The Last Year of Being Single by Sarah Tucker Page A

so many ways. You know that you love him, and that is all you know. Or all that I knew. I was sad, but happy to be with the man I loved. Happy I had found my soulmate in life. Chemistry was there, but communication wasn’t, and I knew that would have to do for now. For now.
    But over five years I became resentful of the no sex policy and started feeling angry. Hence when I met John I was primed for a fling. Ripe for the picking. Full of anger, pride and above all a sexual imagination which hadn’t been used in years.
    Dinner party was fine. There was the usual crowd. Patrick and Kate, Peter and Kelly, Connor and Shelley. These were his schoolfriends. Peter and Patrick he had known for many years. Connor even longer. Connor had been going out with Shelley for six years.
    Kelly had been going out with Peter since school. She was blonde and cute and, I felt, very tough. Tougher than she came across. She wanted to marry Peter, and I think he was OK about marrying her. But both Peter and Patrick had a love greater than that for any woman. Rugby. It came first. Women came second. They would play it at every opportunity. Patrick was county standard. Paul who was just under six foot (he lied about his height always) would use them as bouncers. Both over six foot three, with hands as big as cauliflowers and ears that resembled them, they were gentle giants and both, especially Patrick, were rather lazy and selfish, but kind and generous at the same time. I blame the mother.
    Kate, whom Patrick had only recently started dating, was a beauty therapist. She was loud and funny and called a spade a fucking shovel and I loved her to bits. She was genuine and kind and you knew where you stood and she said she put up with Patrick because he had a big dick and nice arse. But you knew she was genuinely fond of him and wanted to marry him.
    Connor had tight curly blond hair and looked like one of the Marx brothers. The one that couldn’t say anything—just squeaked a horn. He was kind and thoughtful and the least selfish out of the schoolfriends, and I had a soft spot for him because it was he who had suggested Paul call meand pursue me to France and meet me in Monte Carlo and start the relationship all those years ago.
    They all arrived at the same time. In convoy. Despite the fact that they all lived in different towns—all the men were Virgos and therefore punctual.
    Menu for the evening:
    Champagne and handmade vegetable crisps (from Marks & Spencer)
    Olives—black and green, marinated in garlic (my favourite)
    First course:
    Parma Ham (Paul’s favourite)
    Fresh figs
    Second course:
    Boeuf en croûte (aka Wellington)
    Carrots (cut lengthways not across—Paul tells me he read somewhere that across is common)
    French beans
    New potatoes
    Potatoes Dauphinois
    All from Marks & Spencer except B en C which Paul wanted to cook himself. Even the pastry.
    I cooked chicken in white wine with garlic for those who don’t eat beef. That’s Kate and myself.
    Dessert:
    Profiteroles
    Sticky toffee pudding and custard
    Häagen Dazs ice-cream—three varieties
    Cheese (nine sorts)
    Four sorts of biscuits
    Cape gooseberries, grapes—black, apples—green, celery—hard
    Filter coffee and chocolates (not Ferrero Rocher, ever)
    Port (Paul’s favourite)
    And so it was for most dinner parties. The same. Everybody disliked Shelley but no one told her to her face, or told Connor. She was insecure and put everyone and everything down. Everyone else’s achievement could be bettered in some way. First time she came round to a dinner party at Paul’s house she kissed him full on the lips and groped at his groin. Just for me. That was nice. Anyway, I wanted to tell her to her face, but no one else seemed to want to rock the boat with Connor, so it was the conversation piece before and after she left the room. A sort of bonding amongst the others. As I had known her from the past I was an honorary Shelley-hater, despite the fact that I actually felt sorry for