Love Byte

by David Atkinson

  I paused my reading to think. When Lindsay and I started dating seriously, we went through our lists of former conquests and relationships. Lindsay outnumbered me three to one, but that wasn’t surprising given she was more outgoing than me. I enjoyed jokingly calling her a slut sometimes after that, though I’m not sure she enjoyed it that much. Maybe that was why she hadn’t told me about the Internet dating. I remembered Alexander though. She had gone out with him for about a year before he cheated on her with his sister’s best friend. His loss.

  I didn’t tell you we’d met online, but I found the whole Internet dating thing exciting in some ways and embarrassing in others. Sometimes you’d meet someone and it would be great, the chemistry would be perfect. Other times it felt like a job interview – weird. Often physical attraction had nothing to do with it, you’d simply sit down with this person and there’d be zero, zilch, no spark, no energy, nothing. Even if we’d had great telephone conversations or emails or MSN chats, sometimes there’d be nothing. It taught me that it’s all about chemistry – you either have it or you don’t. Like the time we met, as soon as I emerged from under your desk I just knew. So why am I telling you all this? Well you’ve probably worked it out, but just in case you haven’t I want you to go on some Internet dates.

  I’ve already done a lot of the groundwork for you, I’ve been chatting to women online for a few weeks now, and it’s great fun pretending to be a man. Not pretending to be you at this stage obviously, but even without a photo, just about every woman wanted to meet up with me. Some even asked if I was gay, saying I was right into their psyche! I would have made a great lesbian. That’s a thought, isn’t it? I bet you would’ve liked that wouldn’t you? Well you’d have liked to watch at any rate. I know this is probably freaking you out . . .

  She was right it was, especially the lesbian bit.

  . . . but please indulge your dead wife. I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to keep this up, but to me it feels like I’m doing something positive, so please humour me. J I mean well. Of course, this might all be in vain and you might have already found another woman, in which case I’m sad and hurt L. But knowing you as I do, I don’t think so. After all, it took you a week to ask me out, and in the end I was practically begging you!

  OK. So where do we start? Or, rather, where do you start? I’ve organized everything via a dating site called Love Bitz. Just in case you miss the inflections, it is meant to read ‘love bites’ as opposed to ‘love bits’ – though either pronunciation has interesting connotations, don’t you think?

  I like that it fits in with my theme as well, though I think calling it ‘Love Bytes’ would have been smarter.

  Anyway, I’ve chosen this site partly because of the name but mostly because it has a huge number of Scottish girls on it, and with Amy to look after, staying local’s important. I’ve paid for one year’s subscription, and your details went live ten days ago, that is in your time obviously not my time. Confusing, isn’t it? So from 5 August your profile has been live.

  You can look it up if you like, your username is andyh (all lower case) and your password is amy2012.

  If I’ve pitched you right – which I will have because I’m good at this stuff (no sense in false modesty now that I’m dying) – you should get a good number of emails. I’ve also selected a number of girls that I’ve sent your details to and an email pretending to be from you. A number of others will get the same in a few weeks’ time, so if you don’t get on with any of these first girls, you’ve still got options. You’ll know which ones these are because they will reply to you.

  As an extra insurance policy I’ve auto-emailed a few girls from another dating site, suggesting they meet you for a date this Friday and Saturday evening at the Kitch bar in George Street. (It’ll make a little more sense in a minute – I promise.) I’ve set up your profile on that site too, but I’m not telling you which one in case you try and wriggle out of it. Being the gentleman that you are, you will not stand them up I know – they will only have got the email today, so I’m hoping at least one of them will take a chance and meet you each evening. I’ve made the whole thing appear very cloak and dagger and mysterious like some romantic mystery novel, so I’m hoping at least one of them will be intrigued enough to show up.

  The only flaw in my plan is that it will have been some time – six months maybe – since these girls were looking and they may be all loved-up by now. But nothing ventured, nothing gained. And, as I well know, love can sometimes take its time. (Another flaw I’ve just spotted is that actually more than one or all of them could turn up – that would be a laugh, eh?)

  I wasn’t even smiling.

  The girls that I have asked to meet you (remember they think it was you) are: Jackie, Joan, Ellen and Anne on Friday and Paula, Jane, Caroline & Terry on Saturday. (I assume Terry’s a girl; she looked like one, but if she turns up and has a willy I give you permission to leave immediately!)

