The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook Part 20

'Oh. So, er, have you ever been to one of these things before?'

'No.'

'Me neither.'

'Really? That surprises me.'

Ah. So far Dan's 'get them talking' strategy doesn't seem to be working.

'Er...'

After a further thirty seconds of silence, Melanie folds her arms. 'Well, do you want to ask me anything else, or are you just going to sit there and look stupid?'

To be honest, just sitting here and looking stupid seems actually to be the most appealing option. I consult my clipboard for help, but it doesn't provide any. Instead I try to keep to Dan's advice, even though by the amount of talking he seems to be doing at the next-door table, he's obviously ignoring it himself.

I take a deep breath. 'So...'

'Yes?'

'What's your favourite film?'

Melanie stifles a yawn. 'Fatal Attraction.'

'Ah. Right.'

Unlike Dan's s.e.xual partners, I'm beginning to think that three minutes is actually quite a long time. I look around for Emily, willing her to ring the bell, but when I manage to catch her eye she just smiles back at me in what I guess is supposed to be encouragement.

By now, Melanie is drumming her fingers on the table in front of me, and I'm wondering, given her recent experience, whether there's any point in me trying to canva.s.s her opinion on the current dating dilemma facing the modern women, when finally, thankfully, I hear a ringing sound. There's a simultaneous sc.r.a.ping of chairs, and we all move around one place.

As a smug-looking Dan sits down in front of Melanie, at least I take some consolation that he'll suffer the same treatment. Ha! This'll show him. But something's happened to Melanie in the ten or so seconds it's taken us all to change places. In fact, it seems to be a totally different Melanie from the one who's just given me the cold shoulder. She beams at Dan across the table, and within a moment or two, I actually hear her laugh.

Oh well. As I sit down at the adjoining table, my new partner-a blonde for whom the term 'buxom' was probably invented-gives me a cursory glance before staring across at Dan next door. After a minute or so, I have to clear my throat to get her attention.

'Sorry,' she says, still gazing at Dan. 'But isn't he that guy from the TV?'

'Yes. Dan Davis. He's my friend.'

The girl looks at me strangely. 'Your friend?'

She's wearing a very low-cut top and her name is, well, I can't quite seem to make it out, given the curve that her cleavage is imparting on the sticky label.

'So. h.e.l.lo, er...' I'm still struggling to work out what it says on her name tag.

'Are you staring at my b.r.e.a.s.t.s?'

I blush almost instantly. 'No I was trying to read your name tag. Honest.' But of course, now that she's mentioned her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, I can't help staring.

'Yes you are. You're staring at my b.r.e.a.s.t.s.' She raises her voice so the whole room can hear her. 'He's staring at my b.r.e.a.s.t.s.'

The women look round in collective sympathy, and I can feel their icy glares. The men, of course, all stare at whatever-her-name-is's b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

'I can't help it. I mean, I'm not.' I point towards her chest area. 'It's your name tag. It's in the same...vicinity.'

'You're doing it again, you pervert.'

At the next-door table, Dan breaks off from telling Melanie how great he is.

'And you obviously didn't want them stared at, love,' he says. 'That's why you've worn that top.'

My partner, whose name I still don't know, can't work out whether to be annoyed at Dan, or flattered that he seems to be paying her some attention before it's his turn. Equally, Melanie seems to be angry that 'my' girl is muscling in on her precious three minutes with Dan, and so gets menacingly to her feet. It's in danger of getting ugly, until Emily rings the bell furiously.

I move on, thankfully, and sit down opposite a sweet-looking girl, who holds out her hand to me. I shake it nervously.

'So, h.e.l.lo, er, Rose,' I say, glancing as briefly as I can at her name badge.

'h.e.l.lo, Edward,' she replies, in the most beautiful Irish accent. 'Can I just ask you a few questions?'

This wasn't in my plan. 'Sure, I suppose...'

Rose fastens a fresh piece of paper which seems to be laid out like a checklist into her clipboard, and writes my name at the top. 'Okay. Question One. Any history of cancer in your family?'

Huh? 'No, I don't...'

'Heart disease?'

'No.'

'Are you a drug user?'

'Apart from Neurofen? No.'

Rose ignores my admittedly poor attempt at humour.

'Ever had a h.o.m.os.e.xual experience?'

I think about this one carefully. 'Well, there was one time when this guy I'd never met before tried to buy me a drink. Does that count?'

'Do you smoke?'

'Yes, but I'm trying to give it...'

Rose's face falls. 'Ah. Bad for the sperm count. What underwear do you favour? Boxers or briefs?'

I'm just about to answer when I get an uneasy feeling. 'What's this all about?'

Rose puts her clipboard down and cups her hand to her ear. 'That ticking sound? Can you hear it?'

I listen carefully, but can't detect a thing. 'Nope.'

