Going Dutch Read online

  She shook her head, laughing at his directness. 'Certainly not. Look, would you mind if I didn't drink that? It really is foul.'

  ‘I'll get you something else.'

  ‘No, it's my turn. Here – here's my purse. Take it and get us both drinks.’

  Tom ignored her outstretched hand. 'Dora, have you ever bought a drink in a pub before?’

  Dora felt herself blush. 'Yes, of course, but not in London.'

  ‘I don't think this counts as London.'

  ‘It has a tube station, which in my book means it's in London. Now, do you want a drink or not?'

  ‘Tell you what, if you come up to the bar with me, I'll pay, and you can have what you really like – a gin and tonic or something. Or a shooter. They do tequila slammers.’

  Dora had it in her mind that to drink a tequila slammer, you had to slam the glass down on the table and catch the tequila in your mouth as it flew upwards, but she didn't think she wanted to share this with Tom just now. She'd revealed quite enough naivety already. 'Fine, what are you having?'

  ‘A pint. The Tangleberry – it's the one at the end. Here, take some money.'

  ‘It's my round,' said Dora and got up before she could think better of it.

  She'd told Tom that she'd bought drinks before, but actually she hadn't very often, and when she had, it had been in the local she'd been going to since she first pretended to be of drinking age. She wasn't that innocent, she argued as she edged her way through the crowd to the bar, but there were many more things she hadn't done than rowed a boat and bought a drink.

  It was a lot easier than she'd feared. The barmaid spotted her straightaway, she didn't have fifteen men pushing in when it was her turn, and no one looked remotely surprised to see her. It was a bit of an anticlimax, really.

  She came back, carrying his pint and her own half of lager carefully through the crowd. As a stroke of inde pendence, she'd bought a couple of packets of crisps too.

  ‘Really, Dora,' said Tom, 'is that all you can think of to have? How am I going to get you pissed if you only drink lager?'

  ‘I should tell you, Tom, there's no point in you getting me pissed. I'm really not up for anything apart from a jolly night out. As friends.’

  Tom grinned. 'Fair enough. If we're friends, we should play a game. What about Truth or Dare?’

  Dora nearly spluttered into her drink, something she seemed to have done a lot of that evening. 'No!'

  ‘Oh, go on. I've been thinking and I just reckon you should do a few dares.'

  ‘What sort of dares?' Dora had always faintly despised herself for being so law-abiding, and wondered if it was too late to change.

  ‘I don't know – dares that would make you braver and feel better about yourself.'

  ‘What, now?’

  Tom became thoughtful. 'Actually, I was thinking we should do it over the next few months, before I go travelling.'

  ‘Do what? Your dares?’

  He nodded. 'I wouldn't ask you to do anything I wouldn't do myself – or hadn't done – but for instance, I could dare you to go and camp at a festival.'

  ‘Well, of course I'd do that. I'd probably take something to make sure I didn't have to go to the loo for the entire time, but I'd certainly dare.' She laughed merrily, hoping to give the impression that she'd find this so unchallenging it was hardly worth asking her to do it. She pictured herself wallowing around in mud up to her armpits wearing bin liners and getting trench foot.

  Tom regarded her speculatively, and it made Dora feel uneasy. Possibly he'd read her thoughts. 'Tell you what,' he said, 'I bet you wouldn't do five things that I dare you to do.'

  ‘I said I'd go to a festival!'

  ‘OK, that would be one thing, but there'd be four others. Bet you won't agree.'

  ‘Well, what are the four things?'

  ‘I'm not going to tell you. I haven't thought them all up yet.'

  ‘But you can't expect me to agree to things when I don't know what they are!'

  ‘That's where you have to be brave and trust me. You have to undertake the five tasks.’

  In spite of her common sense and her conditioning, Dora felt intrigued. 'But why should I?'

  ‘For the reward.'

  ‘What's the reward?’

  Tom threw up his hands, laughing. 'Questions, questions – I don't know yet! I'll have to think of something.'

  ‘Well, I'm not doing anything if I don't know what the prize is.'

  ‘You're just a scaredy-cat. Miss Half-a-Lager-and-a Packet-of-Crisps.'

  ‘No I'm not!'

  ‘You are!'

