Cait
Senior moment 1: Dialled a number on my phone. Seconds later, I completely forgot who I’d called.
‘Er … who are you?’ I asked when someone picked up.
‘Kara at Solis hairdressers,’ came the reply. ‘But you called us, who are you?’
*
I decided to skip my walking group again and dropped in to see Debs instead on my way back from the supermarket. ‘Just popped in to say I can’t make our New Age night tomorrow, so thought I’d come and see you now,’ I said when she opened the door. ‘Matt and I are starting the decorating.’
‘No problem. Come on through, I’m in my study. I’m checking the Internet dating sites. Want to have a look?’
‘Sure,’ I said, and followed her into the small room at the back of the house where she had her desk. She pulled up a chair for me and then sat in front of the screen, which showed the photo of a man with a beard.
‘I don’t think so, Mike from Bristol,’ said Debs as she clicked away from his photo then began to scroll down to show a list of different men. Mark from Trowbridge.
‘Looks like an axe murderer,’ I commented.
Geoffrey from Weymouth. ‘Hmm. Probably a nice man but he really ought to have put some teeth in for his profile shot,’ said Debs.
Eric from Kelston – he’d used a photo of George Clooney. ‘Yeah right, Eric, who are you trying to kid?’ I said.
Jake from Bathford. ‘Looks like an extra from Lord of the Rings,’ said Debs. ‘I know looks aren’t everything, but hobbits just aren’t my type.
Liam from Corston. ‘Now he looks cute. Have a look at what he’s said about himself. Oh. He’s seeking a woman twenty to thirty years old. No way could I pass for that, even by candlelight. You’re missing out on the delights of an older woman, Liam,’ Debs said to the screen, ‘I’ve done a weekend of Tantra. OK, so I managed to lose my husband on the course, but I have skills to blow your mind, just no one to practise them on.’
‘Carry on,’ I said. ‘There has to be someone decent on here.’
Debs continued to scroll down. ‘Arghhh. How am I supposed to know who to pick,’ she said as we continued to look at the site. ‘Dave from Saltford – nah. Jake from Barnstaple – nah. Richard from Plymouth – nah. Am I too fussy, Cait?’
‘Not at all. Let me see what you’ve written on your profile.’
Debs found the section describing her and clicked it up so I could see. ‘Middle-aged lady,’ she read from the screen. ‘Does that make me sound ancient?’
‘Maybe.’
‘I don’t feel middle aged but I’m forty-seven. Mature?’
‘No. Sounds like a cheese.’
‘Immature? Childish. Daft as a brush. God, this is hard. I’d put that I am curvy but would men read fat? Dark hair, brown eyes.’
‘That sounds OK, and what have you written that you’re looking for?’
‘Someone loyal, faithful, likes walks in the country, enthusiastic about life. Surely that’s not asking too much?’
‘Sounds reasonable to me, Debs.’ I felt a pang of guilt. Tom was in a different league to these men on the website. Debs would love him and he’d probably like her if he met her. They were both single, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
‘What about the men you’ve seen so far? Have any of them been in touch since you met them?’
‘All disasters and no, they haven’t been back in touch, and neither have I with them.’
‘Why?’
‘Ralph from Bath asked if I’d always been a big girl? The cheek of him. I’m only a size sixteen and he was hardly Mr Perfect, but I’ve learnt fast that many of the men online want a slim young babe, and for a different sort of exercise than a walk in the country.’
‘What about that Arthur chap? He sounded as if he was OK.’
‘The one from Rudloe? Absolutely not. We sat in silence through most of the date then he insisted we split the bill. “I didn’t have a second glass of wine,” he said as he totted up every item on his calculator. “So yours is more.”’
‘Tight bastard.’
‘Exactly. Although I believe in equal rights, I do have a romantic notion that it’s nice to be paid for on a first date; in fact generosity was one of the qualities I put down that I was looking for. The man before that, Jonathan from Corsham, spent the whole evening telling me about his late wife. I was sympathetic but, after an hour, I just wanted to escape. Bereavement counsellor wasn’t the role I was hoping for in a new relationship.’
‘What do you really want?’ I asked.
‘Someone who adores me, loves me unconditionally, and whose face lights up whenever he sees me. If I put that online, men would run a mile. It sounds too needy. My horoscope in this morning’s paper said that I need to broaden my horizons. Maybe that’s what I should do.’
‘OK. I know a site that might be the one for you. Move over, let me find it.’
Debs and I swapped places and I clicked on a few links until I found the one I wanted and scrolled down. ‘Right. Try this site, and if we don’t find anyone then you can give up, but maybe it’s time to take a last chance.’
Debs looked at the page I had brought up and smiled. ‘OK. Alfie – cute, ditto Ben,’ she said as I scrolled down through the choices. ‘Bruno, hmm? He looks mischievous. Fred? Says he’s lively and fun. A maybe for him. But so far, so good, Cait. Go onto the next page. George.’ A handsome face stared out of the screen at us. ‘Hey, I like the look of him.’
‘Me too,’ I said as I clicked on his profile and began to read. ‘A bit older than the others. It says he’s been alone for six months, since his family moved abroad.’
