Blokebusters Read online

  “It’s the type of men who don’t look like that type of man who have the best success rate. You won’t complain – trust me.”

  Trust you? That is the very last thing I would do, she thought as she headed for the loo.

  She turned around to make sure he wasn’t watching her. Seizing the opportunity to escape she sprinted up the stairs back onto the street and called Matt. Her heart skipped at how quickly he appeared; he hadn’t even paused to put his coat on. She flung her arms around him and he let her hang off his neck for a while before growing too impatient.

  “Well?” His face seemed pale in contrast to his dark jumper.

  “Mission accomplished. Let’s get out of here.”

  They walked briskly to the nearest Tube station. Matt put his arm around her knowing she’d feel the cold. It felt nice, Matt’s hand, Matt’s arm, Matt’s voice and breath. She realised how much she had to be grateful for. She also realised that she couldn’t tell Matt how draining she’d found the experience. She’d get better – less emotionally involved – with practice. He didn’t need to know how wrong it had felt.

  “So, was he a rat?”

  “Let’s put it this way – he gave me £5 to buy something from the vending machine in the toilet.”

  “But you’re not suffering with women’s troubles are you?”

  “I don’t think he meant I should buy myself some tampons.”

  Suddenly, he understood.

  “The lousy so-and-so. I’ve got a good mind to go back in there and —”

  “No you haven’t.” She tugged his arm to make him resume walking.

  “He can’t be allowed to get away with that.” Once again, he tried to head back to the bar. She pulled his arm again.

  “You’re not going anywhere mister. You’re the crappest fighter I’ve ever seen.”

  “That’s hardly fair,” he sniffed.

  “Isn’t it? LSE student bar, 2004. In the blue corner we have Matthew James Everdene Brown, 6 foot 4. In the red corner we have a small Chinese female student, 5 foot 2 max. Who ended up with the bruised ribs?”

  “She took me by surprise.” He rubbed his ribs defensively as they stepped onto the escalator taking them down to the Tube platform. He stood a step further down than her, which helped to even up their heights.

  “Yeah. True. She did only say ‘out of my way string bean’ twice before she lashed out.”

  Matt didn’t reply. Joke over, she smoothed his hair and kissed his forehead. He smiled at her, his eyes generating a heat capable of melting iron.

  “She had a mean punch on her.”

  Georgia rested her hands on his chest.

  “I love you Matt. And I’m glad you came tonight – you made it less scary.”

  He grinned.

  “Ah, I get it. The more of these love rats you see the better light I’ll appear in. Hmm, that’s an unexpected bonus.” He held her hands and kissed them. Because he was facing Georgia, the bottom of the escalator came as a surprise to him and he stumbled off it, fighting to keep his balance and his cool.

  On the train home he held Georgia close. It wasn’t that late in the evening yet the train had a vague aroma of vomit and disinfectant about it.

  “I should give you some quotes of things he said.”

  “Why? So I can brush up on my seduction technique?”

  “No – you soppy date. So when you call the client tomorrow we can prove we provided the service. When they don’t come with us they might suspect we take their cash and do nothing – I would. A few direct quotes will ring some bells and add authenticity.”

  *

  Matt recalled just in time that it was Larry, and not him, who was due to contact the client the next morning. Larry related Michael’s comment about his flatmate and his boast that it wasn’t the first time he’d picked a woman up in a bar. The client tutted in disgust.

  “I sort of knew anyway. I wanted to hear it from someone impartial – if I challenged him about it before now he’d have made me think I was being paranoid. I needed to know for sure. You must think I’m a real sad case – needing to pay someone to find out if my husband’s cheating on me.”

  “Not sad, just unlucky,” Larry said.

  She drew her breath sharply. “Well, thanks for calling, Larry. I’ll recommend you to any of my friends unfortunate enough to need you.”

  “Thank you, you’re too kind.”

