Blokebusters Read online

  “Toast’s ready!” Georgia hollered up the stairs.

  He jumped, embarrassed that somehow she knew what he’d been doing.

  “Coming.” He bounded down the stairs, past all the framed Cary Grant posters on the wall, betting that Cary never had trouble getting served in bars.

  *

  “Fi, what a surprise!” Georgia said brightly as she answered the door.

  Fiona grinned back at her.

  “I was just passing – thought I’d stop by in case you needed assistance in implementing any evil plans you were working on.

  “What a coincidence!” She glanced down the hallway to make sure Matt hadn’t heard the bell. “It’s four now, I propose we flatter and charm him till dinner, when I’m going to suggest you stay for a Chinese takeaway – it’s his favourite. We specifically request a bottle of his firewater with the meal and have one afterwards too – but neither we nor he should get too drunk. Then we pitch our proposal. We pitch as if our lives depended on it and only stop when he promises to help. Matt never goes back on a promise.”

  “I’ll be guided by you,” Fiona nodded solemnly.

  They walked into the kitchen and Fiona flinched, as she always did, at the sunflower yellow walls and the electric blue gloss-painted units. It was the colour scheme that finally prompted Georgia to ban Matt from having any say in selecting paint and furnishings. Fiona believed it was what would be waiting for her in hell; she sometimes found beige too strong a colour. Every room in her flat was painted white. Matt said it was like a lunatic asylum.

  Georgia brewed some tea and they watched him from the kitchen window as if he were an exhibit at the zoo.

  “What’s he doing?” Fiona asked. “It looks like he’s picking something – courgettes perhaps?”

  “He’s harvesting his marrows.”

  “No. They’re too small.”

  “Trust me, they’re marrows.”

  “No way – I know what a bloody marrow looks like. Marrows are huge, these are tiny.” She emphasised the difference in length with her hands. It was a gesture she’d used often but this was the first time she’d used it in relation to marrows.

  “They’re marrows. When he brings them in don’t say they’re small, compliment them on their lovely dark green colour. Bonus marks for calling them glossy.” She noticed Fiona’s scepticism. “Look – do you want a whiz-bang website or not?”

  Matt kicked his trainers off at the door, cradling his marrows like newborn babies.

  “Georgia – you won’t believe how great these have turned out. Oh, hello Fi.”

  Fiona was always sensitive to the different voice Matt had for Georgia compared to the one he had for her. When he spoke to Fiona it was friendly but it lacked the intense warmth and love he saved for Georgia; it wasn’t a conscious effort on his part but it was always there. Matt and Georgia had become her benchmark for what she wanted in a relationship. They’d been together for nine years, of which nearly five had been as husband and wife, yet she’d never heard either complain about the other in any serious way. Sometimes she felt jealous but mostly she could be pleased for them. She snapped out of her reverie when Georgia glared at her.

  “Oh Matt. What fantastic marrows!” She glanced at Georgia, whose eye rolling suggested she was over-acting. She tried again. “The shop ones never have that lovely dark green colour. Really glossy too.” She took the top marrow and turned it in her fingers to admire it from all sides.

  “Georgia must’ve told you what they were,” he said.

  Georgia poured the tea and handed Matt his mug. He headed to the door to take it out into the garden.

  “No you don’t.” She pulled his sleeve. “You’ve been working hard out there – you need a break.”

  He smiled at her concern.

  “It’s lovely autumn sunshine. You two should come and sit outside – get some air.”

  “Good idea.”

  Although most of the garden had been turned over to Matt’s mania, Georgia insisted they kept the small patio area on which her table and chairs just about fitted. Fiona perched on the metal chair, trying to tuck her coat under her so no mud or, perish the thought, manure found its way to the beautiful pale grey wool.

  “I brought some Jaffa Cakes out – can’t have you wasting away with all this exertion,” Georgia said, playfully rubbing Matt’s stomach.

  “Great – my favourite.” He wedged a whole one into his mouth with boyish delight.

  “Fiona was saying how marvellous she thought all your veg was looking. Tell Matt what you said to me earlier.”

  Fiona’s eyes widened and she desperately scanned the garden for something to ask him about.

  “Yes. I ehm… wondered… what those lovely green leaves are – over next to those other green things. Are they some sort of exotic leaf?” She pointed in a deliberately vague way to a corner of the garden.

  Matt sniggered.

  “Fi – you don’t have to prove what a townie you are! Exotic leaves! They’re onion leaves. Awesome variety – the Kelsae, renowned for being the biggest onions in the world – one weighed in at over fifteen pounds.” His excitement dampened. “Of course, mine are somewhat smaller than that – about the size of an egg, but beautiful nonetheless.”

  *

  After the Chinese takeaway, they moved into the living room.

  “Have you got another bottle of your wine?” Fiona asked, settling into the armchair. She always felt happiest in the living room as it had the least colour. Matt and Georgia’s tastes were bold – electric blue in the kitchen, vivid red in the dining room, primrose yellow in the hallway and a difficult to ignore lilac and lavender scheme in the downstairs loo. Fiona had dreams where she danced around their house with a magic paintbrush where all she had to do was dab it on a wall and the wall turned white. The natural creams and wood in the living room soothed her, even if the orange suite was a bit daring.

