Rorys proposal, p.10
Rory's Proposal, page 10
‘Yeah sorry, forgot about that.’
‘He’s a very clever man and terribly sensitive.’
Clever maybe, only in that he has Flo as a girlfriend, but sensitive … that’s arguable.
‘Going back to the salon, there’s something I need to ask …’ I say, trying again. This really is getting stupid.
‘Oh no,’ she cries, patting her hand around the seat. ‘It’s popped out.’
I quickly check my flies. She unclips her seat belt and feels between the seats, her hand brushing my thigh. What the hell has popped out?
‘Ooh,’ she says suddenly, ‘take the next right,’ and points ahead, blocking my view with her hand. I swerve to take the turning.
‘No, the next next right. Sorry, everything looks crooked.’
‘I wish you’d put your seatbelt back on,’ I say, holding it out to her.
‘I can’t see very well, not now it’s popped out. Where has it gone?’
I fumble with the seat belt and push it into her hand.
‘Here it is.’
‘No I don’t mean the seatbelt. My eye, where has it gone? Don’t go too fast I only have one eye.’
She only has one eye? This is getting too gruesome for words. I pull into a lay-by.
‘It’s between your legs, can I have it,’ she says as I pull on the handbrake.
Now there’s an offer if ever there was one. She blushes when I look at her.
‘But we hardly know each other,’ I smile.
She sighs good humouredly.
‘My contact lens, I think that’s it between your legs,’ she says shyly.
I’ve only got one thing between my legs and it’s never been called a contact lens. I look down but can’t see anything, and I’ve got two eyes. She points but I still can’t see it. She reaches tentatively towards me and I tense. This surely isn’t her making a pass is it? She carefully places her hand between my legs and reaches for the lens. I tense. This is a bit too close for comfort. She leans back, fiddles with her eye and sighs.
‘Sorry about that.’
‘Not a problem,’ I say.
Her face is open, her lips seemingly inviting and I have to grip the steering wheel to stop myself from kissing her. I’d promised myself no women. You can’t trust them. As soon as they know there’s money in the bank they cling like bindweed. Let’s face it, this one needs money with the state that salon is in. Why she doesn’t sell is beyond me. She moves in her seat so her knee touches the gear stick. Changing gear could be awkward. I start the engine and turn the car around.
‘The next left,’ she says, pointing ahead.
‘The next left or the next next left? And putting your arm in my view means I can’t see the next left or the next next left come to that.’
I hear her little cheery laugh and I smile.
‘Turn here,’ she says, and then, ‘Oops sorry, the third building on the right,’ and my heart sinks. I’d hoped it was further away than this so I could bring up the salon again. I pull up outside the apartment block.
‘We’re on the fourth floor,’ she says without making any move to get out.
Is she going to invite me in? Her boyfriend is out but who knows when he will be back. That could be awkward as I don’t imagine he would appreciate finding me in his flat, but a quick cup of coffee may be okay, ten minutes max. What am I thinking? If she knew I was Thomas Rory she would be out of the car like a bolt of lightning, I should be fair with her and tell her straight.
‘Flo,’ I begin.
‘I want to propose to Luke,’ she interrupts.
‘You do?’ I say, backing away from her.
Why the hell does she want to be engaged to that up his own arse plonker?
‘I want to propose in Dublin; it will be my birthday you see. I’ll be thirty and it just seems the right time to do it.’
‘Right,’ I respond in a rather deadpan tone.
She fidgets in her seat.
‘I don’t really like flying, I know it sounds stupid, Luke gets cross with me. I will do it but if there is any other way …’ she trails off uncertainly.
‘It’s not stupid, I hate being cooped up in a plane too, airports are like cattle markets, there are much better ways to travel if you have the time,’ I say.
‘I was wondering …’ she hesitates and fiddles with her handbag. ‘I was wondering if I could buy one of your train tickets,’ she finishes and looks at me hopefully, her eyes wide and her face flushed. In that moment I would have given her anything. A train journey to Dublin is a gift from heaven. It would be the perfect chance to talk. There would be time to explain everything and still be friends afterwards.
