Somebody to Love: Sigh With Contentment, Scream With Frustration. At Time You Will Weep. (5 page)

Time for a trim, he guessed, recalling how, with his long dark eyelashes, Karl had often been mistaken for a girl as a baby. How his wife had joked he’d grow up to be a heartbreaker. Mark’s heart seemed to have broken, that was for sure.

Karl shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, in that gruff, grainy voice that drew people’s stares. Mark didn’t care. At least Karl was speaking. He was two when he’d stopped, and Mark’s life changed forever

But now, with speech therapy and hard work, Karl at least had some vocabulary.

‘Dog,’ Karl went on bluntly, his brow furrowed in concentration as he took hold of Mark’s hand.

‘Dog?’ Mark furrowed his brow in turn. ‘Okay, so show me,’ he said, knowing Karl would drag him there anyway to show him what he wanted.

Karl paused outside a glass display case. ‘Dog,’ he repeated, pointing a finger at a ceramic creature with huge, beguiling eyes.

Mark crouched down to Karl’s level. He placed an arm around his son, his own eyes full of wonder now. ‘That’s right, Karl. Dog,’ he said, looking from the dog to his son’s face, carefully gauging his reactions. ‘And this one…’ he pointed to another dog, similarly hand-crafted, but a different breed, ‘… what’s that Karl?’

Karl pointed at the original. ‘Dog,’ he repeated, resolute.

‘Right.’ Mark smiled. It was too much to hope that Karl might be able to hang something that was a different shape and colour on the same family tree, but one miracle was enough. Karl was here, in one piece, in a shop, with people. No sign of claustrophobia. No rocking, hand-flapping or temper tantrum in sight. And he was communicating. Rudimentary it might be, but he was exchanging dialogue. As miracles went, this one was more than enough.

‘So, shall we buy the dog, Karl? Forget about the car for today, maybe?’

Mark held his breath and waited. Karl needed routine. Knowing what was going to happen next kept him on track. Buying a model car while out shopping was the ‘right’ way to do it in Karl’s mind.

Karl nodded, at length. ‘Yes,’ he finally said.

And Mark breathed out.

The day, he decided as they left, Karl clutching the dog that had cost and arm and a leg, might not have turned out so badly, after all.

Draping an arm over Karl’s shoulders, Mark nodded his reassurances to Phil and Jody as he approached the car where they waited.

Should he ring Donna, he wondered. Check she was okay after he’d checked his text and made what must have seemed like a sharp exit?

He could still taste her; smell her, an intoxicating mix of perfume and pure feminine essence. He reached for his mobile, which seemed to be burning a hole in his pocket. Wouldn’t it seem a bit too keen though, ringing her barely an hour after leaving her? He hadn’t had that much practice at the dating game. Had no idea what the protocol was. He must already have seemed pushy. Way too pushy. He didn’t want her thinking he was desperate, some kind of obsessive who was going to plague her with calls. Didn’t want to have to explain right then either why he had had to leave in such a hurry. Because he’d have to gloss it over, or out-and-out lie, and he definitely didn’t want to do that.

Tomorrow, he decided. That wouldn’t seem too soon. He’d ask her what food she liked, book the restaurant, and come clean over dinner. And then…

What would be would be.

****

Up bright and early the next morning, Donna popped Sadie on her favourite chair — opposite the patio windows where she could see out, popped a generous helping of cabbage and cucumber under the kitchen table for Findus, then dashed for the stairs to get ready for work, glancing casually at her mobile parked on the hall cupboard as she went.

She had given him the right number, hadn’t she? She knitted her brow. He had put it into his mobile correctly, hadn’t he? It was possible he might have… No, Donna, it is
not.
You gave him your home phone as well. The man said he’d ring and he will. Of course he would. She trudged on up. Wouldn’t he?

Yesss
! Donna whooped as, magically, the telephone rang behind her. She back-stepped, ecstatic, then deflated as she noted the number on her caller display.

‘Hi, Mum,’ she said brightly, not wanting to sound disappointed as she picked up.

‘Oh, dear, still in the doldrums, then?’ said her all-seeing, all-knowing mum.

‘No, Mum.’ Donna said sharply, wishing her mum wouldn’t assume she spent her life lamenting the lack of a man. Mark had piqued her interest… a bit… but she could manage without one. She’d much rather manage without one than leap gaily out of the frying pan into the fire. Slowly was how she’d wanted things to progress with Mark. Assuming he wanted to take things further, that was. Did he? Her heart skipped a beat.

