Take Mum Out Read Online Free Page B

attire?
    ‘Don’t you have a babysitter?’ Anthony wants to know.
    Oh God. Having insisted on paying the bill, he’d clearly anticipated that there would at least be a snog in return. Or perhaps he expected that, having been treated to the tasting menu, I’d feel obliged to hot-foot it to his boudoir to remove my ‘cheap bit of cloth’.
    ‘No, well – it’s a bit tricky,’ I explain. ‘Logan’s sixteen and he’d die if I suggested booking a sitter. I mean, most of the ones we know are in his school year so I could hardly ask them to come over and look after him.’
    His eyes glaze briefly, as they did when I mentioned being a school secretary. ‘Well, that’s a real shame.’
    ‘So I really should get back …’
    ‘Right.’ He blinks at me, studying my face. I’m convinced now that every time he looks at me, he’s planning how to fix me up, like an over-zealous decorator about to be let loose on a clapped-out house.
    ‘It’s been a lovely evening,’ I add, ‘and thanks so much for dinner.’
    ‘My pleasure. We must do it again some time.’
    Just how does a woman wriggle out of arranging a second date in these modern times?
    ‘I, er … I’ve got a lot on over the next few weeks,’ I explain.
    ‘Hmmm. Busy lady, are you?’
    ‘Er … yes, especially with the meringue thing taking off these past few weeks …’
I’ll be busy whipping up egg whites into the small hours, you see, with no room in my life for a weasly man who’s starting to look more and more doll-like.
Not Ken, I decide. More Action Man with his angular jaw and painted-on hair.
    ‘Meringues.’ Anthony rolls the word around his mouth. ‘I’d love to try them. I’d imagine they’re quite delicious.’
    ‘Um … yes.’ I check my watch unnecessarily. ‘Well, they sell them in Peckery’s – you know the coffee shop in Hanover Street? And Betsy’s next to St Martin’s Church. Anyway, thanks again—’
    ‘Can I walk you home?’
    ‘Oh, no – you live miles away in completely the opposite direction.’
    ‘Let’s get you a cab then.’ He goes for my arm, clutching it as if, without his support, I might topple over. However, although I felt mildly pissed in the restaurant, the cool drizzle on my face has miraculously restored me to one-hundred-per-cent sobriety.
    ‘Anthony,’ I say firmly, ‘I only live twenty minutes away. I’d actually like to walk.’ I smile again, and this is when I make my crucial mistake. As I stretch up to give him a polite kiss on his waxy cheek, my brief, bird-like peck is somehow misinterpreted to mean that I desire him very much, and next thing I know, he’s got my face in his hands and has jammed his wet lips on mine as he goes in for the full-on, tongue-jabbing snog.
    ‘What are you doing?’ I exclaim, springing away from him.
    ‘Oh, come on, Alice. You’re a saucy minx – I can tell …’
    I stare at him, speechless.
    ‘You older women,’ Anthony adds in a throaty growl, ‘I know what you’re like. You know your onions …’
    ‘I know my
onions
?’ I bark. ‘How old d’you think I am?’
    He shrugs. ‘Thirty-seven?’
    ‘Thirty-nine actually.’ I omit to mention that my fortieth is a mere month away. ‘How about you?’
    He smirks. ‘You might be surprised to learn that I’m actually forty-five.’ And he’s calling
me
an older woman? ‘My last girlfriend was twenty-eight,’ he adds, ‘but I’ve finished with younger girls now. Their bodies are great but they can be so vacuous. It’s refreshing to spend time with someone who’s genuinely interested in what one has to say.’
    ‘I’m sorry, I really have to go,’ I say, cheeks blazing as I turn on my stupid heels and march away.
    Mercifully, Anthony doesn’t protest or try to follow me. I walk briskly, overcome by the terrible realisation that, for a ‘woman of my age’, this is probably as good as it gets. God, if that’s a typical example of dating today, then it’s something I’ll avoid from