Last Chance Saloon - Marian Keyes [143]
‘Perhaps I do.’
‘Well, so do I.’ Rob trembled aggressively at Joe.
‘Too right. But please. Two hundred quid?’
Rob sighed. He wasn’t going to win this. ‘Go on, then. Two fifty and you’ve a deal.’
On Thursday afternoon Tara’s phone at work rang. It was Katherine and she sounded low.
‘What’s up?’ Tara gasped, ever poised for bad news of Fintan.
‘I’ve had an e-mail from our subject.’
‘And?’
‘He’s invited me out on Saturday.’
Tara almost had a heart-attack. ‘I don’t believe you! I thought you said he was horrible and ignored you all week. And now you tell me you’re going out with him on Saturday night! Fair play to you.’
‘Not Saturday night. Saturday.’
‘Paris on the Eurostar?’
A laugh from Katherine that sounded oddly bitter.
‘Oh. Lunch? Somewhere fabulous?’
‘No.’
‘What, then? Not the bloody zoo? Not in November?’
‘No, er…’ Katherine could hardly say it, she was so embarrassed.
‘Where? What?’
‘He’s um… he’s, er… he’s…’
‘He’s what?’
‘He’s taking me to a football match,’ she finally blurted, queasy with shame. She knew a public humiliation when she saw one.
‘Football is the new rock ‘n’ roll,’ Tara said, carefully.
‘You don’t have to be nice.’
‘Who’s playing?’ A lot hinged on this. Would Katherine be spending Saturday afternoon standing with three others on a muddy field in outer suburbia watching two non-league teams boring everyone to death? Or in a big, sexy stadium with seats and burgers and programmes and souvenir knickers, at a Premier match, where tickets cost more than those of a West End theatre?
‘Oh, I don’t know. Arsenal versus someone or other.’
‘Arsenal!’
‘I know. God, Tara, I wish I’d never got involved in this. I could die with shame. The outrageous cheek of him. If it wasn’t for Fintan –’
‘But Arsenal tickets are like gold dust.’
‘Are they?’ Suddenly things had started to look up.
‘It’s harder to get a ticket to an Arsenal game than it is for me to fit into size eight jeans.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Ravi supports the Gunners.’
‘What are they?’
‘The Gunners are Arsenal. Christ, you’ve a lot to learn. We’ll have to send you on a crash course to Ravi.’
Ravi made throat-cutting motions and rolled his eyes in alarm. He was terrified of Katherine. Her enigmatic mystique didn’t work for him, he just thought she was spooky.
‘How do you know so much about football?’ Katherine asked.
‘Because Ravi runs a league for us. Tell me what Joe says in the e-mail.’ Tara hugged the phone in excitement. ‘Read out exactly what he says.’
Katherine looked furtively around her office and dropped her voice even more. ‘It says, “Saturday afternoon, Highbury. A pint of beer, Arsenal v Everton, and thou? How about it? I pledge to explain the offside rule to you and feed you afterwards.” ’
Tara couldn’t speak because she was so close to tears. ‘That’s beautiful,’ she squeaked. ‘And he’s taking you for dinner afterwards. You never said that.’
‘We-elll…’ Warm pride was creeping up on Katherine.
‘Well, indeed!’
‘So, um,’ Katherine said archly, ‘would you mind waiting until after Saturday before leaving Thomas? I might need my flat to myself.’
‘Darn,’ Tara lamented. ‘And I’d so wanted to leave him this evening.’
‘If only!’
‘So what are you going to wear?’ Tara demanded gleefully. ‘Wear jeans! I wish I could wear jeans. I treble dare you to wear jeans. Go on. Zipped hipsters. I quadruple dare you. I five tuple dare you.’
‘But what if…?’
‘If what?’
‘Well, just say, we… you know, er, get it together?’
‘Katherine Casey. On a first date. I’m shocked.’
‘I might have the marks of my jeans on my legs and stomach. And that’s not very sexy. And what about my underwear?’ she asked tentatively.
Tara was astonished at such openness. ‘Do you mean suspender belts and all that gear?’
‘Mmmm.’
‘Well, I’m delighted. It’s about time a man got a look at them. But you’re right, you couldn’t really wear them with jeans. Why don’t you wear knickers that say, “I scored at Highbury”? He’s bound to like that. Or alternatively no knickers at all. So long as you have your pubes shaved, won’t he be