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STORY 2: IN SEARCH FOR MR RIGHT Substitute when I had the chance? I'm
©Anne Goodwin not eating and I'm not sleeping.
Once upon a time, on a High Street not so
very far from here, a fresh-faced young
virgin looked up from the record counter
at Woolworth’s, straight into the beautiful
chestnut-brown eyes of Mr Right.
Flustered, colouring to the tips of her
dainty little ears, she looked down again
immediately and began flicking through
the albums in the W rack and, when she
looked up, he had gone.
Yet the image of his perfection was
imprinted on her mind. She had to see
him again. Over the next few days and
weeks and months, she searched for him "Tell me what you want," says Husband.
in all the likely places. But her efforts "I can change." He even suggests sessions
were fruitless. Roaming through the at Relate.
record shops, she had several sightings of
Afghan coats, but none on the back of Mr How can I expect him to turn back the
Right. Loitering with a raspberry milk- clock to a time when I was younger than
shake in yet another coffee-bar, she was Daughter is now, and twice as naive, to a
afforded multiple glimpses of men with time before cassettes, CD’s and iPods?
flowing golden curls, but none adorning How can I blame Mr Good-enough for
the head of her prince charming. going bald and podgy on me, for falling
asleep before the end of the Six O'clock
At that point, she could have given up on News? That's just how real life is.
life, taken to her bed in despair, but,
being a practical kind of girl, she decided "File for divorce if you're not happy," says
to cut her losses and accept an invitation Best Friend. "The kids are grown up. It's
to see Tommy at the flicks with Mr Good- time you had some excitement in your
enough. A meal at the Wimpy followed life." She's never forgiven Husband for
soon after. Before she knew it, she was turning down an offer to go bungee
back on the High Street discussing jumping.
wedding bouquets at the florist's. Then,
after the proper interval, inquiring about "I couldn't," I say. "He'd never get over it."
remedies for colic and nappy-rash at
Boot's. Later, with the kids settled at But, will I get over it? What will become of
school, she had a desk at Prospect me if I can't erase the thought of Mr Right
Residentials, popping out at lunchtimes to from my mind?
pick up some shopping from the Co-op.
Like the desperate teenager I once was, I
She loved her husband, her children, even seek him everywhere. Each time I go to
her job; never mind that it placed her assess a new property, each time I take a
lower, in the eyes of the general public, customer for a viewing, I'm scrutinising
than politicians and traffic wardens. It is a the faces of middle-aged men, looking for
proper fairy-tale ending. I should be some hint that, if I were to close my eyes
happy. and kiss their leathery cheeks, their hair
would grow and their trousers would flare
Why, then, thirty-odd years on, are my out at the ankles and magic them into my
dreams still haunted by a man I thought handsome prince.
the spit of Roger Daltry? Why is each
waking moment filled with thoughts of One day, off to view a property on Castle
how life might have been had I had the Street, the gas board is digging up the
courage to engage him in a deep-and- road and I have to find a different route.
meaningful conversation about the An unseasonal fog has settled on the
relative merits of Pictures of Lily over town, and I lose my bearings. That's
when I come across the little record shop
12| Extensive Listening & Reading
