Love & The Goddess Page 4

  I smiled, glancing at her nervously. “I can’t use something obvious like Aphrodite. That could be misconstrued as slutty. How about Athena? She’s the goddess of justice, war and industry.” I bit my lip, thinking hard. “No. She’s too serious. Oh, I’ve got it. Persephone. I feel like Persephone right now – I spent a long time in the underworld, living under Trevor’s obsessive compulsive regime of constant cleaning.”

  “Nice name,” nodded Ella. “Who is she?”

  “She’s the daughter of Demeter, goddess of the harvest, and Zeus, king of the gods. When she was playing in a meadow, Persephone was seized by Hades and carried off to the underworld to be his bride. Her mother was so distraught, she searched for her throughout the world with help from the crone goddess, Hekate. Demeter refused to attend the earth until her daughter was returned. In the end, Hades gave in but because the girl had tasted of the food of the underworld she was forced forever to spend half the year there. She comes back to the world in spring each year, bringing new life and new growth with her.”

  “Hmm … Sounds rather depressing.”

  “But the story ends with the spring arriving.” I was convinced it was the right name for me. “She was a victim and as vulnerable as I am. But it’s a tale of hope, with her growing into her role as queen of the underworld. Persephone’s return each spring shows her becoming a powerful woman as she helps her mother in nurturing the earth. The fact that she can walk between both worlds signifies her ability to balance her emotions – sorrow, loss and anger, set against joy, peace and serenity.”

  Ella’s brow creased in a thoughtful frown. “Okay, I get it now. I took psychology in my first year at university. I think Carl Jung was into that stuff.”

  “That’s right. I have his biography there.” I cocked my head in the direction of the book shelf.

  “Type in Persephone, then. See if the site accepts it.” Ella took a sip of her wine.

  I clicked. “It’s accepted. Oh, no … There’s a questionnaire before you can continue.”

  “Crap, I forgot that bit. We’ll do that later when I’ve convinced you this is the way to go. Click ‘answer later’ to all questions. Same on the next two pages.” I did as Ella said and came to a page with the words “find your match”. “Now you can start a search.” Ella sidled in closer to have a full view of the screen. “Fill in the age group. What ages are you interested in?”

  “Hmm … Trevor was fourteen years older than me, so maybe go younger this time. How about ‘twenty-five to thirty-five’?” I laughed at Ella’s horrified expression. “I’m joking!” I typed in forty-four to fifty. Photographs appeared down the side of the page, with age and occupation stated opposite. The usernames and captions were listed on the right. It was quite a range.

  “Click on him – he’s a fine thing!” said Ella, enthusiastically pulling my clothes off the bedroom chair and pulling it over beside me. “It’s quite addictive you know.”

  We looked through nineteen profiles, which included photographs along with a list of what each man was looking for in a woman. Age, profession, marital status and whether someone drank or smoked were filled in along with what kind of relationship they were seeking: friendship, a date or a casual fling. Many of them sounded a bit overly serious and quite off-puttingly needy. I looked wide-eyed at Ella. “I can’t believe the number of men on this. And some are better-looking than you’d see around. Is it really that difficult for them to find the right girl?”

  “Too busy to socialise. But we haven’t looked at what’s available in Dublin yet. Go on, do a search for men in Dublin. The choice is bound to be miles better. Then we’ll have a look at the women.” She reached for my empty glass. “I’ll top you up. Have you any nibbles?”

  “Peanuts in the cupboard beside the fridge.” I started a new search. “You’re right, they are much better in Dublin!”

  She was back moments later, grinning, the bottle under her arm and a bowl in her hand. “Move over! I’m dying to have a look.”

  “There’s still some strange looking yokes but I’ve saved six of the best in a favourites option. What’d you think?”

  “God yer man with the dark hair is gorgeous. Oh, he’s a doctor.” She nudged my elbow. “Imagine if you nabbed him! You could swan back into the village with a younger, better-looking version of Trevor. Give him a taste of his own medicine.” She giggled at the pun.

