The Decoy Date

Chapter One

Why are there no good men left in the world, Imogen Jones thought to herself as a flashback of last night’s horror show of a date replayed in her mind. The two and a half bottles of Chablis and half bottle of vodka hadn’t been enough to help her forget the nightmare, but had been successful in giving her the worst hangover she’d had since Fresher’s week at university. It was just the latest in a long line of horrendous rendezvous set up by her mother; a mother who lived to interfere and meddle in her daughters’ lives.

I don’t want a lot in life, just a man who loves me for who I am; if he’s willing to stand outside my bedroom window with a boombox blasting out our song or wait for me outside the church after my sister’s wedding with a birthday cake when everyone else had forgotten what day it was; well that was just a bonus. Sadly we can’t all live in a John Hughes film; my teenage daydreaming years had taught me that. Imogen thought to herself as she looked out the window at another grey London morning, rain began pelting against the glass as if to compound her misery further.

Slumping against the counter in front of her, she ignored the sharp pain as her glasses bit into the bridge of her nose; it was more comforting than the memory of last night that was on repeat in her head. David Umbridge had seemed like a nice guy, he’d let her pick the restaurant and on the surface appeared fairly normal; not always a given with the men her mother had set her up with. She chose a little known Italian bistro called Alberto’s in the back streets of Primrose Hill, near where she lived. It was her favourite place to eat in the world and had all the charm and authenticity of a restaurant situated in Rome rather than North London.

Not many people knew of the restaurant but in her opinion that only improved it, she’d stumbled upon it accidentally herself. When her parents had come to town a few years ago, she’d booked into a high-end, rather expensive French restaurant – her mother’s favourite – only to find when they arrived there had been a mix up with the booking and they had no tables left. In a panic and with her mother in a terrible mood, she’d walked them a few streets over and found Alberto’s. Until that moment she’d never believed in love at first sight, but the bistro was perfect and the food was the best Italian she’d eaten outside of Italy itself. Of course it was too run down and there wasn’t anything her mother liked but what more could she expect from a woman who looked for the worst in everything.

Alberto’s wasn’t to David’s taste either and he made that perfectly clear when they met outside the doorway, him being fifteen minutes late and exclaiming “Italian, Great! This day couldn’t get any f*****g better could it!” in the most sarcastic and offensive tone she’d heard. Imogen had felt the impulse to put her arms around the building to prevent it from hearing the hurtful comments, however thought better than to show David all her quirks on their first date.

The minute they walked through the door she regretted holding back the craziness; yes it would have found its way back to her mother through her endless grapevine of contacts and she would have made her embarrassment known, but at least Imogen wouldn’t have had to spend another hour and a half in the company of a certifiable lunatic. Nothing was good enough, they didn’t serve the right beer, he didn’t like any of the food and when they made him a special dish with ingredients he said he liked, it still wasn’t good enough for him. Imogen found herself sitting opposite a male version of her mother and drank as much as she could so as not to reach out and pull at his hair to make sure it wasn’t her in disguise, examining how she acted on dates so she could give her a critique the next time she called.

When he had gotten bored of complaining about the food and she’d apologised countless times to the staff, his conversation turned towards her and the fact that she had looked younger, prettier and thinner in the photograph her mother had shown him. Deciding anger was not the best way forward she used wine to mellow it out, only to have him accuse her of being an alcoholic like his previous girlfriend had been. Completely emphasising with her, Imogen bit her tongue holding back any comment that might come across as simply a drunken slur and wished she’d told her mother where to go when she revealed she’d set her up on another date.

Meal over, they left Alberto’s and he had the gall to ask her whether they were going to her place or his, there was no chance in hell she was sleeping with him. On the way back to his car she heard him mutter that it had been two hours of his life wasted and felt exactly the same way before stumbling home to the comfort of neat vodka, a bubble bath and the Arctic Monkeys blasting through her speakers until the early hours of the morning. Most of which she now lamented.