  ‘Oh, go and buy me a shooter, then. I'll prove to you I'm not a scaredy-cat.' Miss Tequila-Slammer did sound a lot better than what he'd just called her.

  ‘You can have the most expensive drink on the menu, and bearing in mind I'm a poor working boy that's quite an offer. But you have to agree to my challenge.'

  ‘OK, Poor Working Tom, I'll take you up on that. But the prize had better be worth it!' She started to giggle, partly from nerves.

  Tom picked up her mood and laughed too. 'Oh, it definitely will be. Now you've got to drink a margarita.’

  ‘Is that one of the dares?'

  ‘No! Way too easy, but it's nice. More crisps?'

  ‘No thank you. I'm trying to give them up.’

  *

  'Tell me something you've never done that you think you ought to do,' Tom said as he came back with two margaritas, a lager and another pint of beer – to keep them going.

  ‘I don't see why I should help you,' she grumbled. The margarita was a definite improvement on the scrumpy. 'You're helping yourself, really. Well?’

  Dora thought and realised there were so many things. 'I've never flown on my own. I've never eaten in a restaurant on my own. I have been to the library on my own, but not the movies. You've got loads to choose from. This is way too easy for you.’

  They went on teasing each other until the time came for another drink. Tom turned out his pockets and his wallet and came up with a voucher for a Happy Meal and fifty-seven pence.

  ‘I'll have a look at what I've got,' said Dora. She delved into her bag and came across the letter from her father. She still hadn't opened it.

  ‘What's that?' asked Tom while she looked at it as if it might bite.

  ‘A letter from my dad. I haven't had the courage to open it yet.'

  ‘Why on earth not?'

  ‘It'll be full of reproaches. I know it.'

  ‘Come on, open it. You're pissed, you can roll with the punches.'

  ‘OK. Oh,' she said as she drew two slips of shiny cardboard and a letter out of the envelope. She peered at them. 'It's two invitations to a race meeting at Cheltenham.'

  ‘What's the letter say?'

  ‘Darling, thought you might find a use for these. Mummy and I can't go. Enjoy! Love, Dad.'

  ‘ Ah,' said Tom, and Dora couldn't tell if he genuinely thought it was sweet, or was mocking her for calling her mother Mummy.

  ‘We could go! Could you get time off work?’

  ‘Should think so. I hardly ever take time off.'

  ‘Or should I ask Jo? She might have a friend she'd like to take.'

  ‘No. Your dad wants you to go. And me, obviously,' he added, mischievously.

  Dora giggled. 'Of course. When is it? Yikes! It's the day after tomorrow.'

  ‘I don't think I know anyone else who'd say "yikes",' said Tom.

  ‘You see, I'm broadening your horizons.'

  ‘And I'm going to broaden yours. You'll have to place all the bets for us.

  Dora pretended to prevaricate. 'I'm not sure I should go. It's such short notice.'

  ‘Dora! We're going. And you're taking my bet and placing the bets.'

  ‘Is that one of my tasks?' She drained her lager, feeling that Tom's tasks were going to be easier than she thought. 'Not sure. It's no good if you're not really challenged.’

  ‘And you expect me to do all this without knowing what my rew
ard is?’

  He nodded. 'It'll be worth it. Trust me.'

  ‘That's such a gamble and I'm not sure I approve of gambling. I don't really know you.'

  ‘Life's all about gambling, Dora, and if you don't do it, it'll pass you by.’

  Dora was silent for a moment and then said, 'You're quite the philosopher, aren't you?'

  ‘Not really, but I can come out with the pop psychology when I have to.'

  ‘And the pop festival, presumably.'

  ‘There are loads on during the summer, but there's one I really want to go to. I'll see if I can get tickets.'

  ‘Triffic.' She hoped her smile didn't look too false. She shivered, it was getting cooler. 'Shall we go home now?’

  ‘If you've promised you'll do my dares. Five Dares for Dora. It sounds like the title of a school story.'

  ‘I hadn't got you down for an Enid Blyton fan.'

  ‘When you agree, I'll take you home. Otherwise, I'll make you row.'

  ‘OK then, I give in. To be honest, though, I'm not sure I can walk straight, let alone row.’

  They were in the boat and making good time when Tom said, 'Actually, rowing home's a piece of piss. We're with the current all the way.’