'It's my biological clock.'

'Ding!'

That's me-not Emily's bell, and I leap to my feet in shock.

And this is the high point of my evening, as the rest of the 'dates' pa.s.s by in a blur of enquiries about my financial status to what car I drive. I'm supposed to be a professional interviewer but these girls knock spots off me. One of them talks so much and so quickly I fear she's taken the 'speed' aspect of the night literally, and I zone out, listening in instead to Dan's 'enough about you, let's talk about me' approach at the next-door table. Amazingly, and yet not surprisingly given the compet.i.tion, he seems to get away with it.

When finally, after what seems like a lot more than twenty times three minutes, we finish, Emily herds us back into the side room. She collects our tick sheets as she does so, telling us to call her on Monday to find out who our 'matches' are. I've ticked three, just to be polite, but can't say I hold out much hope of any reciprocal interest, although that's probably for the best given my motivation for being here in the first place. As eye-opening as the evening's been, it fundamentally tells me nothing that I really want to know.

All the gla.s.ses of free wine seem to have disappeared, so Dan and I do likewise and head back to the Admiral Jim.

'Thought there were a couple of nice ones there,' he says.

'You think?'

Dan nods. 'Especially that one who thought you were a perv. She had a real couple of nice ones.'

'How many did you tick?'

'None.'

'None?'

He shrugs. 'Didn't need to.'

'But if you haven't ticked them, then Emily can't put them in touch with you.'

Dan puts his hand into his pocket and removes a number of sc.r.a.ps of paper, on which are scribbled various names and phone numbers.

'Beat the system, you see.'

'And are you going to call any of them?'

He shrugs again. 'Shouldn't think so. Although...' he says, picking out one and s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up the rest. 'That Emily was quite cute.'

I look at him disbelievingly. 'You go speed dating and end up getting the number of the organizer?'

Dan puts an arm around my shoulders. 'Well, you've either got it, or you don't.'

And sadly, he's right. Based on tonight's performance, I don't got it.

Monday 7th February.

11.15 a.m.

On Dan's insistence, and although I'm pretty sure what the outcome will be, I call Emily to find out how many 'ticks' I got. When she starts off by saying 'Well, it's not all about the number of ticks,' my suspicions are confirmed, but just as I'm expecting her to give me a big fat zero, she actually says 'one', and although I apparently didn't tick her, she's given one of the girls-Caroline-my email address.

I search through my slightly alcohol-muddled memory of the evening, trying to recall which one she was, before remembering I'd made notes on them all, so I anxiously scan my list, skimming over the words 'psycho' and 'bunny-boiler' until I come to her name. Caroline: seemed a little distracted, works in admin, drives a silver Ford Fiesta, likes country pubs.

It's not much to go on, and while I seem to remember that she was actually quite pretty, in truth I forget about it for the rest of the morning. Natasha has already phoned to say she's not coming in, and by mid-afternoon, just as I'm contemplating snoozing on my desk, I'm surprised by the 'ping' of an email appearing in my inbox.

I'm even more astonished to see that its from Caroline, saying how much she enjoyed meeting me, and wondering whether I'd like to meet up some time. So astonished, in fact, that I go to see Dan for advice.

Dan sighs exasperatedly. 'Go out with her, of course.'

'But I'm not looking to-' I make the speech marks sign with my fingers-'"go out" with anyone.'

'Of course you're not. Just think of it as a dry run for when Jane gets back. You want to be able to win her over, don't you? Well what better way than to be able to chat her up from scratch? And this is a chance for some practice.'

'Great idea. So how do I do that, then?'

Dan leans back in his chair, finally pleased that we're touching on his one area of expertise.

'Are you sitting comfortably?'

'Should I be taking notes?'

'That might be an idea,' says Dan, in all seriousness. He sits there, no doubt waiting for me to produce a pen and paper.

'Just get on with it.'

'Okay. So what do you know about this woman?'

'Well, not very much. In fact, I'm not sure I can remember what she looks like. But I'm sure I'll know her when I see her.'

'That's encouraging. What did you write down?'

When I tell him, his face lights up. 'Brilliant. She likes country pubs. Perfect opportunity for you to mail her back, and tell her you know this fantastic little place just outside Brighton and perhaps she'd like to meet you there for a drink one night this week.'

'Great. What fantastic little place?'

Dan sighs. 'You and Jane really didn't get out much, did you?'

'So, what next?'

'Right. You arrange to meet her fairly early in the evening. Say seven o'clock.'

'Why's that?'

'Because that way she probably hasn't had time to eat anything in between work and meeting you. And,' he adds, testing me, 'that's good why?'

'Because if she hasn't eaten...I can get her drunk quicker?'

Dan considers my answer for a moment. 'It's good, but it's not right. The reason you try and get her to miss dinner is because she'll then be hungry.'