‘No, you’re just in time.’
I couldn’t resist dawdling long enough to see Irene Jenkins perched on a cubed seat, her knees up near her elbows as she turned the page of a giant picture book about bugs.
As she read the first page, the words coming out in a nervous croak, two of the younger children gasped.
‘See, I told you they do dead good voices!’ Hudson said, nudging the boy next to him.
Irene glanced up, blinking a few times before resuming the story, now deliberately using a reedy, feeble tone.
But I didn’t hang about for long. For some reason, seeing Irene with the children made me think of Mum, so I shook off the ache of painful memories, set my mind on the future and turned my feet towards my new home.
According to the No-Man Mandate, I had to put the same effort into each item on the Dream List as if I was doing it with my Dream Man. That meant preparing for my romantic night in with a long shower, extensive hair removal and a ‘radiant glow’ face mask. I did a quick clean of the house, changed the bedsheets and slipped into my new outfit, including lingerie I’d ordered online earlier that week. Given that this was the first time I’d ever tried non-supermarket underwear, I’d bought two differently sized sets of the tiny, lacy knickers and matching bra, one black and one dark red.
Deciding the black set was a better match with the charcoal jumpsuit, I curled my hair and applied a heavy layer of dark grey eyeshadow and swiped a glossy layer of Plum Passion across my lips.
Finishing off the look with the silver heels I’d worn as Steph’s bridesmaid, I tottered downstairs to start prepping.
An hour later, I had the lights down low, a moody ballad warbling and a table set for one. Having Nesbit trailing me around the kitchen as I wrapped dates with bacon and pan-fried two pieces of salmon （because Bigley Tesco Express didn’t sell a single fillet and I thought Nesbit may as well benefit） helped me feel a tiny bit less weird, but I still wasn’t sure if going to all this palaver for a night in alone was empowering or just plain pitiful.
By the time I’d drunk a large glass of wine and eaten the bacon canapés, I’d ditched my impractical shoes and switched to a girls’ night in playlist and had decided that I should do this every Friday night. Well, every Friday night I didn’t have anything else to do, anyway. Hopefully at some point I’d have some friends to hang out with at the weekend, as per Dream List item ten.
I slid the salmon onto a plate, added a spoonful of buttery new potatoes and half the fancy salad I’d picked up from the deli counter at the Hatherstone Hall farm shop, and sat down to eat, facing the kitchen window, Nesbit curled up underneath the table.
Three mouthfuls in, there was a knock on the front door, sending Nesbit into a flurry of barking as he skidded up and down the hallway. I checked my phone – it was just after eight. Not unsociably late. But the only person who’d called unannounced since I moved in was Leanne, and Joan had told me they were having a movie night this evening. My anxiety twitching, I went to answer it, trying to avoid standing on Nesbit, still doing his very best impression of a ferocious guard dog.
When I opened the door, Nesbit entered a whole new level of excited, announcing this awesome visitor with a victory sprint around the entire house, including up the stairs.
‘Hi!’ I said, surprised to see Sam standing there, before realising that, really, who else would it be, given the number of people I knew in Bigley and beyond.
‘Hi!’ He grinned, before seeming to register my appearance, his jaw dropping slightly, eyes widening. ‘Oh – am I interrupting?’
I glanced down to where his eyes had temporarily paused before darting back up to my face, only then remembering with a spasm of horror that I’d undone the top two buttons on my slightly-too-tight jumpsuit and there was now an inch of black lacy bra on display, along with the kind of cleavage that my supermarket bras could only dream of.
‘Um…’ Is it better to say yes or no?
I had told Sam about the Dream List, but really, standing here in my slinky suit with my boobs half-out, the whiff of wine and James Morrison wafting down the hallway, the idea of spending Friday night on a date with myself couldn’t feel any more pathetic.
‘Hello!’ a cheery voice called out, as Sam’s mum appeared out of nowhere. ‘Sam mentioned that he needed to bring your pots back, and I insisted on coming to thank you for a simply delicious meal.’
Sam awkwardly held up the cool bag I’d delivered the meal in two weeks earlier.