  “That sounds totally corny … But you know something, it would be such fun!” I was laughing. “But you know, I won’t. I mean, you said yourself it’s not the right time.”

  Her face fell as the prospect of mischief seemed to disappear. “Let’s look at the women, age thirty-five to forty-five.”

  I clicked on the next section. “God, Ella. Some of these women are fabulous. What are they doing here?”

  “Kate, if you ask that one more time, I’ll punch you. I’m telling you, this is the way it’s done now. Everyone wants to be online in case they miss out on their perfect match. After all, you’re really widening your net here – anyone could end up contacting you. My sister’s friend Jennie is gorgeous and she’s doing internet dating. Do you know who she met?” She lowered her voice to a whisper.

  “Who?”

  “The owner of Blaze magazine.”

  “You’re joking me. What was he doing on line? Doesn’t he date models?”

  “There you go again, spouting prejudice. These sites are affiliated to all the main publications, so you never know who you might meet. Now before I leave I want you to fill out your profile because I know you will chicken out if I don’t make you.”

  “Look, both James and my therapist told me to give men a rest while I tried to heal and even you yourself have said I’m vulnerable.”

  “Avoid men? Are you mad? What you need is an ego boost and a bit of fun. I wonder how eagerly the pair of them would embrace celibacy. Now click on the profile page and I’ll help you fill it out.”

  I did as she suggested and brought up the questionnaire, filling in answers to specific questions like what height, age, weight, star sign, marital status and occupation I had. When it came to the more general questions suggesting I write a paragraph about who I was and what I expected, my shoulders tightened. “ ‘I would describe myself as …’ What do I answer to that since I don’t really know who I am anymore?” I searched Ella’s face.

  “Attractive, sociable and good fun, then list your hobbies,” she said, with a wave of her hand.

  “No, that sounds presumptuous. How would I know if a man could possibly find me attractive or good fun for that matter? I mean some of those women on the site have a lot more va-va-voom than I could ever have.” I made a curvy gesture with my hands to indicate the female form. “As well as that, I’ve forgotten who I am. No, it has to be light-hearted or I can’t do it.” I paused and then began typing as inspiration came:

  “Hi there, I’m an intelligent and creative yet slightly off-beat red-head with an adventurous spirit. I gave up my career as a Bollywood Star to pursue my real passion for ancient civilizations (I love mythology along with Incan and Mayan legends) but while I study that by night I work as a TEACHER by day to pay the bills. My friends tell me I’m attractive, sociable, a good dancer and great fun so they’ll remain on my Christmas list for at least another year. Have recently taken up Taekwondo and scuba diving in preparation for my future career as a Tomb Raider.”

  “Great!” Ella’s eyebrows arched in amusement. “But it will confuse a lot of them –they’ll think you’re serious!”

  “Sod them if it does. Under career, I’ve written ‘teacher’ so if they don’t get the humour, they can go elsewhere. Now, what’s the next part?” I peered at the screen. “My ideal man? Haven’t a clue. Let me think. Okay, got it.” I typed:

  “The man I’m hoping to meet has a laid-back attitude. He is active and fit enough to give me a run for my money, yet will always treat me as an equal. He will not only put up with my messy creative pursuits, perhaps he will join me
in cooking for large gatherings of friends and family. I’d like him to dance with me, rather than march through the rest of our lives. An adventurous spirit along with a positive outlook would complement me and in the process provide us with endless laughs and opportunities to broaden our horizons. If this sound like you, then feel free to get in touch.”

  “Right, next you have to put up a couple of photos… Yikes, listen lovey, I’d better run. I wanted to make sure you were okay but I haven’t even unpacked yet. This was great craic and at least I got you set up. Will you take me internet shopping some time, since you know all the sites for discount designer gear?”

  “That’s more my usual thing – instead of shopping for men!”

