Page 105 of Is She Really Going Out with Him?
On Thursday, I buy the kids ice creams on the way home from school and we sit in the garden in the sunshine. Ethan suggests Kenny’s grandad again, saying he “really isn’t that old.” Then he suggests we call emergency services and hang up until we get a “man on the phone.” I’m forced to have a serious conversation with him how important it is to never call 999 unless it’s a life-or-death emergency, and that your mother needing a date does not qualify.
Just as I’m about to admit defeat and text Kenny’s mum, Jess holds a finger in the air and cries, “Wait! I’ve got it. Ethan’s swimming teacher!”
“Who? Mr. Bellingham? He’s got warts on his face,” Ethan says, screwing his nose up in disgust.
“No, the new one. Warty Bellingham left, remember?” Jess says.
“Oh yeah, Andre!” Ethan nods. “He was a stunt double in Hollywood. He knows everything about the Marvel universe, plus he’s got massive flip-flops and says I’ve got amazing froggy legs.”
We google the leisure center on my phone and up pops a photo of Andre Johnson, an exceptionally attractive man in his midthirties with dark skin, well-defined pectorals, and a perfect Hollywood smile.
“Holy bejesus,” I exclaim, because we might have just hit the jackpot. “You have swimming after school tomorrow, right?” I ask Ethan, and he nods. Before I can drill him on what else he knows about Andre, Noah’s head appears over the top of his hedge.
“Sorry, are we being too loud?” I ask, preempting a complaint.
“No, but do you mind if I make some noise?” Noah asks, holding up a chain saw. Then he starts cutting off a huge chunk of branch from the top of the hedge.
“Wait! Stop! Noah, what are you doing?” I call. “I don’t care if the hedge blocks out our light, I know what it means to you!”
“You’re right, it’s gotten out of hand,” Noah shouts over the sound of the chain saw. “And she’s not in the hedge, she’s in here!” He taps a hand against his chest, then almost loses his grip on the chain saw, and I rush my children inside before someone loses a limb.
On Friday I go along to Ethan’s swimming lesson and wait at the end to ask Andre Johnson if he’ll go out with me. To my surprise, Andre not only seems charming and normal, but he is also gorgeous and single and readily agrees to go on a date. His only caveat is that he’s booked up all of Saturday with swimming lessons, but if it needs to be this weekend, I could join him for hisSunday morning climbing session. It wouldn’t be my first choice of activity, upper-body strength not being my strong point, but I’ve got myself a date, just before deadline.
“Mum, you know what I really really want?” Ethan asks me as we walk home from swimming.
“An axolotl?” I guess, and he nods, eyes hopeful. “Well, lucky for you, I’ve finally done my research and found a reputable breeder.”
“You’re kidding!” he squeals, jumping up and down in the street.
“But you’ll need to be in charge of feeding it.”
“Of course! That’s the best bit. Will said he’d help build the tank, we need a whole filtration system.” Ethan pauses. “Maybe we could ask Dad or Noah?”
“Iwill construct the tank,” I tell him confidently, and he starts skipping in delight. “I might need to watch a few YouTube videos, but I am an intelligent woman, I’m sure I’ll work it out.”
—
On Saturday night,I host a pottery party in my garage. It’s the first time I’ve had people over in a long time. Noah brings wine, Lottie has made tacos, Loretta has invited Roger from speed dating, and Michael has brought Jane, the Janeite I set him up with through the apps. (She’s writing her PhD thesis on “fashion in the age of Jane Austen.”) I am supplying the clay and giving everyone a tutorial on how to construct a basic pinch pot.
“I hear you’ve just readPride and Prejudicefor the first time,” Jane says with a demure smile as I show her how to roll the rim for her pot.
“Yes. I loved it. It really pulled me out of a reading slump,” I tell her.
“I’m so glad, and I hear I have you to thank for settingMichael up online. I have never met a man who has such an encyclopedic knowledge of eighteenth-century fashions.” When she looks across the room at Michael, I see her visibly swoon, and my inner Emma glows with pride. Maybe there really is someone for everyone.
Moving around the circle to see who else might need my help, I notice that Loretta has abandoned her pot and is molding a phallic object.
“Keep it clean,” I say, crushing her clay phallus with my fist and nodding across the room toward Jess, who is busy making a small house for one of her stop-motion videos.
“Hey,” Loretta says, cackling, as she elbows me away. “That was a masterpiece!”
Roger leans in to give her a clay flower, which she takes in delight. On the other side of the room, Noah is getting frustrated with an overly ambitious design for a bug house. I try to offer him some pointers, but he won’t let me help.
“Anna, I amlovingtonight,” Lottie says, following me into the kitchen to fetch more drinks. “This house feels so alive again, like old times. Loretta is hilarious.”
“Isn’t she?”
Lottie bends down to put bowls in the dishwasher and when she stands up, she winces and rubs her bump.
