‘Rough weekend?’ asked Caitlin, the pierced and punky secretary at J&L Communications, as Lucy pushed through the revolving door on Monday morning, sunglasses firmly in place despite the grey clouds outside.
‘Wedding,’ Lucy grimaced, pushing her glasses on top of her head.
‘Ouch!’ Caitlin grinned sympathetically.
Lucy walked up the stairs and pushed open the door to her office, approaching her pod unenthusiastically as she surveyed the pile of work she had left in her ‘To Do’ tray on Friday. She felt sure that today was going to be more than a little bit painful, marvelling at how much longer a hangover took to disappear in your thirties than it had in the previous decade. Her spirits were flagging; she still hadn’t heard from Alex and was mentally preparing to add him to her long list of failed first encounters and disappointments. She had spent the whole weekend constantly checking her messages to no avail. It almost felt worse this time because she had had such high hopes for him. To add insult to injury, Jack walked past at that very moment. Her stomach lurched at the sight of him.
‘Lucy,’ he said as he strode past her desk. ‘Good weekend?’
‘Lovely thanks,’ she said, simpering like a nervous schoolgirl.
‘Get up to much?’ he asked with a flirtatious smile.
‘It was my best friend’s wedding actually. I was her maid of honour.’
Jack moved slightly closer so as not to be overheard and muttered ‘Any fumbles with the best man?’
‘None of your business!’ she laughed. She found his sheer arrogance alarmingly attractive, the way he raised an eyebrow and smiled knowingly when she spoke to him as though mentally undressing her. She was sure that he never listened to a word she said. He gave her a wink and made his way across the room to his office.
Trying to steady her beating heart, Lucy was grateful for the arrival of her pod mates, Lettie and Simon. She pushed all thoughts of Jack to one side and spent the first hour or so chatting to them both about their weekends whilst simultaneously scanning the right-hand column of the Daily Mail website, updating her already impressive knowledge of inane celebrity gossip. She knew that this was about all the intellectual capacity she was currently capable of.
A beep from her mobile interrupted her while she was deep into a depressing article about how many women were now childless at forty. She reached for her phone. ‘Alex’ was displayed on the screen. She felt like she had been punched in the gut with adrenalin and let out a yelp of excitement, prompting a flurry of questions from both Lettie and Simon, asking her what, exactly, she had neglected to tell them about her weekend. She ignored them and frantically read the message:
Dear Lucy. Sorry I didn’t get in touch yest – no charger. Just got to office – Sat night was amazing. Drinks/dinner soon? Alex
Lucy’s mood rocketed from somewhere near the bottom of her boots towards the ceiling. She felt as though she had been given a shot of Red Bull to the heart. She punched the air, shouting ‘YES!’ before leaning back in her chair, a grin splitting her face from ear to ear.
Simon and Lettie were fighting over themselves to grab her phone and read the text, bombarding her with a thousand questions and demanding to know the surname of this mysterious Alex so they could Google him immediately. Alexander Hayes of Westbury’s law firm was one of the top results, as Lucy knew only too well having done the exact same thing many times over the last couple of days. Simon and Lettie both swooned over his photograph, declaring him too handsome to be true. Lucy was inclined to agree and had to use every ounce of self-restraint to resist texting him back immediately to say yes. She knew how important it was to play it cool despite feeling ready to burst with excitement at the thought of him.
It was, as predicted, a long, arduous day at work, despite the added bonus of Alex’s text to distract her. At the best of times, Lucy found her job painfully dull. The initial thrills of office life – gossiping with friends at the water fountain, the coffee machines, the hum of chatter and clacking of busy fingers on keyboards – had seemed an exciting new world to a wide-eyed twenty-three year old fresh out of university. She had even enjoyed the commute, the buzz of Londoners going about their busy lives and the surge of bodies thronging the pavements from five o’clock onwards, either making their way home or, most often in Lucy’s case, to the nearest wine bar. But as the years had passed the novelty had worn off, and she longed for something more meaningful, a sense of doing something worthwhile, something which would have a positive impact on the world. She was envious of those around her who could find that sense of purpose through their work, and she struggled with the feeling that all the efforts she put in on a daily basis were meaningless. It felt like nothing more than a waste of time and energy.
