Unsuitable Men (15 page)

When we finally stepped outside Wilton’s, the cold air woke me up just in time. Teddy turned to envelop me in another of his rib-crushing embraces, but this time there was something a
little more to it. One of his minuscule hands shot with astonishing stealth under my unbuttoned coat, pulling me against his stomach as he breathed into my hair.

‘You’ve made an old man very happy tonight, Rory, on our “date”. I wonder if you might make me happier still . . .’

He reached his other hand to the back of my head and I realized with horrible clarity that he was about to kiss me. I froze. I didn’t want to push him away too harshly and hurt his
feelings, but nor did I want to be kissed by a man who was a full fifteen years older than my own father. But suddenly he stopped and let me go.

‘No, Rory, I just can’t do it,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I know it’s what you want, you’ve made that clear, with your talk of dating and marriage’
–
had
I? – ‘but one of us has to be strong. I am too old for you. Too old for romance.’

He turned away from me abruptly. I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t think Teddy was too old for romance, just too old for romance with
me
, but I was afraid to protest too
much in case he tried to kiss me again.

He turned back, and reached for my hand. While I stood in dumbfounded silence he bent over and kissed my fingers. ‘I’m sure you understand, Rory, that I’m flattered by your
interest; flattered and honoured. But I think we should part as friends.’

I murmured some polite words of agreement, not sure exactly how I had ended up as the one who was being gently let down. I let him hail me a taxi and we said goodbye on the pavement. I waved out
of the window until we went round the corner.

I really wasn’t at all sure who had turned out to be the unsuitable one tonight.

Ever since I’d moved into Auntie Lyd’s, weekends were the worst. The hours from Friday evening until Monday morning stretched ahead of me as bleakly empty as the
Arctic tundra. Sometimes the weight of the days to be filled kept me immobilized in bed until nearly lunchtime, hoping that would make the time pass more quickly. I wouldn’t want to give you
the impression that Martin and I had spent our weekends on exciting European minibreaks, or indulging in extreme sports, or doing anything out of the ordinary. In fact we rarely did anything in
particular other than wander round the shops, catch up with friends, watch a bit of TV and fall asleep on the sofa after Sunday lunch. But, I had discovered, a weekend of doing nothing with a
partner is entirely different from a weekend of doing nothing alone.

The only good thing about this Saturday was that I didn’t have to tell Lysander or Ticky about my date until Monday. I still wasn’t really sure if it had been a triumph or a
disaster. On one level, I had had a perfectly nice evening with a perfectly nice man who had clearly found me attractive and interesting. On another I had been groped, and then rejected, by a
corpulent geriatric. I realized that writing about these dates for public consumption was going to be harder than I’d thought; it was one thing to put my own dating life up for the amusement
of the website’s limited readership, but quite another to present my dates themselves as inherently laughable. Teddy was a kind man, and I wanted to find a way of conveying that while still
being entertaining enough to earn Amanda’s approval. At least, I supposed, I had the entire empty weekend to work out a way of doing so.

As I trudged downstairs in my pyjamas and dressing gown, I could hear Eleanor’s high, girlish laugh rising up the stairs, suggesting she had a visitor. This was not the kind of laugh she
wasted on either Auntie Lyd or Percy. When I opened the door she was sitting at the kitchen table in her usual bird-like pose, her manicured hands wrapped around a glass. Ever since Percy had made
us all aware of her early morning whisky habit, Eleanor had switched from a teacup to a brazenly unrepentant cut-glass tumbler. I’d asked Auntie Lyd why she didn’t do anything about it,
but she had looked at me with stern disapproval, declaring that as long as Eleanor wasn’t harming anyone she was welcome to behave as she liked. Auntie Lyd had also, rather unnecessarily I
felt, said that as long as I was sulking around the house like a moody teenager, I might want to suspend judgement on how anyone else chose to deal with their own issues. Then she lit another
cigarette.

Leaning against the sink, tools laid out in front of him on the work surface like a surgeon’s bench, was Jim; clearly the beneficiary of Eleanor’s flirtatious giggles.

‘All right, Dawn?’ he said, smiling in my direction with the overconfident star quarterback’s expression that instantly made my hackles rise. ‘Do you live in that
dressing gown or what?’

‘I’ve just got up,’ I muttered crossly. I didn’t need a commentary on my morning habits, least of all from him. Surely one of the benefits of being single is being able
to keep to your own timetable instead of anyone else’s?

