Meet Me In Manhattan. Claudia Carroll
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу Meet Me In Manhattan - Claudia Carroll страница 16
Название: Meet Me In Manhattan
Автор: Claudia Carroll
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Зарубежный юмор
isbn: 9780007520923
isbn:
‘Now I was a complete bag of nerves meeting for our first date,’ she told the nation live, ‘but I needn’t have worried, turned out he was every bit as petrified as I was. And we ended up having an absolute ball together. We’d so much it common; it was ridiculous! So of course from then on, there was no question of our not ending up together.’
‘But how do you make the whole long-distance thing work for you?’ Noel asked gently.
‘Well, that’s just it, you see. It’s not like work at all,’ she laughed and I swear I could practically hear the lightness breaking through in her voice. ‘The brightest part of my day is when he emails or calls me. We Skype first thing in the morning and last thing at night and it’s just fantastic. Then every other weekend, he’ll come and stay with me, and on the weekends when I don’t have the kids, I take a trip over to London. It’s magic and, trust me, the distance between us is absolutely nothing.’
‘I totally agree with your last caller!’ said Emily, who rang in hot on her heels. ‘I met my husband online and even though he works in Dubai now, the sparkle is still there. Our golden rule is we see each other once every six weeks and in the meantime, we probably chat more now than I ever do with anyone I know from home. Everyone said I was mental when we first got together, but like I always say, I’d rather a fabulous relationship with the man of my dreams who lives thousands of miles away, then a mediocre one with some fella from down the road who I met in some bloody local bar.’
And by that stage? I honestly felt like encoding that phrase onto my desk and making everyone come and admire it, just for luck.
And then there was Matthew, who called in to say that he too met his partner via a dating site. She lived in Edinburgh and neither of them could relocate so, as he put it, ‘we just make it work. And it’s fantastic. After all, I’d rather have two weekends a month of pure magic, then four full weeks of being nagged for leaving my underpants hanging off the back of the radiator.’
Took the words right out of my mouth.
After the show, Noel even sought me out to thank me personally; an event so rare round here that there was pin-drop silence all around the office while he and I had a stilted, professional chat.
But then Noel has one of those man-of-the-people, I-too-feel-your-pain personas that’s totally at odds with the real him. In reality, he’s actually a multi-millionaire on a massively inflated salary who lives on the Hill of Howth in a palatial mansion. In fact apart from a quick daily briefing with the team before we go on air, we only see him round here sporadically. He’s usually in and gone the minute the show wraps, then straight off to his far more glamorous job at Channel Six TV, where he presents a late-night current affairs programme. Which, as you’d guess, is a shouty mess of a show, involving yet more ranting, hammering on desks and basically doing whatever he can to inflame public opinion.
‘Good work, Holly,’ Noel said, towering over me and patting his over-large tummy, like he was ready for one of his legendary boozy, Michelin-starred lunches about now. ‘Long-distance online relationships. Whoever would have thought that would generate such a huge response?’
‘Ermm, well, thanks very much, Noel,’ I muttered, aware that half the office was having a good earwig in on us.
‘More of the same please,’ he added brusquely. ‘And if you keep this up, I might just have to poach you to come and freelance for me over at Channel Six.’
He was gone ten seconds later, leaving me standing there like a blowfish, just mouthing, ‘wow!’
So now it’s the morning after that hellhole of a night at the Fade Street Social restaurant and all the love bombardment from Andy really has started, full-on and furious.
The phone calls. First thing in the morning, last thing at night. Texts flying into my face throughout the whole day. Emails coming through to me constantly and that’s before the giant, oversized bouquet of flowers arrived. Pink stargazer lilies. With a note that read, ‘Forgive me for what happened, Holly. And give me a chance to explain, at least. Please.’
As for what my best buddies have to say about it all?
Joy: ‘Good riddance to Captain Fantastic, then. I know he had a perfectly valid excuse for standing you up, but I have to say half of me is relieved. All I can hope is that this’ll be a lesson to you to wrench yourself away from those bloody dating sites once and for all and stop lying your head off online. Just be yourself, Holly, and in time you’ll meet your perfect man, trust me.’
Dermot: ‘Oh please, if you heard some of the last minute call-off excuses I’ve heard over the past few years, you’d sit back and laugh. Honey, I’ve heard it all and believe me, this is nothing! So just get back online and start flirting with other guys and if Mr Wonderful suggests another date, then let him do all the organizing and arranging. If it suits you to turn up, fine and if not, the he gets a taste of his own medicine. Either way, it’s a win-win, babes.’
Mind you, I think I’d probably caved long before any of their well-intentioned Tweedle Dum – Tweedle Dee advice ever kicked in.
Truth is, I believe him, and what’s more there’s hard evidence to back him up. Andy’s a pilot after all, is my reasoning. And wasn’t this kind of carry-on all part and parcel of a pilot’s life? Yes, I’m sure it’s a rarity that there’s a ‘mid-air emergency’ and that a flight suddenly has to be re-routed to the nearest hospital, but still, there you go. And what’s so awful about giving someone the benefit of the doubt anyway? Is it so terrible to believe the good in people and not be so bloody cynical all the time?
Whether I like what happened last Saturday night or not, the fact is, if this is to move forward, then I have to accept that this guy’s whole professional life is at the whim of weather reports, flight schedules and of course the great unknown, passengers themselves.
‘So after my letting you down so badly like that last week, Holly,’ he drawls down the phone at me, during one of his umpteen phone calls this week alone, ‘Is there even the slightest chance you’d still be prepared to meet up with me again? To give me one more shot?’
One more shot. And why not, I ask myself. After all, it’s hardly like there’s another queue of eligible guys waiting to ask me out, now is there?
‘Sweet Jesus and the Orphans,’ says Joy exasperatedly when I tell her. ‘If you’d brains, you’d be dangerous.’
So it’s all arranged. Yet again. Or take two, as Andy refers to it. This Thursday night, he’s flying into Dublin (yet again), same deal, and yet again, he’s staying at the Radisson airport hotel where apparently Delta always overnight their crew, jammy feckers. He begged and pleaded to meet up at the same restaurant, but I was having absolutely none of it.
Once bitten, etc.
Anyway, this time the deal goes thusly; Andy is due to arrive into Dublin that morning, and will call me as soon as he ‘touches down’ to confirm. Then we’re due to meet in the Shelbourne bar right in the dead centre of town at 8 p.m. and it’s actually the perfect spot for me, as my plan is to just stride through the bar and if he’s there he’s there, if he isn’t he isn’t and I’ll just keep on walking.
Worst-case СКАЧАТЬ