It was a decision she came to lying in the bath. Relaxing in the warm water in the privacy of her own bathroom she could think. Two forbidden men stirring her up in one day must mean something. And after months – years - of having felt nothing but browned off about the opposite sex. All Jack’s fault she muttered to herself as she wrung out her flannel, mentally throttling him with her bare hands.
‘He’s a bastard, he’s a bastard,’ she fumed, twisting and squeezing a last drop. One final ‘he’s a bastard’ and she hauled herself out of the water. Time to take stock. She stood naked in front of the mirror, narrowing her eyes to scrutinise the image facing her, casting her eyes down from her breasts, definitely droopy, to be expected after three babies, to what the children called ‘the muffin top’ underneath, a soft roll of flesh, to her waist which was barely visible, to her thighs which she liked to call ‘Rubenesque’ and her legs which were in good shape so long as she didn’t turn round to reveal protruding varicose veins behind the left knee. The vision was topped by a face with fine features, age lines softened by a slight plumpness, grey eyes and a head of thick grey hair which framed her face. Not bad for a woman about to enter another decade?
There were in fact two decisions made that evening: one was to join a gym and the other was to venture into the world of dating. If her sexuality had been merely in hibernation for the last few years rather than totally extinct she could see her moment of weakness with Jim not so much as sinful as a wake-up call. She had a vision of a squirrel exiting its burrow after the freeze of winter, nibbling a nut and fluffing its tail in the warm spring sunshine. But such feelings needed directing. She would have to think carefully. What to do?
The first answer she gave herself was – ring Susie, who, on her third marriage, she considered a fount of knowledge about life. The second answer, instinctively, was to tell herself to be careful what she said to the children even though, or perhaps because, they were all grown up. Should she tell them? With these thoughts and having arranged to meet Susie the next day she took herself to bed to sleep fitfully and to dream of a grey squirrel busy burying a huge pile of nuts that kept popping up out of the ground as fast as it dug a hole.
The following day was Saturday and the sun was shining. Effie had arranged to meet Susie at their favourite haunt, Cafe Contini. They ordered skinny lattes from the Italian-looking waiter, Marco, who was actually from Bulgaria, and settled themselves at one end of the long wooden communal table where from behind an array of pots of jam and honey they had a vantage-point view of the establishment.
‘Nothing to eat for the madams today?’ queried Marco.
‘No grazie, Marco, not today.’ Effie patted her stomach, and turned to her friend ‘I hope you’re impressed by the fact that I have not ordered an almond croissant.’
‘Bowled over. So? You’re either not feeling well or Dr Gordon has finally made an impact?’
‘Neither, but... well, maybe it is partly because of him. He did tell me to get out more. So I’ve been thinking’ and Effie leant across the table, lowering her voice. ‘Do come closer, Susie, I don’t want the whole cafe to hear. So what do you think about me trying to find someone. I mean a new man in my life?’
‘Why darling, of course you must have a man in your life’ exclaimed Susie loudly. ‘What a marvellous idea. I’ve been wondering what you’ve been waiting for?’
‘I didn’t know I had been waiting’ said Effie, ‘just felt like it all went dead when Jack left, and there were the children, and Daisy’s arrival, you know...’
Susie ‘s heavily made-up eyes opened wide. ‘But having children in your life isn’t a reason not to have a man in your life.’ She stirred her latte vigorously. ‘I mean, look at me. I’ve never found it difficult to find a man even though I do have two hulking great grown up children. There are lots of men out there over 50 still looking for a gorgeous mature lady.’
‘Susie, you know perfectly well I’m about to turn 60.’
‘So? Give or take a few years. You look great for your age. A bit too fat but you can’t have it all.’
‘Thanks. Anyway, the other thing is, you’ll be pleased to hear, I’ve joined a gym...’ Susie’s eyes widened again ‘and to prove my good intentions, I’m cutting down on unnecessary sugar, least... ‘she paused to hail Marco ‘the trouble is, going to the gym makes me feel hungrier than ever. Shall we at least share a croissant?’
‘Effie, you’ve got to take this business seriously, you know.’
‘I have?’ Effie sighed and ordered the one croissant.` Did I ever tell you about the woman at work who wanted to lose weight? She thought she could get skinnier by drinking umpteen skinny lattes.’
They laughed, and with the arrival of the pastry began to plot a campaign of action so that by the time Effie reached home that evening she had rekindled some enthusiasm which she knew was necessary if she was to brave the reality of on-line dating. Somewhere in her mind was a dormouse scurrying back into its hole. She sat at her computer staring at a blank screen. Susie had regaled her with the names of dating sites, newspaper dating pages and agencies and told her to get on with it. ‘Not so easy’ complained Effie. ‘I don’t know where to begin. All very well for you with a steady devoted husband behind you.’
‘They weren’t all devoted! Third time lucky for me. And maybe for you it’ll be better second time round.’
And so Sunday found Effie ensconced with her computer, her phone and a pile of papers, names and numbers, trying to sort out some sort of search strategy, only to find after one hour and ten minutes that her computer was playing up, refusing to follow instructions despite every effort to click, re-boot or shift material. In utter frustration Effie did the thing she had told herself she would not do, that is, ring one of her children. Leo was the obvious person to consult as the IT man of the family and she felt she simply couldn’t wait. Enthusiasm could be fickle.
Leo responded with alacrity to his mother’s call for help.
‘Leo, darling, sorry to bother you on a Sunday but I’ve got this awful virus..’
‘Oh, Mum, poor you. You should have told me you weren’t well ‘.