  “Tell you what we could try… is it time though?… when did I make it?” Matt voiced his thought process, screwing up his face as he worked out the dates. “Yes, I bottled it in April, so it’s only a week off six months.” He realised they were watching him and his more normal, bashful demeanour returned, “I was just working it out – my rhubarb wine’s probably ready. If you want to try it.”

  “Oooh, yes,” they said in unison. Even Matt would have smelt a rat at their keenness had he not already been softened up with two glasses of dandelion wine.

  He poured Fiona’s glass first and waited to see her reaction on tasting it.

  “Hmm. Delicious.” As soon as he turned to pour Georgia’s, Fiona stuck her fingers down her throat to indicate her true opinion.

  If the dandelion wine was strong, the rhubarb wine was positively atomic in its potency. Georgia wondered if it could be marketed as a tooth plaque remover, the only problem being it felt like it was also burning off her tooth enamel. She glanced at Matt; he had the contented expression he wore after he’d really enjoyed a day, the one where his features naturally settled into a crumpled half smile. The time was now. She snuggled up to him and he put his arm around her.

  “Fiona and I were talking,” she said. Build up to it, don’t leap in with both feet, softly softly catchee monkey.

  “Were you?”

  “Yes. About what a genius you are.”

  “Now I know I’m being wound up.”

  “No, it’s true – we were,” Fiona chipped in.

  “It’s a pity that no employer in the London area seems to share your opinion but I’m flattered.”

  “So you should be.” Georgia idly fiddled with the belt of his jeans. “We’re both very intelligent women and we think you’re a genius.” She traced his jaw line with her finger. “It’s that idea you had the other night.”

  “What idea was that then?”

  “About women getting the loyalty of their partner tested by a third party,” Fiona said.

  “I said that?”

  “You did. Like I said –
you’re a genius.” Georgia smiled. “We’ve been doing a bit of market research – women would be willing to pay for it. About £150 for the service and full feedback.”

  “Some even willing to pay £200,” Fiona chirped.

  “Wow,” Matt said, taking a sip of wine and wincing. “But what’s that got to do with us?”

  “Well, we thought that maybe we could offer that service. If someone really talented and clever and handsome and wonderful could set us up a website, we reckon there’s a fortune to be made.” Georgia nuzzled her shoulder into his.

  “But you’d have to employ women to go out and do this – seducing? I don’t know what to call it.”

  “That’s where Georgia and I come in,” Fiona said. Georgia grimaced at her; she’d revealed it too early.

  Matt’s face hardened.

  “No. No way. No.”

  “That’s all minor detail at the moment. We haven’t discussed it yet,” Georgia’s voice became acidic, “have we, Fi?”

  “No.” Fiona shrank back in her chair.

  “I don’t know. It sounds dodgy,” Matt said. Georgia reached for the bottle of wine and filled his glass. “It could be dangerous too – these men might be horrible. There are a lot of weirdoes out there.”

  “But in principle you agree it could work?” Georgia asked.

  “If by ‘in principle’ you mean someone other than you doing it, then yes. I do think it could work.”

  “Thanks. I didn’t realise I was so unattractive.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Yes you did. You don’t think I’m attractive enough to make men interested.” She wiped away pretend tears.

  “Of course I do – you’re gorgeous. If a man was going to cheat, he’d cheat with you.”

  Georgia didn’t speak, well aware that nothing made Matt crack quicker than frosty silence. Fiona opened her mouth so say something but rapidly closed it when Georgia caught her eye.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you Georgia,” Matt said softly, embarrassed that Fiona should witness their falling out.

  She ignored him and took a sip of her wine. It made her cough. Matt interpreted it as a sob.

  “Don’t cry – please.”

  Georgia ignored him.

  “Georgia,” he pleaded.

  Fiona had negotiated enough times to spot when the opposition was close to conceding.

  “How about you agree to help us set up the website and give the business a go until you get a new job? When you don’t financially need to run the business anymore, we call it a day?” She added, “Georgia and I will do the ‘seducing’ initially and if it goes well we can hire other women to do it. It’s got to be worth a go?”

  “Well… ” He shot an anxious glance at Georgia.

  “We could be equal partners. We could use your £2,000 redundancy pay, and Fi could put in £1,000. We could have a third of the shares each,” Georgia said. Remembering her upset she blew her nose and wiped her eyes.

  “Equal partners?” Matt queried, thinking that he’d actually always have a majority vote because Georgia would always side with him.

  “Equal,” Fiona said, thinking that she’d actually always have a majority vote because Georgia was more likely to be in-tune with her opinion than Matt’s.

  “And it’s only temporary?”

  Georgia nodded innocently. Sensing his uncertainty she let out a sob and quivered her chest. He cracked.

  “All right. But it’s only temporary. And I’m not letting you go anywhere without me coming along to make sure you’re not in any danger. And we sit down and work it all out properly before we do anything else.”

  “Do you promise?” Georgia asked.

  “Promise what?”

  “That you’ll do the website, and help run the business and be keen about it all?”

  He sighed like he was regretting it already.