  Chapter five

  Parking in front of the sprawling red-brick college building, I hauled out my big black folder from the passenger seat, tucking it under my arm as I crossed the tarmac. Despite my current crisis, I had had to face reality and return to college to enter my students’ exam results.

  The double doors opened automatically as I approached, revealing blue- and white-walled corridors. As I strode towards the staffroom an increasingly loud whirring merged with the fog of depression in my brain until, rounding the corner, I bumped smack into a large industrial floor polisher. My results folder flew out of my arms, shooting A4 pages into the air. As they fell in a heap, the cleaning woman fussing and apologising, Mike Darcey, head of my department, emerged from the nearby staffroom. His left eyebrow shot up at the sight of me gathering up my notes; a smirk escaped the corner of his mouth. “In a spot of bother are we now?”

  “I’m fine, thanks. Just on my way to log in results.”

  “Call to my office when you’re finished, will you?”

  Two days previously, I had rung him to explain why I was running slightly late with my results. I’d given him the potted sanitised version of the Trevor situation. He’d been strangely conciliatory, given that I’d always had a difficult relationship with him since I’d started working here ten years ago. Reassuring him that I would call, I opened the door of the large common room. The place was deserted apart from the endless files and mountains of books piled high on every available surface including the chairs. The grey linoleum floor was equally hazardous, littered with more books and plastic bags. I often wondered about teachers having this strange ability to function among orderly chaos – it had to be a hangover from their student days. Maybe it’s because they had never had an in-between period of not belonging to this particular system.

  I spent the next two hours filling in results and typing in comments on each student’s progress before making my way to Darcey’s office.

  “Take a seat, Kate.” Mike Darcey pointed to the chair in front of his desk as he jumped into his black swivel chair. The seat was pumped up, giving him the appearance of being taller than his five feet six inches. He had a cringe-worthy habit of tossing a long lock of hair over his bald spot, drawing further attention to it. From across the desk, his eyes narrowing to slits, he seemed to be assessing me. With his flat nose and tiny mouth set in pale freckled skin, he reminded me of an albino corn snake swamped in a brass-buttoned navy blazer. “So you and the doc are really finished?” He always tried to use language in a “cool” way, but as usual it came across as painfully inappropriate.

  “Yes. Trevor and I have broken up.”

  “Well, don’t be stuck for someone to talk to. You can phone me anytime, you know. You and I haven’t always seen eye to eye on department procedures but I think that was partly because of a certain chemistry between us. Now that you’re single, our relationship should be much easier. My own marriage has been over a long time. I’m just sticking it out for the kids and will be leaving as soon as my youngest daughter finishes school.”

  I looked at him, baffled. “I’m sorry to hear about your marriage.”

  Standing up, he walked around to sit on the edge of his desk in front of me. My stomach turned. His breath stank, especially when he came so close as to invade my personal space. Feeling decidedly uneasy, I peered at my watch. “Gosh, look at the time. I’m so sorry, I really have to go.” I stood up, fumbling with the buttons of my jacket.

  “Oh.” He appeared taken aback, as if he was reassessing his position. “Just one last thing before you leave. Did you resolve that dispute with Ron Clarke – his grades – something to do with lobster?”

  “Yes, it’s resolved.” What the devil did he mean? I’d resolved it by not allowing myself to be bullied by a student. End of story. I turned to go. I felt his hand on my arm.

  “Kate, don’t be nervous. Remember you can call me anytime. I’m your friend.”

  “Okay, right.” I pulled my arm away and headed out of the door as fast as was humanly possible without making it really obvious that I was about to throw up. God, this was absolutely the last thing in the world I needed right now. I’d always thought he was an insidious creep but I’d never thought he would try to assert his power over me like that. It felt strangely vulnerable to be a single woman. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be hit on out of the blue by a married man of all people. While I craved some form of admiration after having been rejected by Trevor, I definitely didn’t want it from Darcey – of all people!

  Ella was about to leave for a week-long conference in Kerry two days after James departed for a visit to his parents in the UK. I called over to see her as she was finishing her packing.