  They all have one thing in common – blonde hair. I know George Street at the weekend is full of blondes, but I have told them you will be in the pub at 7 p.m. sitting at the end of the bar near the toilets.

  (I’ve just thought of another flaw. The pub could have burnt down, or gone out of business, or changed its name, in which case you’re fucked – or rather you won’t have any chance to be fucked – sorry for the language.)

  Well, that’s it for now. The deed is done, the stage is set, and the die is cast and all that. It’s now up to you, at least for a while. I feel a bit weird setting you up, and really jealous picturing you with some other girl, especially some of the prettier ones. I’ve even been talking to an au pair – if you can remember that night. It’s very difficult for me on one level, but on another, I’m sure it’s the right thing to do.

  One last thing. In my previous email I said I wanted to right a few wrongs and I’ve begun the process tonight, well, I’ve started the ball rolling anyway. You’ll find out soon enough what it’s all about, and the least you know about it just now the better it’ll be for you. I’ve just re-read that last paragraph and it’s not very well worded but trust me, I know what I’m doing. That’s one of the things about dying and being in pain; it really focuses the mind.

  I will be in touch again soon. In the meantime, please give it a go. I’ll expect an update next time I email you. LOL. This is what I would have wanted, honest!

  Your gorgeous wife

  Linz XX

  P.S. It’s probably NOT a good idea to tell any girls you meet that your dead wife set all this up. They might think it’s a bit creepy!

  Only a bit creepy? I re-read the email a few times, and felt spaced, as if I’d been eating dope cake or something. The few times I’d ingested drugs had been on a trip to Amsterdam with Lindsay. It had been cannabis cake and that was the feeling I had now.

  I had been wondering what Lindsay was up to, and now that I’d found out, it went beyond anything I was expecting. I wasn’t sure what to do.

  Was I ready to meet someone else?

  It was scary thinking about emails dropping into strange women’s inboxes, emails that I had no hand in writing.

  So what should I do?

  It boiled down to two options: I either ignored all future emails from Lindsay, or I indulged Lindsay’s dying wishes and tried to meet someone new.

  It was no contest and I logged on to Love Bitz.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Initially I just read over my profile. The photo Lindsay had selected was one with me and Amy from the photo-shoot we’d done before Lindsay became really ill. It was a flattering photo, which I assumed is why she chose it. I had on an expensive suit, shirt and tie and my dark hair was tidy but still quite long. My blue eyes had been slightly air-brushed to make them stand out more. Putting Amy in the picture also told anyone looking that I had a daughter before they read my byline.

  Was that likely to put some women
off? Probably, but then there was no point in trying to hide the fact, was there? If someone wanted to be with me, Amy was going to be a huge part of that relationship. I suppose it also told them that my sperm worked.

  The blurb that went with the picture was very simple and light-hearted.

  My name is Andy Hunter, I am looking for a special and wonderful person to spend time with. I’m not looking for a fling or a one-night stand because I’m not very good at that sort of thing. I have a wonderful young daughter who was entrusted to my care when her mother (my wife) died. Amy is my number one girl, and always will be.

  She doesn’t need a mother (been there, done that) but a good friend she can be comfortable with and who can teach her girly stuff would be welcome. I don’t do girly stuff well because I’m not a girly, but before you can get around to doing any of that you have to be able to like me, which shouldn’t be too hard.

  I’m a nice guy who is reasonably tidy (having been married I know how important that can be) with a laid-back outlook on life. I can cook, tidy and grow cress seeds in margarine tubs – I actually do that for my daughter, but it is a useful skill nevertheless.

  That was the main introduction. The rest of the profile was all about my personality (easy going), likes and dislikes (curry and shellfish), appearance (six feet tall, slim, blue eyes and easy smile), distinguishing marks (dimple on chin), annoying traits (floppy fringe – well, Mrs Hunter, you got that bit wrong because I’ve had my hair cut short since you left me alone – nose slightly too big for face, or maybe face slightly too small for nose, depending on which way you look at it).

