And the Rest Is History(89)

‘Oh, come on, Max. Who wants a normal relationship?’

‘Well, no one at St Mary’s because they’re certainly never going to get one.’

‘Look, if it’s too soon for you then I’ll understand. I hope you’ll say yes, but if you don’t I don’t want this to make any difference – to us – which is my main fear. So if you want to pretend this never happened, then just tell me, and I promise I won’t mention it again.’

He peered at me hopefully.

I sought clarification. ‘Is this a date?’

‘No. Well yes, maybe. It’s a kind of semi-date – just two old friends going out for a meal and a drink. Together,’ he added, in case I was having problems with the concept.

I said more wistfully than I intended, ‘I haven’t been out for ages.’

‘Well, there you are then,’ he said, as if that clinched it. ‘And it’s not as if either of us has any unpleasant surprises for the other, Max. You’re getting a man with only one working arm and poor bladder control and I’m getting a red-haired madwoman who triggers an apocalypse every time she walks into a room. Personally, I think we’re perfect for each other.’

‘I’m not sure I have anything decent to wear.’

‘Doesn’t matter. Casual is good. How do you fancy tapas?’

‘Oh yes. I like exciting food.’

‘Yes, because our lives are so dull. Is tomorrow good for you?’

‘Yes,’ I said, suddenly aware of a yawning pit of inexperience. I would have to get to grips with babysitters. And make-up. And shoes that weren’t boots. ‘Although I’m not sure what I’ll wear. I’m not sure I’ve even got anything appropriate. I mean, it’s a long time since…’ I petered out, adrift in a strange new sea.

‘I’m sure you’ll find something. I always liked that cream thing with the lace sleeves.’

My room was very quiet. The whole place was so quiet I could hear pipes ticking and the odd groan, which I hoped was just the building settling and not of human origin.

His face showed nothing but his usual lazy good humour, but I noticed his left foot jiggling away by itself. No matter how light-hearted his approach, this meant a lot to him.

I suddenly realised it meant a lot to me, as well.

I said, ‘Are you sure?’ because this was a big – a giant – leap for both of us, and he said, ‘Oh yes, I think so, don’t you?’

I was surprised to find that yes, I did think so too.

I nodded.

‘Jolly good,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘I shall suppress my inevitable misgivings about your appearance and present myself tomorrow at eight. See you then.’

As soon as he’d gone, I whipped open my wardrobe door and surveyed my options. That didn’t take long.

I pulled out the cream top and slipped it on. It looked awful. I can honestly say it looked better on the hanger than it did on me. Actually, it looked better on the floor than it did on me.

I found a black thing I’d forgotten I had, and that looked even worse. Everyone in the universe looks good in black except me. I sighed and tossed it onto the bed.

Next up was a nice, silky, pale green thing with slashed sleeves. On me it looked like a giant lump of snot.

Then there was the blue thing I’d never worn. I pulled it over my head and could see why.

Last up was a gold thing with a fringe. I don’t know what I was thinking when I bought that. I didn’t even bother trying it on. That went straight onto the floor.

I sighed and reached for the cream thing again. It looked no better the second time around. Sadly, neither did I. Even allowing for the distorting properties of my ancient mirror, was I really that shape? Did my hair really look that bad? Were my feet really that big?

Downstairs, Peterson would be happily watching TV or reading or something and not for one moment giving this sort of thing a second thought. All he had to do was find a clean shirt, put on his best jacket and comb his hair. Why was life so bloody unfair? You don’t catch men trying on every single item of clothing they possess because they can’t find anything that doesn’t make them look like something the cat coughed up.

And I hadn’t even started on my bottom half. Or shoes. Or lipstick. Why had I said I would do this? I had a demanding job and an even more demanding child. I couldn’t afford to spend large chunks of my life staring at myself in a mirror. I needed help.

I went to Kal for advice. Her face filled my laptop screen.

‘What’s up?’

‘I’m raging against humanity’s injustices.’

She blinked. ‘O … K. Any injustice in particular or is this an all-encompassing, one size fits everyone rage?’

‘Why is everything always so much easier for men?’

‘It’s their outside plumbing.’

‘What?’

‘My theory is they wouldn’t be half so light-hearted about everything if, every time they were caught short outdoors, they had peel off layers of clothing, squat and then wait for their shoes to dry out afterwards.’

I considered this. ‘You could be right.’

‘I’m always right. So what’s brought this on?’

I explained about Peterson and my sartorial difficulties.