  “I’d ask you to come with me if I thought there’d be any fun, Kate, but this crowd are so boring I’ll need intravenous caffeine shots to keep me from falling asleep.” Her eyes shot heavenwards. “Will you be all right for the week?” She pressed an elbow on top of her case as she pulled the zip shut with the other hand.

  “Don’t worry, Ella. I’ll go for long walks, do a spot of reading and spend some time sorting out recipes. I’ll be fine.”

  “Why don’t you go to Dublin? Stay with your parents?”

  “Like everyone else, they’re on holidays right now. Gone to Spain with Liz and her family. Don’t worry about me. I’m not a child.”

  “I am worried about you, because all of a sudden you will have nothing to do. You could go round the twist thinking about old times with Trevor. What about your Taekwondo class – are you still going to it? You made a few friends there.”

  “It’s finished for the summer. Please stop worrying, Ella.” Then, sheepishly, “Look – I’ve been thinking I might try a spot of internet dating.”

  She was delighted. “Good idea. Get yourself online and start dusting off your long-forgotten dating skills.” I must have looked startled because she nodded her head vigorously: “Believe me, yours are well and truly in need of updating. And for that reason, I need to give you certain pointers.”

  “Pointers? Am I that green?”

  “Believe me – you are.”

  “So, what do I need to know exactly?”

  “Listen carefully, for I shall say this only once.” This was one of Ella’s favourite sayings, always delivered with hands on her hips and spoken with a French accent á la the 1980s television comedy ’Allo ’Allo. I’d often sat down with her to watch a DVD from her box-set collection. I enjoyed the humour, but I was never riveted to the extent she was. “Number one: People may not be who they say they are or even the person in the photograph. Anyone can hide behind a profile. Do not give anyone your real phone number. Which leads me to number two. Buy another mobile phone in case you wish to speak to someone. Do you get me, Kate?”

  “Yes, Ella.” I saluted and smirked. “It all seems so covert. I’m beginning to feel like Mata Hari.”

  “You don’t want a potential stalker having easy access, now do you?”

  I nodded, finding it hard to keep a straight face.

  “Number three: Rather than specify Galway as your place of residence, insert ‘Ireland’, thus widening your net. If a man is really into you he’ll travel to meet you or you can meet him in Dublin. Number four: If you get on well with someon
e, that’s your time to tell him you live in Galway. Otherwise you may appear shady or disingenuous. But – and this is a big BUT – do not tell him your address until you feel you can trust him. Promise?”

  “I promise, Ella,” I said, in a little girl voice.

  “By the way, how’s Julie getting on?”

  “Great. She’s good with emails. She’s made a few friends and is planning a trip to New York. I think the break away came at the right time for her.”

  I’d advertised myself as “being on the singles market” and now pictures of men were scrolling across the top of the screen like battery chickens on a conveyor belt. Ella was on the other side of the country, and emails were pouring into my inbox. With my over-vivid imagination, I felt as though I was being stared at by hundreds of men, here in my room, and felt literally hot and bothered, not knowing whether it was from embarrassment, excitement or the dreaded onset of hot flushes. From time to time, as I worked through my emails, I had to grab my mouse mat to fan myself.

  Some of the pictures were downright creepy. One guy with the username “Reginald” looked just like Norman Bates in Psycho: his face half in shadow, eyes staring out of a grainy black and white photograph. To cap that, he appeared to be cyber-stalking me, firing copious emails every time I logged on. I could have used the blocking facility, but I hadn’t because he had been kind, sympathising with me about my recent break up. I knew I had a tendency to jump to harsh judgements which were really just silly prejudices. If my recent predicament was anything to go by, I wasn’t a great judge of character.

  I had sent an email to “Serotonin” aka “the doctor”, but the site indicated he hadn’t logged on during the last week. Maybe he had found someone else while I dilly-dallied deciding whether I would get involved in this or not. My indecision may have cost me. “But,” as Ella had said, “you never know who might crop up at any given time.”