‘No, no, I’m fine, but the computer isn’t. You couldn’t give me a hand could you?’
True to form, Leo soon had the technical problem sorted out. ‘Is this what you wanted, Mum?’ he asked as the words ‘Dream Dating’ flashed up at the top of the screen.
‘I ‘m afraid so’ Effie grimaced, apologetic. ‘I’m just sort of trying to brush up my social life. I mean, you don’t mind, or think it unsuitable, do you?’
‘Mum, not at all, but I think I’ll leave you to it.’ And with this stamp of approval, he rose to go, giving Effie a fatherly pat on the shoulder as he left.
‘You will be discrete, Leo, won’t you’ she called after him ‘I mean, you know...’
‘My lips are sealed, Mum.’
Half an hour later, however, there was a call first from Cathy and then from Jane. ‘So what’s this I hear? Dating?’ exclaimed Cathy. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’ A more encouraging ‘fine, so long as you promise never to talk about sex’ from the latter. So the next Saturday afternoon, with Susie’s help, Effie got down to the task of finding herself a mate. She sat at her computer at the living room table which was strewn with papers, files, mugs, a teapot, a plate of biscuits. This was serious business. They started by reading the weekend newspaper dating columns before moving on to a dating agency called ‘Arcadia’ that had sent Effie a bundle of profiles of prospective partners and they were sifting through them, placing them into three piles: ‘no-hopers’, ‘possible but unlikely’, and ‘give it a go’. The pile of ‘no-hopers’ was growing with alarming speed. ‘How can there be so many duds?’ complained Effie. ‘I mean I may be a bit fussy, but even so... This Felix sounds Ok but just look at his photo. That great bristly beard and funny shaped head. It’d be like going out with a toilet brush.’
‘Well, try the papers. There’s not so much to read there, and the photos come later.’
‘OK then, how about this’ and she read... ‘John is a sensitive man who is looking for an equally sensitive lady to share his aesthetic appreciation of the exquisiteness of nature and the finer qualities of life...’ I’d be scared of putting a not so delicate foot in it.’
Susie raised an eyebrow behind her tortoiseshell glasses, ‘But listen to this one: ‘Romeo of mature years eager to meet an equally mature Juliet, hoping to change Shakespeare’s tragic ending into a happy ever after story.’ well he’s hopeful’ she chortled as she put him in the ‘unlikely’ pile and Effie screeched with laughter. ‘God, I just want somebody ordinary.’
‘We carry on’ commanded Susie ` there must be somebody here who grabs your interest.’
Effie sighed but continued her task. The result of it all was a large pile of ‘no hopers’, a smaller pile of ` possible but unlikely’, and a mere two in the ‘give it a go’. Effie sank back exhausted, glimpsing at her watch: five to six. ‘I think we can open the bar five minutes early tonight. We deserve it’ she said as she opened a bottle of Chardonnay, ‘even if it’s not much of an outcome. I mean, Susie, do you realise that between us we’ve looked at thirty to forty profiles, read fifty to sixty ads and flicked through six sites and about a hundred entries. Out of all that we’ve settled on two which is something like a one percent success rate and I haven’t even met anyone yet which suggests that... ‘Effie was warming to her task as she poured out two large glasses...’ assuming there is a considerable drop out rate amongst the people I actually meet, I’m going to need to cast my eyes over the details of maybe a couple of thousand men. Cause to celebrate?’
Susie, not to be deflected, replied with some irritation that everyone knew statistics always got something wrong and Effie should control her calculating urges. ‘A hundred years ago a woman of your age couldn’t possibly have done this sort of thing’. Which was quite unnecessary for her to point out, but if Susie thought Effie ungrateful she needed to smooth things over and she gave her friend a comforting pat on the arm. ‘I do appreciate all your help, Susie, couldn’t do this without you. Here, have another glass.’
So the evening finished amicably with agreement that first place would go to a man called Simon whose picture they both liked, clean – shaven, relaxed expression, regular features, who described his interests as classic cars (always useful), classical music (cultured), climbing (adventurous) and caring for a collie dog (good to be caring). All ‘Cs’, too, which appealed to Effie’s sense of order. He was in his early 60s, five foot ten and worked in the area of the media (films, television?)
Simon had been extracted from one of the Arcadia profiles and Susie was explaining the procedure. The next step was for Effie to send back her choices and if all went well and there was a match the agency would set up a rendezvous for the two at a particular restaurant.
‘You mean, I take myself to this unknown restaurant to meet an unknown man?’
‘Exactly, but he sounds OK.He’s not too anything. You said you wanted ordinary. Come on, let’s send them off.’
Effie slept surprisingly well that night. No dreams. She considered this on her way to work the next day. There was definitely some sense of relief to have done something. She was looking forward to meeting some new people, and hoped she would get to meet this Simon even if he wasn’t likely to be the love of her life. She was wary of letting herself get too excited anyway after Jack. His departure had been such a crushing blow to her ego, her confidence, her sexuality. She rose to get off at her stop as the branch of a cherry tree heavy with blossom brushed the bus window and for a moment she felt touched, delighted by its blousy beauty. Life had its beautiful side and she felt better today than she had in a while as she set off on the familiar route to her office. A small flame of excitement about life opening up was flickering. And if she kept her focus firmly on Simon, she could anticipate some relief from that uncomfortable niggle she had experienced on visiting Cathy since those wayward feelings of the other week. She hated the word ‘guilt’, but that’s probably what it was, that hard little peanut.