were sloping off to wives and partners and a civilized glass of Chardonnay, ‘plus I had lunch with a firm near us so I nipped back home.’ Matt regarded him nervously. Jake smiled and slapped his back. ‘Fear not,’ he assured Matt, ‘there was no bunny boiling on the stove, no messages on the answerphone and the flat was just as we left it.’
‘Three days of silence,’ Matt said. ‘Perhaps she’s genuinely cool about things. Or do you think she’s planning something?’
‘Your wedding?’ Jake glibly suggested. ‘Or your death,’ he tempered, on observing Matt’s horror.
‘Come on,’ Matt said, walking into the Crown and Goose, ‘lager?’
‘Actually,’ says Fen, looking imploringly at the barmaid and darkly at Jake, ‘I was next.’
‘Two pints of Carlsberg,’ Jake ordered, momentarily and conveniently deaf; looking squarely at Fen before turning on the charm for the barmaid. Giving Jake an accidentally-on-purpose jab with her elbow and a look of utter distaste, Fen raised her eyebrows at the barmaid in a ‘Men! Pah!’ kind of way, hoping to appeal to her feminist proclivities or sense of conduct at the very least. The barmaid, however, was silently praising God that the softball season had started early and, though it gave her no satisfaction to blank Fen, it gave her much pleasure to serve Jake, even more so because she had pipped Sonia, who’d worked there longer, to the post. Fen started humming Aretha Franklin’s ‘Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves’ but the irony was lost on the barmaid who was engrossed in Jake’s tip and smile; both disproportionate to the service she had provided.
‘Come on come on!’ Abi implored Fen when she returned with what were definitely doubles, ‘more Matt!’
‘Yes,’ said Gemma, ‘details.’
Fen, all of a sudden slightly sloshed, was happy to oblige. ‘I was chuffed that he came to the lecture. I think he was genuinely interested, his father championing Julius and all.’
‘Oh God, not that bloody bloody sculptor,’ Abi cried, swiping her brow as if a mammoth headache had descended.
‘Come on,’ Gemma nudged, ‘vital statistics.’
‘I told you,’ Fen said, ‘he’s tall. Ish. And good-looking. Ish. And blond.’
‘Ish?’ asked Gemma.
‘Well – dark blond. Ish?’
‘Natural?’ asked Abi.
‘I would hope so,’ said Fen primly.
‘God, for an art historian, your powers of description are terrible,’ Abi teased.
‘Just because he’s flesh and blood and not stone or metal doesn’t excuse you from technicolor detail,’ Gemma added.
‘I’ve only been there four days!’ Fen remonstrated. ‘I just quite fancy him. Not specifically for his looks. Or his personality. He just seems …’ she stopped and her jaw dropped.
‘Just?’ Abi prompted.
‘Seems?’ Gemma pressed.
‘Over there,’ Fen said.
Thank God the bar was noisy enough for the ensuing squeaks of delight and giggles of excitement from Fen’s group to go unheard. Thank God the bar was crowded enough to dissipate the heat from three sets of eyes burning into Matt.
‘Oh God,’ Fen cried, ‘what do I do? Smile? Wave? Ignore? Die? Loo? Home?’ Gemma took Fen’s left hand and gave it a quick but tight squeeze. ‘Has he seen me?’ Fen asked. ‘Has he?’
‘Delicious,’ Gemma said, not quite knowing if she should be raising a glass to Matt or his friend.
‘You certainly haven’t done him justice,’ said Abi, ‘you didn’t say about the facial hair.’
‘The other one, the other one!’ Fen said, wishing she could just stare at one spot and keep her eyes from continually flitting over to the boys.
‘I rather like the look of the-other-one-the-other-one,’ Gemma said, ‘I’ve never had a man with a goatee. I quite like them. I rather think they could tickle my fancy – if strategically placed.’
‘I’ve had one,’ Abi declared, ‘very strategically positioned. In fact, it tickled my fancy so much, I had a fit of the giggles and fanny-farted in his face.’
‘Shush!’ Fen pleaded. ‘Stop! Where are you going?’
‘Over there,’ Gemma said.
‘To make our acquaintance,’ Abi said, ‘to see if he passes muster and whether he warrants our seal of approval and, therefore, whether we grant you our go-ahead.’
‘Oh God, he’s seen me. I’m going to the loo,’ said Fen, who didn’t need to go and didn’t know why she wanted to disappear. She went, though, and stood by the sinks for a while trying to compose herself, compose what to say. She was simultaneously excited yet felt a certain timidity too. She was bemused.
Abi and Gemma were also bemused.
‘Shy? Fen?’
‘Why?’
‘That girl has spent far too long persuading herself that art nourishes her every need,’ said Gemma.
‘And she’s spent far too long listening to us bang on about the Inevitable Bastard Element Of All Males,’ said Abi, ‘though it’s a risk she’ll just have to take. I mean, we do, don’t we?’
‘We do,’ Gemma confirmed, ‘and it’s often Fen who picks us up when we’re in pieces.’
‘But we invariably go for the wrong ones,’ Abi rationalized.
‘And Fen doesn’t go for anyone at all,’ Gemma continued, ‘so, though Matt might not be a Wrong One, she probably doesn’t want to find out the hard way. Hence taking the easy route direct to the loo. Or home. Or back to the bronze of a nineteenth-century sculptor’s studio.’
‘Oh blimey,’ Abi sighed, ‘she might so be missing out!’
‘That’s the risk she’d probably rather take,’ Gemma qualified.
‘She won’t let us give her a helping hand,’ Abi mused, ‘so let’s just shove her right in there.’
Gemma regarded Abi, knowing the idea would be fine if it was she whom Abi was setting up, but just slightly concerned that they were meddling too deeply, too fast, for someone like Fen.
‘Feeling brazen?’ Abi asked slyly, eyeing up Jake just as much as he was eyeing her.
‘When am I not?’ Gemma sighed as if it was some great affliction, eyeing up Jake just as much as he was eyeing her.
Oh God, no!
Fen?
Cows!
What’s
