The Men in her Life

someone because they like the same things as you, do you? Whenever I look at those personal ads... just for a laugh,’ she qualified quickly, ‘about the biggest turn-offs are the ones that say “likes cinema”, I mean for God’s sake, who doesn’t like cinema? The fact that you use two expensive words to state the obvious shows how boring you must be...’
    Simon chuckled.
    ‘It’s almost as bad as “I’m considered attractive...” I think that means he’s bound to be bald. Who considers him attractive? His mother? I’ve decided the best ones are the ones you phone and leave a message. What you have to do is get drunk and listen, then if you fancy one just blurt out enough to get them to ring you... Then, you see, you have this list of questions by the phone for when they call back...’
    ‘What sort of questions?’ Simon asked.
    ‘Do you have or have you ever had a beard?’ Holly answered immediately.
    ‘What about if they’d been on a trekking holiday, or something, and they didn’t have access to water?’ Simon asked.
    ‘Exactly. I could never sustain a relationship with someone who’d thought for one minute about going on a trekking holiday.’ She picked up the empty bottle and held it up in the air, hoping that a waitress would see and bring them another without the tedious process of having to get up and go downstairs to the bar.
    ‘Is that it, then?’ Simon asked.
    ‘God, no. My list is enormous. Almodóvar — genius or warped pervert?’
    ‘So?’
    ‘Genius, of course...’
    ‘Go on...’
    ‘Have you ever sent a round-robin letter at Christmas...?’
    ‘Oh yes, I really loathe those things,’ Simon agreed, ‘especially the ones that start with a disclaimer, like, “I hate these as much as you do, but there never seems to be the time to write to everyone I know...’ ’
    ‘Exactly,’ said Holly, ‘with lots of exclamation marks. It’s like, no, you don’t even register on the hating-these-things scale, mate...’
    ‘What else?’ Simon asked, warming to the theme.
    ‘Have you ever sung along to the chorus of “Lady in Red?” What a dirge! I can’t stand it. And I think Chris de Burgh is short...’
    ‘What difference does that make?’ Simon attempted to introduce a note of logic, ‘I mean, you’re hardly likely to come across Chris de Burgh himself in an ad...’
    ‘It just makes me hate the song even more and his soulful expression...’ she pulled a face.
    ‘Enough,’ Simon held up his hands, ‘I’m beginning to feel sorry for the guy.’
    The waitress uncorked another bottle of champagne. ‘Here’s another one... have the words “Maybe we’ve had enough champagne for one evening” ever crossed your lips?’ Holly said, drinking a glass in two gulps, ‘OK, so what would yours be?’
    ‘Who’s your favourite Beatle?’ Simon said.
    ‘Ringo Starr,’ Holly replied.
    ‘No, I meant that would be one of my questions.’
    ‘Oh, and did I pass?’
    ‘As long as you didn’t say John Lennon. I can’t stand people who worship John Lennon. I mean, I preferred the Rolling Stones anyway, but John bloody Lennon, with his silly glasses and his smug bloody “Imagine all the People”. Imagine all the people who could have lived good lives on the money he put up his nose. It’s not that I particularly care what he did. I just hate the hypocrisy...’
    Holly stared at Simon. It was the first time she could remember him getting heated, apart from the time he was convinced the waiter in a Chinese restaurant had given him a draught Carling in a glass as opposed to the Tsing Tao beer he had requested. What a thing to get worked up about. She’d never really thought about John Lennon like that, although, now that she did, she remembered having been very tired of all the candlelit vigils and stuff that surrounded his death.
    ‘This is my whole point,’ she said, feeling the wonderful bonhomie of a shared prejudice.
    ‘Surely you don’t need to do this sort of dating?’ Simon said, slurring his words slightly, ‘you’re always meeting men.’
    ‘But nobody ever takes me seriously, usually because they’ve already got that part of their lives sorted out. I’m a bit on the side, for recreational purposes only. It’s my fault just as much as theirs, as Colette points out all the time, it’s the image I project, and I’ve done such a good job of convincing everyone else, I almost convinced myself...’
    ‘So why the change of heart? Why do you