The Last Year Of Being Single

‘Why aren’t you married?’

‘He hasn’t asked me.’

‘Why don’t you ask him?’

‘I don’t believe in the woman asking the man.’

‘Not even in a Leap Year?’

‘No. Are you still with Amanda?’ (Miss Piggy cropped up in my mind.)

‘Yes. But she may be moving out. She was married before she met me. For a month. She realised on her wedding day she’d done the wrong thing. She was brave to do what she did. I met her on a management training course in the New Forest. She thought I was interesting and asked if I could take a walk with her round the grounds after dinner one evening. I did. She seduced me.’ (Yeah, right.) ‘She told me about her trick with chocolate cake. She said she could smear it all over her chest and I could lick it off her. I’m rather partial to chocolate cake so I tried that evening. Very good it was, too.’

All the while John talked about his chocolate-coated Miss Piggy he continued to stroke my wrists. Occasionally reaching up my forearm to the inside of my elbow. It was as though he was pretending my arm was my leg. That he was playing with the ankle and gently making his way up the calf. Then stopping, and gently pushing to go even further. I was so pleased I was wearing a bra. My nipples have a life of their own.

He continued …

‘You see, Sarah, I went into the railway because after leaving university I trained as a research chemist, but there weren’t many women in that job. Or not that I found attractive. I joined the rail industry, because I considered myself on the fast track in life—‘ (he smirks; I don’t) ‘—because I liked the challenge it presented and also because I thought you’d find more women working in the industry.’

I must admit, I found this argument totally unbelievable and told him so.

‘I thought you would have found other industries with more women in them. Advertising or marketing, for example. Far more women, and attractive ones. Or PR. That industry is full of women who give good head as well as PR … I’m told.’

He smiled.

‘I know. They do. I’ve met quite a few.’

He pays the bill. Scowls at the cost. But he chose the restaurant—not me. I thank him.

‘Thank you for a lovely lunch.’

‘My pleasure.’

He walks and talks me to the station.

‘I came here with a management consultant last week. Her name was Stephanie. She was very beautiful, soon to be engaged and she told me she was quite fixated by me. She pushed me into that alcove over there—‘ (he points at alcove in wall of station) ‘—and ripped my shirt. I had to go back home to Amanda and explain.’

I didn’t quite know if he meant to tell me this because a) he wanted me to do it to him—and wanted to put the idea in my head; b) he didn’t want me to do it, just in case I’d considered doing it, as Amanda might understand once but not twice in a fortnight; or c) he liked Stephanie and she was going to be Amanda’s replacement after the chocolate cake fetish had turned mushy.

I said … ‘Oh.’

Unimpressed by my lack of response and clever riposte, he said he would see me to Liverpool Street Station, to make sure I was safe. I said I would be fine.

‘No, I’ll make sure you’re OK.’

And that’s what he did. Made sure I was OK till Liverpool Street Station. Ten stops Circle Line. Standing up all the way. No conversation. Just lots of staring. Mostly at my legs and then into my eyes. No smile, laugh or sign of light. No wrist or calf or ankle-stroking. Nothing. Very peculiar end to a very peculiar lunch with a very peculiar, sexy, ravishable dark prince.

20th September

I’m bored. I have done nothing to report about. Nothing to recover from. John Wayne has not been in my life. Touched my heart or my wrists. Every time I go to the toilet I think about him. And he was right about the pee thing. I contact his office and get Medina, who says he’s gone away for a fortnight with his girlfriend Amanda. I tell her to tell him he was right about the ‘pee thing’. I tell her John will understand. She huffs that she’s sure he will. I try to find out where they’ve gone. Some hotel in the middle of nowhere with a four-poster bed and an en suite bathroom with a bath for two and a shower for two. Probably. I wonder if he’s tickling her wrists as I’m writing my appraisal on why Rogerson Railways fails to communicate with its customers while disruption occurs. I wonder if he’s eating chocolate cake off her voluptuous breasts. I wonder if it’s chocolate with or without milk, if it’s home-made or from Marks & Spencer. I wonder if he’s drinking English beer or the crap foreign muck and if he’s eating sole in the evening and thinking ever so briefly about me, or about Stephanie, who tore his shirt.

30th September

‘Hello. This is John Wayne.’

Unexpected voice. Unexpected pleasure first thing on a Friday morning. Indian Summer of a morning and John Wayne calling me. Not Medina saying John is on the phone. He is actually calling me direct. ‘I wanted to know how you were.’ ‘I’m fine. Did you have a good holiday with Amanda? Not too much chocolate cake, I hope? Or ripped shirts? Or foreign muck to drink?’

‘It was fine. Amanda is definitely moving out. I’ve suggested she moves out. She needs her own place. She moved into my cottage just as an interim measure. She needs to find her own space. I’ve told her as much. I got your message from Medina.’ ‘What message?’ I’d forgotten.

‘About the pee. Good to hear it worked. Hope you’ve been practising. I find it quite exciting, the thought of you in the bathroom now, Ms Giles.’

‘Whatever turns you on, Mr Wayne.’ Silence.

‘Well, I’m at the Crime Prevention conference in November, which I believe you’re organising. So look forward to seeing you there.’

‘You too.’

‘Goodbye, then.’

‘Goodbye.’

Click.

What a weird conversation. Started so well. So promising. Sort of sexual innuendo. Literal toilet humour and then nothing. Just a goodbye, and a tease about his girlfriend moving out. The Miss Piggy I’ve yet to meet. Perhaps Stephanie will be the replacement. Anyway, girl, focus on your man. Your Paul. Your Rock. Leave the chocolate cake to someone else …

OCTOBER

ACTION LIST

Enjoy work.

Go to gym four times a week. Be able to do the box splits.

Try out new kick-boxing class.

Beat crap out of bitchy girls in office.

Try to seduce Paul into having sex with me.

Drink eight glasses of water a day. GMTV suggested this helps eyes shine.

Eat less low-calorie chocolate drink.

Take vitamin pills. Despite making pee very yellow.

TEXT SEX

1st October