Today was no exception and she sat through her final meeting brainstorming ideas to market the latest super food, daydreaming of Alex and planning a reply to his text, one eye on the clock as the minutes ticked slowly by. Lettie and Simon had agreed that she had to wait until nine p.m. to reply.
As the clock reached six, Lucy shut down her computer. After a short battle with the lazy part of her mind which wanted nothing more than to slump on the tube, she forced herself to go to the bathroom and change into her running kit. These days she tried to run home a couple of times a week in an effort to keep her weight under control. She had always loved her food but the older she got the harder it was to eat what she liked and keep the pounds from piling on. She also relished the opportunity to straighten out her thoughts, unclutter her mind and appreciate the effects that the changing seasons had on her route home. Sometimes she would stop off to see her granny on the way; she adored her grandmother Annie more than anyone and tried to see her at least once a week. Annie had been down in Cornwall for the last couple of weeks staying with Lucy’s parents and Lucy missed her. She would love to tell her all about Alex, but it would have to wait until she was no longer in her mother’s earshot!
As her feet pounded the pavements the music from her iPod danced in her ears. Spring was Lucy’s favourite time of the year. She saw the buds blooming to bursting point in the hedges and flower beds as she ran around the Serpentine Lake in Hyde Park. The setting sun cast a soft pink glow on the still waters, a flutter of birds skimmed along the surface of the lake.
Lucy quickened her pace and felt her breath coming in faster gulps, gritting her teeth as she felt the burn in her legs, still stiff from the dance floor and her stilettos.
Her energy levels depleted rapidly as she left the park and headed for home. She decided to walk the remainder of her route, taking the opportunity to phone her mother, Ginny, to tell her all about the wedding. She skimmed over the encounter with Alex for fear of raising her mother’s hopes. She was only too well aware of her desire for grandchildren and had lost count of the number of times Ginny had ‘subtly’ hinted that Lucy might like to get a move on and settle down. She was convinced that Lucy was too picky, that she needed to lower her standards and expectations. If she had any idea that Lucy’s fantasy of late involved a married man with children she might change her opinion of her daughter in this respect. Gus, Lucy’s beloved dad, was constantly telling his wife to butt out and leave her alone, for which she was eternally grateful. He knew that she would settle down when the time was right for her. Ginny passed her onto Annie and Gus for a quick word; she had to bite her tongue not to spill the beans to her granny knowing full well that Ginny would be eavesdropping close by. She rounded the corner onto Mayfield Road just as she said her goodbyes.
Lucy slid her key into the lock and pushed open the front door with a click. She unstrapped her backpack as she climbed the three flights of stairs to her flat, unlocking the door of her little haven and flinging her bag and keys onto the kitchen table.
Once showered she settled into the familiar routine of making spaghetti bolognese, opening a bottle of red to go in the sauce and pouring herself a glass at the same time. She looked at the clock, eight thirty p.m., half an hour until her self-imposed deadline.
She watched an episode of Masterchef while eating her dinner, savouring the rich, hearty flavour of the meat sauce, scattered with large flakes of salty parmesan. She took a slug of Malbec, enjoying the slightly light-headed feeling that increased with each sip as the stress of her day ebbed away.
At nine o’clock, she allowed herself to send her reply:
Alex, great to meet you on Saturday. My feet are still aching from my dancing shoes! Drinks/dinner sounds good. Let me know when, L x
With a pang of excitement, she pressed send. She hoped her reply would show him that she was keen, but not desperate. She wanted him to think she had plenty of other offers, not that he was the first man to have piqued her interest this much in years.