  After he hung up he couldn’t help wondering what the client would do armed with the information that her husband was willing to be unfaithful. If she were anything like Georgia she’d probably take scissors to his reproductive organs. It would always be that way, he mused; they would play a key role in the story but would never know the endings. He raided his chocolate drawer for a KitKat and realised that he hadn’t checked the Blokebusters website for clients. His eyes widened in disbelief and he picked up the phone as if on autopilot.

  “Georgia? We’ve got three more.”

  SECTION 2: ENLIGHTENMENT

  Chapter ten

  Georgia took two weeks’ holiday over the Christmas period. She disliked the false jollity that pervaded every office and the nasty little gatherings where she was expected to have a fabulous time with only wine-in-a-box and crisps.

  She sat at the dressing table in her underwear, the seat creaking accusingly at Matt, putting up her hair. Much as she avoided works outings, she couldn’t dodge the formal office party at the Grosvenor Hotel. It was career suicide to fail to show your face at events like these. She’d booked a cab to take her and Matt there and to bring them home.

  Matt peered at the suit hanging in the doorway as if he couldn’t work out what he was supposed to do with it. He’d hired it from Moss Bros for the evening. Matt and suits were an odd combination, neither Matt nor the suit ever really escaped with much dignity. He had the knack of making clothes look like they were made out of flour sacks.

  Georgia watched him in the mirror.

  “You’d better start getting dressed.”

  “Do I have to? Now I’m an Internet success story can’t I be a maverick and turn up in jeans?”

  “No. They wouldn’t let you in.”

  “Fine with me.” A petulant tone crept into his voice.

  “Listen – how often do I ask you to look smart? I’ll tell you. Once a year. Do I ever moan at what you wear? Never. Once a year – once a sodding year you have to wear a suit and do I ever hear the end of it? No I don’t. You’re making me angry now – shut up and get dressed.”

  He marvelled at how they could have a whole conversation without him speaking but decided to do as he was told, sensing that Mount Georgia may be capable of a larger eruption. It took him five minutes to put the suit on and he felt more constricted than he’d felt since he’d been pinned to the wall by a ten-year-old child malevolently abusing a trolley in Sainsbury’s.

  “Can you zip me up please?” Georgia said.

  He walked over to her and stood closer than necessary. Pulling her zip up he stopped halfway, enabling him to steal some kisses on her back. It was only when she stepped away from him he noticed the dress. It was vivid red velvet – the ultimate ‘look at me’ colour. The strapless bodice fitted her like a second skin and highlighted her breasts, waist, hips and backside. It flared out slightly to the ground but an onlooker could still easily appreciate her long, slim legs.

  “You look like a goddess. Seriously.” He fingered her red crystal beaded drop earrings admiringly.

  She smiled.

  “You look pretty tasty yourself. I love you in a suit.” She smoothed his lapels and straightened his shirt collar. His bow tie was wonky and refused to be levelled. Somehow he’d managed to twist one of the cuffs so it was caught up in the jacket sleeve. She spent ten minutes straightening him out. And he still looked like he’d gone cross-country running in it. Giving it up as a lost cause she turned her attention to his flattening his hair; she’d successfully smooth a bit, move on to the next section and, by the time she�
�d sorted it out the first was all over the place again. She giggled at the futility of it and the patient expression on Matt’s face.

  “Oh well.” She conceded defeat. “At least you smell nice.”

  She was checking the contents of her evening purse when Matt let out such a yell she thought he’d hurt himself. She dashed into his office, where the sound had emanated from.

  “Matt! Are you OK?”

  “Look… ” his voice trembled. “Look!”

  “Where?”

  “There, in that pot.” He pointed to a pot on the windowsill. “A palm seed’s taken. Look, a tiny shoot. I’ve grown a palm tree.”

  “Well done.” She tried not to let the sense of anticlimax she felt filter through to her voice. “It’s very sweet isn’t it?” She went to poke the stubby plastic-looking pale green shoot; to her eyes it looked more like a mouldy cashew nut than a palm tree.

  “Don’t touch it,” he urged, making her jump. “They’re very sensitive at this point. It’s symbolic, Georgia. It’s no coincidence this is the room it decided to grow in. It’s symbolic. Blokebusters’ taking off, palms are growing. Anything’s possible. It’s a fertile room.”

