Page 2 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
“Well, then you’d better get some classier Facebook friends,” said Kate.
The Twelve Dates of Christmas was the brainchild of the Lightning Strikes dating website: twelve dates, in twelve different locations in the weeks leading up to Christmas. It wasn’t cheap, but the choice of date venues was varied, and the more Kate had read about them, the more she had to admit that it might actually be fun.
It wasn’t something she would normally have bothered with. Kate was not the kind of woman who needed a man, but equally she thought she might quite like one. Her last long-term relationship had fizzled out some time ago, and it was mostly down to laziness that she hadn’t dated much since.
She supposed she had the opportunity to meet people when she was in the city, but that would mean having to go out and socialize afterwork, and really she just wanted to come home and eat pie in front of the telly. And as for meeting someone new in Blexford, people generally moved here to start a family or retire. There was a distinct lack of eligible bachelors buying up property in the sleepy village.
It was Laura, Kate’s best friend, who had pushed the idea of signing up. Laura was head custodian of Blexford Manor, and the Lightning Strikes team had rented out function rooms at the manor for some of their dates. Laura had been relentless.
“It’s perfect!” she said. “You don’t need to lift a finger. You pick the activities you’d like to do and they’ll put you with someone who matches your profile.”
“It’s not really my thing,” Kate had protested. “And it’s a lot of money.”
“But once you’ve signed up, all your drinks and food are included,” said Laura. “Twelve dates! And you don’t even have to go out looking for them.”
Kate had to admit that her regime of pajamas, toast, and telly by seven thirty every night was not conducive to establishing a satisfying sex life. And as much as she wanted to meet someone, she was a bit too happy in her own company. Kate had become her own best date.
“You can’t have it both ways,” said Laura. “You can’t whinge about wanting to meet someone and then look down your nose at dating websites. This is the modern way!”
“How would you know, Mrs. Married with Children?” said Kate.
“I readCosmo,” said Laura. “Cosmodoesn’t lie.”
“Isn’t there a catalog groom service? Maybe I could just order one in,” said Kate. “Or is that another bastion of sexual inequality we have yet to conquer?”
Laura pushed the laptop forcefully toward Kate.
“Would you do it?” asked Kate.
Laura threw her arms in the air in exasperation.
“Yes!” she said. “God forbid, if Ben died, this is exactly how I would find a new man.” She paused. “Although Ben has decreed that should he die before me, I’m to have him stuffed and placed in the bedroom, pointing at the bed,” she went on. “He says any man who can still perform under those circumstances will be truly worthy of me.”
Laura smiled dreamily. Kate shuddered.
“I’ll have a think and get back to you on it,” said Kate.
“The time is now,” said Laura. “I have real concerns that if you don’t change your ways, you’ll slip into a cheese-and-crackers coma and I’ll find you collapsed, with your face wedged in the pickle jar.”
And that was how Kate found herself signed up, paid up, and now dressed up for the first of her Twelve Dates of Christmas.
“So is it a blind date?” asked Matt.
“Not exactly,” said Kate, as she flicked through her phone. “They put us together with people whose profiles match our own and then they send us a photo so we know who we’re looking for.”
“So no need to wear a pink carnation in your lapel, then?” said Matt.
Kate screwed her face up at him.
“His name is Richard. He’s something to do with hedge funds, though I never know what that actually means,” said Kate. “He’s a divorced, devoted father of two.”
“How do you know he’s devoted?” asked Matt.
“Because he said so in his profile,” said Kate.
“Oh, well then itmustbe true,” said Matt. “Come on then, show us a photo of Wonderman.”
Kate flipped her phone around and showed Matt a picture of a smiling dark-haired man. He was clean-shaven and broad-shouldered and covered in mud as he stood in full rugby regalia, with a rugby ball under one arm.