‘Sure, it’ll be company for me. I’m leaving on Friday to get there in time for the final.’
She stares at me.
‘You don’t mind?’ she asks.
‘Well, I have two spare seats and no one else is using them. I like to keep the seats around me free so I can work on the journey.’
She looks embarrassed.
‘Oh, I don’t want to disturb …’
‘You won’t disturb me. If you want a seat just be there at eight Friday morning, and I refuse to take money for it. You’ll need to book somewhere to stay. It gets busy when there’s a tournament.’
She looks worried and bites her lip. She obviously hasn’t thought this through, apart from the proposing to Luke bit. It’s typical woman behaviour, forgetting the practicalities.
‘If you can’t find anywhere let me know. I’m booked at The Gresham. It’s a two-bedroom suite …’
Her eyes widen.
‘Only if you can’t get booked anywhere else,’ I add quickly.
She gives me a curious look.
‘A suite at The Gresham, that’s really extravagant.’
I want to say it’s only extravagant if you can’t afford it.
‘I’ve got some business meetings in Dublin and I needed a hotel with a good conference room.’
This seems to satisfy her and she rummages in her handbag for her keys.
‘How much is the ticket?’ she asks, not looking at me.
‘Don’t worry about paying. It’s going to be wasted if you don’t use it.’
And it’s the least I can do considering I’m trying to get your salon.
‘No, I can’t possibly. I must pay you.’
‘You can buy dinner on the ferry. That will be fine.’
She looks unsure.
‘Well …’ she says, hesitantly.
I smile.
‘That’s settled then,’ I say and before I can move she leans across the seat and kisses me on the cheek, her perfume intoxicating.
‘Thank you Tom, I appreciate it.’
I struggle to keep my arms at my side. She opens the door and is out of the car before I have recovered from the warmth of her kiss.
‘I have your email address if I change my mind,’ she says, peeking back into the car.
‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight Flo.’
I watch as she walks towards the block of flats and wait until she is safely ensconced inside. This is something I won’t be sharing with Grant.
Chapter Fourteen
‘I can’t for the life of me think why you want to get engaged anyway,’ says Rosalind waddling to a table like an overweight penguin and falling into a chair. ‘Engagements lead to marriage and marriage leads to this,’ she says, pointing emphatically to her stomach. ‘I’ve not slept properly in months and I’ve still got four weeks to go. I’m starting to think I shall never sleep again.’
‘Four weeks,’ exclaims Devon. ‘Are you sure? You look like you’re about to drop it any minute.’
‘Devon, don’t call the baby it. It’s a he,’ I say looking enviously at Rosalind’s belly. ‘And you’d better not drop any minute. I’ve got to get to Dublin and propose to Luke before you drop anything.’
‘It feels like a bloody monster,’ says Rosalind, ‘and it kicks for bloody England just when I’m trying to sleep. Then it settles in that God-awful position where I have to pee all the time. I swear I’m going to give birth to a sadist, takes after his bloody father. It takes me forever to get out of sodding bed. Jeremy has to pull me up, it’s pathetic. I daren’t move in the bed either otherwise I wallop Jeremy with my bulge. He’s had enough too. I just hope it comes on time and doesn’t decide to do a Buster.’
‘A Buster?’ questions Devon.
‘Yeah, I’m reading this God-awful book. It’s the diary of this baby in the womb who decides it doesn’t like the sound of his parents much so he’s determined not to come out. I’m telling you this one is bloody coming out whether it damn well likes us or not. I shall push it to kingdom come. It’s not staying in there past its due date. I want my sodding womb back.
‘Gross,’ says Devon, pulling a face.
‘What are you having?’ I ask Devon.
‘How do I know, I’m not even married, let alone pregnant?’
‘She means for lunch you daft cow,’ laughs Rosalind.
‘Oh, I’ll have the Caesar salad with grilled chicken.’
‘Please don’t mention caesareans,’ says Rosalind.
Devon and I glance at each other.
‘I’ll have a double cheeseburger, fries, and a side dish of onion rings,’ says Rosalind without looking at the menu. ‘I might as well eat it while I can.’
I study the menu intently.
‘We’d like to order, preferably before I go into labour,’ huffs Rosalind.
