the reception area and a waiter came over to us with an expectant look on his face. Well I thought it was expectant, maybe it was disbelief at an older woman arriving with a younger man, but I chose to completely ignore the issue as if I had walked in with a man sixteen years my senior, no one would have batted an eyelid. I stood quietly and waited for Chris to ask for a table, but I was greeted with silence. After about ten seconds of this, following the “Can I help you?” from the waiter I could stand it no longer and asked for a table for two in the conservatory area, which was nice and bright in the summer evening which meant I could get a good look at him before it got dark.

Chris didn’t seem to think that it was at all odd that I sorted out the table and he then proceeded to walk in front of me and plonk himself down in the seat facing out towards the restaurant. I just hoped that he didn’t suffer from ADHD or else I knew he would soon be ignoring me and focussing on the action taking place behind me.

We made some small talk and then ordered our food and I began the interrogation, noting that he had taken out his napkin and thrust it down the neck of his shirt. As he had ordered the spaghetti (never a good move on a first date) I could only imagine that he knew he was going to make a bit of a mess and so had taken action to reduce the damage. The sight of him sitting there with the napkin dangling down his front only served to reduce his appearance to that of a three year old.

I decided to ignore this spectacle as I sailed in with my first question, designed to break the ice in a non-threatening way and create a relaxing atmosphere in which I could get to know him better. I may not have held out great hopes for him bearing in mind the age gap, but I was determined to enjoy my date.

“So Chris, what degree did you do at University?”

“Geography”

“Oh wow, me too! Mind you I have to say that I have absolutely no sense of direction, which is really embarrassing as people seem to think I must instinctively know where every major city is in the UK and the Capital cities for the rest of the world!”

This seemed to be a good start as we already had something in common. I decided to plough on and broaden the questions immediately.

“So what job is it you do now? You haven’t mentioned it in your profile”

“I’m a painter and decorator.”

“You must be in demand in that case, as people seem to be doing their own decorating less and less these days from what I can see.”

“Yeah, I’m quite busy so cannot complain.”

The waiter arrived with our drinks and then scurried off, no doubt to tell his colleagues that this wasn’t a mother and son outing.

“Oh and don’t tell me – you don’t decorate your own house rather like the car mechanic who never puts oil in his car?” I wanted him to see that I did have a sense of humour.

“I don’t, but that’s because I live in rented accommodation as I am still paying off my student loan.”

This was not quite the revelation I had expected and it caused me to choke on my orange juice. I come from an era where student loans hadn’t been invented and most of us managed to ensure we worked in the summer holidays and avoided the dreaded debt situation.

I looked at him and began to wonder if he was after a female sugar daddy, but he didn’t seem to be asking any questions that would suggest that, so I decided his motives were pretty honourable and at least he was being honest about his situation and not making stuff up to try and impress me.

Our food arrived and we spoke about our families and childhoods. I cannot say there was any huge spark at this point, but it was certainly turning out to be a pleasant enough evening, and no mention of any ex had been made, which had to be a bonus.

Our main courses arrived and I was pleased I chose the ravioli as Chris twirled his spaghetti around his fork in wild abandon, projecting the rich tomato sauce onto his pristine white napkin, thus demonstrating the need for him using his napkin like a bib. I couldn’t quite work out if I found this endearing or irritating, so I decided to just continue with the meal and see how I felt as time passed by and I found out more about him.

We started talking about music and it turned out that he was a keen guitarist and that his all time hero was none other than that man of talent, Eric Clapton. Fantastic!

“I just love Clapton, though I have to admit I am mainly into his early work and haven’t listened to much of his recent stuff, but maybe I should give it a try. Have you ever seen him live?”

“No I haven’t, but I’d love to. How about you?” As he said this I noticed that his napkin was starting to resemble a surrealist painting, so much sauce had found its way onto it. It distracted me for a moment as I wondered if all meals were like this with him, but felt that surely he couldn’t create a mess all the time? I willed myself to stay focussed on the conversation rather than the state of his bib and continued from where I had left off.

“Yes I have seen him live at Wembley.”

“What was that like?” He was really interested now and I could tell that he was impressed with my concert credentials!

“It was fantastic. I was ten rows from the front, right in line with him and it was as if he was singing just for me. One of the best concerts I have ever been to”

“Wow, when was it?”

I realised that at this point my youthful appearance and young outlook on life were not going to help me one iota. I couldn’t avoid the reality and so I decided to just get on and say it.

“Er, twenty-five years ago, when you were a year old!”