‘At eleven o’clock?’

‘I had a late night,’ I said, hoping that this conveyed something more exciting than the truth. Not that I cared what the plumber thought of me, but the whole unsuitable-men project,
embarrassing enough in front of my housemates and work colleagues, became even more so in front of strangers.

‘Rory was on a date, weren’t you, dear?’ said Eleanor, patting the chair next to her. ‘You must come and tell us all about it.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Jim, looking highly entertained as he adjusted a spanner. ‘You must.’ I could see that he had already decided I was the house’s most likely source of
amusement. Despite the fact that he was the one wearing a T-shirt that said:

Did he have an entire wardrobe full of hideous tops?

‘I need tea before I do anything,’ I said, ignoring him as I shuffled over to the kettle.

‘Sorry, Dawn, no water in the kitchen this morning,’ said Jim, leaning against the work surface so that the slogan on his chest was fully visible. I had no idea what donkey sherbet
was, but it sounded absolutely revolting.

‘Seriously?’ I snapped, my hand already on the kettle handle. ‘I suppose I can’t even have a shower, can I?’

‘Don’t panic, Dawn,’ he said, grinning infuriatingly ‘I left the water on upstairs. Just no tea. You’ll live. At least your hair looks better this
morning.’

I would not rise to the bait. I would not, I would not, I would not.

‘I suppose I’ll just have to settle for toast then,’ I said. ‘Unless you’ve disconnected the toaster as well?’

Jim just laughed. He’d taken up far too much space with his tools, seeming to have absolutely no consideration for the fact that people might want to make themselves breakfast. I huffed
and tutted as I pushed the bread down in the toaster, but Jim didn’t even seem to notice as he bantered cheerfully with Eleanor. Watching them together I sulked by the toaster, feeling as if
I was the interloper. Even in her seventies Eleanor was still very beautiful and age had not diminished her charm one bit as she flirted with Jim; all flashing eyes and coquettish hand
gestures.

‘Goodness, Jim,’ she breathed, running a finger slowly round the rim of her glass before touching it to her lips, ‘are those enormous muscles of yours just from wrestling with
pipes?’

Jim looked delighted, although if you ask me he had practically begged for the compliment. No man wears T-shirts that tight without wanting to have his torso commented upon. ‘All from
wrestling, Miss Avery,’ he countered, ‘not necessarily just with pipes.’

Eleanor laughed girlishly. ‘Oh you are terrible, honestly, but I suppose all this hard work keeps you very fit, I’m sure I couldn’t keep up.’

‘I’m sure you could, Miss Avery,’ laughed Jim, glancing over to me as if I might share his amusement at Eleanor’s flirtatious ways. Fresh from my date with Teddy, I felt
infuriated by his assumption. Of course it must be a joke if an older woman chose to flirt with a man at least forty years her junior, I thought bitterly, but no one in Wilton’s had batted an
eyelid at my date with an old-age pensioner. It was a double standard that had me ready to borrow Auntie Lyd’s hessian dungarees and wave an angry placard. Jim clearly thought he, with his
sprayed-on T-shirt and highlighted hair, was far too good for Eleanor. I glared back at him until he looked away.

‘So, Dawn,’ he said as I settled down at the kitchen table with a slice of toast and marmalade. ‘Tell us about this date, then.’

‘Oh yes, do,’ said Eleanor, her eyes bright with interest or whisky or a combination of the two.

‘Er, it was fine,’ I said.

‘Who was he?’ asked Jim, his eyes twinkling as if he found the very idea of me dating comical. Thank God he hadn’t actually seen Teddy in person or he would probably be rolling
around on the floor in hysterics.

‘Just a cousin of a work colleague. He’s a landowner from Scotland, actually,’ I said. ‘He lives on a big estate just outside Perth, but he was down in London on
business.’ I kind of hated myself for showing off about Teddy like this, but it was better than being regarded as a figure of fun.

‘Your aunt said he was nearly
seventy
!’ said Eleanor, unwittingly treacherous. ‘Most unsuitable, I thought. Well done you.’

Jim’s mouth twitched as if he was having trouble keeping a straight face. I stared resolutely at my toast, although now I had no taste for it.

‘Nearly seventy?’ he echoed, sniggering. ‘Sixty-nine, was he?’

‘Sixty-eight, actually. I happen to find older men very charming company,’ I snapped defensively. I didn’t have to justify myself to the plumber.

