Alphabet Weekends - Elizabeth Noble [80]
‘I agree completely. Does she know what she’s showing up for?’
‘No. I like the element of surprise.’
‘But will she?’
‘Who the hell knows, mate?’ Tom said, ruefully. ‘Women! Who knows?’
‘Speed-dating!’ Natalie heard her voice, so high it might have shattered glass, if they hadn’t been drinking out of her thick IKEA wine glasses.
‘Yeah, under the banner heading of Meeting New People – hence the M.’
‘With the purpose of…’
‘Well, you made it pretty clear at the health farm that you didn’t think you could get serious with me in a million years, so the next best thing for a mate to do is make sure you find someone good. What better way than introducing you myself? Or, at least, being in the room when it happens.’
‘And what will you be doing while I’m doing the speed-dating?’
‘Well, I’ll have to do it too, of course. You don’t get allowed in if you’re not playing, and if I’m not in there, I can’t very well look after you, can I? And you never know… I might end up with someone too. How perfect would that be?’
‘Perfect.’ The sarcasm in her voice made his tummy flip. ‘So, how does it work?’ she added.
‘Well, I’m no expert, but I know this guy through work and he’s done it a few times.’
‘A few times? That’s not a great advert, is it? Shouldn’t you only have to do it once, if it’s so effective? What’s his problem?’
‘No problem, as he sees it – apparently so many babes show up at these things, he’s happy playing the field.’ Careful, Tom, he thought. Don’t be too obvious. ‘And I’m sure the same applies to girls. There’s no stigma attached to finding romance through these organised methods any more. We live busy lives… You’re just having help sorting the wheat from the chaff. It makes sense, if you think about it.’
‘But what if I’m everyone’s chaff?’
‘Well, you won’t be, will you? I think we do nine or ten of these things. We get three minutes with each guy or girl. At the end, if there are any we’re interested in, we tell the organisers, and if those people have also given our names, then Bob’s your uncle and Fanny’s your aunt. You get their details and you’re on your own. Sounds simple enough, don’t you reckon?’
‘Sounds humiliating.’
‘Tough, girlie. You agreed to the game. I’ve exfoliated with a bunch of fat women with hairy legs for you. You’re doing this for me. Drink up. It starts at eight.’
*
Oh. My. God. By man five, she wasn’t humiliated any more. She had had no idea how incredibly interesting and stimulating she was. In comparison to them, she was a bloody shoo-in for Parkinson. The first guy was a sheep farmer and a young Conservative, with an Adam’s apple nearly as big as his head. She couldn’t stop staring at it, marvelling as it bobbed up and down, and he had to keep sinking lower in his seat to make eye-contact with her, so that by the end of the three minutes he was practically on his knees (not that begging would have done him the slightest bit of good).
The second one taught physics – physics! – at the local comprehensive, and had three cats named after Ancient Greeks.
The third was all-right-looking from the neck up, but completely musclebound beneath – of the kind who can barely raise their arms above their heads because of all the hard knobbly bits – and only seemed interested in telling her how many ‘reps’ he could do, and that Mariah Carey was his idea of feminine perfection.
The fourth lived with his mother. Natalie stopped listening after that.
And the fifth, the first who had seemed vaguely normal, was sweet and smiley, but just plain boring.
Natalie’s fixed smile was beginning to hurt her cheeks. She would kill Tom. This was the very worst letter so far.
The bell sounded and number five got up. As he moved away, and before number six took his place, Natalie glanced up and down her row. What sort of girl came to something like this? They all looked normal and nice – pretty, even. There had to be better ways. She felt the beginning of a crushing depression. Was this what she had to look forward to?
She