  Chapter Six

  Jo tipped her paper plate covered with chop bones and steak scraps into a black plastic bag. Then she found her plastic mug of red wine and was going back to where Miranda and Bill were sitting when she spotted Carole, from Hildegarde. She was on her own so Jo went up to her. 'Hello. Do you know many people here?'

  ‘A few.' Carole regarded Jo as if she didn't want to be taken pity on by a fifty-year-old woman. A fifty-year-old man would have been quite different.

  ‘Is Marcus here?' Jo was aware that Carole didn't want to talk to her but was determined to get some sort of conversation out of her, just for the challenge. She was also a bit curious to meet her old acquaintance after all these years.

  ‘Oh no. He's on the Continent, on a job.'

  ‘What kind of job?’

  It had seemed a reasonable question but Carole looked at Jo with incredulity. 'He's delivering a yacht. It's what he does. Don't you know that?’

  Only slightly tempted to tell Carole that she had known Marcus before she was born Jo said, 'No.’

  Carole made a disbelieving gesture. 'But he's famous in the barge world. He delivers everyone's boats. He's in Monte Carlo at the moment.'

  ‘On a barge?' A picture of The Three Sisters' broad and sweeping lines in such an exotic setting made Jo smile.

  ‘No – what Marcus calls a gin palace.'

  ‘Ah. It's a shame you couldn't be with him.’

  An expression crossed Carole's face indicating that perhaps there'd been a discussion about her being with him and that the answer had been no. She shook her head. 'I have to look after Hildegarde. At least, during the rally.’

  A man wearing a yachting cap came up. 'Hi there, Carole.' He kissed her firmly on the cheek and put his arm round her waist. 'Where's Marcus these days then? He never answers his phone when I ring him.'

  ‘He's in Monte Carlo. I was just telling this lady. He's very busy.'

  ‘Oh, I know he's busy,' said the man, not looking at Jo. 'But I need him. I've got to get Lucretia down to Faversham for some cosmetic work.'

  ‘Couldn't you put her in a taxi?' said Jo quietly.

  Carole looked at her in horror and confusion while Miranda, who had joined the group, chuckled.

  ‘Sorry,' said Jo, 'is Lucretia not your wife?’

  The man finally acknowledged Jo's existence. He looked at her for a few seconds while he worked out what she'd said, and then laughed. 'No, she's my barge, but that's quite a good joke.'

  ‘He'll be turning it into one of his own any minute,' muttered Miranda in Jo's ear. 'You wait.’

  The group seemed to enlarge, everyone asking or talking about Marcus. 'Of course, he's expensive,' said a man who seemed to be a friend of Mr Yachting-Cap, 'but he's the best. If you've got three hundred grand's worth of vessel to move from A to B, you don't want to make mistakes.’

  Jo gasped and then said, 'Surely if you own a barge, you want to drive it yourself? I don't mean I would want to, I'm only renting. But if I'd bought one…' Her voice tailed away.

  Only one of the group agreed with her. 'Me too. I wouldn't pay an arrogant sod like Marcus to take my boat about.’

  So he was an arrogant sod, was he? Well, he'd had that potential, even back then, thought Jo, although she noticed Carole hadn't even blinked at the man's caustic remark.

  ‘It's all right for you,' said Mr Yachting-Cap, who was squeezing Carole without apparently knowing he was doing it, 'you're a Navy type.'

  ‘Nothing to do with that. I just like to paddle my own canoe, or steer my own barge, whichever applies.' He smiled at Jo and Miranda, who realised she knew him.

  ‘Bruce! I didn't see you arrive! How lovely to see you!' Miranda said excitedly. 'Is Angela with you?'

  ‘She's sorting her mother out. I didn't bring William -that's my barge,' he said to Jo, quickly.

  ‘So you see, you're not so hot as all that,' said Mr Three Hundred-Thousand-Pound's-worth-of-Barge.

  ‘She's in France at the moment and we're only here on a flying visit,' said Bruce. 'We've got a very nice mooring on the Canal du Midi.’

  Jo felt suddenly tired but realised she was actually bored of all this boat talk.

