The Boyfriend Tune-Up Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  The Boyfriend Tune-Up

  Michele Gorman

  Copyright © 2016 Michele Gorman

  Cover images © Aldegonde

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the publisher.

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  Now writing as Lilly Bartlett!

  The Truth About Love and Dogs

  The Happy Home for Ladies

  The Wedding Bluff (Carlton Square book 1)

  The Reinvention Café (Carlton Square book 2)

  The Big Dreams Beach Hotel

  Christmas at the Falling-Down Guesthouse

  Also by Michele Gorman

  The Curvy Girls Club

  The Curvy Girls Baby Club

  Perfect Girl

  Christmas Carol

  Life Change

  Single in the City (Single in the City book 1)

  Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City book 2)

  Twelve Days to Christmas (Single in the City book 3)

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  This book probably wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for Carolyn, Karl and their little daughter, Robin. Carolyn and my husband are great friends and, once upon a time, they went out together. But it didn’t work out and eventually my husband met me and Carolyn met Karl, and on the 8th of April 2014, their daughter, Robin, came into the world.

  There I was one afternoon, wandering down my road, mulling over the wonderful phone conversation my husband and I’d just had with Carolyn and Karl after Robin’s birth. “Isn’t it funny,” I thought, “That two people as fantastic as Carolyn and my husband wouldn’t be right for each other, yet they’re perfect for Karl and me.” Just as I thought that, my gaze fell upon a bank of recycling bins, and The Boyfriend Tune-Up, about upcycling exes, was born.

  So thank you, Carolyn, Karl and Robin, for being such lovely friends and the inspiration for this book.

  Thanks too to my always-amazing agent Caroline Hardman, who was enthusiastic about The Boyfriend Tune-Up from the beginning, and to my editor, Caroline Kirkpatrick, who’s been so supportive and willing to deal with me even when I’m being a pain in the arse. Thanks too to my eagle-eyed copy editor, Rhian McKay, whose edits made me laugh rather than cry (the best thing an author can hope for).

  And finally, huge kisses to everyone who reads and reviews my books. Without you I’d have to get a real day job, and I’ve been fired from more of those than I care to remember. So thank you from the bottom of my sofa cushions.

  * * * * * *

  Please note that this novel was written in British English. Spelling has been changed to American English but British grammar, punctuation, idioms and dialect were retained.

  Chapter 1

  Catherine

  ‘What did you say?’ Catherine whispered as Richard calmly sipped the last of his wine. Even as her insides churned, she knew her face gave nothing away. Fifteen years of practice with him gave her the kind of composure that poker players dreamed of.

  Only this didn’t feel like a winning hand.

  ‘I’ve asked Magda to marry me,’ he repeated, this time at least having the decency to look contrite. He glanced around the busy Soho restaurant. ‘Kate, you’re not about to freak out, are you?’

  ‘Don’t call me Kate. And when have I ever freaked out?’

  Catherine wasn’t a freaker-outer, at least not in public. Richard would have known that when he planned his matrimonial ambush. She glared over his shoulder at an empty spot on the wall. Don’t you dare cry, she warned herself. He’ll only get the wrong idea and then everything will be really awkward. Besides, it was none of his business any more how she felt. She took a shaky breath. ‘I’m…’ She stopped when the word came out squeaky. ‘I’m just surprised, that’s all. I didn’t know you were so serious after only a few months.’

  A few months! She’d been with him for years before she’d even left her toothbrush at his place. And now he was getting engaged to a woman he hadn’t even known for as long as his Waitrose delivery man.

  ‘It was a year last weekend, actually. We went to the rooftop bar at SushiSamba to celebrate.’

  ‘Oh, she’s finally legal then?’

  Catherine probably had bras that were older than Magda.

  ‘You know,’ said Richard, signaling the waiter for the bill. ‘Cattiness isn’t flattering on you.’

  Maybe not but it was better than letting her real thoughts fly.

  ‘Neither is dating someone who has to ask her dad to borrow the car keys.’

  ‘You know very well that she’s twenty-three. She’s mature for her age.’

  ‘And firm, I bet.’

  A whisper of a smirk played around Richard’s mouth, despite the fact that she was savaging his girlfriend.

  Catherine didn’t wish for her twenties back. Just some of their elasticity. Tall and slim, with thick dark hair that dried straight and swingy, her peaches-and-cream complexion and direct hazel eyes all helped her pull off the classically professional look she’d cultivated for so long. She knew she looked good for thirty-six. As long as she didn’t stand beside her ex-husband’s new fiancée.

  He sighed. ‘Let’s not fight. I wanted you to be the first to know because you’re my best friend. Magda has her heart set on a spring wedding.’

