Romantic Comedy Box Set (Helen Grey Series Books 1 & 2) Page 3

  ‘What? You mean apart from the obvious.’

  ‘Ha-ha. I’ve lost the dog I was supposed to be walking, and I need to find it before it does any more damage.’

  ‘Well, it’s your lucky day. Ayshe filled me in on your little trail of destruction. I’ve already been up to the Canine Centre to talk to them. They weren’t too impressed – ‘care in the community reject’ – I think were the words they used to describe you.’ His eyes shone with humour. ‘Saddam Hussein would have paid a fortune to have had you working for him. You’re a one-woman weapon of mass destruction.’ A huge cackle of laughter escaped from his lips.

  My cheeks glowed. ‘We need to check the park. I’ve got to get that poor dog back as soon as possible!’ My voice cracked, the morning was beginning to take its toll on me.

  ‘And just how are you going to hobble around the park in that state?’ He glared at me with intense brown eyes, pointing to my ankle.

  ‘Look, don’t worry. I’ll do it myself.’ I eased the door open and started to manoeuvre myself out.

  He leaned across me and tried to close the door again, giving me a waft of some rather yummy aftershave.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I yelled, panicking as he pulled the door shut, banging my ankle in the process. ‘Owch!’

  ‘The dog’s OK,’ he yelled back at me. ‘If you’d just let me finish!’

  I sank back in the seat and waited. ‘Well?’

  He took a deep breath. ‘I’ve got better things to do than baby-sit a thirty-year-old, you know.’ He narrowed his eyes at me like a cat weighing something up with cool detachment before pouncing.

  ‘How on earth do your students put up with you?’ I glared back.

  ‘They love me.’

  ‘Where’s Pussy?’

  ‘Pussy?’ he guffawed.

  ‘Oh, shut up!’

  ‘Pussy…’ He laughed, dragging out the conversation.

  I waited.

  ‘Pussy...’ he started again.

  This time I slapped him on the arm.

  ‘Pussy ran back to the Centre and said, ‘please don’t let that nutty woman take me out for a walk again!’ he reeled off in a garbled rush.

  My eyes cleared with relief. Now I knew Pussy was safe, I didn’t want to be in the car with him a minute longer.

  ‘Right, can you take me home now then, please?’

  ‘With pleasure.’ He released the handbrake, driving off.

  It was so uncomfortable in the Land Rover that the slightest bump in the road made me wince in pain. I stared out of the window rather than making conversation with him, but he wasn’t letting me off that easily.

  ‘Don’t they ask for any references before they let you take out dangerous dogs?’

  ‘It was a Labrador!’

  ‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘I forgot. It’s you that’s dangerous.’ He paused. ‘I think you need to lay off the caffeine, it’s making you too hyper.’

  I couldn’t be bothered to think of the perfect retort, so we drove the rest of the way in silence.

  ****

  ‘Ha! What’s that on your back?’ Kalem snorted when I heaved myself out of the Land Rover.

  I twisted round to discover a patch of crusty brown mud all over my bum – looked like I’d had an incontinent attack actually.

  ‘Arse,’ I muttered.

  ‘Couldn’t have put it better myself.’ He grinned at me. ‘Are you going to be OK?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

  He raised an eyebrow, shifted the Land Rover into first and trundled up the road.

  I limped up the stairs to the flat, hanging on to the banister for support. Once inside, I curled up on the comfy, brown leather sofa that I so adored – even though the raised stitching on its arms made it look like a sun-baked elephant’s foreskin – and moulded a bag of frozen peas onto my ankle. God, that was a bit cold! The answer phone was blinking at me. Reaching over from my foetal position, I hit the play button.

  ‘Just to let you know that you haven’t paid me for the last shipment. If you don’t deliver in the next two days I won’t be responsible for my actions. Know what I mean, eh?’ That was it. No name, no number, nothing. And his tone – well, it was just a teensy bit creepy.

  Wrong number, I decided, and instantly forgot about it as my eyes wandered round the room. God, the place was an absolute tip, and I really must tidy it up soon.

  I flicked on the television, trying to break the oppressive silence. The choice was disappointing: either a talk show with some sort of a fight going on between the guests or a boring antiques programme with a sun-tanned-to-death presenter.

  With only Jerry Springer and a cold-pack for company, boredom got the better of me and I fell into a depressed sleep.

