Free The Year I Went Pear-Shaped by Tamara Pitelen Page A

getting whisked off in an ambulance.
    “Scuse me!” I called to a blue-eyed waiter with shoulders wider than the goalposts on a rugby field who was clearing plates of half eaten cake and dirty glasses with stained serviettes wrapped round them from the next table. “Could I get a soy decaf latte please? And some water?”
    “Sure Love,” he chirped, his Lycra t-shirt stretched to breaking point across his concrete pecs, “coming right up!”
    “Cheers,” I croaked and glanced again at my watch for the fortieth time. 9.45am. I'd been sitting there for 15 minutes with another 15 to go. Terrified of being late, I'd left home far too early. In my pocket was a chunk of crystal and a rabbit's foot in a silver casing, Anita had solemnly presented them both to me over breakfast that morning, claiming that they had saved her life many times and she was lending them to me until the Dr Ramswell story was sitting safely in magazine stands across the country. As I'd walked out the front door, she'd given me a big hug and said she was going to go back in and light a candle for me, one of the extra special, ultra expensive, "good luck" candles that she bought by mail order from Shanghai. Surely I couldn't fail with that kind of positive energy in my corner.
    God, what was I going to do for 15 minutes? I’d already read the copy of yesterday’s Herald that was sitting on the table when I arrived three times. This was agony. By the time Gordon turned up I'd be a dribbling, blithering pile of jelly, slowly falling in globs from the chair to the floor. Christ, what was wrong with me? I had to pull myself together, I'd never been like this before. Even meeting people like Robbie Williams and Kylie Minogue hadn’t really phased me. Although Robbie had made me tremble a bit I had to admit. Maybe Tobsha was right, I was totally fucked up. Jeeze, then imagine what she'd think if she knew about the little Gordon shrine I had sitting in my bedroom, complete with incense and photos? I really was pathetic. Anita was right; he's just some soap actor, what's the big deal? Ohgodohgodohgod! There he is! Over by the door, scanning the room. He's smiling. At me! He's coming over. I think I'm going to die. The next ten seconds felt like 20 years as he walked over, winding his way through the other tables and chairs.
    “Hiii… Darla?” He said with a question in his voice. I nodded, momentarily speechless. “I'm Gordon,” he said.
    The walking divinity put out his hand and I stood up to shake it. His grip was firm and confident. He looked me straight in the eye and his smile radiated enough wattage to power a fleet of limousines.
    “Hi,” I squeaked, thanking the heavens that the power of speech had returned. “Um, it'sgreattomeetyoupleasesitdowncanIgetyouacoffee?”
    Doh! Stupid, stupid! Slow down and speak clearly, do you want him to think you're a complete moron?
    “Thanks, yeah, a flat white would be great.”
    I asked Walking Shoulders to add a flat white to the order then sat back down opposite Man of My Dreams. He had hung his denim jacket on the back of his chair and was sitting back, one leg slung casually over the other. He launched another killer smile missile at me as I sat down. Va Boom! Right on target.
    “Y'know, you look familiar, have we met before?”
    I guess there was no point in hiding it.
    “Yeah, we have actually. We went to high school together. You probably don’t remember but we were in the same PE class and we also both starred in the school play, Guys & Dolls. If I recall correctly, you were Dice Guy number six and I was Salvation Army lady number three. Not to mention both of us being crucial members of the crowd scenes.”
    Gordon's eyebrows had flown up into the reaches of his floppy blonde fringe and he sat forward to get a closer look at me.
    “Oh my Lord! Darla! It's Darla Manners. Jeeze, I didn't make the connection before! Bloody hell, you've changed a lot Darla, you look fabulous! What a riot!” He