  ‘Which spring?’ It was early November already.

  His closed-lip smile told her it wouldn’t be a long engagement.

  ‘That’s only a few months away.’

  ‘Please be happy for me,’ he said.

  His words shifted Catherine’s anger off the boil. She could probably be happy for him in time, but just now she wanted to sulk. It was the contrast that stung. When they’d got engaged, he hadn’t even officially asked her.

&n
bsp; ‘Just don’t expect me to be your best man, or woman or whatever.’

  He smiled. ‘Magda might find it a bit too twenty-first century to have you handing out the rings on our wedding day.’

  His words caved in her tummy again. ‘Well, being from the twenty-first century herself…’

  Richard shook his head. ‘We’ll work on your congratulations speech, shall we? I’d like us all to have dinner. Magda is dying to meet you.’

  ‘I can hardly wait.’

  Some people sought refuge in the arms of a lover. Others enjoyed the warm embrace of a spicy Pinot Noir.

  Red wine just gave Catherine a headache and relationships were usually a pain in the other end. Her job was her sanctuary.

  It was a short walk from the restaurant to her office in Covent Garden and her thoughts cleared a little with each step. By the time she reached her doorway on the busy little street and politely moved aside the drunk teen she found there, she knew that her reaction to Richard’s news wasn’t really about him, or them. It was about her.

  She’d just assumed that she’d be first to find love again after their divorce. She was the one looking, not him. So how had someone who never made it out of first gear overtaken her on the road to romance? She’d stalled along the way and her roadside assistance membership was out of date.

  The office’s security door latch closed with a satisfying thunk, cutting off all the noise from the road. As her eyes swept over her reception area, taking in the colorful oil paintings and the richly patterned overstuffed sofa, the hungry little worm that was wriggling its way into her psyche paused for breath.

  Work always did that.

  In her office her desktop phone blinked with a message. Should she answer it?

  She definitely shouldn’t. It was after ten p.m. It could wait till morning.

  But the light taunted her. ‘What else are you doing tonight?’ it whispered. ‘Going home to watch another rerun of Don’t Tell the Bride? Come on, you know you want to.’

  She snatched the receiver and punched in the answerphone code.

  ‘You have one new message. Message received at eight fifty-two.’

  ‘Catherine? This is Georgina. Did you mean to set me up with a dairy drinker?’

  She made it sound like she’d been out with a mass murderer.

  ‘I’m sorry but I can’t see him again. The dairy thing is just too weird.’

  Well actually, thought Catherine, it would have been weird if he’d shoved a wheel of Brie down his trousers. Pouring milk in his coffee was pretty normal.

  But she wouldn’t argue with Georgina, even though her client’s list of technical requirements made a NASA space launch look simple. If she wanted a lactose-intolerant man who played piano and didn’t chew gum, then Catherine would find him.

  That was her job, for better or worse.

  Matchmakers had it easier before the internet, when clients were just grateful to have a choice beyond their next-door neighbor and the second cousin with the squint.

  Now everyone went online, picking out partners like they did an expensive pair of shoes – they had to fit perfectly and be suitable for the occasion, and be the right height, eye-wateringly beautiful with no sign of wear and tear, coveted by friends and colleagues and impressive to mothers.

  Clients like Georgina thought finding love was as easy as ordering from ASOS.

  Catherine scrolled through some more options in her database. Georgina hadn’t been on their books long but she’d already worked her way through most of their ‘A’ list. When she’d first signed Georgina as a client she’d seen the stunning, successful, secure thirty-one year old as a welcome addition. A woman for whom love was just around the corner. That corner was turning out to be in a maze the size of a football pitch. The dairy disaster was just the latest dead end.

  But Catherine hadn’t earned her reputation as London’s Best Date Doctor (Evening Standard, 2014) by giving up. She was a peddler of hope, even when it was hanging by a dairy-free thread.

  She could talk to Richard about including the client’s world view on ice cream in their Love Match assessment form. But where would that lead? One minute you’re measuring gelato love and the next you’d have to sort the toothpaste squeezers from the rollers.

  And really, none of that mattered.

  If only clients like Georgina would get that through their heads. A partner splurging for dinner or throwing his socks in the laundry didn’t make up for jealousy or thoughtlessness or emotional distance. Good grooming was no compensation if your date bored the snot out of you and, at the end of the day, relationships didn’t work without that spark anyway.

  Despite the fact that she was definitely still mad at him, Catherine found herself thinking of Richard.

  Sparks had never been their problem.