“How was your date last night?” She looked up through tired eyes to see her best friend Jess and watched the change in her face as she recognised the hung over look from their shared student days. “That rough, huh?” She filled in her friend on the disastrous date and how she’d ended up drowning her sorrows to an indie rock soundtrack at one o’clock in the morning. This was the best part about the crappy dates, she endured them just so she could gossip and moan about them with Jess.

Every single one followed the same pattern, the man – usually one of her mother’s friends’ sons or an acquaintance she’d met through work – arrived to find Imogen totally different to what he was expecting, they’d eat and chat, which usually led to some hidden freaky personality trait being revealed. In the last year her mother had set her up with three men who were interested in S & M, the first one of which she’d misheard and started a conversation about how expensive Marks and Spencer’s food was, one who turned out to be married and looking for a bit on the side, one that was later arrested for fraud and the latest one before last night who came out as gay the week after they’d been out. She wasn’t sure whether to be offended or proud that she’d been the one that had finally made his mind up about his sexuality.

“I don’t know why she only seems to set me up with weirdoes, I wouldn’t mind going out on dates if the men didn’t turn out to be freaks. I don’t think she’s set me up with one normal guy, I swear she thinks I’m a lesbian, the amount of men I’ve rejected.” She sighed as her friend laughed, Carole Jones was always their favourite topic of conversation and had been since they had met at the age of five. Even at that age a pushy mother was the most embarrassing thing in the world, it had only gotten worse since.

“You should just tell her you are, then she’d stop setting you up on blind dates.”

“Oh no she wouldn’t do that.  She’d probably wouldn’t even be surprised, she’d find some butch women to set me up with. “You’ll never guess who I ran into yesterday, Laura Simmons, you know you used to play football together. Well she’s a “lesbian” now, I’ve given her your number and told her to call you.” Jess doubled over in laughter at the perfect impression of my mother’s well-spoken Home Counties accent.

Somewhere under the counter “I’ll be there for you” by The Rembrandts began playing, Imogen reached for her iPhone and groaned as she saw the caller ID. “Speak of the Devil! Hello mother.” She lifted the phone to her ear and listened as her mother reeled off all the news from Kent, all about the events she was organising including a surprise party for her father’s sixtieth birthday the following weekend. It was just a small gathering, friends and family, the caterers had been contacted and a menu of canapés and finger food had been arranged; she had to stifle a laugh, something about the combination of finger and food always set her off. Listening to all the choices she thought of protesting that her father wouldn’t want any of that, he’d be happy with a cheese and pineapple hedgehog; but her head was already pounding and she couldn’t take her mother shrieking that you can’t serve cheese on sticks at a sixtieth birthday party.

“So how was your date last night? David’s a nice man isn’t he?” She cringed as the mention of his name brought back the unwanted memories of last night once again.

“Well . . .”

“Oh Imogen, another perfectly respectable man rejected and dispatched. I keep finding all these lovely men for you and you don’t even give them a chance.” She’d become so accustomed to the disappointment in her mother’s voice she no longer felt any guilt over inducing it; it was there constantly, she waited for the day she finally did something to please her mother, but knew the tone would return before long.

“Mother, he turned up late and then swore at me!” There was no harm extending the truth a little, he had actually sworn, just not directly at her. “He also seemed to be expecting someone else, which photo did you show him? It was one with Daisy in wasn’t it?” She didn’t have to wait for an answer she knew what was coming, her mother had never hidden the fact that her younger sister was her favourite child. Daisy was the princess, the baby of the family that everyone doted on; she was girly and giggly without a care in the world, the complete opposite of Imogen who was a tomboy, shy and according to her mother didn’t know when to let her hair down and have fun.

