Joy (working title)

Joy

Chapter One.

"Aw go on Beth. It'll be a laugh."

She laughed when she said it too, sitting there at the table with the
newspaper spread out and a coffee ring stain on the, 'eat as much as
you want,' section. Her eyes sparkled like a teenagers. Everything
about it felt wrong. My instinct screamed at me to take heed for once
in my stupid life. And so, with eyes all a-sparkle it started. The
thing, that destroyed us all, began.

"You're joking! No way."

Oh I protested all right. The words came out of my mouth strong enough,
but my words, sparring with her enthusiasm, stood no chance. Wasn't it
Maggie who persuaded me to dye my hair green when we went to London
with the school? It would have been nice to see Buckingham Palace.
Maggie said it was overrated but it would still have been nice. That
was a lifetime ago. We were young then. It was our right of passage to
be foolish ?then.

"Look Beth," look, at the beginning of a sentence, always meant that
she was getting irritated with me, "every Wednesday night we go to the
quiz at the Black Bull. Every Saturday we sing, 'I Will Bloody Survive
God Help Me', on the kareoke and Christ knows how, but somehow we
always do. We watch Corrie on the telly three times a sodding week and
then dissect it over coffee and fags."

This last sentiment seemed to spark some inner reflex and her right
hand reached across the table and her left joined in and between them,
with her eyes never once leaving mine, her hands helped themselves to
one of my Rothmans. She paused but only long enough to light the
cigarette, absently flicking a second one across the table to me.

"For Christ sake, Beth, let's do something different before we
die."

She blew a plume of hoary smoke into the air and I watched it
unravelling as she continued to talk at me. The battle was already won.
We both knew it but we went through the motions because that's how the
game was played. I didn't hear what she said next. I was stuck on the
last words and the statement was just too damned bulky to clamber
over.

Before we die.

They seem prophetic now, those words a portent to take with us on our
mad adventure.

"Isn't it?"

She'd asked a question, but didn't bother to wait for an answer. "And
anyway, it's at the White Lodge Hotel in Barrow. You know? That new
place. They probably think doing something radical like this will bring
the punters in don't they? But, I'll tell you now, I'm not paying over
three quid for a watered down vodka and coke. We'll take a half bottle
out with us and sneak it into our cokes when we go to the loo. So, are
we up for it then, or what?"

I loved Maggie. Oh not in a, girl on girl action, kind of way. I loved
her and, at the same time, often couldn't be doing with her. It's that
love that you can only have for a life-long friend. It's nothing like
the love I had for Rob, or the way she loves her kids.

I haven't been to see the kids since it happened. One more thing to
feel guilty about I suppose. But what would I say to Jess and Connor
and little Bradley? What could I say?

The last time I'd seen them all together, interacting as a family, they
had that stupid argument. Jess had stolen a packet of cigs from
Maggie's secret stash at the bottom of the magazine rack. Maggie was ?
is! Maggie is notorious for getting her kids names mixed up. If she
wants Jess she calls Bradley and if Connor does something wrong she
yells at Jess, that sort of thing. All the heat went out of the fight
when she had proclaimed angrily, "Look, I know I don't know the names
of my own kids, but I bloody well know how many fags I've got at any
given time." It was funny. I guess you had to be there.

I can't face the kids now.

You see, I know where Colin is ? And one day, just that one thing, just
knowing that will probably drive me insane.

So I went along with her hair-brained idea.

Chapter Two.

The following Tuesday came all too soon and Beth was in a frazzle
about what to wear, how to do her hair, what jewellery she should
choose. Vodka is an evil beast. After three large ones with coke, while
they got ready, Beth became caught up in the moment. It was exciting.
She felt daring. She was alive and for the first time in months she
didn't have to check her pulse to confirm it. She had no intention of
following up on anything that came of the evening, but they could still
have fun.

That was the proviso, she only agreed to go along if it was just a one
off laugh for that night. Something crazy that you do, just to see how
it feels. "After all," she reasoned, "The Yanks gave us bikini waxing
and that wasn't a good move was it?" Maggie agreed, no follow up, just
going for the crack and to see if they could still pull if they wanted
to. It was a new-fangled gimmick, it was radical, and yet it was also a
return to their youth. It was feeling the blood pump through their
veins. It was seeing if they still had it!