  Miranda, probably feeling the same, said, 'Bruce, come and say hello to Bill. He'll be furious if you and he don't have an opportunity to chew the fat. Come on, Jo.' Expertly, Miranda gathered her chosen people and led them away from the group.

  ‘God, I hate Sebastian,' she said. 'Just because he's a multi-millionaire he thinks he's God's gift to women. He'd sleep with anyone.’

  Not me, thought Jo. He showed no interest in me whatsoever. It was galling, she decided, to be spurned by someone who'd sleep with anyone, even if she wouldn't have slept with him if he were the last man between her and childlessness.

  *

  Later that night, Jo heard Dora come in and settled down to sleep. Her mind was whirling: while she was not exactly sure of her new vocation she felt she had lots of possibilities and it was just a matter of finding her favourite. She and Miranda had discussed the subject once again when they had retired to Hepplewhite with Bill and Bruce for a nightcap. Miranda had been full of ideas, from her training to teach English as a foreign language to becoming a matron at a boys' prep school, 'and end up marrying Mr Chips'. Jo had protested that she wasn't young or pretty enough and even if she had been, she didn't want a husband, but as she did like mothering people, the idea had some merit. Her last thought before she fell asleep had been that cherub-restorer did have a nice ring to it.

  The following morning over breakfast Dora told Jo about her evening with Tom and their planned day at the races.

  ‘The races! That sounds such fun!' said Jo.

  ‘You wouldn't have wanted to go, would you? I've said I'll take Tom now.'

  ‘Of course, take Tom. Honestly, Dora, the thought of just pottering around by myself for the day after all this socia bility is just bliss. You go and jolly well enjoy yourselves.'

  ‘I should be job-hunting, really, not "gadding about" as my mother would call it.'

  ‘Your sense of duty is too strong and your father did send you the tickets, you have to go.' Jo patted Dora's hand. 'If it will make you any happier, you could look up the addresses of some job agencies on the Internet today and then you can go and visit them after the races.

  Assuming, that is, that you don't win your fortune and never need to work again.’

  Dora smiled. 'I am quite tempted by the boatyard idea, actually, but I can't help feeling it's a bit of a cop-out. I think I need to look at all my options.'

  ‘Well, have a look round in London and then you will have done your duty in that direction, too.’

  They spent the day sorting themselves out and generally recharging their batteries.

&
nbsp; *

  'Well, this is fun,' said Dora, looking at Tom as they sat opposite each other on the train the next day. He was looking strange in a borrowed suit and shoes that were too big for him.

  ‘It's all right for you, your clothes are your own.'

  ‘Only some of them! The skirt and little top are mine, but the jacket is Jo's. It is a bit big, but I quite like the drapey look myself.’

  Tom grinned. 'You look great. And thank you for paying for my train ticket.'

  ‘Well, thank you for coming with me. I probably should have taken Jo, of course, but she said she wanted some time to herself.' Although Jo had been very convincing, Dora did actually suspect that she'd just wanted Dora to spend some time with someone her own age. 'A day out will do you good,' she had said, and had heaped much praise on Dora's dad for sending her the tickets, especially when they realised they included eating in a corporate tent.

  They enjoyed their train journey. It was easy to spot fellow race-goers, although this wasn't a specially laid-on train.

  There was a party of women in diaphanous summer frocks and hats, sharing bottles of champagne to get them in the mood. There was a foursome of businessmen, going to meet important shareholders, hoping to soften them up for more major investment. And there were couples who hadn't been to the races before, and, like Dora and Tom, were not sure what to expect.

  They discovered all this quite easily. The women and the businessmen were in the same carriage and the couples were spotted as first Tom and then Dora went to the buffet car for coffee and a 'nose', as Tom put it. One of the things Dora discovered about Tom that she really appreciated was his fondness for people-watching. She loved it herself, but John had always got annoyed if he'd taken her out for a meal and she hadn't given him her undivided attention. Often Dora was more interested in the conversation going on behind her. Settling back into her seat for a bit of a rest, Dora realised that was another reason it was as well she and John had split up.

  There was a bus waiting for the train that took them through the leafy streets of Cheltenham to the racecourse. By this time there was a feeling of camaraderie between the people who had all come by train and Dora and Tom had got used to being thought of as a couple. As long as we know we're not one, thought Dora, it's OK.