Good heavens, he was looking interested! What was this, ditch the old girlfriend and wheel on the new?
‘You wouldn’t like her,’ Dulcie said hurriedly. ‘She’s not your type. She’s even more boring than Claire.’
Amused, Patrick said, ‘Don’t you mean predictable?’
‘You’d hate her.’ Rattling on, Dulcie ticked each point off on her fingers. ‘She gets her legs waxed every Monday at ten thirty ... plucks her eyebrows every Thursday night ...’
Still trying to identify the voice, Patrick said, ‘Does she have terrific legs?’
. a bucket of fat liposuctioned out of each thigh every September ...’
‘How old is she, around thirty?’
‘... has her face lifted every April.’ Dulcie shook her head sorrowfully. ‘She might look thirty but she’s really seventy-three.’
‘Oh well,’ said Patrick, ‘sounds like you’re right, then. Definitely not my type.’
‘Oh hell, listen to me! I’m lying again ... being a bitch,’ Dulcie blurted out. ‘Dammit, none of those things are true. ‘I didn’t even mean to say them – they just came out!’
‘Dulcie—’
‘Oh, it’s no good,’ she wailed, burying her face in her hands, ‘Talk about a hopeless case :.. ‘I was so sure I could do it ... tell the truth, always be nice ... and how long did ‘I last? About thirty seconds, that’s how long. God, I’m pathetic.’’Dulcie, are you crying?’
‘No wonder you weren’t bothered when we split up.’ Dulcie’s voice broke. She kept her fingers clamped over her eyes. ‘I bet you were glad to get rid of me. I’m just an all-round hideous person
—’
‘Dulcie, I know you aren’t crying.’ Reaching over, Patrick prised her fingers away from her face.
‘See?’ She stared at him, dry-eyed and anguished. ‘I’m still doing it, even now.’
‘Why?’
‘Because ‘I don’t know why you’re here,’ Dulcie yelled, ‘and it’s driving me MAD!’ She stopped and hung her head. This time she was speaking the truth. Quietly, avoiding his gaze, she whispered the words again. ‘Because I don’t know why you’re here.’
Looking at the ground, she didn’t see it coming. When it happened, the kiss caught her totally unawares.
Delirious with joy, Dulcie clung to him. Now the tears running down her cheeks were real. She never wanted the kiss to end, she wouldn’t let it end ..
‘You’re strangling me,’ said Patrick gently.
‘Sorry.’ She hid her face in his neck, breathing in the heavenly, unique Patrick-type smell of him. God, if Calvin Klein could bottle that smell ...
‘Okay,’ Patrick’s mouth was against her hair, ‘shall I tell you what you are?’
In an instant Dulcie’s blood ran cold. The kiss had made her think everything was going to be all right; it had made her happy. Now, clearly it was time for the pay-off.
Her voice was muffled.
‘Will ‘I like it?’
‘Probably not.’
But he was going to say it anyway, so what choice did she have?
Dulcie shrugged. ‘Go ahead.’
‘You’re tactless.’
Pressed tightly against his shoulder, Dulcie nodded. ‘Hopelessly impatient.’
Nod.
‘You never think before you act.’
Nod.
‘You eat far too many salt and vinegar crisps.’
Dulcie frowned. How could anyone eat too many salt and vinegar crisps?
‘And you’re always so sure you know best,’ he went on. Another nod.
‘The trouble is, despite all that,’ Patrick said slowly, ‘you’re still my type.’
‘Dulcie, Dulcie, guess what?’
Imelda again. Like the Terminator, she was back.
Dulcie smiled at Patrick, rolled her eyes and carried on unbuttoning his white shirt.
The hammering on the door redoubled.
‘DULCIE, SPEAK TO ME AT ONCE THIS IS AN EMERGENCY.’
‘Probably found a bit of cellulite,’ whispered Dulcie. She finished removing Patrick’s shirt, crumpled it into a ball, flung it over her shoulder and called out, ‘What?’
‘We-ell, I’ve just managed to find out who that gorgeous man was, the one I was drooling over earlier.’ Imelda sounded excited.
