I Followed the Rules

by Joanna Bolouri

to ponder if you could ever be truly happy as part of a couple again. I’m a creature of habit now, so the thought of allowing someone into the little world I’ve created for me and my daughter is a daunting prospect. Being a lone, working parent is tough, and I wonder if I’ll ever have the time or the energy to direct towards someone new. Sometimes it’s hard to imagine a future

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breakfast. I read Tom’s message for myself, then wait ten minutes and type: Sounds fine. See you at eight x I stare at the message. ‘Kiss or no kiss?’ ‘No kiss. He didn’t send a kiss.’ I delete the x and press Send. It’s done. ‘So this is happening then?’ I laugh. ‘What the hell am I going to wear?’ I suggest

good Hui

We’re paying. Go and see what he wants. Push for an interview.’ I stand up, email in hand, feeling confused but intrigued. I’ve done so many interviews, but never one where I’ve been on the receiving end of the heat. ‘And Cat? Be nice, please.’ I nod and shuffle

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but I don’t want him to be staring at the spot on my chin or my shiny forehead all through lunch. I apply some concealer, freshen up my blusher and run a

Bj

like I’m in charge. I feel like Melanie Griffith in Working Girl. ‘Ah yes, follow me.’ The young waitress leads me to a table at the back of the room. I spy a table

on his smug, kissable face. I haven’t seen him in daylight before. I haven’t seen him since . . . Oh shite, now I’m back in his bedroom and he’s pulling my legs over his shoulders and I’m blushing. He’s grinning and I’m

Bj

reaches into his coat pocket and hands me a brushed silver pen. ‘Here you go.’ ‘I can’t take this; it looks expensive. Can I pawn it afterwards . . .?’ He laughs. ‘Just

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across from me. What the fuck?! He can’t sit there. I try and shoo him away. ‘Sorry, but, um . . . what the hell are you doing?’ He signals to the

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nothing to do with you . . . Oh yes, please, can I have the Thai beef and another lager? The mute in front of me will have another glass of whatever that is and the Kung Po chicken. Just nod if that’s OK, Cat. Cat?’ I didn’t even see the waitress standing impatiently beside

flat!’ ‘That was just a bonus.’ He leans back in his chair and I desperately try to push it over using my mind. The waitress arrives and gently places our meals and a pitcher

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pour myself some water. My mouth feels like it’s made of cotton wool. ‘Well, Glasgow Girl is anonymous, and you were very open about being a journalist . . . to be honest, I thought it might be your friend Kerry – I didn’t buy the whole works

my lifestyle. I bought that nice pen, invested in a business I happen to really enjoy and I own a lovely flat. You remember my flat, right, Cat?’ I do. I remember the smell of vanilla and the feeling of the bedroom carpet on my knees and . . . DON’T GO THERE, BRAIN. STAND

and yet continue to blame my book for the fact you can’t find a proper relationship.’ My mind stops trying to maim Dylan and searches for Rule 6 in my memory banks. Nothing. Hang on – I only read up to Rule 4. Why

but—’ ‘Good, then the deal is you continue to follow the book until the end of your column series, but you follow it properly. Do it like you mean it. And just to show that I’m

out of this?’ I reply defiantly. He takes another mouthful of lunch. ‘Well, I get the pleasure of proving you wrong. So, what do you think? It’s either that or I tell your editor, your readers and everyone with a Twitter account that we had

thousands of readers that it was complete tripe, but then a photo of her dining at Prezzo with yards of tagliatelle hanging out of her mouth appeared online, and she was dropped. No one knows where’s she’s working now. I cannot believe that shagging

forward to working with you. Can I have my pen back now?’ ‘Can you fuck!’ I toss my bag over my shoulder and march swiftly through the restaurant, past the lunchtime

heard that! I meant it. Sort my fucking expenses out, you useless prick.’ She hangs up and gives herself a little shake. ‘Honestly, that man makes me livid. Anyway, tell all! What was he like? Did he explain his idea for how to progress your

we’d be discreet. Now, I’ve emailed you three features to do, so if you could crack on with those, and I look forward to reading your next dating column. I know you can’t force these things, but in the interests of entertainment . . .’ Christ, how

‘It’ll be great.’ I get back to my desk and grab my phone from my bag, desperately hoping that a message from Tom wanting to meet up again before my copy is due has miraculously appeared. No such luck. And now Patrick is staring at me. ‘Can I help you with

discussing?’ He clears his throat. ‘Was it a personal matter?’ ‘Nope.’ ‘OK then. Ah, was it about the Scottish awards for—’ ‘Nope.’ Jesus,

bloody childish!’ he moans. ‘Piss off, the pair of you.’ I suspect Patrick’s missing Leanne and her perky breasts, but I have more important things to think about . . . like how to meet up with Tom without hounding him. I reach into my bag for The Rules of

Dylan sent to Natasha earlier falls out. ‘Right,’ I think. ‘Smart-arse has offered to help, so I’ll let him.’ My fingers begin

dilemma: how do I get this guy to meet me without my instigating it? I can’t wait around forever, I’m on a copy deadline. Cat I don’t hear anything for two bloody hours, until I’m on the crowded train home and he calls

leaders, you know, not dating experts.’ ‘Wait, how can you

a dating expert when you’ve told me twice that you don’t date?’ I move down the train and out the way of a man who smells like...

and then bump into him. I wouldn’t normally advise this, however; you should be waiting for him to—’ ‘Deadline, Dylan.’

appointment?’ The train bumps to a halt and the woman beside me almost falls over. Ha! ‘I guess so, but I don’t really see—’ ‘She’ll go there with her bullshit toothache, and when she’s done she’ll announce she’s forgotten

it.’ I hang up before he has the chance to do it first and get straight on the phone to Helen, sure she

appointment is at half past twelve the following day. She calls me at ten to one, shrieking dramatically, ‘YOU MUST COME IMMEDIATELY. I APPEAR TO HAVE FORGOTTEN

place. ‘Aye, all right, Meryl Streep – I’ll be there in ten minutes. Does Tom know I’m coming?’ She lowers her

area.’ I pick up Helen’s purse from the table, ch...

the tight plunging V-neck top I’m wearing). The s...

sake of my hair. Andie MacDowell might have got her man by braving the pissing wet weather, but I’m not ris...

around the pristine waiting room for Helen but there’s no sign. ‘Can I help you?’ asks a stern-faced woman behind

must hate that bell, I think. She’s rocking a hair bun so tight, I’m getting a sympathy headache. ‘Yes, hello, I’m looking for my sister. I have her purse.’ ‘And does your sister

to typing and I take a seat beside a man who’s clutching at his swollen jaw. After five minutes of listening to

I’ve just announced I’m going to pay off her mortgage. I whisper in her ear, ‘Take your time – Tom must be in with a patient. I’m not leaving

around with her bank cards, stalling for time. The receptionist is staring at us, and eventually her burning death

for me. I’ve just about given up hope when a door opens and Tom appears behind a puffy-mouthed woman

scan down to my cleavage. Boom! Gotcha. ‘You looked nice. Look nice.’ He’s stumbling over his words.

to move before I say or do something stupid. ‘We’d better

Helen. I have that thing to get to.’ ‘What thing?’ ‘I told you earlier? That me...

nice to see you, Tom, and thank you. I like your white coat.’ ...

worked. * I have time to nip

door. Excitedly I press the tiny

succession of texts. I’m just home. Think it went well. Will have to see.

the phone and pull him through, scrotum

HATE YOUR STUPID BOOK. There’s no reply at first and I start to think he’s offended

up, grasshopper. Fuck off, Mr Miyagi.