The Cupid Effect (25 page)

Drew laughed.

‘Oh, you laugh, but you will.'

Drew laughed some more. ‘Anyway gorgeous, gotta get back to it. Talk to you soon?'

‘Yeah, talk to you soon.'

‘And don't worry about what that bloke said. He probably just has a very poor flirting style. You know, trying to get you into bed by being clever. He wouldn't be the first, that's for sure.'

‘Yeah, you're probably right,' I said. A voice at the back of my head said,
He's not right, you know he's not right.

chapter twenty-two

Good Enough

The day of Ed's Big Date dawned and I was nervous.

Actually I was shitting myself, for want of a better expression. This was Ed. This was his one big chance to impress the gorgeous Robyn. And I'd been the one who'd pushed him into doing the deed.

Oh God, what if this all turned nasty? What if she was a nightmare and she made his date hell? Who would he blame? Who would he have every right to blame? Me, of course.
Then
what would I do? Find him another woman to lust after? Yeah, right. Most people needed love in their life. And if not love, then someone or something to lust after. Robyn was Ed's
raison d'être
. The reason he got out of bed most mornings. The reason he'd hacked off his hair and retired his lumberjack shirt. And I'd practically held a gun to his head and forced him to ask her out. I wouldn't be surprised if he turned that very same gun on me and blew my brains out.

He'd have every right. I would, if he took away my
raison d'être
. My purpose, the one thing that kept me believing in love and happy endings. There were times, during those barren weeks, months and years where all you had to keep you going was seeing that one person, that perfect computer, those exquisite shoes – that one thing that made the rest of the bad times that plagued your existence worthwhile.

Case in point: my obsession with
Angel
.

I was enough of a psychologist to know that it'd gotten out of hand, that I'd started to believe he and I were meant to be together for ever because I hadn't seen a man or a computer or a pair of shoes that gave me the same kick. Nothing got my undivided attention like him. Nothing made my heart beat faster, or my stomach tingle or my face smile like he did. Consistently.

But, finding out that your perfect shoes would, over time, amputate your little toes; that the computer would give you incurable RSI; or that person you loved was actually sent to this earth to make you suffer a lifetime's worth of indignity (or, after one shag would lose their soul, then hunt down and kill all your friends, oh, wait, no that's Angel) was information you could live without. And you usually only found out the downside of your dream when you got the thing you wanted, in other words: be careful what you wish for, it may come true. In Ed's case, going on a date with Robyn.

I went to work on that Wednesday morning as usual, but I left after my last lecture. Didn't hang around in the library or work in my office or go anywhere near the Senior Common Room to get my weekly dose of Gwen. I came straight home and spent the entire bus journey offering up a prayer that Robyn would like the posh restaurant he'd planned to take her to. That she'd laugh at his jokes. She'd appreciated the sacrifice he'd made with his hair. That she wouldn't lurch with disgust if he tried to kiss her. That she would see past anything that could possibly put her off and realise what a genuinely decent guy Ed was. He and Jake had gone out of their way to make me the third wheel on their Stanmore Vale tricycle. They didn't have to, they just did because the pair of them were good people.
Please God, let her realise that.

Ed was in his room when I got home. I didn't disturb him, didn't want to add to any anxiety he might have with anxieties of my own. I pottered around the kitchen, attempting to cook but getting distracted by thoughts of Ed coming home after his date a broken man with nothing left to live for. Every self-help book I'd read and started to read had mentioned something about visualisation – visualising the result you wanted from a situation, seeing it in your head helped it to come true. Would it work for other people? Who cared? I settled myself on the sofa nearest the window.

OK. Ed and Robyn. Had to visualise something great. The perfect date.

I didn't know what she looked like, Ed's description – ‘an angel on earth' – hadn't been particularly helpful, so in my mind's eye she became Halle Berry, a gorgeous woman, no mistaking.

Right, visualise Robyn/Halle and Ed sitting in Teppanyaki, that Japanese restaurant in town, he tells her a joke. And she . . . she tuts and carries on eating. No. No. She . . . tuts and carries on eating. OK, change scenario.