Jess was horrified. "Mu-um, speed dating? Ye-uk. How tacky. I can't
believe you're doing this. H-ow embarrassing," She was fond of doing
that teenage thing of breaking words down and elongating them for
emphasis. It was all part of being cool.

Beth went for tight black pants with flared bottoms. Can't go wrong
with your good old pair of anytime-any place-anywhere-black pants, she
thought. Teamed with a tassley belt and a black top with a playful
glittery motif she hoped that a few years would melt away. Subdued
lighting would help. If God was merciful there would be subdued
lighting. Oh, and no grids of any description, she decided, grids and
high heels just don't go together.

They got there early, intending to have time for a drink before things
got going. It seemed everyone else had the same idea because there was
already a string of women, all talking at the same time, in the ladies
queue They were already in line for the dating. They were eager. They
were alive too. Some of them had done it before. These women spoke with
an air of authority, imparting tales of caution and some unbelievable
horror stories. Beth wanted to run right then and there but Maggie was
having none of it. She thought it was all a right giggle.

A woman came up with a microphone. Beth commented that she, Looks like
summat out of, 'Come Dancing'. She wore a silver frock and her boobs
only stayed in on a wing and a prayer. Right hoity-toity she was, hair
all piled up on top of her head. Beth nudged Maggie and said that she
looked like Lily Savages' twin sister. That's when she learned that
sound carries in the corridor.

"Good evening ladies," said Elaine, their hostess for the evening. She
dropped Beth a withering look. "We are about to start, but for those
who don't already know, I'd just like to explain the rules. In a moment
you will be given a number and escorted to your own table. The men are
lined up at the other side of the building. They will come in and each
man, in turn, will begin with number one. He will have three minutes to
find out as much as he can about the lady and vice-versa. Then, he will
move on to number two, leaving lady number one free to talk to man
number two. As each man leaves you, ladies, you will be required to
check either the, yes, or the, no, box on your form, he will do the
same. Where two yesses match up, you will be given contact details for
the people you've checked with a view to meeting them for a proper
date." She went on to detail some rules of safety like meeting in
public places, always telling someone where you are going. It was the
stuff that parents tell their teenage daughters and then she said that
the company would not be held responsible for any incident or accidents
leading from the event. The participants, or 'clients' as she preferred
to call them, all had to sign a disclaimer to that effect. It was all
becoming a bit cloak and dagger and Beth's feet were killing her.

"Right ladies, I'll show you to your tables now."

Maggie was number eleven and Beth number twelve. Maggie had to nudge
her friend in the back to make her move. Their tables were next to each
other so they passed the time leaning over and making snide whispered
remarks about their female, 'competition'. Soon, there was a low hum of
conversation as the first of the three minute dates got under way. Beth
craned her neck to try and see what the first bloke looked like but all
she could see was the brassy perm of the blonde, three rows down.

Maggie got him first, of course. Beth wasn't impressed. She couldn't
hear what they were saying but one look at him was enough to tell her
that he wasn't real dating material. If that was the standard of the
meat for sale in that market then she needn't have worried about
'follow up dates'.

She felt that she was being cruel and judgemental. He was a nice
bloke. Sort of ordinary, tired looking, worn. He stood up and shook her
hand, "Hello number twelve, I'm number one." Beth giggled and stopped
herself from muttering, "Come in number one, your time is up." As three
minutes go, they were long ones. After asking about his job and his
family, what he liked to do for fun and how old he was, conversation
dried up. He replied with monosyllabic answers and his only other input
to the conversation was a repeated, "And you?" At a loss, they took to
gazing round the room. Beth caught Maggie's eye and she pulled a face,
it seemed number two wasn't going to be much better than number one.
The silence had become uncomfortable, Beth reached into her vocabulary
and pulled out the first constructed sentence shecould find. "I don't
recon much to number two," she said, with a wry grin.