As Lucy poured herself another glass of wine, she reflected on her single status. She had always assumed that, at thirty-five, she would have been married for years and have at least two children by now. She wasn’t entirely sure how her life had turned out so differently. She had started off in the same boat as all of her girlfriends; endlessly analysing every little detail about all their crushes, lovers and flings. Slowly working out who or what they were looking for, shared experiences and failed romances offering new wisdom. One by one, they had met their matches and paired off, a slow and steady process, each new coupling filling Lucy with excitement and anticipation, as well as a touch of jealousy. As she watched the final years of her twenties disappear, she and Claudia would toast each other every New Year’s Eve and vow that this, this would be their year. Finally, their turn would come. And, for Claudia, at twenty-eight, it did. So the probability grew higher that Lucy would be next. Surely.
As she turned thirty, she became less convinced. She began to feel bitter and resentful whenever she thought about how unfair life was. As the years continued to roll by, Lucy was stricken with moments of doubt. Sheer panic would set in. What if there was something wrong with her? What if she never met someone? What if she was the exception to the rule? No one could guarantee that there was someone out there, perfectly suited, just for her. And even if there was, what actually were the chances of that person crossing paths with her? There were seven billion people on this planet… And what if the man she was meant to be with was already married, to the wrong woman? What if he already had children?
As hard as she tried to push these negative thoughts out of her mind, she struggled to keep them at bay, settling on keeping them to herself instead, and developing a dry and sardonic approach to her single status when asked, using humour as a method of defence as she regaled couples with hilarious tales of her forays into the dating scene. Her go-to story guaranteed to have everyone in stitches was the time when a so-called friend had set her up on a blind date with a guy called Henry. They had met in a pub in central London after work. Henry had appeared perfectly normal at first; they had enjoyed some small talk over several glasses of wine before ordering some dinner. Just as Lucy had begun to think maybe this blind dating malarkey wasn’t such a bad idea after all, Henry had leant seductively across the table to give her a kiss. Alarm bells should have rung: rather than a gentle graze of lip across lip Lucy was left with a curious wet patch on her chin. Not to be deterred, she finished her meal. Henry had insisted on settling their bill which was always a good sign as far as Lucy was concerned. After fetching their coats they had made their way to the tube. As they said goodbye, Henry leant in for another kiss. Lucy angled her face bravely towards him and closed her eyes. Nothing could have prepared her for the horror that followed. Henry’s mouth was somewhere between a washing machine on full spin and a Hoover on full suction – the lower part of her face was incomprehensibly engulfed in wet slobber. Lucy squirmed in protest and tried to wrench herself free from Henry’s grip, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve in disgust as she did so. An awkward barrage of excuses followed from Lucy as she beat a hasty retreat into the underground system, desperate to get away from Henry before he mounted a repeat attack. As she sat on the tube, she grappled in her handbag for her mirror, pulling it out and inspecting the damage. To her absolute horror she found the red bruising of a love bite smattered across her mouth and chin. She had had no choice but to pull a sicky the next day and she refused to leave the house until the marks had disappeared. Needless to say she had not seen Henry again. She had given the friend who had set her up strict warnings against allowing some other unsuspecting soul to fall victim to the same fate. As she entertained the masses with her stories she would see a look of quiet relief in their eyes that they were not standing in her shoes; a look of thanks aimed at their partner.
Lucy’s phone beeped, shaking her from her reverie. She opened the message:
Dancing shoes currently hanging in cupboard, recovering. Mondays always hard but doubt my clients got much out of me today! Something to look forward to? Friday, Piccadilly Circus, 8pm? A x
Lucy’s heart danced the tango and she did a victory jig around her coffee table. A date! Hooray! She immediately texted Simon, Lettie and Claudia.
How refreshing, Lucy thought, to receive a text from a man who has taken control, suggested a time and a place, and got on with it. Unlike so many men before him who were just all talk and no action.
She finished her wine and her episode of Masterchef, a contented smile playing at the corners of her mouth, before getting ready for bed. As she pulled the warm duvet around her, feeling the reassuring weight of it settle over her body, she reached for her phone and texted back:
Great idea. See you on Friday, looking forward to it. L x
She lay back and closed her eyes, falling asleep within minutes, her mind full of possibility.