I thought this reference to his age was actually very funny, but it obviously didn’t resonate with him as there was an awkward silence while we finished our main courses and decided that we wouldn’t go for dessert after all, but compromised with a coffee before asking for the bill.

Now here is another thing about younger men; don’t get me wrong, I think it is only fair on an internet date for a woman to pay her share of the costs of dinner. Let’s face it, if the men had to pay every time they took a woman out they would be bankrupt after a few months. However I do like them to at least offer to pay for the meal, so that I can thank them but insist that I pay my share for the reasons mentioned above. Chris obviously expected us to go Dutch from the outset and actually I was the one that asked for the bill, so he lost a few brownie points in the chivalry department.

The Eric Clapton thing had obviously had an impact on how he viewed me. There was no escaping the age difference now and I wondered how people coped in these kind of situations when the older partner was referring to things that happened before their other half had even been born, I mean it would be like the conversations you heard your grandparents and their friends having about the war wouldn’t it? I made a mental note not to mention the Falklands conflict.

Things seemed to fall quite flat and I began to look forward to getting back to the comfort of my home. The waiter seemed to take forever to come and take our money and was obviously desperate to find out exactly what our relationship was. Fortunately Chris did not have the body of an Adonis, well it didn’t look that way from where I was sitting. He seemed to have that look that so many post university students have; probably caused by never learning to cook properly and so surviving on takeaways and ready meals. I always feel that they are poised on the edge of lardiness and have no idea what is going to hit them when they turn thirty and realise that an hour of football on a Sunday morning after a curry and a load of beers the night before is no longer going to keep them at even a decent level of fitness. Maybe his job would keep him active enough to delay this phenomenon, but I wasn’t so sure, judging from the way he cleaned up his plate with the entire bread basket that had been placed before us.

We left the restaurant and said a friendly but final goodbye and I knew that neither of us would be in contact again. It wasn’t anything to do with actively disliking each other, but the spark had definitely failed to ignite after the Clapton revelation.

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

“That has to be the best one yet!” Was Aleks’s giggling response to my tale one evening when I had gone over to a dinner party.

“Yes, it was rather funny I have to admit, even if it did finish the date off for good and left no prospect for any future dates either by showing him just how old I was.”

“I just don’t understand why you would point it out to him in the first place Jen. I mean are you trying to sabotage yourself or something?”

“Honestly Aleks, if he doesn’t have a sense of humour about that then he really isn’t the right one for me is he? Let’s at least be honest!”

“True. Anyway I’m not the one to criticise as I think you’re very brave to do the internet dating thing at all. I know I couldn’t do it, so I have to congratulate you for you giving it a go, especially when you consider the quality of your dates so far, which, let’s face it, have on the whole been more than a little disappointing.”

“Of course you could do it; the thing is that you have never had to, being a complete man magnet!!”

“I cannot deny that. The thing is, the magnetism never seems to last for long before I am back out there searching. It would be nice to meet someone and actually be in it for the long term rather than wondering when it is going to all come to an end because I get bored with the very thing that attracted me in the first place. I know you talk about good old fashioned male manners, but I seem to attract Neanderthal man in disguise. At first he seems pretty normal but then turns into this complete couch potato chauvinist who expects me to cook and clean for him and then give him a blow job during Match of the Day.”

I couldn’t help laughing at this scenario, until I caught the look on Aleks’s face.

“Oh so you think I am joking do you? Believe me that was a very good description of my relationship with Nick. He was such a bastard and it took me eighteen months to realise what he was really like, namely a farting nose-picking idiot who had no idea about the practicalities of living like a human being; he seemed to think that clothes and dishes made their way to the kitchen to be washed by the fairy on front of the packaging.”

“Oh do stop exaggerating!”

“I am not exaggerating. I got so fed up with him that I made sure I had enough clean clothes to last me for 3 weeks and then did no washing at all. After a week he seemed completely surprised that there were no clean shirts in the wardrobe and even more bemused when I asked him if he had washed any! In the end I decided he would never change his ways so he had to go. I want to be in a partnership and not in a slave/master relationship and I don’t want any smart comments about that last statement.”

I was beginning to wonder if there was any hope for woman kind at this rate, but I took heart from the fact that I had plenty of friends who had good relationships or great marriages.

My Mum had certainly not seemed to be too worried as I headed through my twenties, at the lack of any constant boyfriend and kept reminding me that she hadn’t got married until she was a geriatric twenty six years of age. Then I turned twenty seven and she seemed a bit lost as to what to say. In the meantime my Dad kept dropping hints about my biological clock (where on earth did he read about that and why on earth was he talking to me about it?) and how nice it would be to have some, gulp, grandchildren.