  ****

  A pounding on the door woke me from my slumber. Rubbing my eyes, I swung the door open to see Ayshe looking at me rather concerned.

  ‘Who goes there?’ bellowed Charlie next door.

  ‘Put a sock in it!’ Ayshe shouted.

  I wasn’t the only person who’d witnessed his sock-stuffing antics before.

  ‘Ooooh, tetchy!’ he yelled back.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked, wandering in with a Tupperware bowl, which she put on the black granite kitchen worktop.

  I sniffed the wonderful aroma of freshly-cooked Turkish food. ‘I feel a bit ridiculous, if you must know.’

  She rubbed my arm. ‘Well, at least you tried something. You can’t be knocked for that.’ Pointing to the dish she added, ‘Atila’s made you some mousaka. He didn’t think you’d feel like cooking as usual and you’ll need to keep your strength up for your challenges.’

  Ayshe busied herself in the kitchen, putting the mousaka in the microwave and arranging a knife and fork on a tray, as if I were an invalid.

  ‘So…any thoughts as to what tomorrow’s challenge is going to be? I mean, I actually feel like giving the whole thing up after today. I don’t know if I can carry on with this.’ I flopped my head down into my hands, tugging at my roots.

  ‘Oh no,’ she wagged her finger at me, ‘that’s not going to happen. You’ve only just started.’

  I lifted my head as the microwave chimed.

  Taking the tray out to the diningroom table, she jabbed a finger at one of the chairs. ‘Sit and eat,’ she ordered. Sitting down with one leg beneath her, she made me eat half of it before she let me in on her little secret. ‘Speed-dating: that’s what is on the agenda for tomorrow. And you have to go. It is the law,’ she insisted in a very bad Inspector Clouseau accent.

  ‘A bunch of saddos trying to talk to as many other saddos until a clock buzzes. That sounds like fun! I’d rather poke forks in my eyes.’

  ‘Anyone doing a fourteen day change-your-life-challenge has to go. Those are the rules according to Ayshe – and Inspector Clouseau. And anyway, you might meet someone nice. Sometimes it’s the one you least expect that makes you happy.’

  ‘Great.’ I rubbed my forehead.

  ‘Listen, I’ve got to go; Atila’s a bit annoyed. He took a chicken out of the freezer this morning to defrost and the cat’s eaten it. He’s not a happy bunny. If I said “foul” and “mood”, in the same sentence you’d know exactly what I mean! I’ve got to nip out and get a take-away before he starts to erupt into a full-blown volcanic explosion. I’ll pick you up after the dating thingy. Text me when you’re finished, and I’ll come and get you,’ she gushed and breezed out the door.

  ****

  After I’d cleared up the remnants of my gastronomic experience, the phone rang. I debated whether to ignore it, but I had a sudden intuitive flash that it could be Justin, calling to tell me how wrong he’d been, begging for forgiveness because a spot of rumpy-pumpy with the boss over the office equipment just wasn’t as thrilling any more, or the late night dick-tation was getting out of hand. I’d always wanted to believe in the idea that everything happens for a reason, but no matter how hard you analyze and dissect things, sometimes you just can’t figure ou
t what that reason is. Is that fate's way of giving you what you deserve, or is it trying to teach you a valuable lesson that you’re just not ready to decipher yet?

  I dived for the phone. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello, is that the home-owner?’

  For God’s sake! I’d been plagued by a spate of annoying tele-sales people at all hours for the last month.

  ‘I don’t want double glazing, or a holiday, or anything else you’re selling,’ I said.

  ‘Why not? You don’t know what it is yet,’ a Pakistani voice told me on the other end.

  Why not? Because if I wanted double glazing, I’d almost certainly go and order some myself. And if I wanted to listen to a two-hour spiel about vacuum cleaners just to get a holiday, then I’d effing well do that!

  ‘Because I’m having sex with my husband, and you’ve just interrupted me,’ I replied.

  There was a few seconds silence on the other end. ‘Pardon? I didn’t quite hear you, madam.’

  ‘I said; I’m making love to my husband.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry. I’ll call you back later.’ He hung up without waiting for my response.

  No sooner had I put the phone down than the bloody thing was off again.

  ‘Hello.’ I snatched it from its cradle.