‘I’m fine, Mum, honestly,’ she said, feeling guilty. Her mum was concerned for her; that was all. It came with the territory, Donna knew it did. ‘It’s just that I’m a bit…’

…
late for work
, she didn’t get the chance to add, before her mother said, ‘down, I know, darling, but that’s why I’ve rung.’

Oh, no. Donna groaned quietly. Not another suggestion to get herself out and about and join a pottery class or something.
Why?
Donna wanted to know. Demi Moore might have pulled it off on Sky Movies the other night, but Donna hadn’t got a snowball in hell’s chance of looking sexy with clay oozing through her fingers and caked on her face. She didn’t want to join anything, for goodness sake. She didn’t need to now, in any case. Did she?

Donna was halfway into a profound worry, when her mum announced, ‘I’ve put your profile up on
Datamate
.’

What!? Had she gone completely mad?

‘Now, before you think I’ve gone completely mad, you can take it down at any time, and you don’t —’

‘Mum!’

‘… have to respond to any of the winks, or even —’

‘Winks!?’

‘… reply to emails, if you don’t want to, but we are living in a technically-savvy age, darling. It was Dot’s idea, and I do have to say I think it’s a splendid one. We thought it might give you a chance to chat, you know, without putting yourself out and about.’

Dot.
She might have known. Donna studied the cracks on her badly-in-need-of-decorating ceiling. Her friend Dot and her mum together were like the blooming dynamic duo, unstoppable. Advocates for charity courses, fund-raising efforts — the riskier the better, as in risqué-r — they were a force to be reckoned with. Possibly the only sensible activity they undertook since they’d met whilst out walking their own respective dogs, was the dog crèche they now ran together at Dot’s house. It suited her mum, being retired from teaching, and it actually bought in a decent income as word spread and business picked up. And, the best spin off of all was, it kept her mum too busy to meddle in Donna’s luckless love life. Or it had.

‘Take it down, please, Mum,’ she said remarkably calmly.

‘But, Donna…’ Her mum faltered for a nanosecond. ‘… it’s perfectly safe. An excellent way to see what’s out there without actually
going
out there. I know you’re terribly shy, sweetie, and I thought —’

‘Out where?’ Donna scowled, noticed her reflection in the hall mirror and straightened her face. ‘Cyberspace is the whole world, Mum!’

‘Well, obviously you’d narrow your choices down by location.’

‘Mum, I don’t want to…’ Donna stopped and breathed in… and out, in… and out. ‘I don’t want to get winked at. I don’t care whether it’s safe. It’s sad! And I’m not.’ Donna wasn’t sure whether online dating was actually sad, each to their own, but what was definitely sad, was that everyone must think
she
was.

‘I’m not in the doldrums, Mum.’ She softened her tone, trying to sound less ungrateful. ‘I just…’ Should she mention Mark? Donna chewed on her lip. Yes, but mention what, exactly? That they’d had a sort of date and then watch while her mother put Mark through the third degree before they’d had another? If they had another. If he rang. ‘I’m late for work, that’s all. Please take it down, Mum.’

Her mum sighed resignedly. ‘All right, Donna. Of course I will, if you really don’t like the idea. But don’t blame me if Matt Demon is out there, winking away as we speak.’

‘Damon. It’s Matt Damon, Mum, and he’s married.’

‘Is he? Oh, well, never mind, there are bound to be plenty of other winkers,’ her mum quipped jocularly.

Donna shook her head, despairing. ‘Yes, mum, but I don’t want one. Look, I’ve got to go. Talk later. Bye.’

‘Bye, darling,’ her mother said, through another audible sigh. ‘And try not to get too down, hmm? Having a man in your life is not the be all and end all, after all, is it? Oh, that’ll be Dot at the door. See you later.’

Donna went cross-eyed as she put the phone down. Honestly, did she look desperate enough to be ‘chatting’ to a flipping computer?

‘Ring, will you?’ she growled at her mobile, then headed huffily back upstairs.

Truthfully, Donna half-expected Mark not to. No, she fully expected him not to. That was okay. She swallowed hard. She’d mentally prepared herself anyway.

She must have totally confused him, inviting him back for coffee followed by not-so-hot sex and then actually offering him nothing. No wonder he’d done a runner.

She hoped he hadn’t.

He’d seemed so nice. Straightforward, uncomplicated, courteous and… Donna sighed longingly… utterly scrummy. Profiteroles drenched in fresh cream and hers for the eating — if only her mum knew. Pity Donna hadn’t had a clue what to do.