I did try to explain that it was the twenty first century and I was a woman of independent means (even this argument was starting to sound a bit sad to me) and so I didn’t need to conform and produce six kids to keep the economy on track, no matter what the chancellor might say.

You can imagine my surprise when at the age of thirty my parents announced their divorce. I know that they had little in common even when they had first married, but all the same I was somewhat taken aback at the news. It seemed to stem from the fact that my Dad wanted to go and live in Spain when he retired and my Mum was having none of it. Finally after much talking and, when no compromise could be reached, Dad headed off to their Villa, leaving my Mum with the marital home. All in all one of the most amicable splits I had come across.

But for me, worse was to come on my fortieth birthday: there was I having a great time at Polly’s, who had agreed to host the event when a call came through on my mobile.

“Wow Dad, great to hear from you and glad you managed to track me down…..” I wandered out in the back garden for better reception and to have a quick chat and tell him all about my day, fully prepared to defend yet another twelve months without a ring on my finger and a man on my arm. Thing is, the conversation didn’t turn out like as I had planned at all.

Five minutes later I was walking back into the lounge, in what can only be described as a state of shock and, disbelief.

“Crikey Jen what on earth is going on? “ demanded Erica.

“Don’t tell me your Dad is ill?” Anna asked, a look of concern etched into her face.

“No, no, nothing like that. In fact he is as fit as the proverbial fiddle” came my reply.

“So has he spent all his money on some failed enterprise then?” Aleks tried to lighten things up a bit.

I shook my head slowly, not sure I was able to speak and wondering if I was in a dream or an alcoholic stupor, except that I knew I had only consumed a glass of champagne the whole evening so that meant that what my Dad had said was absolutely real.

“Jen you are starting to worry us now, what on earth is it?” demanded Polly who had rushed in from the kitchen after seeing the look on my face as I was walking back towards the house.

“My Dad is getting married….” Even as the words fell from my lips I wasn’t sure I could really believe them.

“Married?!” was the unified response from my girlfriends.

“Please tell us that this is some kind of a joke” exclaimed Erica, the alarm in her voice starting to show as the colour drained from her cheeks.

“I’m afraid not. Her name is Susie and he met her at a yoga class in the village.”

“I don’t even want to go there!” was Anna’s horrified reaction.

“Apparently she’s the teacher and is very bendy, according to my Dad”

“I think I am going to be sick.”

“Can you believe it?” I stood before them, wondering how this had happened. OK my Dad was pretty fit and I guess a good catch, but it had never really occurred to me that he would be interested in another woman in more than a platonic way.

“What, that he’s having rampant sex with a really bendy woman in her sixties? Oh Jen, please don’t tell me she’s twenty years younger than him, or worse still, our age?” came Erica’s worried question

“No, she is in her sixties, but that isn’t it. It’s the fact that my Dad has managed to get married twice and I haven’t even made it up the aisle once!”

“Wow, I never knew you wanted a church wedding…..”

“Aleks this isn’t the time for a conversation about wedding venues.” Erica shot her a look which quickly caused Aleks to fall silent from further comment on the subject.

“This is the worst birthday ever!”

“No it isn’t Jen. Stop being a drama queen, You have always told me that your worst birthday was your twenty-first when that awful boyfriend of yours, wasn’t it Duncan who was a biochemist or something, threw up over your birthday cake and then over you.”

“Thanks Erica, I feel so much better now being reminded of that incident. Oh God can this really be happening to me? Can it get any worse than my Dad getting remarried?”

“Well only if your Mum remarries before you as well I guess” was Anna’s slightly hesitant reply.

I started to laugh.

“Well so far her comments on the single life seem to be very favourable. She said when they got divorced all those years ago that she was glad she didn’t have to cook a roast every Sunday, but also that she didn’t have to wash anyone else’s dirty underpants!”

“Eew!” chorused the girls in unison.

Erica stood up and addressed the room.

“Now is the time for action and we really need you to get out there and go on as many internet dates as possible. Remember that statistically the more men you meet the more likely you are to find the one that suits you or in other words as beautifully summed up in that well known phrase ‘You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you meet your prince’”.

“Thank you Barbara Cartland. Personally I’d rather not have to kiss the frogs, if that is at all possible, but I get your point so now, let’s get out the cake and have a great evening.”

Determined not to be outdone by my Father, let alone both parents, I awoke the next day feeling full of determination and ready to meet my Mr Darcy, but feeling that even a Mr Bingley would be acceptable at this stage.