Confessions of a Serial Dater Read Free Page B

functions—you just never know who you’re going to meet, and let’s face it, the tickets were very expensive. But raising money for children’s charities is such a good cause. Sidney’s sister is some kind of fund-raising guru, and she arranged the whole thing. Bossiness must run in the family…
    Briefly, I consider checking my cell phone for messages. I switched it off when we arrived because my mother has thehabit of calling me at all hours of the day, even when I tell her well in advance that I will be incommunicado.
    But I just can’t face any more Mayford family disasters at the moment, of the real or imagined variety. They’ll just have to manage without me for one night. I will check it when I get home. Or tomorrow…
    I could use a lifeline and call a friend, therefore creating the impression that I am not a sad, lonely person on her own but someone who has just escaped the party to make important business calls.
    But Carmen and Paul will be engaged in their usual Friday-night fight and will not appreciate the interruption as they smash plates and generally scream at each other. I don’t know why they do this, but Carmen says it’s just a form of self-expression. And the sex afterwards is phenomenal. But expensive in terms of crockery.
    Jess will be at Friday-night knitting class. She says it’s all the rage now, and not like some old women sitting together in a circle at all. Apparently, it’s all dragon patterns and skulls and crossbones—the “new” rave party.
    The brandy has helped, it really has. I get to my feet and smooth down my dress. And despite my aching feet, I now feel able to face the rest of the evening, whatever it might bring.
    This thought holds me until I reach our table. It is practically deserted, and I cannot see Jonathan anywhere. Instead, only Cynthia is on hand, so at least it means I will not be sitting alone. This would normally be fine—even if she did want to wax lyrical about her and Graham’s au pair, or new super-deluxe vacation home.
    On this occasion, however, it is a disaster. The music has begun, and people are slow dancing to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” and Sidney is heading back towardthe table from the direction of the men’s room. I know he has spotted me and is thinking that slow dancing with me is next on his agenda, because his squinty eyes are fixed on me. He is a man on a mission.
    It will be hard to refuse him, especially as it will seem churlish of me not to have a Christmas dance with him. But I just can’t face it. Apart from not wanting his hands anywhere near me, I don’t want to ruin things for Jonathan by saying something stupid. I need my own mission to avoid him.
    Before I can consider the consequences of my actions, I grab the arm of the man who is passing me. Anything—anything at all to avoid Horrible Boss.
    “Excuse me,” I say, just a bit hysterically as Sidney gets closer. “I know we’ve never met, and will probably never meet ever again, and I know this is the kind of thing that people do in movies, and not in real life, but would you consider saving a complete stranger from certain disaster and evil wandering hands? It should only take a couple of minutes. I will give you my firstborn.”
    “That’s a rather dramatic offer, but drastic times call for drastic measures,” a pleasant, amused baritone voice replies. “As it happens, you’re in luck. Saving damsels in distress is one of my specialties.”
    And as I look up into my ad hoc rescuer’s face, he raises a sardonic eyebrow at me.
    Oh.
    It’s him.

2
Dancing Queen
    Rosie’s Confession:
    Did you know that being fluent in at least two languages could, apparently, help to protect against mental decline in old age?
    I wish I hadn’t given Jonathan that article, though, because the study meant people who speak both languages fluently, rather than one fluently and only a smattering of the other. I wish Jonathan wouldn’t speak French to me in public. I