  “I promise.” He glanced at Georgia suspiciously. “A more cynical man than me might suspect he’d just been set up.”

  Chapter five

  Georgia stood at the kitchen sink absent-mindedly rinsing lettuce leaves. A miracle had occurred and Matt had grown a reasonably appealing Lollo Bionda.

  “No!” he cried from behind her and she dropped the leaf she was holding. “Delia says you mustn’t ever wash lettuce – it kills the flavour and texture.”

  “Rubbish.”

  “It’s true.” He scooped the leaves out of the water. “Oh my poor babies – what’s she done to you? You’re meant to dab them with damp kitchen paper.” He demonstrated with considerable tenderness.

  “Sod that for a game of soldiers. These have got nits all over them. I’d use a bloody pressure washer if I could.”

  Her unrepentant tone sent his mind skipping back to their first proper date. He’d blown a week’s salary from his part-time job in the Student Union bookshop to take her to a restaurant in Camden. Service was so slow that she’d gone behind the bar to pour their drinks. When the staff challenged her she defiantly pouted that she wouldn’t have had to if the service weren’t so bloody hopeless. She didn’t even look embarrassed. It was at that precise moment he fell in love with her. He watched the scene from the table, a thrilling blend of shame and awe pulsing through his veins; suddenly he felt alive. He had never seen someone so utterly in the wrong so eloquently and brazenly defend her point of view. She was a firebrand. She was everything his mother would’ve warned him against if he’d had that sort of mother: the sort who cared.

  Georgia misinterpreted the sadness on his face.

  “Matt – I’m sorry – it’s just the leaves did have a lot of crap on them.”

  “It’s not that. I was thinking about my mother.”

  “What brought that on?” She pushed his hair out of his eyes and rested her hand on his shoulder.

  “Dunno really – she pops into my mind every now and again. Not often.” He paused and she knew to let the silence continue; if she jumped in he wouldn’t voice what was troubling him. “I got rejected for a job today,” he said. “Too experienced. I’m thirty-two and too experienced. Can you believe it?”

  Georgia shook her head and carried the bowl of salad into the dining room.

  “Maybe you should stop looking for a while – y’know, let the industry pick up a bit.”

  “Let me guess. I should be helping to hire my wife out to lecherous men.”

  “What a great idea.” She headed back to the kitchen to fetch the dinner. It was another lasagne. Matt was a good cook with a wide repertoire but had a particular fondness for lasagne. Whatever the weather, they had one a week. After three years of this pattern, Georgia had complained. Matt warned her that no woman should try to come between a man and his pasta and the topic had never arisen again.

  Soon after he dished their meals up, the doorbell sounded and Matt gestured that Georgia should carry on eating. He went to the door and let Fiona in.

  “Fi, we were just having dinner.”

  “Have you got any for me? I’m starving,” she said, taking her coat off and hanging it on a hook like she lived there.

  “Go through – I’ll get you a plate.”

  Fiona loaded up a forkful of lasagne and ate it with hunger.

  “Hmm, this is gorgeous. I haven’t eaten all day.”

  “Busy?” Georgia asked.

  “No, new diet. You go for as long as you can without eating anything and when you feel hungry in the evening, you only eat a salad.” She tilted her head back and wedged a further helping of delicious, browned cheese into her mouth, making sure the stringy bits didn’t smudge her lipstick. Noticing Matt and Georgia’s expressions she shrugged. “Well, I am actually sitting near some salad – so it’s not a complete breach of the rules.” Her words were cut short as another forkful was despatched. She chewed in ecstasy and took another mouthful before speaking. “I haven’t come entirely to eat your food.” The lure of the lasagne got the better of her, and she paused to eat more. “I’ve got some busin
ess news. I’m busting to tell you. But not more than I’m busting to eat this.” When she’d cleared her plate, she put her fork down and sighed. “That was divine – thanks. Do you have pudding on a week day?”

  “We’ve got some ice cream,” Matt said.

  “Oh, I shouldn’t really. It’s loaded with calories. Oh go on then – just to keep you two company.”

  Georgia stacked the plates and took them through to the kitchen. Matt followed her with the lasagne dish and the salad.

  “I’m glad she’s on a diet,” he said. “Do you think she has actually got any news or is just using it as a ploy to empty our fridge?”

  *

  Matt washed, Georgia wiped and Fiona lurked, looking like she was helping but not actually doing anything.

  “We are now a company,” she said.

  Matt turned to Georgia to see what his reaction should be. She looked puzzled.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I want the protection of limited liability. Also corporation tax is much lower than the income tax we’d be paying on earnings. I was toying with a limited partnership but –seeing as we’ll need to disclose it to our employers – it might look suspicious. Anyone can set up a company to run in their spare time… but a limited partnership has a ring of a professional service to it. Moonlighting. Not good,” Fiona said, “and we need the anonymity. I doubt Lenham & Donald – lawyers to the cream of society – would be very pleased to find out one of their key members of staff was moonlighting as an arch seductress. Nor Bailey Martin realising one of their star auditors was. Nor —” She paused, realising Matt didn’t have an employer to embarrass. He looked down at the sink pretending to wash something.