Ed says he'll see her home. She smiles, agrees, says most blokes just put her on the bus. They get to her front door, which bears a remarkable resemblance to our front door. Once there, Ed says he had a great time, can he see her again? She smiles and says yes. Ed asks if he can kiss her, she replies: ‘Euck, no!'

Noooo, that was going so well.

I opened my eyes.
Ah, sod it. If she upsets him, I'll just do away with her and visualise my way through the perfect murder.

I answered the door to Robyn at seven-thirty.

And double-took at her. Halle Berry had nothing on her. She was so stunning,
I
had faint stirrings in my loins. Her hair was plaited to waist length (when I had plaited extensions, they never looked that perfect) and framed her slender face with its wide nose. She had dark brown eyes, full lips and styled eyebrows. And her skin, flawless. It could've been make-up, but I was sure it was natural beauty. And probably not drinking, not smoking and doing the gym thing. Her and Ed would make a great couple: her, all slender limbs and poise; him, tall and, when he stood up straight, he looked quite manly. At least she'd made an effort, I thought with relief. Having said that, she didn't seem the kind of woman who'd leave the house without making an effort. She certainly wouldn't do a Ceri D'Altroy and leave the house to get a newspaper and bottle of water with her uncombed hair squashed under a scarf, wearing crumpled clothes, an uncleansed face and unbrushed teeth.

‘Come in,' I said, stepping aside to let her in.

She stepped in, headed straight for the living room, like she'd been invited to do so. She certainly knew how to own a place by doing something as innocuous as walking in to it. Probably something she learnt in acting class. She was an artist,
darlink
.

‘Would you like a drink or something while you're waiting?' I asked, with a smile. ‘Ed shouldn't be too long.' I was on my best behaviour, didn't want to do anything to ruin Ed's chances.

‘No,' she said. ‘I'd rather we got going.'

‘Oh, Ed won't be much longer.'

She moved her face as if to say,
He'd better not be
, then sat on the left-hand sofa, instantly brightening it up.

‘Music?' I said, moving to the stereo.

‘Do you have any acid jazz?'

What, that music that makes me think of bad and lengthy elevator music?
‘Er, no. I'm sure I can find a radio station that plays it though.'

‘Don't bother.'

Right. ‘What about telly?
Corrie
's started.' I had one hand ready to hit the ‘on' button.

‘I don't watch
Coronation Street
. I went for an audition once and I didn't get it. It upsets me to watch it.'

H'OK. I withdrew my finger. I stood by the television, with this incredible urge to twiddle my fingers and hum out of tune. Minutes passed. More minutes passed. I knew Ed would've heard the doorbell. Even he wouldn't be stupid enough to keep her waiting. Not if he wanted the date to start off well.

Robyn's dark eyes flickered over me, giving me the distinct impression it was my fault Ed wasn't in front of her.

‘I'll just go see what's keeping him,' I said to her.

She hinted at a thin smile of gratitude with her lipsticked lips, then decided not to bother.

Ohhhh, does she not like me. She's not the first woman not to like me. I doubted she'd be the last. Just like I didn't particularly like girly girls; girly girls didn't particularly like ungirly girls. Which was cool. As long as we both stuck to our respective areas of expertise – her: hair, make-up, boys: me, science fiction, psychology and using my brain.

I pegged it up the stairs, turned the corner, sped to Ed's door and tapped on it.

‘Ed?' I whispered loudly through the door. The living room door was still open, I didn't want her to hear.

No answer.

I tapped again.

‘
Ed!
Ed, Ed, what you doing? She's getting really wound up down there.'

Nothing in reply. I knew he was in there, I could hear him walking around. Pacing, whispering.

‘Ed. What are you doing in there?'

Nothing. Pacing, whispering. I tapped the door again, louder. ‘Ed, open this bloody door,' I hissed. ‘What are you doing?'

The door unlocked, his head appeared in the fraction he opened it. ‘I'm stuffed, Ceri.'

His blue shirt collar stood on end on one side, horizontal on the other side. His tie was tied over it, his face flushed, his eyes wide and desperate.

‘What do you mean, stuffed?'

He was breathing hard, a possessed man who still had the devil at his heels.

‘She's going to leave if you're not careful,' I said.