Her relationship with her mother had always been fraught, she got on with Daisy perfectly well, they accepted each other’s contrasting personalities; but her mother just couldn’t and their arguments always boiled down to the fact her mother was trying to change her into a different person. Her father Ian on the other hand loved her for who she was, he practically encouraged her to be that way. Their mutual love of Arsenal had driven Carole insane when she’d lived at home and even now when Imogen rang her father to discuss a game, she’d be somewhere in the background making derogatory comments or bringing up the increase of hooliganism in football.

“You were in the photo as well, it’s not as if I passed you off as a different person completely.” She scoffed at her mother’s reply and rolled her eyes at Jess who was listening intently and enjoying the conversation between mother and daughter, all she needed was some popcorn and chair with a drinks holder in the arm, Imogen thought to herself. “Well seeing as David wasn’t right for you, I ran into Yvonne Burrows-Hove yesterday her son Michael’s just moved back to London from America; he went to university over there you know.”  From what she could remember of Michael Burrows-Hove at school, he was a jumped up snob, completely up himself. He’d always thought he was better than the comprehensive secondary they’d attended and wanted to escape as much as she had, albeit for different reasons.

“No mother! I’m not going on anymore dates with men you just happen to run into, I’m done.”

“I’m only trying to help you find someone like your sister has, it’s only seven weeks to the wedding.” That’s what everything came back to; the fact her sister, who was four years younger was getting married first, that she herself hadn’t come anywhere near meeting The One, let alone getting married.

“Yeah, well I don’t need your help mother, I’ve met someone myself!” s**t! What the hell am I doing? She’s so not going to believe me. Imogen thought to herself as she looked at Jess who was staring wide-eyed straight back at her, laughter long gone and replaced by a look of shock and her mouth forming the silent words What the f**k are you doing? She shrugged her shoulders at her best friend as panic froze her brain and body to the spot.

“Really, well why did you agree to go out with David last night? You’re just lying to get out of another date aren’t you?” She couldn’t move her mouth, it was literally stuck in an ‘o’ shape like she was someone from an Edvard Munch painting. Her heart pounded so hard she swore her mother could hear it at the other end of the phone line; her mother was like a human lie detector, a slight hesitation or the tiniest whiff that something was off and she’d pounce and work the truth out of you anyway.

“I tried to get out of it but I couldn’t get a word in edgeways when you called to say you’d set it up. Besides its early days, we only met last week, we haven’t even been on a proper date yet, just coffee.” She relaxed into the lie as her mother seemed to be believing her words, of course she could just be lulling her into a false sense of security, waiting until she tripped herself up and revealed everything was just a ruse to stop her meddling.

“Well, what’s he like then? What’s his name? Is he tall, dark and handsome? I always imagined you marrying a man with dark hair.” Oh God, she’s already planning my marriage to Mr Imaginary.

“He’s really nice mum, look, I’ve got to go we’ve got customers. I’ll see you at Dad’s party next Saturday.” She started to pull the phone away from her ear only to have her mother call her back.

“Bring this mystery man along and introduce him to us.” Before she could protest that it wasn’t really his thing her mother interrupted. “If you don’t, I’ll assume he’s made up and set you up on a date with Michael.” Imogen could practically hear the smile that would be settling on her mother’s lips through the phone, she knew her daughter was lying and had the perfect opportunity to prove herself right.

“s**t! I need a boyfriend by next Saturday!”

                                                              *

Charlie Ramsey sighed as the bell rang signifying the start of period five, the last lesson of the day; he didn’t need to look at his timetable to know he had a year nine class that would rather be starting the weekend than learning Pythagoras Theorem at two o’clock on a Friday afternoon. He knew they were going to cause trouble, Jamie Preston was back from suspension and he was the ringleader of the adolescent circus. He just had to keep reminding himself it was just one more lesson, one more hour to half-term, then he’d be free, for the week at least.

It wasn’t that he hated his job, on the contrary he lived for teaching mathematics, if somebody had told his sixteen year old self he’d say that, he’d have laughed in their face. It was just this one group, they didn’t want to work, didn’t want to learn; the rest of his colleagues had given up on the same group of students long ago but he’d persevered, wanting to be the one person who believed in them however it was becoming increasingly difficult.

