The Love Island: The laugh out loud romantic comedy you have to read this summer. Kerry Fisher

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       Roberta

      When Octavia had an idea in her head, she was impossible to resist. Before she came over the following evening, I was determined that I wasn’t going to let her bamboozle me into looking for a man online, but she breezed into my apartment with a bottle of fizz ‘to celebrate a new beginning’.

      Before I knew it, we were sitting at the tiny breakfast bar, poring over the pictures on the Just Clicked website. Octavia was drawn to the skinny guys, whereas I could never envisage going out with a man who could fit into my jeans. I preferred men who looked like they could take on a bear and win if the need ever arose. She liked dark, broody men, even though she’d ended up with Jonathan, who was gingerish. I leaned towards men at the Scandinavian end of the spectrum.

      Octavia pointed to a man who epitomised the word ‘ordinary’. ‘He looks nice. Friendly eyes. Shirt’s quite trendy.’

      ‘Trendy? He looks like he buys his clothes from Topman. Bet he reads Angling Weekly. How about this one? He’s rather attractive.’

      ‘No. Too serial killer. Look how pale he is. Looks like he’s been living in a cupboard under the stairs.’ Octavia scrolled down. ‘What about this one?’

      ‘I’m not that desperate. Forehead like a skating rink. Too thin.’ As we dismissed whole chunks of the male population on their hairline alone, I dreaded to think what they would say about me if I ever dared to put my picture out there into the brutal world of internet dating.

      I trailed my finger down the page. ‘Bet he’s called Quentin.’

      ‘Cuthbert.’ Octavia laughed into her champagne.

      ‘Cuthbert’ was the name we used to give to any boy we didn’t want to dance with at the school disco. ‘Nick’ was for the ones we liked. For a moment, it was like being fifteen again, judging a man on his haircut and shirt. If I’d messed up the first time around when I was approaching life optimistically and open-minded, I didn’t rate my chances with bitter baggage, teenage daughter and a ring-fenced heart in tow. But Scott appeared to be getting on with his life, so I’d have to do the same. It might even do me good to meet someone new, someone I could be myself with, the self I was now. Not the self I was when I was twenty.

      Octavia picked out a guy who looked Slavic, with high cheekbones and slightly protruding eyes.

      ‘A bit amphibian-looking. Like his jacket though. And he’s got attractive hands. OK, let’s put him on the possibles list. He can be my middle-aged Nick,’ I said.

      ‘OK, let’s choose one more, then we’ll set up your profile.’ Octavia filled our glasses again. ‘What about him? He looks a bit Mediterranean. He’s got gorgeous hair. Reminds me a bit of Xavi.’

      ‘Everyone reminds you of Xavi. About time you blew out that ancient torch for him. Never let it be said that Octavia Shelton is fickle. I wonder where he ended up. Maybe he finally came back to Cocciu after all that travelling, married a girl in the village and is now a staid old man, out on his fishing boat at weekends.’

      ‘Doubt it. I can’t imagine a tiny island containing him for the rest of his life.’ Octavia’s hard edges still softened when she talked about him.

      ‘Do you ever think about contacting him? You must have Googled him at least?’

      ‘Nope. It just seems so disloyal and a bit slippery-slopey. Even if I found him, what would I do? I’ve got the life I’ve got now. Anyway, I’m probably a distant shag he can barely remember.’

      ‘Don’t be stupid. You broke his heart. He absolutely adored you. If your dad hadn’t died, you’d have gone travelling the world with him.’

      Octavia threw up her hands. ‘Can you imagine Mum if I’d have dropped out of university and gone tazzing off to New Zealand with Xavi? Mind you, might have learnt more there than wasting my time finishing off a stupid French degree. Not essential for running a nursery and teaching two-year-olds Humpty Dumpty. Anyway, do you want to include this bloke or not?’ She drained her glass.

      ‘Go on then, I’ll have the Xavi lookalike in homage to that flame – or should I say that bonfire – you never quite managed to snuff out.’ I dutifully wrote his name down.

      ‘It would never have worked. He was far too wild for me.’

      ‘Fibber. You were waxing lyrical about him on New Year’s Eve. Anyway, back then, you were rather wild yourself.’ I dug a couple of bottles out of the bijou wine rack and waved them at Octavia. She went with the Rioja.

      ‘Maybe I was, but you’ve got to grow up eventually. You can’t keep travelling aimlessly. I couldn’t have dragged the kids all over the world. Xavi was just a mad fling before I found Mr Right.’ Octavia sighed. ‘Let’s sign you up. I’m going to use Cuthbert as your password.’

      I recognised Octavia’s closing-down tactics. She was absurdly defensive about Jonathan. If I ever dared to point out that he didn’t seem very exciting, she would get all snippy, saying he worked so hard to support three children, as though one child didn’t require a moment of effort. It would be interesting to see if Jonathan became a powerhouse of football/rugby/netball match attendance now he didn’t have work as an excuse. I didn’t know how she stood all his fussing about, running his fingers along the banisters checking for dust.

      Her calling him Mr Right brought out the devil in me.

      ‘I bet Xavi would be on Facebook. You СКАЧАТЬ