His terrified eyes searched mine. ‘I'm stuffed, Ceri, I'm stuffed.'

‘Stop saying that! You're not. Tell me what you mean.'

Ed jerked the door open. ‘I mean, this.' He pointed to his lap. I followed his pointing finger.

Outlined in his trousers, loose as they were, was a long, thick shape. The material of his loose trousers was taut around it emphasising it. You couldn't miss it. I tore my eyes away, thinking,
Who'd have guessed that skinny Ed was so big
?

He grabbed my wrist, pulled me into the room, shut the door behind him. ‘I can't get rid of it,' he said.

‘What?'

‘I can't get rid of,' he pointed southward again, ‘
IT!
'

He paced the length of his room. ‘I've tried everything I know. I've tried playing with it, orgasms, ignoring it, cold showers, flicking the top of it . . . nothing works. I can't get rid of it.'

‘Not even flicking the top of it?'

He shook his head.

‘How hard did you flick?'

‘Hard! Fucking hard! It hurt. It bruised, but it wouldn't die. I can't go on a date like this. She'll think I'm a sleaze. And I can't even change cos these are the biggest trousers I've got apart from my jogging bottoms.'

He was indeed, stuffed.

‘And, and, I swear, it's got bigger. It was never, well, you know.'

‘Eh?' I said, trying hard not to stare at it.

‘I'm not saying I was small or owt, but it was never that big.'

From my side of the room, I raised my hand, held it up in that area so Ed's lower half would be hidden and I wouldn't be tempted to gawp at it.

‘How long have you been like this?'

‘All day. I was pleased at first, I kind of hoped I'd be up to the challenge. I mean, I'm nothing. I'm not as good-looking or funny or famous as her other fellas. I don't know, I just . . .'

‘Hoped, prayed, wished you could be better in one way,' I cut in. ‘Just one way, you want to outshine the competition. You can't change your looks, you can't change your bank balance and it'll take her a while to get to know your true personality. But in one way, just one way you want to stand out. Be superior, be worthy.

‘This is, this was, your one chance with someone you've wanted, yearned for, for months. This person is number one. You never thought this day would come and now it has come, you're terrified that you won't live up to the challenge. That now your dream's come true, it's all going to go wrong because of you. Not cos she's a cow, but because of you. You not being good enough.'

I suppose you could say I had some vague idea of how Ed felt. That deep yearning, that not good enough feeling, that wondering ‘when will it be my turn to get the big prize?' Self-help book, smelf-help book, when you never got the boy – or girl – you didn't feel good about yourself. Your positivity was eroded, you seized on every little sniff of romance as THE NEXT BIG THING.

‘That's all very well, but what the hell am I going to do?' Ed wailed.

I shifted my hand a fraction, peeked at what should have been his very big pride. The first – and last – time I saw a male member nearly as big had been attached to Mr Perfect Penis and I'd initially been disturbed by its size. When I got to know it, it'd been all right. But I'd been overcome with lust for him from the instant I saw him. It remained to be seen if Robyn even liked Ed; if he went out on a date like that, she'd think he was disgusting. She'd leave before he even got to the restaurant, let alone offered to pay for dinner.

‘There's only one thing you can do, mate,' I said.

chapter twenty-three

The Love CV

‘You told him to what?' Jess said, when I told her the sketchiest details of Ed's predicament.

We were back in the Black Bull. So much for her not drinking with me again. Although, technically, she wasn't drinking with me again in that respect. We were about to go shopping in Morrison's, Horsforth, so we'd done our usual and gone for a fortifying drink down the road beforehand. We used to go shopping every Wednesday night when I lived up in Cookridge years ago. After
Star Trek: Next Generation
, she'd drive round, pick me up, we'd shop then go back to our lives. We'd slipped back into that routine, but this time on Tuesday, after
Star Trek: Voyager.

‘Well, it was either that or cancel the date. And, short of maiming himself and being rushed to casualty – which I'm not sure would've convinced her anyway – he couldn't cancel. Not if he wanted another date with her. It'd taken the poor lad months to work up the courage to ask her out in the first place. Which, I suspect, was why he was in that state.'