 Maths had always been seen as a boring subject but he’d managed to make it more interesting for all the other groups he taught, making it personal to them with real-life applications. This class however just weren’t interested, they wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t do work in class, wouldn’t do work at home. Coming up with fun and interesting ways to engage them was just becoming an impossible challenge, he needed half-term to research some new ideas and alter their remaining lessons until Christmas.

Nevertheless he powered through the hour, relishing the relief when it was finally over; he’d never thought teaching would be this hard, rewarding yes, but bloody hard work. Charlie slumped back in his chair, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly as the last child left his classroom.

“Have a good half-term sir.” He looked up sharply to see Sam Harper standing in front of him with the PE kit bag he’d left behind as usual, he was the one redeeming factor of the year nine group, the one pupil who was interested in what he had to say. They often chatted after lessons about football, both were keen Arsenal fans and liked to discuss the matches from the previous weekend; it was good to know there were still some Gunners fans in North London, lots of people he knew had lost interest in what was now their ninth trophy-less season. He couldn’t bring himself to let go, they were still the thing he looked forward to most at weekends.

“Thanks Sam, you too.” He’d been trying to get him moved into the next set up, he was capable of doing the harder work and was one of the only ones who actually got on with the tasks he set, but the group was already overfilled and even though he’d reassured Penny the boy was good enough she wasn’t sure. He hoped to persuade her by Christmas before the rest of his group dragged him down with them.

Charlie unplugged his laptop and packed it away in his bag along with the books he needed to mark over the holiday, then he headed to staffroom to catch up with his colleagues. Dan, a fellow mathematician waved him over when he entered, they’d both started at North Gate Secondary school at the same time three years ago and became friends over their mutual love of football and indie music.

“How were your year nines? Mine were bloody awful, they just wouldn’t settle down. Then when they actually got down to working Ben Wilson let off the loudest fart I’ve ever heard and set everyone off again. I had girls screaming and all the boys letting them off, I thought we were gonna be gassed out the room. I‘m glad it’s half term, I need a week away from them.” He laughed and slapped Charlie on the back, a little too hard before working off towards Jenny Parker – the biology teacher he’d been unsuccessfully trying to get into the knickers’ of since the start of term.

He said goodbye to a few more co-workers then slipped out before anybody else could catch him, outside he pulled his jacket closer round him as the October wind chilled him. His bag weighed heavy on his shoulder as he made his way through the car park, reminding him how much he had to do this week. Reaching his vintage VW Beetle affectionately named Monty, he dumped his bag on the passenger seat and sank into the leather of the driving seat, resting both hands on the steering wheel before starting the engine.

He never tired of the sound of the classic car, it had been his father’s from the age of seventeen and he’d given it to Charlie for his own seventeenth birthday, nearly twelve years ago. He couldn’t believe it had been three years since he’d died, every time he went to see his mum he expected to find his dad sat in the living room watching the football. Patrick Ramsey had only been 54 when he was knocked off his bicycle by a supermarket delivery lorry; his death had really shook the family up, it was only in the last year that normality had settled around them.

God, he needed a coffee or maybe something stronger, he pulled out of the car park and headed towards The Roast House – his favourite place for coffee, when he wasn’t in the classroom or at home that’s where you’d find him. A small convertible pulled out of the parking bay just up the road allowing him to slip in, perfect timing he thought to himself. Some students from his year eleven class caught his attention across the road, they were being reckless winding in and out of pedestrians on skateboards. He had to stop himself going over and telling them off, they were no longer on school premises and he remembered being exactly the same at their age. Ugh, he sounded old.

Something blocked his way forward and he felt the slow trickle of hot liquid down his shirt and trouser leg, he’d been so preoccupied he’d walked into someone coming out of the café.             