‘And of course Viagra has completely transformed the over-fifties dating scene,’ Jim said, very seriously.

‘Oh, I
know
!’ giggled Eleanor, and Jim grinned at me again.

Auntie Lyd came stalking into the kitchen with Mr Bits following closely behind; I shrank a little into my chair, knowing she would disapprove of my not being properly dressed at this hour. But
instead she directed her comments at Eleanor.

‘Eleanor Avery, will you please stop sexually harassing poor Jim,’ she said, sweeping past the kitchen table and opening the larder. ‘I don’t know how he is expected to
get any work done with you hanging off his arm like that.’ Mr Bits wound pleadingly around her feet.

‘I’m delighted to be sexually harassed by anyone at all, Miss Bell,’ said Jim affably. ‘Though apparently I’m a bit on the young side for your niece.’

Auntie Lyd smiled over at me indulgently. ‘Morning, Rory. So when you aren’t being distracted by my house guests, Jim, how are you getting on?’

He sighed heavily, and then drew in air through his teeth, shaking his head as he looked at the floor: I wondered if all tradesmen were taught this exact sequence of movements at training
college, to be used on any occasion but with particular application to queries from women. It conveyed, without a single word being exchanged, imminent difficulty, great expense and the complex,
unknowable mystery of the task ahead.

‘In words, please,’ said Auntie Lyd, sensibly not standing for any of this nonsense.

‘In words, Miss Bell, the pipes in your house don’t appear to have been touched since the British Empire governed half the planet,’ said Jim, shoving his hands into his pockets
and shrugging his shoulders. ‘I’ve had a go at patching up the worst bits, but the pipes are just falling apart in my hands. Not to mention I haven’t seen a boiler like yours
since I was a child.’

Auntie Lyd looked at him shrewdly, as if sizing up his reliability. She was also probably speculating why anyone would voluntarily wear a T-shirt that compressed their internal organs like
that.

‘So you’re saying . . . ?’

‘It’s all got to be replaced,’ said Jim. ‘My advice would be that you move out for a fortnight and I can get it all done in one go.’

‘Out of the question,’ said Auntie Lyd, opening a foil pouch of cat food and tipping it out on to a saucer. She placed it on the floor for Mr Bits. ‘Where would we go?
Can’t you do it in stages?’

Jim whistled through his teeth again, and ruffled his hair so that it stood up in tufts. He shifted from one foot to another, resting a hand on the work surface. ‘It’ll take longer
that way,’ he said. ‘And that makes it more expensive.’

‘Not as expensive as finding alternative accommodation for four people at a moment’s notice,’ said Auntie Lyd briskly. ‘I’ve already had half of my paying guests
move out. You’ll just have to work around the rest of us; there’s no other way.’

He rubbed his chin ruefully and shook his head again, as if accepting the job was at great personal inconvenience. ‘If you say so, Miss Bell.’ He offered her a trademark
cheeky-chappie grin.

I rolled my eyes; like he was disappointed this job was going to cost an absolute fortune. Replacing the entire plumbing system at Auntie Lyd’s was going to be able to keep him in tight
T-shirts and cheap blond highlights for the rest of the year.

But Auntie Lyd just smiled. ‘Let me have your quote this week, Jim, and please, do call me Lydia.’ I couldn’t believe even she allowed herself to be charmed by someone as
obvious as the pumped-up plumber. And people said I was useless at identifying unsuitable men. At least I’d spotted this one from a mile away, while Eleanor and Auntie Lyd just swooned over
his muscles.

I retreated to my room, but the constant banging on the pipes seemed to echo through the whole house; I couldn’t hear the radio, or concentrate on reading, so I decided to while away the
afternoon in Clapham instead.

Auntie Lyd had moved to number 32 just before I was born, when Elgin Square, now planted with elegant cherry trees and carefully tended floral borders, was the sleeping ground for the local
homeless population by night, and centre for drug dealers by day. South London was notorious back then, and that was probably part of its appeal for Auntie Lyd, who rather liked to think of herself
as the black sheep of the family, despite the fact that Mum was extremely proud of her actress sister. No one was quite sure how Auntie Lyd had afforded to buy an entire house with her sporadic
income as an actress – although it must be admitted that the early eighties had seen Auntie Lyd’s finest professional hour, when she and seventies sexpot Linda Ellery had played warring
sisters Destiny and Angel in Anglia Television’s
Those Devereux Girls.