"That's my brother," he answered coldly. The date wasn't a success. She
felt that their relationship had run aground

Number two was an improvement on his brother. The man was passionate,
fired up, enflamed, but his passion only extended so far as the
wondrous joy of fishing. He droned on for the entire three minutes
about course fishing, sea-fishing, fly fishing and angling. She noticed
that his fingernails were filthy and could only imagine which poor fish
had lost it's guts under those long, dirty nails. It may have been her
imagination, but she was sure he had an unpleasant odour about him, it
was the unmistakable, though thankfully, diluted smell of recently
caught fish.

Number three asked me if she was adventurous in the bedroom.

Four was in love with his wife.

Five, six and seven were all okay but none of them were the type of men
you could comfortably take home to meet Mother. Another glance cross at
Maggie showed that she was enjoying herself immensely. She was animated
and flirtatious, showing too much bare thigh and more than a hint of
stocking top. Beth could only imagine what number three had asked
her.

Number fourteen had soulful eyes.

Sixteen wanted a British passport.

Number twenty one smiled into her eyes, shook hands with her and
hitched his jeans up at the knee before sitting down. He looked a
little tired. He'd already done this eleven times. "I've been looking
forward to getting to you," he said with a grin.

Beth laughed, "And how many times have you used that particular line
this evening?" she asked. She wasn't sure whether to feel amused or
insulted by the blatant attempt at a cheesy chat-up line.

He looked offended. "I assure you. I mean it," he continued. "I saw you
earlier on. I've been watching you. I've probably been quite ill
mannered to the ladies before you. You don't belong here."

He made this last statement with such an air of confidence that she
bristled but couldn't think of a single worthy retort. she felt her
cheeks burn. He exuded quiet confidence and she felt a little thrill
mixed with a lot of caution at the thought that this debonair man had
been watching her from across the room. "I'm Beth," she offered lamely.
The small amount of confidence that she had felt earlier fled leaving
her desperately trying to come up with something intelligent to
say.

He smiled again, a slow, meandering smile, making no secret of the fact
that he as weighing her up, assessing her. "Marc," he said again
offering his hand across the table, "with a C." They shook hands for
the second time. His grip was firm, dry and he neither kept his hand
still nor shook too vigorously. He left it to Beth to break the
contact. "People will insist in spelling me with a K and it gets rather
tiresome." He grinned and relaxed back into his seat. "So, Beth, tell
me about you. Why does a lady who obviously finds this whole set up
highly distasteful agree to come along? Which of these painted beauties
dragged you along kicking and creaming tonight?" He glanced around the
room and caught sight of Maggie bending backwards in her seat and
giving Beth elaborate thumbs up, with shining eyes and wide grin.
"Ahh," he said turning back and giving Beth his full attention. "I see
you are with the enthusiastic Margaret."

Beth giggled under his slightly disapproving gaze. Oh, don't let her
hear you calling her that. She'll freak, it's Maggie, only ever Maggie.
Marc, guided the conversation, firing question after question, leading
her to reveal more about herself than she ever intended. They
discovered that they both lived in Ulverston, quite close to each other
in fact, only a few streets apart. Beth wondered then if she had been
stupid in giving out the name of her street. She mentally chastised
herself and decided to exhibit more caution. Marc was charming. He made
her laugh, despite herself, several times. The conversation flowed and
Beth didn't even notice that she was actually enjoying herself.

He wore jeans and a Ben Sherman shirt, though Beth got the impression
that he was they type of man who was just as comfortable in a suit and
tie. His shirt, fastened apart from the last two buttons was pressed to
within an inch of its life. His hair was black, jet black, perhaps even
too black to be completely natural. His eyes ere grey with a steely
penetration that appeared almost sever until he smiled. His frame was
broad, his waist slim and he carried assurance as an accessory.

The gong indicating the end of the date sounded. Beth jumped, not
expecting the intrusive suddenness of the sound. She was sorry that his
time with her had ended and felt a pang of something akin to jealousy
as he smiled down at her and moved onto the woman at the next
table.

Marc turned his charm on the next lady and murder walked behind him,
but all Beth saw was a tight fitting pair of jeans.