“Oh! Sorry I wasn’t looking where . . .” He stopped as he looked into a pair of striking blues eyes behind black-framed glasses, there was something so familiar about them but he just couldn’t place why or where he’d seen them before. Both of them stared at each other in silence as they both tried to recognise the other, coffee slowly dripping down both their clothes and pooling on the pavement at their feet as the women clutched the nearly empty Styrofoam cup in a wet hand.

“I wasn’t looking where I was going either, it’s been a bad day and my mind’s been elsewhere. Sorry!” Her voice had a slight huskiness to it, making her sound like she had a cold but a very sexy cold; it reminded him of his mother’s voice and he found himself smiling at the thought of it.         

“Don’t worry about it, we all have them, me included.” She looked away shyly avoiding eye contact, then smiled back at him. She wasn’t a conventionally attractive woman like he usually dated, but there was something in the way she acted and talked that caught his attention.

“Yeah well, you haven’t spoken to my mother today; she could turn the happiest day in the world sour.” He was mesmerised by her voice, it had a lullaby quality; he could just imagine her singing songs with an acoustic guitar. “She keeps setting me up with weirdoes so I don’t turn into an old woman with hundreds of cats . . . and I’m revealing way too much here.” He chuckled as he empathised with exactly how she felt, his own mother had been trying to marry him off since his older sister Catherine had got hitched last year.

“I know exactly how you feel, as soon as one of the children is married, the rest have to follow as soon as possible.” She smiled shyly and nodded, a knowing look in her eyes; he was about to ask her name when something behind her caught his eye. “s**t! . . . Sorry I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I just saw my psycho ex-girlfriend coming this way, she’s been stalking me since we split up five months ago; every time I turn around she’s there.” Panic rose through his body, narrowing his windpipe making it hard to breath and raising his pulse rate dangerously high.

His companion twisted to look at Sarah Woodward sashaying up the pavement towards them, she was literally rolling her hips from side to side trying to show off her over-emphasised bottom. The look in the mystery woman’s eyes said it all, even he could tell she was a bunny boiler by the look of her now; but they’d met in a dark club and his trousers had overpowered his brain.

“I know she looks like a nutcase and I wouldn’t go anywhere near her if I -” He was disrupted by the pair of hands that pulled his face down towards hers and the soft, luscious lips connected to his. Heat rose instantly and he found himself reaching his own arms round her back and pulling her soft warm body towards him, her mouth was incredible and he forget all about the street around them; hell he couldn’t even remember his name with this woman’s lips on him.

All too soon she pulled back and he was left with a dreamy, dazed look on his face as he turned to see his ex, the heat was instantly extinguished as an angry sneer confronted him.                                     

“What the hell do you think you’re doing Charlie?” The question ended at a pitch only dogs could understand and all he could do was cringe away speechless as he wondered how he had dated her for three months. Her stare bore reproachfully into his skull, daring him to introduce the woman he had just locked lips with.

“Hi, Imogen Jones, Charlie’s girlfriend! And you are?” He twisted in shock as the woman introduced herself and extended a hand towards Sarah, his mouth parted in amazement at her bravado and gusto. Wow! She’s got balls! He thought to himself as he smiled at Sarah and placed a hand around Imogen’s waist, she didn’t flinch as he pulled her to his hip and enjoyed the comfort he got from the heat that radiated there. Sarah’s face transformed before his eyes, anger displaced by shock, displaced by sadness and he knew the tears would soon follow; however she turned away not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

“That was amazing!” He shook his head as the woman before him dissolved into a bundle of nervous laughter, her whole body shook and he took in her majestic curves and chocolate brown wavy hair for the first time. “I’m Charlie by the way, Charlie Ramsey.” Stretching a hand towards her he stopped halfway as her laughter ceased and horrified surprise took over. Without another word she dropped the coffee cup from her hand, splashing his trousers further and ran up the street without looking back.