Monday to Friday Man Read Online Free PDF

I’m a messed up 34-year-old, who needs the cash.’
    She twitches her mouth, deep in thought before tapping into the keyboard, ‘I’m thirty-two . . .’
    ‘Gloria! It’s not a dating site. None of the other ads say their age.’
    ‘Exactly. You are going to stand out, rise like a Phoenix. OK. You enjoy parties, dancing . . . What’s your favourite cocktail?’
    ‘A White Lady.’ Freshly squeezed lemon, gin and Cointreau. Ed and I used to make them all the time.
    ‘Delicious,’ she agrees, typing, when the whole ad disappears. ‘No!’ she wails. ‘I did nothing, just pressed that button,’ she defends herself as I move over and tap another key. All she’s done is shrink it, I reassure her.
    As we reach the end of our advert there’s still something missing. ‘I love dogs!’ I exclaim. ‘I have to say pets. The nation loves dogs!’
    ‘That’s my girl,’ Gloria says in a way which makes me fear she’s about to ruffle my hair and squeeze my cheeks.
    If you want, you can add a photograph to your advert (of the house, not you!) . Gloria looks at my photograph. It’s a shot of my sitting room with the open fireplace, the African sculpture, the invitations on the mantelpiece (I still can’t get used to seeing only my name in the corner) the bookshelves crammed with novels and photographs of family and friends.
    She gasps. ‘It’s your television, darling.’ I turn to face my old-fashioned TV, the screen the size of an ant. She’s right. There it is, sitting like a wart, putting off all potential Monday to Fridayers. Ed used to threaten to buy me a new one, but I was proud that I hadn’t sold my soul to the plasma screen.
    Gloria says, ‘Get your coat on. We’ll take Sadie out.’
    Sadie is her electric purple car. ‘I can’t justify buying a TV,’ I say, ‘not right now. My credit card needs a rest.’
    ‘Think of it as a loan.’ As we reach the front door she turns to me. ‘Before we go, I just want to say I’m glad you’re not moving.’
    ‘Oh, Gloria, so am I,’ I say, touched.
    ‘I mean, who’s going to water my plants and feed my Guinness when I’m away?’ Guinness is Gloria’s black-and-white cat.
    ‘And fix your computer?’ Gloria always summons me over during a technical emergency, and I’ve just set her up on wireless broadband. ‘I’d miss my fellow Olympian swimmer too. Let’s just hope after all our hard work I find the perfect Monday to Friday man.’
    ‘Gilly, by the time we’ve finished with your ad, the offers are going to come flooding through your letterbox,’ she promises.

5
     
    Later that evening, after Gloria and I have bought and installed a high-tech television screen the size of a tennis court in my sitting room (vulgar – am disgusted with myself) I race in my car to my brother’s house in Richmond. I’m running late because I got delayed trying to change one of Gloria’s spotlight bulbs in her kitchen. I curse my luck when I get stuck in traffic. Nancy, Nick’s wife, has only one thing in common with my father. She’s a stickler for punctuality.
    Nancy opens the door in an elegant navy wraparound dress, legs waxed and tanned, her fair hair tumbling down slender shoulders. I burst into the hallway with a bottle of wine and a couple of presents I bought for the children.
    ‘The kids are in bed. It’s too late to read to them,’ she says.
    I always make up bedtime stories for them. ‘Can I just run up and kiss them goodnight?’
    ‘Go on.’ She smiles tightly. ‘Quick.’ As I brush past her, there’s a faint look of disapproval when she sees I haven’t changed for the evening. Nancy believes in changing for dinner – it’s important to add a new chapter to the day, she says.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ she says when I gesture to my jeans, ‘but what have you forgotten to do?’ she asks with a smile and gentle nudge that hides a whip.
    ‘Oh yes, sorry!’ I slip off my shoes before rushing upstairs to kiss Hannah and Matilda