off-licence!’ says Alice gleefully. ‘I’ll go and attach my nipple tassels.’
She doesn’t go quite as far as that, but she does put on a gorgeous red top and gives herself film-starrish kohl-covered eyes. I put my hair back in a mousy ponytail and change into some mediocre jeans. Here’s the thing: if one of us has a crush, the other has to stand back in quite a major way. If she’s his physical type, the odds are I am too, so it’s important I Deirdre Barlow it up until she’s sealed the deal. And the deal’s looking scarily likely, judging by the grin he gives her when we come through the door. I can kind of see the appeal – he’s broad enough to fill his crumpled white T-shirt convincingly and his tanned arms look sinewy and muscled from all the box humping he must have to do. He’s definitely fit, but blandly so, like a cheap knock-off of Brad Pitt. And I feel like there’s some calculation going on behind his slate-grey eyes. Is it my imagination or does he contemplate us a second too long before he speaks?
‘Hello, again. What can I tempt you with tonight?’
‘Surprise me,’ Alice replies coquettishly.
‘First of all you need to introduce me to your famous twin.’ He sticks out his hand. ‘I’m Richard, I’ve heard all about you.’
I wonder if he has or if he’s buttering me up. I know I talk about Alice continually without even noticing I’m doing it, but I don’t know if she’s as bad. He’s swivelled back towards her now, twin duty dispensed with. As they’re talking about the consistency of Côte du Rhône as though it’s his sperm, I decide it’s time to give them some space. I go and hang around the Italian whites, wondering how to wean myself off Charles. It’s always like this in the in-between times: it’s completely impossible to imagine how you could ever meet anyone. Right now it seems more likely that I’ll be whisked off my feet by Tom Cruise and converted to Scientology than meet an ordinary, decent man I can fall in love with. Looking over, I see that Richard’s wrapping up a bottle for us, and wonder if the chat’s run dry. I head back over as Alice’s phone starts to ring.
‘Oh no, it’s the headmaster. How much more is there to say about an infant turd?’ she says, backing outside to take the call. Richard looks understandably flummoxed by her remark.
‘It’s taking a bit of time to go through,’ he says eventually. We both stare at the card machine, contemplating this self-evident truth. It’s so obvious I’m not the point, particularly as I’ve come dressed as the twin who fell out of the ugly tree.
‘So have you had this place long?’ I ask him.
‘No, it’s only been about six months. My dad put some money into it. He’s a wine critic… Oh, sod it, it says I need to ring them.’ His jaw’s set with irritation.
‘Don’t worry, I can answer anything they ask.’
He punches a number into the phone and hands it over once he’s connected. I sail through date of birth and address, but when they go for significant date rather than mother’s maiden name I start to struggle. I try Mum’s birthday, then Dad’s (which takes a tellingly long time to recall) and then, when it’s not Rufus’s, get locked out. I try a bit of wheedling, but they’re not interested.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, handing it back to Richard. ‘They say you’ve got to cancel the transaction.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ He rips the phone out of my hand. ‘What the hell is your problem? She’s a regular customer, there’s no issue here.’ There’s a pause. ‘No, you calm down, you incompetent moron.’ Another pause, during which he starts to shake like the Hulk. ‘For fuck’s sake!’ He slams the phone down, red in the face, just before Alice bounds back in the door.
‘Sorry about that. He wants me to talk to the parents and –’ She clocks my expression. ‘What’s up?’
Richard jumps in, all charm.
‘They wouldn’t accept your card, I’m afraid. Don’t worry, you can pay me next time you’re in.’
‘Are you sure?’ she says, positively simpering.
‘Great. Thanks, Richard,’ I say, grabbing her arm. ‘We’d better be getting back.’
‘Hang on…’ she protests.
‘Alice, come on, it’s ten minutes till “Grey’s Anatomy”. Let’s get going. Bye.’ I bare my teeth in an approximation of a smile and hustle her out.
‘What’s your problem?’ she says, rounding on me.
‘He’s the