  “Right. Yes. A fertile room.”

  Blokebusters was taking off, he was correct about that. In two and a half months business had picked up rapidly. The constant advertising in WOT magazine coupled with word-of-mouth recommendations meant they were averaging four clients a week. Still not quite the eighteen or so they needed per month to be happily solvent but a big step forward nonetheless. The run-up to Christmas had been a boom time too, a plethora of women suspicious at what their men got up to. Mixed in with a decent percentage of nice men who had given no grounds to doubt their fidelity, Georgia had met the biggest shower of losers, creeps and liars imaginable. Each had his own appalling chat-up lines. There was Gordon, who thought igniting his wind would turn her on; Vince who didn’t seem to realise she had a head and spoke only to her breasts – even when she’d said, “Vince, they don’t talk,” he didn’t get the message. The prizewinner so far was Gary, who claimed he couldn’t tell her what he did due to the Official Secrets Act, yet she knew from the client’s questionnaire that he was a Tube driver.

  *

  They sat in the cab, each looking out of their own window. Matt, folded up so much he looked like a piece of origami, turned to Georgia and tapped her thigh.

  “What time can we leave tonight?”

  “We’re not even there yet!” she laughed.

  “You know I hate these things.”

  “We won’t stay late.”

  “Is there anyone I should avoid?”

  “Not really.”

  “I don’t want to embarrass you,” he said quietly.

  “As if you could.” She stroked his thigh and let her hand rest there. “Just don’t take any cuttings from the hotel’s plants.”

  The Grosvenor was packed with hundreds of Bailey Martin London office employees. The noise was like a departure lounge at an airport, everyone shouting to be heard. Matt was keen to see the décor and furnishings of such a fancy place but, disappointingly, only the ceiling and upper half of the walls were visible. Everywhere else was obscured with people. It reminded him of when beekeepers pulled a slice of honeycomb out from the hive and you couldn’t see it because thousands of bees swarmed all over it.

  “Matt! Good to see you again.” Jeff headed for them as soon as they arrived and shook Matt’s hand enthusiastically.

  “Oh, yes, hello,” Matt said, not having a clue who Jeff was.

  “Pose for a photo – it’s for the department notice board.” Jeff snapped a couple of shots of them. “Georgia – don’t you look amazing?” He walked around her to take in the full effect. Matt thought it quite a slick move but could tell from Georgia’s expression that she didn’t. “I can’t decide which angle gives the best view.”

  “Nice meeting you again Jeff, come on Georgia.” Matt led her away by the hand, his sense of propriety offended by Jeff’s lewd comment. They helped themselves to champagne from the nearest waiter; Matt drained his glass and took another to calm his nerves. The waiter eyed him suspiciously and walked away as if suspecting Matt would’ve worked his way through the contents of the tray given the chance.

  Georgia noticed his eyes, suddenly full of want, affix on something and followed his gaze to see what had caused it. Either side of the doorway to the main bar was a miniature holly tree in a pot.

  “Don’t even think about it, sunshine,” she said and he nodded at her.

  All evening he was aware of the glances and amused expressions he attracted. It was always the same. There was a constant stream of new employees to marvel at what a mismatch they looked. He knew Georgia was out of his league; they didn’t all have to keep reminding him. When he caught sight of his reflection in a glass door he couldn’t deny their point of view. It reminded him of his computer magazines. Occasionally they’d have pictures of an awards ceremony where all the Internet and IT gurus gathered. Tables full of nerds and geeks with dreadful glasses and even worse fashion sense, accompanied by the most beautiful women imaginable. He could explain it for them – they all had fortunes. Matt didn’t, yet Georgia was on his arm. Well, she wasn’t at the moment; her boss, a senior partner, had whisked her away for a turn around the dance floor. He watched her dancing, she was a stunning woman: dark hair, pale perfect skin, gorgeous olive eyes, tall with a figure to make a man salivate. What on earth was it she saw in him that no one else could? It couldn’t be his long nose and crooked smile. Or his mad hair. Or his height – women always said they liked tall men but he’d never noticed it getting him any attention other than old ladies in supermarkets asking him to get them items from the higher shelves; he was too tall, it gave him bad posture stooping to fit in with the normal people. It worried him that he didn’t know, it always had. If he didn’t know what it was he had that appealed to her, how could he ensure he didn’t lose it?

