The Blog

Featuring fresh takes and real-time analysis from HuffPost's signature lineup of contributors

Nicola Six Headshot

Dropping the Wife Bomb

Posted: Updated:
Print Article

So much has happened lately I don't really know where to start. I've almost been sliced clean in two by a falling window pane, I've been threatened by a lesbian who thought I was hitting on her girlfriend and I've been effectively kidnapped, twice. I've also spent an extremely educational weekend with one of my ex's best friends, and yes I do hope it gets back to him.

I've got an inbox full of unexpected proclamations of lust from a friend-of-a-friend who I see about once a year, and on top of it all it seems I might have a bona fide toyboy, but let's start at the beginning.

Arranging a date with Serge proved trying to say the least. Instead of one big proper date we have seen eachother fairly regularly on lots of vaguely unsatisfying demi-dates, whenever he can fit me into his busy schedule. If he's outside my office or by my flat, or anywhere else he suspects I might be, he'll give me a ring. A memorable night was had a couple of weeks ago when we were both in town and had an hour to kill before going to other things. It had been a while since I'd seen him and I was surprised at the fluttering in my stomach as I loitered near an expensive shoe shop. He clocked my long black leather boots before my face (a calculated move on my part) and they worked like an utterly predictable charm.

"Wow wow wow, why haven't you worn those before?" a wheedling voice called from across the street.

I swivelled round with my best full-beam grin in place. A big hug followed by him marching me to the nearest pub. Just as we were catching up his phone went and he took the call. I wondered why he was giving directions to the person on the other end.

"I have to meet a friend" he explained afterwards. "You might like him!"

Well that's going to be cosy I thought, trying hard to maintain a face of enthusiasm.

After 10 minutes a grey haired man pitched up and Serge proceeded to sing my praises to him, detailing my best assets like he was going to sell me on eBay. It was odd to say the least. The man, who seemed perfectly nice but was very far from being 'my type', was clearly uncomfortable and I was too. He left after downing his drink rather quickly.

"What was that all about?" I asked as the bar door was still swinging on its hinges. "Are you my pimp these days?"

He laughed and said something vague about wanting his friends to get on, but the best was yet to come.

As he drained the last of his wine he asked if I would come shopping with him.

"Of course!" I replied.

"I need to get something for my wife. It's her birthday tomorrow."

I looked round at him, my jaw dropping at a rate of knots. He was looking straight ahead with a customary smirk plastered on his lips. I decided that the best policy was to style it out.

"I don't really know what to suggest though, I don't know anything about her" I replied, in what must have been the understatement of the year.

"I just want something small," he said with a shrug.

So off we trotted to Selfridges, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, and converged on the card racks.

"This one?" I said sarcastically, pointing at one with a big picture of a pig on it. He didn't laugh but dismissed it with some bizarre comment about her being brunette. After he'd located a suitably glittery number I queued with him to buy some cut-price chocolates. 'Lucky lady' I remarked, which prompted another of his little wordless shrugs.

As we wandered back through the perfume hall I tried on various perfumes, a dab of gloss here, a designer bag there. Every time I picked something up he offered to buy to buy it for me.
'Well if we're playing that game then let's go to the Chanel concession' I purred in his ear.

He laughed and draped an arm round my shoulder. To the outside world we must have looked like any other happy couple, doing their Christmas shopping rather than two rather lost souls on the most twisted date of the year.

Fortunately I had a party to go to and sauntered off as casually as I could outside on the street. When I met up with Kay I rushed up to her and told her she wouldn't believe what had just happened.

She took one look at my bemused face and simply concluded "Serge?" followed by a general sense of disbelief that I hadn't accepted any of his gifts.

"I don't know what I'm doing" I whimpered. "There's just something about him, I can't kick it. I am fully aware I am a total idiot".

We later went on to a rather lively party where we drank vats of prosecco and got chatting to various blokes. I met someone who vaguely piqued my interest and felt a familiar ripple of excitement when later on he murmured in my ear that he would like to get to know me better.

On reflection I had gone past the one bottle booze limit AND he had just estimated my age at being 14 years younger than the terrible truth. He must have sensed his luck was in. But as I waited around for him in the freezing rain I had a sudden reality check and hurried off to get a cab alone. I don't need more man trouble, in fact I need to refine my portfolio considerably.

One recent casualty was the stuntman. I was meeting some friends for a drink but I was two hours late due to Serge and I going for one of our legendary aimless drives round London. I'd told him that he needed to drop me off in Soho but he thought it would be funny not to let me out and instead head out west. I protested feebly but secretly found the whole kidnap scenario beyond hot. He did finally let me go when I told him (truthfully) that I was desperate for the loo and his cream leather upholstery would never be the same again if he didn't unlock the damned doors.

So I was in rather a giddy state of disarray when I finally caught up with my friends. There were some people I hadn't seen in ages and they happened to enquire after the stuntman, since he has been the star of some of my best and most wince-inducing anecdotes.

"I haven't seen or heard from him in an age" I confessed. But just as I finished talking my phone buzzed and there he was, just like the Candyman.

"Hey Hun! (He always addresses me thus and it makes me laugh as I immediately think of Atilla) I know I've been a bugger about getting in touch but Alan's having a house party tonight and it would be great to see you! Big snogs!"

I stared in disbelief. I really thought he had disappeared off the radar. As it happened I was sitting with some friends who were driving back to where the party was, and I took it as a sign. Even though, in the back of my mind I was slightly more excited about seeing the host, his best friend and a hugely entertaining actor (and the bloke who will always be known for climbing into bed with us on the first night we met).

When I got there the promised party had fizzled out somewhat, and it was just basically the two of them sitting there drinking beer after beer and talking about film camera equipment in awesomely boring detail. I sat up with them till about 3am until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. The host had kindly given up his bed for us and I felt a slight feeling of dread as I crawled under the sheets and waited for the stuntman to retire. I felt his warm beery breath on the back of my neck as he cuddled up to me and realised in a flash that the only thing he still aroused in me was an extreme sense of annoyance. I pretended to be asleep until he gave up trying to spoon me, whimpering in frustration.

The next morning he gave me a lift to the station, and we chatted politely in the car. When we kissed goodbye I think we both knew this was the last time we would see eachother. Three stops down I realised it was the best decision I'd made in ages.