Welcome to the www.blinddatebrides.commember profile of:Englishcrumpet (AKA Grace Marlowe)
My Ideal Partner⦠Young at heart, just like I am. No cardigan-wearers, please! My teenage daughter has just flown the nest and itâs high time I remembered what itâs like to be young, free and single. Iâd be lying if I said I was looking for a soul mateâtrue love like that only happens once in a lifetime, and Iâve been there, done that, worn the black veil⦠But Iâm looking for someone to share my life with. Preferably someone who loves rock music and cold Chinese takeaway!
My Details⦠| Youâll match if you⦠|
⢠Age: thirty-ten (think about it!)
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⢠Are young at heart
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⢠I live: in London
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⢠Are London-based
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⢠Marital status: widow
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⢠Are unattached
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⢠Hobbies: growing old disgracefully
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⢠Want to join me
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Read the rest of Englishcrumpetâs profile herewww.blinddatebrides.com
www.blinddatebrides.com is running 25 chat rooms, 248 private IM conferences, and 15472 members are online. Chat with your dating prospects now!
Private IM chat between Kangagirl, Sanfrandani and Englishcrumpet:
Kangagirl:How was your date?
Sanfrandani:Werenât you even just a little compatible?
Englishcrumpet:Ermâ¦there might have been a little kissâ¦
Kangagirl:!!!!!!!!!!
Sanfrandani:And you turned down a second date? Why?
Englishcrumpet:He was too âgrown upâ for me. And there was way too much chemistry.
Kangagirl:And thatâs a bad thing?
Englishcrumpet:I canât risk falling hard and then losing theman I love again. Surely Iâm too old for allthat Romeo and Juliet stuff? That kind ofall-consuming passion only afflicts teenagers.Doesnât it?
To my editor, Kimberley Young,
who urged me to dig deeperâsomewhere elseâ and I found unexpected treasure.
And to Jennie Adams and Melissa McCloneâ
even the (very) early morning IM chats were a blast!
CHAPTER ONE
GRACE MARLOWE and six oâclock in the morning werenât normally on speaking terms. But here she was, standing in the middle of her darkened kitchen, the clock ticking in time with her heartbeat. Pearly light seeped between the slats of the blind, draining all colour from her funky little kitchen. She wrinkled her nose. Everything was grey, even the lime green mugs and the pink toaster. This truly was a repulsive time of day.
What was she doing here? Right about now she should be mumbling incoherently in her sleep, her left foot tucked over the top of the duvet to keep it nice and cool.
In a sudden flurry of movement she turned and headed towards a cupboardâany cupboardâand opened the door. It didnât matter which one. She just needed to be doing something. Because she refused to think about why her little flat seemed like a gaping black hole this morning.
Bags of dried pasta and tins of tomato soup stared blankly at her from inside the cupboard. She shut the door carefully and tried the next one. Five boxes of breakfast cereal sat in a row, waiting for her to choose one of them. She closed that door too.
The kettle was within easy reach and she absent-mindedly flicked the switch. It roared into life, unnaturally loud in the pre-dawn stillness. She really must get around to de-scaling it some time soon. It boiled so violently when limescale had furred up the insides. The curse of London hard waterâ¦
Grace blinked. Just for a few seconds sheâd forgotten to be miserable and lonely. That was good, wasnât it?
She reached for her favourite mug, the oversized baby-pink one with the words âHot Mamaâ spelled out in crimson glitter. A present from Daisy last Motherâs Day. Daisy shared Graceâs love of kitsch and had known her âhot mamaâ would appreciate the sentiment of the slogan and the garish colours.
Daisy had given the mug to her with a twinkle in her eye that had made Grace chuckle, pleased to see proof that her daughter had inherited her sarcastic genes. But when the laughter had subsided, sheâd mourned. No more pigtails and scraped knees. Daisy was all grown up and ready to fly the nest.
In fact, sheâd already flown.
It was Motherâs Day again in a couple of weeks and, for the first time ever, she wouldnât spend it doing something totally fabulous with Daisy. Last year theyâd gone to the ice rink and had spent the whole afternoon falling on their bottoms. Then theyâd eaten a Chinese takeaway so huge it had gone down in family history as âthe one that could never be surpassedâ. But this year Daisy would be in Paris or Romania or Prague. She was going to be away for a whole year. And after backpacking there was universityâ¦
Grace hugged the mug to her chest. She missed her daughter already and sheâd only been gone eighteen hours. How completely pathetic.
She dropped the mug to the counter with a clunk and stood there, her arms folded and her brows pinched together. Come on, Grace! Youâre supposed to be the cool one, remember? The mum that all Daisyâs friends wished was theirs. The mum who had once worn fishnets and thigh-high boots to parentsâ evening. The mum who had dressed up as Santa, complete with beard and potbelly, when little Joseph Stevensonâs dad had been too hungover to play the role. The fact that it had been Graceâs tequila that had caused the hangover in the first place was neither here nor thereâ¦