  From the other side of the ballroom Jeff watched with envy, his jealousy was twofold. Firstly, Georgia hadn’t danced with him; secondly, he couldn’t sidle up to their boss like she could. He imagined her advancing her career the whole time they were waltzing. They both knew there was only one promotion to senior manager up for grabs next year. With every coquettish flutter of her eyelashes and coy smile she darted at their boss, Jeff felt it slipping away from him. He had to find some way to grab it back.

  Georgia had always liked David Crossley, her boss. He was in his late forties and had a friendly, avuncular air about him. She respected his intellect and the way his hand stayed rooted to her back, no lower. The music wasn’t quite to her taste – a live band soaring earnestly on their strings to produce waltzes and other tempos she didn’t recognise. She’d have preferred a horn section and a finger-snapping vocalist.

  “I’m surprised your husband lets other men dance with you when you look so lovely,” David smiled.

  He lets me do a lot more than that, she thought, counting up how many men she’d tried to seduce in bars over the past few weeks.

  “He knows he’s got nothing to worry about,” she said feeling naughty about her secret life that none of them could even begin to suspect existed.

  He turned her skilfully on the floor so that she now had an undisturbed view of Matt. He was sitting on his own, trying to mould his napkin into something; she couldn’t work out what.

  *

  “I’ll just pop to the loo, before our cab arrives,” she whispered to Matt. The mention of their cab home produced his first genuine smile of the evening. When she was in the cubicle she heard two women enter, they were in her department but junior to her by several years.

  “D’you reckon he slept in that suit? Have you seen what a state he looks?” One giggled.

  “I know. You’d get it dead wrong wouldn’t you? You’d never think she’d pick him in a million years.”

  “I’d been warned but even so – what a shocker!”

  G
eorgia rolled her eyes. What a silly error to make – slagging someone off when you didn’t know who the cubicle occupant was. It wasn’t the time to react, better to save it for when she conducted their job appraisals next summer.

  *

  Matt adored Christmas now, but he hadn’t always. Christmas used to be his least favourite time of year because he had to spend it at home. He could gatecrash his school friends’ summers or Easters but not their Christmases. Christmas was a time for families – worst luck. His mother wouldn’t allow him to have a Christmas tree. The only decoration she would permit was a small nativity set carved from wood. It had given him nightmares as a child, particularly the third king who looked like he might possess serial killer tendencies. His parents treated all Bank Holidays as if they didn’t exist. His father, who Matt only realised later in life was a bit of a fascist, viewed Bank Holidays as offerings to please the plebeian masses and would have no part of them. They did make one small concession for Christmas – he always got a present. It was a £5 book token. Always. It never went up to reflect inflation. He knew they were generous all year round with his schooling and he was never denied school trips or books or sports equipment – anything to keep him away from home, but it would’ve been nice to receive an exciting Christmas present. He’d never tasted a traditional turkey dinner until he met Georgia and spent Christmas day at her parents’ home. She’d thought he was acting when he deeply inhaled the smell of the cracker snap and then studied the contents of his cracker with awe. It was like having an alien, who had recently landed on earth, at the table. When she’d given him his Christmas gift he’d swallowed furiously to hold back tears, emotionally unable to handle it.

  Unhappy times, he thought to himself as he draped the second string of lights around the enormous Christmas tree he’d selected. He knew Georgia would flip when she saw it and grudgingly understood as it took up a quarter of their living room. This Christmas would be the best ever: Georgia’s parents were on a cruise, Nancy and Alan were going to Florida, and Fiona was at her parents’ in Sussex. Georgia was his.