A while later, after a particularly vigorous dancing session with the, by now very rowdy, gang from the salon, I suddenly noticed a really good-looking guy. I’m talking stand out from the crowd attractive, with green eyes and a lazy grin, which inhabited a face that all fell into place beautifully. What was even more unusual than spotting somebody so nice looking and seemingly age appropriate in this particular ‘nitespot’ was the fact that he appeared to be looking at me. Though I was only sure of this once I’d taken the precaution of looking over my shoulder, half-expecting to find a supermodel standing behind me, waving daintily at the man of my dreams.
The next thing I knew he seemed to be heading in my direction. Of course there was still a chance this handsome stranger was only on his way over to ask whether I had a pen he could borrow, or to tell me that my hair was on fire, so I stared at the barman, trying to get his attention, so it didn’t look like I was just hovering, waiting to be chatted up, which obviously I was.
‘Let me buy you a drink.’
Pretending to be terribly surprised, I turned around only to be met by the wonderful sight of him in close up. He was absolutely gorgeous. I felt like clapping my hands.
Forty minutes later and I was letting myself be seduced by a real pro. His name was Simon and, as I may have already mentioned, he was very good looking. It crossed my mind that Simon must never, ever meet my sister, for if he did he would realise that she was the sort of girl who was in the same league as him, that is to say the premiership, whereas I’ll do but am probably more second division.
Simon’s eyes searched my face as I spoke, which was very distracting and made it hard to concentrate on anything I was saying. He was charming, funny and complimentary to the point where I was beginning to feel like a bit of a sexpot. The only thing that was weird was that he hadn’t been snapped up already. There was no ring on his finger. I checked. He clearly wasn’t gay, so what was wrong with him?
I decided not to stress about it and instead enjoyed hearing him tell amusing stories, which he peppered with questions and compliments. At one point he commented on my hair. He said that only someone with great cheekbones could get away with such a strong look. I knew they were only words, but hearing them made me swell with pleasure.
Anyway, things with Simon – how grown up is that name? I can’t imagine anyone calling a baby or a toddler Simon – were going swimmingly, when out of the blue he suddenly said, ‘So listen, do you fancy leaving here? I’d like to go somewhere where I don’t have to shout at you over the music. Your place?’ As he said this he looked me up and down in a way that made my belly flip and my nerve endings tingle, for it conveyed perfectly what he had in mind.
Mind racing I tried to work out what to do. Not having built up to the question or bothered with any cheesy coffee euphemisms, he’d rather ambushed me, but the intention was implicit. Did I want him to come back to mine so that we could have sex? The short answer was, yes please. The long answer was more complicated.
The first thing preventing me from diving in with both legs open was the fact that I could predict that if something happened tonight, Simon would probably write it off as a one night stand and I’d never see him again. Whereas I would undoubtedly be left feeling bereft and desolate, having managed to fall in love with him somewhere between now and him leaving. He really was that gorgeous. I’ve probably already alluded to the rather complex issues I have when it comes to men. Growing up, knowing that my dad chose to leave has been hard, and my subsequent, fairly predictable trust issues have resulted in me acquiring a reputation as one of Essex’s most chaste girls, although Hayley’s thoughtfully made up for the two of us on that front. Pre-Gary there weren’t many people round here she didn’t sleep with – another subject I suspect might be taboo in front of Gary and his parents.
The second and most significant reason I wasn’t entirely sure what to do about Simon, is called Andy. I met Andy in Thailand. He’s Australian, loves travelling like me and when we got chatting one day, as we lay lazily alongside each other on hammocks, we instantly hit it off. We ended up sharing two unforgettable, beautiful months together, which only came to an end because I’d run out of money and had to head home. Meanwhile Andy, who’s a registered scuba-diving instructor, was heading to Koh Tao where he knew he’d pick up some work. So our blissful existence came to a natural end, though Andy did promise that once he’d had his fill of Thailand he’d head for Europe.
Now we email all the time and Andy has indeed made it to Europe. He promises England is on his list of places to come but three months on I’m starting to wonder whether he really means it. Being completely honest, I’m a little frustrated with the whole situation. I mean, if he really wanted to see me that badly, Andy could have come here weeks ago. As it is, he seems to be ambling round Europe, determined to see every single continental inch of it before coming here, which won’t give us a great deal of time together before his ticket runs out and it’s time for him to head back to the other side of the world.
And now I found myself faced with the temptation of Simon, and I was starting to think that maybe for once I should put everything out of my head and just sate my desire to have drunk, wonderful sex with this handsome Jude Law lookalike when yet another problem popped into my head. And this one was the real passion killer because for a second I’d forgotten that, age thirty-one, I live with my parents and have a single bed. Fuck. My. Life.
‘We could go to yours?’
‘Not tonight. I’ve got people staying so it would be a bit awkward,’ said Simon.
‘Hmm, well, I’d love you to come back,’ I replied truthfully. ‘But I’ve got work in the morning, so I should probably get home and get some sleep.’
‘What job can be so important on a Sunday morning that you can’t be tired for it?’ he said, looking so intensely into my eyes I had to look away for a second as I was hit with a wave of leg-buckling desire. Distracted by lust, I nearly made the mistake of telling him exactly what I was going to be doing in less than twelve hours, but in the nick of time it hit me that I definitely shouldn’t. Not at this stage anyway because, apart from being a chiropodist – or having a single bed – the truth was about the least sexy thing in the entire world. So I lied.
‘I’ve got an acting job,’ I said, wanting to cling on to the feeling that I was someone sexy and dazzling for a short while longer. Someone like my sister – yes, I know I’m obsessed, but you try being related to a Claudia Schiffer lookalike and see how undamaged you remain.
Simon raised his eyebrows at this, clearly impressed. ‘I should have guessed someone quirky like you would do something interesting.’
‘Well, you know,’ I simpered, shrugging, not one hundred percent liking his use of the word quirky.
‘What are you acting in?’
‘Oh … um … an advert,’ I improvised desperately.
‘Great, I’ll look out for it.’
At that point I realised I hadn’t thought this lie through properly at all. ‘Oh it’s only going out in America,’ I added hastily. ‘It’s for … an airline.’
‘A sexy air hostess eh? I love it,’ said Simon, his eyes darkening as all sorts of inappropriate visions popped into his head, which made me giggle a bit because frankly, whenever I see air hostesses doling out synthetic meals and asking you to do up your seatbelt they never look that sexy to me. Just tired, smothered in foundation, mildly bored, resentful of passengers who are getting on their nerves, and like they’re desperate to take their court shoes off.
‘I can already see you in your uniform, like in those Virgin ads. Gorgeous.’
Not long after this I said my goodbyes. I’d drunk far too many vodkas by now to be coping with all the lies I was having to think of, and I’d also reminded myself that of course I did have work in the morning – that bit was real – so suddenly I was anxious to get some sleep. I wrote my number on a paper napkin and thrust it into his