‘The Waldorf salad is good,’ says the waitress.
‘I don’t fancy salad. I live on salad,’ I say.
‘In between chocolate,’ adds Devon.
‘How about the burger?’ Rosalind suggests.
I laugh.
‘It only needs one of Luke’s work colleagues to pop in …’
‘And you want to get engaged to the guy. You don’t think he’s a bit controlling?’ asks Rosalind, pushing herself more comfortably into her seat and shoving the table across with her bulge, squashing Devon and me into a corner.
‘He won’t let her eat chocolate,’ chimes in Devon. ‘She hides Crunchie bars in Tampax boxes.’
‘Christ, as long as you don’t mix them up, you don’t want a Crunchie up your vagina,’ exclaims Rosalind.
‘Very funny. Anyway he does allow me to eat some chocolate. He just prefers I don’t eat too much.’
‘She’s a vegetarian with Luke and eats bacon when he’s not around,’ says Devon. ‘It’s not right Flo. You should be yourself with your partner.’
‘I am myself,’ I say defensively.
‘Sounds a bit like Sleeping with the Enemy,’ says Rosalind, ‘but without the house by the sea.’
‘No it’s not,’ I say. ‘We’ve never made love on the kitchen counter for a start. Luke would never consider getting it out anywhere other than the bedroom.’
‘And when he does get it out, she Biofreezes it,’ whispers Devon, stifling a giggle.
Rosalind gapes at me.
‘Devon,’ I hiss.
‘Oh my God you didn’t?’ says Rosalind. ‘Was that deliberate, you know, to curb the premature …’
‘Of course not, I thought it was K-Y. Anyway, Luke doesn’t do spontaneous sex.’
‘I’m surprised he’s doing it at all after that,’ laughs Devon.
‘He’s okay,’ I say, looking at the menu.
‘Take my advice,’ Rosalind sighs, ‘and avoid spontaneous fucking. That’s what got me in this mess. I thought it was dead exciting doing it halfway up the stairs and now look at me. I can’t even walk up them these days, let alone fuck on them.’
‘Mark’s adventurous,’ says Devon dreamily.
I give her an envious look. Christ, is everyone doing it on the stairs? Mind you, if we did it on our stairs, Mrs Larkin from number twenty-six would have heart failure, considering our stairs are communal. Then again, the speed Luke works she could blink and miss it. Still, I wouldn’t want to put a 93-year-old through that.
‘Does he wear pyjamas?’ I ask softly.
‘God no,’ cries Devon.
I lower my head.
‘Christ, he doesn’t, does he?’ Rosalind asks.
Does she have to look so amazed? Surely wearing pyjamas isn’t that odd is it?
‘Well yes, but not all the time,’ I lie.
‘Bloody hell, that’s a real turn off unless they’re silk or something.’
‘Marks and Spencer’s,’ I say.
‘Jesus, no wonder you don’t have spontaneous fucking,’ says Rosalind. ‘Sounds like your sex life needs a bit of spicing up. Perhaps you should get bejazzled down there.’
‘I think it’s vajazzled,’ says Devon.
‘Well whatever it is, maybe you just need a bit of pussy decorating to turn him on.’
‘Mel had that done, do you remember? She was three hours at Gatwick after setting off all the alarms,’ says Devon.
‘I’m not the one who needs to vajazzle,’ I say defensively. ‘Anyway, it’s not a case of getting turned on, more a case of keeping it turned on.’
After all, I was the one who suggested a bit of porn only to find Luke had set the parental control settings on my computer.
‘What can I get you ladies?’ asks the waitress.
‘A cold shower at this rate,’ says Devon.
‘Oh I’m fine. I doubt I’ll ever want sex again,’ groans Rosalind.
‘I’ll have a tuna mayonnaise sandwich on rye bread but can you not put the mayonnaise in the sandwich because it makes the bread soggy. I’ll have it in a dish on the side. I’ll have the salad but without lettuce …’
‘Salad without lettuce?’ says the waitress.
‘Yes.’
‘Jesus,’ mumbles Rosalind.
I glare at her.