  ‘Hello, Ms Grey? Can I offer you a cheap gas and electricity supply? We guarantee to beat the price of your current supplier.’ Same voice again.

  ‘You just called me a minute ago! I’m still having sex with my husband. Why are you phoning me again?’

  ‘I thought you would have finished, madam.’

  ‘What, in two minutes?’

  ‘Well, when would be convenient? Five minutes?’

  ‘More like forty-five minutes. You’ve completely messed up my rhythm now.’ I threw the phone down in anger.

  Two minutes later, it rang again.

  ‘I’m still having SEX!’ I shouted, slightly more shrill than I anticipated.

  The sound of heavy breathing greeted me on the other end of the line. Urgh, how disgusting! He was actually getting excited.

  ‘Hello, Helen, it’s Annabel Ponsonby-Smythe here.’

  Oops.

  I gulped. ‘Sorry Annabel…’ I quickly debated what sounded worse: I’m not really having sex, and I’m talking utter drivel, or I was having sex, but I’ve finished now. Probably best to say neither. ‘I thought you were someone else.’

  ‘Don’t worry dear, I know all about this telephonic intercourse that’s all the rage now with you youngsters. If I was twenty years younger, I’d be at it myself, it must be considerably less messy. I won’t keep you–’

  ‘No, don’t go. What can I do for you?’ I squeaked, trying to put my professional head on.

  ‘I was just wondering if you’d finished the proofs for my photo book yet, only we’re off on our honeymoon tomorrow. Dahling Jeremy has finally got a window in his busy work schedule, and I was hoping to have a little peek before I left.’

  ‘Of course, what time are you off tomorrow? Hopefully I can get it finished and drop it off to you before you leave.’

  ‘We’re leaving for the airport at two o’clock dahling, so if you could come for coffee and petits fours at say eleven-thirty?’

  That would give me plenty of time, no problem.

  ‘Yes, that will be perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Righty-ho, then, I’ll let you get back to your sex now. Enjoy!’

  Chapter 4

  Tuesday, day 2 – Single Men Are Freaks

  The following morning I’d reneged again on my promise to cut down on my coffee intake. Instead, I’d drunk the caffeine equivalent of almost a whole box of Pro-Plus tablets and was pretty much buzzing on the stuff. I doggedly got down to some serious work on the computer, organizing my files, sending a few emails, and finally finishing off the proofs for Mrs. Ponsonby-Smythe.

  The pain in my ankle had subsided to a dull throb, although maybe that was something to do with the cocktail of caffeine mixed with several strong painkillers. I checked my watch. Quarter past eleven: plenty of time. Annabel’s plush mews house was only a short distance away. I grabbed the book, darting out the front door as fast as my throbbing ankle would allow.

  I banged on the brass lion’s head door-knocker with minutes to spare, but there was no reply. I tried to peep in the window at the side of the house without looking like a prospective cat burglar, but heavy drapes blocked my view. Strange, I’m sure she said eleven-thirty. After waiting several minutes, I knocked again. I was about to turn and leave when a tall hippy-looking man, covered from head to foot in paint, opened the door.

  ‘Hi.’ I peered up at him.

  ‘Hi, you must be Helen.’ He reached his hand out to shake mine.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I was supposed to be meeting Annabel at eleven-thirty. Is she here?’ I asked as he gave me a wet-lettuce handshake.

  ‘There was a change of plan. The airline rearranged the flight times, and they had to dash off to Heathrow early.’ He gestured inside the house. ‘Come in, come in. I’m Adrian Ponsonby by the way, Annabel’s brother. I’m house-sitting for her while she’s living it up in the sunny Indian Ocean. It’s all right for some! I was just about to have an early lunch. Do you want a cup of tea while you’re here? I’m making one for myself anyway, so it’s no trouble.’

  Ayshe’s advice that I needed to take every opportunity to meet new people resounded in my head. I mean, he wasn’t my type at all, but what the hell, why not?

  ‘Well…OK, thanks.’

  He led me past the drawing room, where I’d discussed Annabel’s wedding requirements at our original consultation, into the well-lit breakfast room, just off the muted eggshell Shaker-style kitchen. A painting stood on an easel by the window and paints were strewn on top of the table next to it. The painting was an explosion of vibrant yellows and reds with several orange blobby-looking things in the centre of it. It was surrounded by a few larger black and brown swirly things smudged in along the edges, with what appeared to be a little black stick-man nestling in the corner. It looked like an explosion in the Chocolate Orange factory.

