Take Mum Out. Fiona Gibson

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СКАЧАТЬ said I should keep an open mind,’ I remind her.

      ‘Well,’ she says, ‘I’ve a feeling mine’ll be much more your type.’

      ‘Not that this is a competition,’ I tease.

      ‘Of course it’s not. God. It’s all about you, not just cheap entertainment for us.’

      I smirk and flick on the kettle.

      ‘In fact, we’ve all had a chat,’ Viv continues, ‘and we decided that, no matter how much you like the first one, or the second, you still have to go out with all three of them just to be sure.’

      ‘To give you all a fair chance of winning,’ I remark with a grin.

      ‘Yeah. No! Oh, you know what I mean. We feel it’s important to follow the whole process right through to its conclusion.’

      ‘Okay, so who d’you have in mind?’

      Viv hangs off for a moment, in order to pique my interest. I picture her pacing around her small art-filled flat, drawing on a Marlboro Light. ‘Okay – his name’s Giles.’

      ‘Sounds posh.’

      ‘Well, he’s not. At least, not especially. He’s a new guy at work – cute, really fun, dark nicely cut hair and the most stunning blue eyes …’

      ‘Wow,’ I exclaim. ‘And you’re sure he’s single?’

      ‘Yes, absolutely.’

      ‘And you said he’s new …’

      ‘Yeah.’ Curiously, she has become a little reticent.

      ‘Is he a designer?’ I ask, faintly intrigued by the idea of someone who could give me tips on transforming our ‘space’.

      ‘Um … not exactly.’

      I slosh boiling water into my mug – one hand-painted by Viv, incidentally, all cerise and gold swirls, almost too pretty to drink from. ‘Is he in the accountants department?’

      ‘Nooo …’

      I blow out a big gust of air. ‘Viv, listen, you know I don’t care about job titles or how much someone earns. It really doesn’t matter.’

      ‘Yes, I know that,’ she says.

      ‘But you’re actually being really cagey, which is a bit weird. I mean, if you like him and think we’d get along, that’s fine – I don’t care if he’s the maintenance man …’

      ‘He’s the intern,’ she interrupts.

      ‘The intern?’ I repeat. ‘I can’t meet the intern, Viv. God.’

      ‘Why not? You just said you don’t care about job titles.’

      I’m laughing so much now, Fergus pokes his head around the kitchen door to see what’s funny. ‘I don’t,’ I say, grinning and waving him away. ‘It’s not that. It’s about age.’

      ‘But he’s gorgeous,’ she insists. ‘He has amazing bone structure and great teeth …’

      ‘Yes, well, milk teeth usually are.’

      ‘Oh, for God’s sake, he’s not that young. Just meet him, have a drink, go to a movie or something …’

      I pick up Mum’s diet from the table and ping it in the vague direction of the bin. It bounces off it and lands on the floor which is currently littered with enormous, boat-like trainers and a smattering of orangey dust which I presume to be crushed Doritos.

      ‘I’m not sure a movie’s ideal for a first date,’ I say, ‘and I’m not really up for watching American Pie or the latest Pixar …’

      ‘Alice, he’s not a teenager. He’s worked for years, done this and that – taught English, travelled, hung out in Ibiza for a while … he’s a really interesting person.’

      ‘I’m sure he is,’ I reply, as a collection of gap year jewellery – leather thongs, yin yang symbols and the like – shimmers in my mind. God, I haven’t even been to Ibiza; the whole clubbing thing passed me by. In my younger days I was happier installed in a pub with my mates and a load of crisps and beer.

      ‘And he’s always wanted to work in design,’ she continues, ‘so when his grandma died and he inherited some money, he decided to apply for an internship. He was so impressive at the interview, very passionate …’

      ‘Were you orgasming at this point?’ I enquire.

      Viv snorts. ‘I was a bit distracted, I have to admit. Anyway, it’s a career change for him.’

      ‘A change from what? Sitting on beaches and taking shitloads of drugs?’

      ‘Stop that. He’s serious about this. Hopefully he’ll be taken on properly after a few months.’

      I push back my dishevelled dark hair, detecting a faint chip-shop smell, and nibble a finger of Kit Kat that someone has left on the table. ‘So how old is he?’ I ask.

      ‘Er … twenty-nine.’

      ‘That’s ten years younger than me, Viv. I’d feel like his auntie or something. Like he’d expect me to suggest a game of whist.’

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’re still young. Anyway, no one cares about age any more. Remember that half-your-age-plus-seven rule?’

      I perform a swift calculation, rounding myself up to forty to avoid pesky fractions: ‘Twenty-seven.’

      ‘There you go then. He’s comfortably within range …’

      ‘Viv,’ I say thoughtfully, ‘why don’t you ask him out? He sounds far more your type …’

      ‘Because we work together,’ she says in an overly patient voice. ‘It’d be so awkward, especially with me technically being his boss.’

      ‘Oh, of course. So have you mentioned me yet?’

      ‘I might have casually said something,’ she teases.

      ‘But we only hatched this plan yesterday and you haven’t been at work …’

      ‘We had to finish off an advertising shoot this morning and he offered to help,’ she says. ‘He’s very dedicated.’

      ‘And, er … he’s up for meeting me, is he? I mean … he knows I have two sons, and that one of them will be old enough to drive a car this time next year?’

      ‘Yes, well, I didn’t go into detail, but he knows you’re a bit older and he was perfectly fine with that.’

      I sip my tea. ‘Listen, he’s not one of those, “I love older women” types, is he? The kind who fantasised about his friend’s mum or his well-preserved biology teacher …’

      Viv СКАЧАТЬ