Rescuing Rose. Isabel Wolff
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‘Er, no, no…no,’ he paused for a moment. ‘No. No, no…Sorry, what was g) again?’ I told him. ‘That’s no too. Er…no, no. Nope, no…no and, um…no.’
‘Good. And do you have a mobile phone because I don’t want to share my land line?’
‘Yes.’
‘And do you watch much TV?’
He shook his head. ‘Just the odd science programme, and the news. But in the evenings I write – that’s why I’ve been looking for somewhere quiet.’
‘I see. And finally, sorry to mention it, but I really don’t want women staying here. I mean, girlfriends.’
He seemed taken aback. ‘Girlfriends?’ he repeated. ‘Oh no.’ He drew in his breath, and grimaced. ‘That won’t be a problem. That won’t be a problem at all.’
‘Well in that case that’s all absolutely fine. I’m now very pleased to tell you that – subject to satisfactory references of course – I’ve decided you can have the room.’
‘Oh. That’s a bit quick,’ he said. ‘Don’t you want to think about it?’
‘I already have.’
‘I see…’
‘I make fast decisions.’
‘Uh huh. Well…’
‘Do you want it or not?’ I interjected.
‘I’m not sure actually.’ Bloody cheek!
‘Why aren’t you sure?’ I persisted.
‘Well, because I’d like time to reflect, that’s all.’ Time to reflect? What a wimp! ‘I mean, I do like the room,’ he explained earnestly. ‘And your house is grand, but I didn’t think that I’d have to decide straight away.’
‘Well I’m afraid you do.’
‘Er, why?’
‘Because, as I’ve already explained, I’m extremely busy and I want to get it sorted out tonight.’
‘Oh.’ He seemed nonplussed. ‘I see.’ Suddenly the phone rang and I stood up. I thought I heard him sigh with relief.
‘That’s probably someone else ringing about the room,’ I said. ‘I’ve had so many calls.’ I went into the hall, shutting the door carefully behind me, and picked up the handset.
‘Hello?’ I said. There was silence. ‘Hello?’ I tried again. ‘Hello?’ I repeated a little louder. Bad connection; but now I thought I detected a breath. ‘Hello,’ I said one final time, then I put the handset down. How weird. Probably a wrong number or a fault on the line.
‘I was right,’ I said airily as I went back into the kitchen. ‘That was someone else ringing about the room. I’ve had over twenty calls since the ad went in. Anyway, where were we? Oh yes. You wanted to have a think about it. You didn’t seem quite sure. So shall we leave it at that then?’ I added pleasantly.
‘Well…no. I…’
‘Look, Theo, I haven’t got all day. Do you want it, or don’t you? It’s a simple case of “Yes” or “No”.’ Theo looked at me for a few seconds, and blinked. Then he suddenly smiled this odd, lop-sided little smile.
‘Well, ye-es. I reckon I do.’
‘This is London FM,’ announced Minty Malone, as I sat in the basement studio on City Road the following Tuesday. ‘Welcome back to Sound Advice, our twice-weekly late-night phone-in with the Post’s agony aunt, Rose Costelloe. Do you have a problem? Then call 0200 222222 and Ask Rose.’
It was five past eleven and we’d already been on air for an hour. We’d heard from Melissa who was wondering whether to become Catholic, and Denise who was going bald and Neil who couldn’t get a girlfriend and James who thought he was gay; then there was Josh, a jockey with mounting debts and Tom who hated his dad, and Sally who was having a nervous breakdown – the usual stuff. On the computer screen in front of me the names of the waiting callers winked and flashed.
‘And on line one,’ said Minty, ‘we have Bob from Dulwich.’
‘Hi Bob,’ I said. ‘How can I help?’
‘Well, Rose,’ he began hesitantly, as I scribbled on my pad, ‘I’m quite a, well, yeah, big bloke really…’ Hmm…another fatso with low self-esteem. ‘And I get my leg pulled about it at work.’
‘I see.’
‘Anyway, there’s this girl there who’s a real knockout and I think she likes me as she’s always nice. But my problem is that every time I get up the nerve to ask her out she makes some excuse.’
‘Bob, you say you’re a big bloke – how much do you weigh?’
‘About…’ – I could hear the air being sucked through his teeth – ‘…seventeen stone.’
‘And how tall are you?’
‘Five foot ten.’
‘Then you’re just going to have to lose the lard! Sorry to be brutal, Bob, but it’s true. I know you’d like me to say that this girl will fall in love with your great personality, but I think your great person is going to get in the way, and frankly, I think the only reason she’s being so nice is because she feels sorry for you. Bob, take it from me, no self-respecting woman – let alone a “knockout” – is going to go out with a Sumo-sized bloke. The number for Weight Watchers is…’ I glanced at my handbook, ‘…0845 712 3000 and I want you to ring it first thing. Do you promise me you’ll do that?’ I heard a deep sigh.
‘Yeah, okay Rose. I will.’
‘And Bob I want you to phone in again a month from today and tell everyone that you’ve lost your first stone.’
‘Okay Rose, yeah. You’re right.’
‘Well done Bob,’ said Minty, ‘and now we have Martine, on line three.’
‘Go ahead, Martine,’ I said.
‘Well,’ she began in a trembly voice. ‘The reason I’m ringing is because, well, I’ve just been told I can’t have kids.’ A momentary silence followed: I could almost see the tears in her eyes.
‘Martine how old are you?’
‘Thirty-two.’
‘And have you tried all avenues?’
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