‘What? I know what I like, that’s all. I’ll have a small portion of fries too please.’
‘Do you know how many calories there are in fries?’ says Devon.
‘What can I get you ladies to drink?’
‘Depends where the bloody loo is,’ moans Rosalind. ‘If it’s downstairs forget the drink, I’d rather dehydrate. If it’s on this floor, I’ll have a mineral water.’
‘I’ll have a skinny latte,’ says Devon.
I decide to go for the mineral water and the waitress finally leaves us.
‘Right,’ says Devon, ‘so you want our opinion on you proposing to Luke?’
I nod.
‘I thought I’d go to Dublin. Surprise him on my birthday, and then propose. I want you to help me choose a ring,’ I say excitedly, pouring the water.
‘You’re choosing your own engagement ring?’ says Rosalind with a scoff. ‘That’s not very romantic.’
‘No stupid, she’s choosing a ring for Luke,’ says Devon.
‘If he’s anything like Jeremy he won’t wear it. Men aren’t like us. Take Jeremy for example, he hates jewellery and he doesn’t even want to be at the birth of his own son. Flo has had more to do with this pregnancy than my husband.’
‘I think Luke will wear a ring,’ I say, while not feeling at all sure.
‘It’s an expensive proposal. There’s the flight and somewhere to stay, and the ring. Are you sure he’ll say yes?’
Surely he’ll say yes, won’t he? We’ve been together two years, if this isn’t the right time there never will be a right time.
‘Call me old-fashioned but I think the man should do the proposing,’ says Rosalind, her eyes widening at the cheeseburger. ‘Oh, this is when I love being pregnant.’
‘He’s obviously not the proposing kind,’ I say, checking my tuna for any sign of mayonnaise.
‘Mayonnaise on the side,’ says the waitress, placing a dish on the table. ‘And salad without lettuce.’
That’s the problem isn’t it? Luke is one of those men who need a little push. After all, I am the perfect girlfriend, well close to perfect. Okay, there is the closet chocoholic thing but I can deal with that and I don’t mind being a vegetarian as long as I don’t have to eat Quorn. It bloats me out if I am honest. Anyway, once I’m pregnant Luke will have to let me eat meat. I’ll need the protein won’t I?
‘I worry you only want to propose so you can get married before you’re thirty-one,’ says Rosalind through a mouthful of burger.
I so want to be Rosalind. I envy everything, from the burger to the bump. I want to be married in my thirtieth year and Luke would make a great husband. Better the devil you know right? Let’s face it, by the time I find someone new I’ll be thirty-two, and even then they may turn out to be Mr Wrong. I just don’t have the time, and one has to think about fertility. I need enough time should I need fertility treatment and I want to have at least three, children that is, not fertility treatments. Trust me; I have thought all this through. It has to be Luke, and I do love him and I know he loves me.
‘I don’t want to be thirty-one and unmarried,’ I say.
‘It’s not the right reason to marry someone. Suppose Mr Right is just around the corner. You’ll miss him.’
‘Luke is Mr Wright,’ laughs Devon.
‘But I love Luke. We’ve been together two years,’ I insist.
‘All the same, it’s a bloody expense. Can’t you propose to him here in good old Notting Hill?’
‘I’ve kind of got a free train ticket to Dublin.’
They both look at me.
‘Christ, how did you manage that?’ asks Rosalind, leaning forward to belch.
If that’s what pregnancy does to you maybe I should think it through a bit more.
‘You remember Tom, the guy who banged me in my car,’ I say, looking at Devon.
‘You’re banging a guy called Tom?’ says Rosalind, wide-eyed. ‘Why do you want to get married? Sounds like you’re having a great time.’
‘He banged her car, not her,’ says Devon. ‘You should see him, if anyone is worth banging on the side, he is. I only saw him once and that was enough, he’s sex on legs.’
‘He’s got a free seat on the train to Dublin. He’s got three and he’s only using one.’
Rosalind shifts her eyes to Devon and then back to me.
‘Free?’ repeats Devon. ‘He’s offering you a free seat to Dublin?’
‘There’s no such thing as a free lunch darling. If you ask me he’s working up to banging you,’ says Rosalind.