Glancing wistfully back at the bed she fantasised Mark in all night, her attention snagged on the clock, sending Donna into a flap. Damn, where did the time go? Work aside, she’d her doctor’s appointment to go to. She’d already put it off twice, her bitchy manageress always seeming to be watching her timekeeping. Well, she couldn’t put it off any longer. Suspicious little lumps shouldn’t be ignored. Donna’s poor hoppity dog was testament to that.

Heading swiftly for the bathroom, she stripped off her dog walking clothes, tossed them out onto the landing ready to take down to the wash, then threw herself under the shower. She was just stepping out when the doorbell rang. Perfect. Donna was stark naked on the inside of the bathroom, and her clothes were on the outside.

Dabbing at her hair, she squeaked the open bathroom door. ‘Matt, could you get the door please?’ No response. ‘Matt?!’

Still nothing. Donna assumed her son either had his iPod stuffed in his ears, or he’d already left for college. Sighing, she wrapped a towel around herself and headed for the stairs, to find Matt, who obviously hadn’t yet left, scrambling up them, Findus in arms.
Hell
. Being highly superstitious, Donna’s heart sank. She didn’t want to tempt fate when she’d just met the nicest man she was ever likely to meet. The hall mirror crashing to the floor the morning she’d discovered Jeremy was bonking the Twiglet was evidence of the terrible luck that befell people who did. But then, the mirror had broken
after
she’d found out. And they had been in the middle of that dreadful door-slamming, fist-banging last row, Donna remembered with a shudder.

No, she assured herself, this wasn’t a sign. She was just being neurotic. Mark would ring. He’d said he would. Everything was absolutely fine.

‘Don’t cross on the stairs. It’s bad luck,’ she hissed at her son, sandwiching herself against the wall to try to negate said bad luck as Matt squeezed past.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, glancing over his shoulder as he hastened his way upward.

Rather too urgently, Donna noted. Matt didn’t move with any sense of urgency. He sloped. During an earthquake he might notch it up to a brisk walk. But bounding, whether joyfully or otherwise, was just not in his adolescent nature.

Donna narrowed her eyes. He was cuddling Findus very close to his chest, she noticed, which, from experience, read:
you wouldn’t hit a man who loves fluffy animals, would you?
‘Matt, what have you been up to?’

He turned on the landing, hoisted Findus higher and peeked over his ears, the epitome of virtue. ‘Moi?’

‘Yes, you. You look far too innocent not to be guilty. What have you done?’

‘Nothing,’ he assured her, blinking beguilingly, then bolting for his bedroom. ‘Much,’ he added, kicking the door closed behind him.

Oh, no… Donna’s shoulders slumped. She tightened her towel, and trudged on down to see which neighbour he’d annoyed now with his clunking, exhaust-blowing VW, which he insisted on starting at least ten times a day, even though he was barely past lesson two. Please don’t let him have reversed it down the drive and over next-door’s prized plant pot again. Or worse, their cat.

Donna swung the door open, hiding her trepidation with a cheery smile. It was just the postman. She smiled proper. And Matt obviously hadn’t reversed over him.

The postman smiled back, rather flatly, and handed Donna the buckled wheel of his bike.

Oh, not so fine then.

****

He
had
rung. Donna couldn’t quite believe it. She shut down her computer, ready to go home, outwardly calm, but inside her emotions in turmoil. She’d been perfectly relaxed all morning, nervous, yes, but desperate for him to ring. Convincing herself she could do relationships should — by some miracle — Mark want to take things further. On the basis that neither party could be entirely blameless, Donna conceded that she might have been responsible in some part for the breakdown of her marriage, but she had to believe she wasn’t mostly to blame. That Jeremy’s insinuation she was unresponsive, ergo a total turnoff in bed was dire tripe, concocted to get himself off the hook.

The thing was, though, even acknowledging it was hard to respond sexually to a bully, she didn’t believe she wasn’t deep down. Insidious little things that they were, those seeds of doubt had taken root, and as hard as her mum and her sister had tried to convince Donna the problems in her marriage had been Jeremy’s, not hers, Donna couldn’t help thinking they might be.

By lunchtime, she’d felt so nauseous, she’d gone off her tuna and cucumber on white. She didn’t even feel the inclination for a cheese and onion crisp, which she generally devoured by the big-bagful. Mark wasn’t going to ring. She’d managed to convince herself that much.