‘I know how that feels,’ said Debs. ‘With Orlando in the States with his dad at the moment, I miss him so much. Although we Skype, it’s no substitute for being in the same room.’
‘I know. I feel like that with Sam and Jed being away and I know Lorna does with her three gone. We all miss our kids. Gone are the days when families all lived within a few streets of each other, hey?’
Debs nodded and looked back at George’s face. ‘He has a hint of sadness in his eyes, as if he’s lost someone and been lonely too. But it couldn’t work, Cait. George is a Labrador on an animal rescue site. It wouldn’t be fair to take him if I can’t look after him properly, and I have too many work commitments to do that at present.’
‘Don’t look at me like that, George,’ I said as I closed down the site. ‘You’ll get a home soon. I’m sure you will.’
‘You take him,’ said Debs.
‘I’d love to, but Yoda would leave home.’
‘So … what about hooking me up with your long-lost lover?’
‘Long-lost lover?’ I knew exactly who she meant.
‘The one on Facebook.’
‘Oh him? Tom?’
‘Yes.’
‘I told you, he lives in LA.’
‘I could fly.’
‘Last thing you need is a long-distance lover. I told you, Debs, he’s not the one for you. He was a player when I knew him, so not what you need after Fabio.’
She sighed. ‘You’re so lucky to have a man like Matt. I do hope you appreciate that.’
‘I do,’ I said. ‘Of course I do.’ Mentally, I scratched off the list any option of a heart-to-heart with Debs about the true state of my marriage.
‘Did you mention the idea of counselling to him?’
‘I did and, as I thought he would, he said no way.’
‘Want me to talk to him?’
‘You? No!’
‘So who does he talk to?’
‘His brother Duncan.’
‘Isn’t he a stoner?’
‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean they can’t talk to each other.’
‘Well, let me know if I can do anything.’
‘I will,’ I said. I won’t, I thought. I needed to change the subject away from Matt, and Debs could always be distracted by my offering to indulge in one of her therapies. ‘OK. How about this? We do a bit of Gestalt to get all your rage about Fabio out and see what you really want.’
‘Great idea,’ she said.
‘Right, you know what to do, pick two cushions,’ I said. ‘A light one to represent your positive side, a dark one to represent your negative side. Then let it all out, Debs, the good and bad.’
‘Will do.’ She picked up a dark purple velvet cushion and a light silk sand one. She sat on the purple one. ‘OK, so here I am, in my forties, on my own, not had sex for yonks and my partner left me. I feel like a love loser.’
‘OK, now your positive side,’ I said.
She moved to sit on the light cushion. ‘So, Debs, you must take responsibility and move forward. What do I want? You want? We want? Hmm. I want a man who is emotionally intelligent, sexy as hell, well read, generous of mind, body and spirit and … must have nice hands.’
She moved back over to the dark cushion. ‘And no way does he exist, you stupid idiot. You’re so naïve. Grow up, get in the real world. You have to compromise. Prince Charming, Mr Darcy: the perfect man does not exist except in movies.’
She went back to the light cushion. ‘God, you’re negative oh you, me, when on the purple cushion. Seek and you will find. Trust and it will come to you. Don’t give up. Life is what you make it. Stay positive.’
Back to the dark cushion. ‘Give up, Debs, you’ll never find the kind of man you want. Get a cat or a dog as Lorna and Cait keep suggesting. Only they will love you unconditionally, and actually the cat won’t, they are independent buggers, only dogs love totally. And you can’t get a dog because you’re out all day, still like to travel and any dog you owned would die of loneliness. Basically, you’re fucked.’
Back to the light cushion. ‘That’s not nice, so you can fuck off yourself and anyway, you’re only a cushion. What do you know?’
I was laughing so hard, I almost choked. ‘Oh no, your light and dark sides are fighting.’
‘I know. It’s not going well is it? It’s been a while since I’ve done the cushion therapy. How about a bit of primal screaming to get out all the negativity? We have to scream as loud and as long as possible, right from deep down within.’
‘What about your neighbours?’ I asked.
She picked up the purple cushion, put her face in it to muffle the sound and let rip. ‘Warghhhhhhhhhhh.’ She came up for breath then went down again. ‘Warghhhhhhhhhhh.’
She indicated that I should do the same so I picked up a red cushion. Why not? I thought, and had a good scream into it.
It did make me feel marginally better.
‘And now a cushion to represent Fabio,’ said Debs. She picked a blue one this time. ‘I’ll say all the things I want to say to him but won’t let myself to his face because I don’t want to give him the pleasure of seeing how hurt I was.’ She placed the cushion on the floor then stomped on it and kicked it about the room. ‘Take that, you lousy slug. I hate you, you were a rubbish lover and Miss Tantric Sex is welcome to you and your small pickle of a willy. Picklewilly, that’s you. God knows you’ll both need all the Tantric tricks she can muster.’ A few more kicks, then she’d finished. She didn’t seem at all bothered that I’d been sitting laughing my head off during it all.
‘Great. I feel better already. It’s always better out than in,’ said Debs. ‘Right, what else can we try? We could realign our chakras with crystals?’