  He’d made her laugh from the first time they met at college. By the time classes broke up for the summer holidays he’d been making her laugh for months, as they progressed from shag buddies to something ever-so-slightly more serious. Her spare knickers found their way into his bottom drawer but she didn’t stake any claim to his bathroom cabinet or stock her favorite tea in his kitchen. Theirs was a relationship built by stealth over years.

  Magda the Marriage-Seeking Missile clearly had a different timetable.

  As she chewed over his news in the calm of her office, Catherine knew she didn’t mind Richard getting remarried per se. Or even that he’d proposed to someone who probably spoke in texty acronyms (she LOL’d at the very idea). After all, getting divorced was Catherine’s fault. Besides, she wasn’t in love with him.

  It was just that he made it seem so easy with Magda. Where was all the hard work and second-guessing and foot-dragging she knew to be part and parcel of a relationship with Richard?

  If it wasn’t there, that must mean she’d been wrong. Those things weren’t integral to Richard. They were integral to Richard when he’d been with her.

  That smarted.

  It was after midnight by the time she let herself into the quiet house. Eerie blue television light bathed the front room, where Sarah lay curled on the sofa. She looked like a different person with her expression uncoiled in sleep.

  As Catherine turned off the TV, she snorted herself awake.

  ‘I might have nodded off,’ she said, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. ‘I was watching a proper good documentary just now.’

  ‘You mean a cooking program, don’t you, Sarah Lee?’

  Sarah grinned at the nickname that Catherine had given her after tasting her lemon sponge.

  ‘No,’ said Sarah, shaking her head. ‘I mean a real documentary. There was this Greek man who moved to the US in the 1960s and started a pizza restaurant, but his business was stuffed because he wouldn’t modernize. It was really sad. He almost lost his family and his livelihood, but he turned it around in the end. It was ace.’

  She beamed at this happy ending.

  ‘You’re talking about Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares,’ said Catherine.

  Sarah giggled. ‘It was really moving, though Gordon shouldn’t shout and swear so much.’

  As usual, thought Catherine, she’s missing the point. ‘It wouldn’t get the same ratings if he was nice. Besides, Mary Berry has the market cornered on loveliness in the kitchen.’

  Sarah got a faraway look just thinking about her idol. She swung her long legs off the sofa to let Catherine join her.

  ‘You’ve been running?’ Catherine said, noting her housemate’s jogging bottoms and baggy wrinkled tee shirt.

  ‘This morning.’ She wrapped her arms around herself. ‘I don’t stink, do I?’

  ‘No. But I’m surprised you don’t get a rash from sitting around in sweaty clothes all day.’ It drove her nuts that Sarah refused to make any effort whatsoever with her appearance. Granted, she had the kind of wide-eyed, fine-boned pleasant face that didn’t need much makeup, but she wouldn’t even use moisturizer. That was fine at twenty-eight but she was asking for wr
inkles by the time she was Catherine’s age. And it was a crime to keep such pretty, long dark blonde hair tied back day and night in a messy, occasionally greasy ponytail. She needed an intervention, really. Maybe they should just drag her kicking and screaming to a salon appointment.

  Catherine noticed that Rachel’s bedroom light was on. ‘Rachel’s back from her date?’ she asked.

  ‘Not unless she came in quietly while I was asleep.’

  They both laughed at the idea of Rachel doing anything quietly.

  ‘It must be going well,’ Catherine said, kicking off her suede heels so she could massage her aching feet.

  ‘Maybe we should ring to make sure she’s okay?’

  Sarah wore her worry like a heavy winter coat, in all seasons.

  ‘She probably won’t appreciate the interruption.’

  ‘But it’s getting late,’ Sarah continued, her green eyes widening even more than usual. ‘Something might be wrong. What if her date’s got her tied up in his car? Or his basement, or maybe he’s taken her to a remote valley in Wales.’

  Imaginative didn’t even begin to describe Sarah’s thought process sometimes. ‘Text her if you want to,’ said Catherine.

  ‘But what if he’s duct-taped her fingers together? He’d only need one piece for each hand you know.’ Sarah wrapped her own slender fingers with imaginary tape. ‘Then she couldn’t text back.’

  ‘She couldn’t answer your call either, could she? Or he might have thrown her phone in the Thames along with all the other evidence.’

  Catherine immediately felt bad about teasing Sarah when she saw her expression.

  ‘I’m positive that she’s fine,’ she conceded. ‘If she’s not back in an hour, we’ll call her, okay?’

  But they only needed to wait a few minutes before Rachel careened into the living room. Her deep auburn hair stood up in wild cowlicks and curls and her teal wool coat was mis-buttoned. With pale green tights under her burgundy and yellow wasp-waisted dress, it was no wonder she described her style as 1950s Contrasting Color Wheel.