  He caught me looking at it. ‘It’s very abstract, don’t you think?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ I leaned forward, scrutinizing it. It was the worst painting I’d ever seen in my life, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. ‘It’s very good.’

  ‘If you look really hard there’s a surprising feature within the picture. Can you see it?’ He indicated that I should get closer.

  ‘No…I’m not getting anything.’ I studied the picture hard.

  ‘Don’t worry, you’ll see it eventually. I get more of the stuff on me than on the painting, I think.’ He pulled up the bottom of his shirt and gazed down at the paint splattered everywhere.

  ‘I’m having trouble trying to think of a title for this particular piece. Any ideas?’ He turned to me with an enquiring look.

  Revenge of the Chocolate Orange perhaps, I mused. Or Nuclear Reactor Strikes Back? ‘How about Total Oblivion?’

  He threw me a very peculiar look, changing the subject. ‘Please, sit.’ He pulled out a breakfast bar chair for me, and I duly plonked myself down.

  ‘Annabel’s only left green tea in the cupboards, I’m afraid. Will that do?’

  After all the coffee I’d consumed that morning it was probably a good thing anyway, and I was sure I’d heard somewhere that green tea was the new wonder substance for detoxifying. I thought I needed a hefty dose of that right now.

  ‘Um, fine.’

  He handed me a cup of steaming green liquid that looked like iguana piss. I stared at it, then gave it a quick sniff. It smelled revolting. I tried hard not to heave, and quickly placed it back on the breakfast bar out of sniffing range.

  ‘So,’ he ran his fingers through his long flowing locks, as he reclined on his chair, ‘you’re the wedding photographer. I missed Annabel’s wedding, I’m afraid; I was laid up with food poisoning.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Campylo
bacter: it was awful.’

  ‘Oh, how terrible. You’re OK now, though?’

  ‘Oh yes, fine. Had to try and get better a bit sharpish. I’ve got an exhibition and auction of my work tomorrow night, and I’ve still got a few pieces to finish.’ He pointed to the painting which had taken centre-stage in the room.

  ‘That’s great.’

  ‘Hey, you must come. Yes, you absolutely must. I’ve got an invitation upstairs somewhere. Hang on, I’ll get you one.’

  He sloped out of the room and left me studying the paintings with disbelief. It was Picasso meets Damien Hirst. One of them even looked like an exploding brain, hardly the sort of thing you’d want on your living room wall, unless you were a serial killer.

  ‘Here you go.’ He snuck back in the room without a sound and handed me the invitation. ‘I see you’re admiring my brain.’

  He must’ve mistaken the expression on my face for admiration, instead of slight queasiness. ‘Yes, it’s very…vivid.’

  ‘Wait ‘till you see what’s on show tomorrow. There’s a lot more where that came from. I bet I could even get you to buy a piece.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I murmured with a vagueness that meant not a hope in hell. Still, I was supposed to be trying new things, and this was certainly new, in a Hannibal Lechter kind of way. ‘Can you give this to Annabel for me?’ I pulled the proofs from my bag and handed them over.

  ‘Sure, no problem. Thanks for popping round.’ He led me back to the door. ‘Don’t forget, I’ll be looking for you on Wednesday.’

  ‘See you tomorrow.’ I waved my invitation at him and scurried out the door.

  Chapter 5

  I completely splurged out on my beauty preparations for that night’s challenge. Soaking in the bath with a scrummy-smelling lavender bath-bomb, I spent a frantic half-hour tackling the hairs on my ever-increasing bikini-line and legs. When I finished my skin was raw and tingling. Next, I plucked my eyebrows until bright red lumps appeared. Great! Just what I needed!

  Peering into the wardrobe, I wondered what to wear. What look should I go for? I hadn’t done this for so long. Understated, sexy, trendy? How about a pair of jeans? I couldn’t possibly go wrong with those. I went for the subtle look with my make-up, applying a thin line of black liquid eyeliner and then got totally carried away with lashings of mascara. My eyebrows still looked a tad on the red side, so I patted them with face powder, which reduced them to just a soft glow. A muted beige lipstick finished the look. I tousled my long hair with my hands whilst posing in the mirror. Mmm, not bad, I thought.