Upgrading

Chapter One I consider pressing the bell for a second time but decide to count to ten and see what happens.Nothing.This is obviously a wind-up. God, how embarrassing. I polish my shoes behind my trouser legs and, in the process, nearly fall backwards down the steps. I steady myself on the railings and look round discreetly to see if anyone has seen this ridiculous manoeuvre. Fortunately they haven't.Come on. It can't take that long to get to the door. Unless she's on crutches. Or in a wheelchair. Or she's 105 but with the mind and libido of a twenty-year-old. What the hell am I doing?It's still warm outside and the last rays of the sun are playing gently on the back of my neck. The smell of my hair gel begins to blend with my Chanel Gentleman's Cologne. Oh, Christ! Perhaps it's all a bit too much -- less is more in these situations. She'll probably think I'm a poof. Probably thinks we all are. The smell will probably put her off. She'll be totally freaked by the whole thing and say "Er, listen, I've been thinking. Thanks but no thanks. Hope you understand." Course I do. Don't blame you. I've got dressed up, spent seven quid on a taxi because I was terrified of being late and all for nothing. Course I understand.Oh, come on.I do a quick nose and fly check and push my tie up again.Another ten seconds and I'm out of here. Forget this ever happened. Ring Jonathan when I get home and tell him.Call it thirty seconds.I've decided to be conservative in my dress and go for dark grey trousers, blue blazer (without gold buttons -- that would be too much), a pale blue shirt and a dark maroon spotted tie.Forget it. I'll just wander casually back along the road.Suddenly the door is opened by a woman with a mass of thick, back-combed hair. She has a drink in one hand and a phone in the other, the receiver clamped under her chin. She looks at me for a second through dark eye make-up while the person on the other end is talking and then she walks back down the hallway leaving the door open.That's it. I'm definitely out of here.Oh, Christ! What if she rings Jonathan and complains? I follow her in. The house smells of her perfume and her dog. I hear it barking madly at the back of the house and wonder whether it's on its way out to savage me and prevent its mistress from making a fool of herself with a younger man but then the noise stops.We go into what people living round here would call a drawing room. Bookcases either side of a huge fireplace. A portrait of a woman above it. I do a double-take -- is it her? No, the woman looks slightly different. Mother? Sister? I sit down on a hard leather Chesterfield settee. In front of me is a very seventies brass and smoked-glass coffee table. I look around the room. It's an odd mixture of posh and naff: an antique wooden sideboard with silver picture frames and candlesticks next to a plastic garden chair stacked up with old copies of Tatler and Harpers & Queen. Across the room is a highly polished grand piano and underneath it a dog basket littered with chewed toys. I look back, not wanting to seem nosy.She is still on the phone. The person on the other end is giving her some strong advice."OK, OK," she says. "Look, I must go, Mummy. OK, OK. I must go but I'll see you at Susie's. Yup, lots of love. Bye."She puts the receiver down and starts on at me. She looks like an actress -- strong cheekbones and a large, sensual mouth. Have I seen her somewhere before? One of those three-part mini series on TV, perhaps? The ones my mum watches and then says, "How silly. I was really only waiting for the news." Her face is lined with tension and her eyes dart around the room. The small wrinkles round her mouth are like streams flowing into a large dark lake. I realize I'm staring."I just want to talk, OK? Just talk." She shrugs her shoulders and I nod, not sure what to say. She is obviously quite pissed already.Brooke, Simon is the author of 'Upgrading', published 2004 under ISBN 9780743477628 and ISBN 0743477626.