Jill Mansell - Sheer Mischief

Janey had never thought of it like that. Neither would she ever have imagined that Paula would argue the case so strongly. Her curiosity aroused, she said, ‘Have you done this kind of thing yourself?’

‘No, but a friend of mine tried it once. And it worked for her.’

‘What happened?’

The younger girl broke into a grin. ‘She met a tall blond airline pilot. Within six weeks, they were married. And they’re amazingly happy.’ Paula, who could give Maxine a run for her money where bluntness was concerned, added, ‘You should try it.’

Startled, Janey laughed aloud. ‘Me?’

‘It’s been two years now since Alan ... disappeared.’ Paula fixed her with a steady gaze. ‘I know it’s been hard for you, but you really should be starting to think about the rest of your life.

You’re only twenty-eight, Janey. You need to start going out, meeting new people ... having fun...’

‘And you seriously think this is the answer?’ Deeply sceptical, Janey said, ‘That by answering a few crazy adverts in the local paper I’ll change my life?’

‘I don’t know.’ Paula, having made her point, crossed her fingers beneath the counter and prayed that Janey would never find out she’d made up the fairytale romance between her friend and the pilot. Reaching for the paper and returning her attention to the crossword, she added casually, ‘But if you don’t try it, you’ll never know. Now, have a look at fourteen across. Do you think it could be pfennig?’

Paula had a way of saying things which stuck in the mind. As she tackled a pile of ironing that evening, Janey found herself recalling their earlier conversation and beginning to wonder if she had a point after all. Having overcome her initial misgivings, she now conceded that for some people, circumstances beyond their control made it hard for them to socialize in the traditional manner. When she’d pressed Paula for further details about her friend, for example, she’d explained that as an airline pilot, Alistair had been so busy flying all over the world, he simply hadn’t had time to meet any girls in his own country. Not interested in the air hostesses with whom he worked, he had placed an advert instead, in Time Out, and received sixty-seven replies. The first date hadn’t worked out and Geraldine, Paula’s friend, had been the second.

True love had blossomed almost instantaneously and the remaining sixty-five females hadn’t had a look-in.

Janey hadn’t believed this story for a moment. Even if Paula hadn’t own-goaled herself, calling the pilot Alistair one minute and Alexander the next, she would have seen through the enormous fib, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. Janey herself had read magazine articles detailing such meetings and subsequent marriages. Paula had undoubtedly been right when she’d declared that sometimes it was simply the most sensible thing to do.

Abandoning the ironing before she wrecked something she was particularly fond of, Janey switched on the kettle. Her stomach was rumbling and she could have murdered a bowl of spaghetti but the cream cakes that afternoon had probably used up her calorie quota for the next three weeks.

Gloomily surveying the contents of the fridge, she set about making herself a boring salad sandwich instead.

‘Widower, 62, seeks the company of a lively lady 4560, for friendship and old-time dancing. Resilient toes an absolute must.’

He sounded lovely. Janey was only sorry she wasn’t old enough for him. Wondering if maybe she couldn’t get away with lying about her age, she read on.

‘Lonely vegan (Sagittarius) wishes to meet soulmate,’ pleaded the next ad. ‘Non-smoking, teetotal young lady required. Capricorn preferred.’

Aaargh, thought Janey. Oh well, it took all sorts. And who knew, maybe there was a soulmate out there somewhere, reading this advert and experiencing a leap of joyous recognition.

‘Gentleman required for plumpish but well-preserved divorcee, 55. Fond of walking, gardening, cooking and dancing.’

That was nice, she could pair up with the foxtrotting widower.

‘Discreet businessman seeks ditto lady, 30-50, for mutually pleasurable meetings, afternoons only.’

A typographical error, surely, thought Janey with a grin. Didn’t he mean ‘matings’?

‘Tall, presentable, divorced male, 35, would like to meet normal female.’

She paused and re-read the words, attracted by their simplicity and intrigued to know more.

Had his wife been spectacularly abnormal? How tall was tall? And did ‘presentable’ mean a bank-managerish grey suit with accompanying dandruff, or clean jeans and a tee-shirt that had actually been ironed?

Twenty minutes later, after having absently flipped through the rest of the paper and finished her sandwich, Janey found herself back once more at the Personal column. With a guilty start, she realized she was studying the advertisement placed by Mr Presentable. Even more alarming she was actually giving it serious consideration.

‘You should try it,’ Paula had said in her uncompromising way. ‘You need to meet new people. If you don’t try it, you’ll never know what you might be missing.’

If the Sagittarian vegan was anything to go by, Janey suspected she did. But maybe ... just maybe Paula had a point. Mr Presentable didn’t sound weird and there was always the chance that he might turn out to be genuinely nice. There was, after all, an undeniable gap in her life, and a cautious toe in the water – nothing too alarming, perhaps a brief meeting in a wine bar for a lunchtime drink – would satisfy her own curiosity and at the same time show Paula that she had at least been willing to make some kind of effort on the man-front.

Or more aptly, the unmanned front.

Although there was Bruno, of course, whom Paula didn’t know about. Janey wasn’t sure whether he really counted. In addition, knowing how she would have felt if Alan had cheated on her, she hated the thought of getting involved and upsetting Nina. Bruno had assured her that theirs was an open relationship but she was, after all, only hearing his side of the story.

If she was being honest, her attraction towards Bruno was yet another good reason why she should consider replying to the advert. Any real involvement with someone like him could only eventually end in tears. What she really needed to do, Janey decided, was to diversify.

‘I don’t believe it!’ cried Maxine, who had only phoned up in order to relieve her own boredom and have a good moan about Serena. Riveted by the news of Janey’s decision, she quite forgot her own irritations. ‘Darling, what an absolute scream! I know, we could both answer a few ads and compare notes afterwards. Marks out of ten for looks, brains and bonkability!’

‘It isn’t a joke.’ With great firmness, Janey interrupted her. Her sister, of course, was about the last person in the world in whom she should have confided. Maxine simply couldn’t comprehend the idea that meeting new men wasn’t always easy. She could scarcely take five paces without tripping over likely contenders in nightclubs, on the street, at supermarket checkouts, even on one occasion in Asprey’s. The man in question had been in the company of his girlfriend at the time, choosing from a selection of wildly expensive engagement rings.

Maxine, broke as usual and shamelessly trying on jewellery for the hell of it, had fallen into conversation with the two of them and came away with the bridegroom-to-be’s phone number in her jacket pocket. When you were Maxine, Janey remembered, men were there for the taking.

They practically queued up to be taken, in fact. Usually for everything they had.

‘What do you mean, it isn’t a joke?’ Maxine demanded. ‘Of course it’s a joke. You can’t seriously be serious!’