reality you were Bath’s answer to a cross between Jo Brand and a walking Mars bar clearly wasn’t on.
As a result of this, Dulcie had joined another, less sumptuous sports club on the other side of the city and had booked daily lessons with the far less desirable middle-aged tennis coach there.
Biting the bullet, she had also enrolled herself in the beginners’ aerobics class. If she could still walk after this, she stumbled along to the gym and pumped iron for an hour.
It had been far and away the most hideous month of Dulcie’s life. The only consolation was that she was doing it where no one recognised her; she was working out at a club so un-smart she was unlikely ever to bump into anyone she knew.
But if hanging on to Liam McPherson involved keeping fit, Dulcie was prepared to suffer.
And now she had suffered, for a whole month. It was just such a bugger that it didn’t show.
Maybe she could squeeze Liam half to death with her thighs. Then he’d be impressed.
Having finished her inspection in front of the mirror, Dulcie wriggled her way into a new dress, a tiny clinging thing the colour of sherbet lemons. With it, she wore flat silver sandals and understated silver jewellery. She was meeting up with Liam at Poppers, the new wine bar on Pulteney Bridge, and she wanted to look good. Poppers was definitely the kind of place people went to be seen.
‘Dulcie? Are you here on your own?’
Turning, Dulcie came face to face with her estranged husband. Honestly, trust Patrick to make her sound like a prostitute.
‘No need to panic! I promise not to flash my knickers at any strange men. Anyway,’ she gave him a teasing smile, ‘this is a wine bar, not a street corner. I’m allowed to be here; it’s all quite legal.’
Actually, it was really nice to see him ... until the next moment when Dulcie realised the girl doing her best to look as if she wasn’t in any way connected with Patrick was connected with him after all.
‘Ah, sorry. Claire, this is Dulcie. My... er, wife. Dulcie, Claire.’
A bit of advance warning wouldn’t have gone amiss, Dulcie felt. She smiled as casually as she could at Claire and was surprised how hard it was to do. What a shame people didn’t wear beepers, like little personal radars, so you always had a few minutes’ notice that you were about to bump into them. That was all you’d need really, Dulcie thought, just a couple of minutes to gear yourself up, mentally prepare yourself for those awkward chance meetings. If Patrick was so clever with acomputer, maybe he should give it a whirl. There had to be a market for a beeper to let you know you were about to cross paths with your husband and his new bird.
‘It’s really nice to meet you,’ said Claire, reaching out and shaking Dulcie’s unsuspecting hand.
‘Look, if you two ‘d like to talk, I could leave you in peace for a few minutes ...’
‘No need for that.’ Patrick acknowledged the diplomatic offer with a brief smile and slid an arm around Claire’s waist.
Dulcie’s eyes almost fell out. Public displays of affection weren’t Patrick’s style at all. For heaven’s sake, it had taken her about four years to persuade him to put his arm around her waist.
‘Anyway,’ he went on, as if Dulcie had deliberately tried to change the subject, ‘why are you here on your own?’
‘I’m not on my own. I’m meeting Liam.’
‘Oh? Where is he?’
‘I got here early,’ Dulcie fibbed.
Patrick shot her a look of disbelief.
‘You’re never anywhere early.’
That was the trouble with husbands; they knew you too well. Dulcie cursed Patrick for knowing her. She began elongating the fib.
‘Well, I didn’t mean to be early but I was over at Liza’s and she had to go out so she gave me a lift. And Liam warned me he might be held up ... someone’s offered him a Lamborghini and if it looks good he’ll take it for a test drive ...’
This bit was actually true. The reason Dulcie was fibbing was to cover up the fact that Liam was over an hour late already. She just knew Patrick would disapprove.
Irritatingly, Patrick wasn’t as impressed as he could have been by her casual mention of the Lamborghini. Knowing him as well as he knew her, Dulcie sensed the lip curl, the slight air of amusement. He was wondering what she thought she was doing, getting herself involved with the kind of man who drove that kind of car.
Cringing inwardly, Dulcie remembered what Steve Ellis, the leering pro from Brunton Golf Club, had called them when Liam had mentioned he was thinking of getting one. ‘Hey, major babe-magnet!’
And Liam, grinning, had replied, ‘I’ve already got one of those.’
‘He probably won’t buy it,’ Dulcie told Patrick and Claire. ‘Not that he couldn’t afford to. It’s just not really his style, you know. Bit naff.’
‘My father had one. He sold it last year,’ said Claire. Realising her gaffe, she covered her mouth and let out a peal of laughter. Then she clutched Dulcie’s arm and, still giggling, whispered conspiratorially, ‘Please don’t be embarrassed. You’re right, of course. Too naff for words. He looked an absolute sight.’
Dulcie was trapped. By nine o’clock there was still no sign of Liam and Patrick was clearly determined to keep her talking until he turned up. Since she knew no one else there, Dulcie didn’t have much choice.
She thought men were supposed to go for a particular type of woman and stick with them, but Patrick certainly hadn’t; he’d managed to find someone the complete opposite of her.
Furthermore – it was irritating but she couldn’t help it; feeling miffed was a natural response –
he definitely seemed happy with Claire.
Maybe that’s all he ever wanted, the type he should have gone for in the first place, Dulcie realised. A sensible, cheerful, gosh-where-did-I-put-my-hockey-stick kind of girl. Intelligent, friendly towards everyone and with heaps of