  The last section seemed to be trying to put people off me, but what did I know? It also listed ‘partner preferences’ which was alarmingly vague, and didn’t specifically exclude women with warts, dog breath or hairy toes, or God forbid anyone possessing all three in combination. Potential partners with such unfortunate traits I would definitely have removed from my list had I been allowed to do so. I thought about amending the details especially when one of my main interests was listed as cars. (One of Lindsay’s little jokes, I assumed.) However I decided to trust my wife’s judgement and let it be.

  At the top of the page was an inbox in the shape of pouting cherry lips. It was flashing with a tiny number eight in the right hand corner. Being the perceptive chap that I was, I assumed that this meant there were eight messages waiting. I clicked on the icon and it opened up my Love Bitz inbox. The first message was from the site administrator welcoming me to Love Bitz. The second email was from Melody.

  Aw, sweetheart, thank you for your wonderful and perceptive email. . . .

  I wondered what Lindsay had said to her. I really should have known because at some point I was going to have to compose another one and it would almost certainly be a disappointment.

  . . . but I’m so sorry I’ve met the new love of my life now and I am no longer available. We met on another dating site, and have been going out for five months. What a shame because you sound so lovely and so lost. I tell you what, I’ll keep your email and if it doesn’t work out with Steve – Steve’s the new love of my life by the way – I’ll maybe email you then.

  Love and Kisses

  Mel xxxxxxx

  As pleasant as this email was, the fact that Steve was described as the new love of her life hinted to me that she had already been through a few ‘loves of her life’ and maybe I didn’t want to become the next one.

  Email number three was from Stacy who had mastered brevity and simply said:

  Fuck off, you creepy bastard.

  Email number four was also from Stacy.

  Oh My God – I am so sorry, I thought you were someone else. Oh My God, I feel terrible I didn’t mean to upset you.

  I sat back on the couch. Did I feel upset? No. I wasn’t upset, a little scared maybe but not upset. Stacy continued.

  Oh My God.

  Although I’d never met Stacy her stock phrase was already beginning to irritate me.

  You see I’ve been getting really nasty emails from a guy I met on here, and I was sure I’d got one today from him. He’s called Andy as well and I assumed when your email popped into my inbox it was from him but. . . . You’re not him are you! You’re beautiful and sweet and you have a gorgeous daughter and we could maybe have been together forever. Oh My God I’ve blown it haven’t I?

  Never mind, you have a nice life now.

  Stacy xxxx

  After the first few emails I began to question my dead wife’s judgement and my own sanity. The fifth email was from Amanda.

  Hi Andy, thanks for your email, you sound really lovely, and your daughter is beautiful. I liked your profile, it is refreshingly honest and after reading that and your email I feel like I almost know you. I’d love to chat more but the only problem is I’m packing tonight for a trip tomorrow to Ireland to visit my grandparents for three weeks. I’ll email you when I get back yeah?

  Take care for now

  Amanda xx

  PS I’ve added you to my friends.

  PPS I’ve been thinking – by the time I get back you might have been snapped up and I’d be kicking myself so here is my mobile number, send me a text and we can maybe chat on the phone sometime. Xxx

  The sixth email as I expected was also from Amanda.

  Yeah I know it would help if I ACTUALLY gave you my mobile number wouldn’t it? I am a bit scatty at times, BUT I’m cute – scatty and cute that’s not a bad combination.

  Text me – 07992 776122.

  Amanda xx

  Well that was better. I clicked on her profile and because I’d been added to her friends I could see her pictures. The first picture of Amanda (29) showed her sitting on the edge of a desk (I assumed at her work), in a pale skirt ending just above her knees which revealed shapely legs. She was petite with red hair. A pretty face was decorated with a smattering of freckles and an infectious smile. The second picture showed her on a night out with friends, laughing and having a good time. I could like Amanda. I sent her a quick text so she had my number, seemed only fair. I opened the next email.

  Hi Andy

  Linda here, thank you for your gentle email, and thank you for the compliment, not many men would appreciate that. Maybe we could chat and see how we get on – let me know.

  Linda xx

  Unfortunately she gave me no hint about what the compliment was. My wife is/was very annoying.

  I clicked on her profile. The first picture showed Linda (32) to be a tall, slender woman. The background of the picture showed her standing outside an impressive-looking detached house wearing a summer dress and flat shoes. She had blonde hair and a round but not unattractive face.

  I approved. She looked all right, a nice girl, the sort Pauline might approve of. Maybe the sort of girl I could take home to meet my mum as well. I could see them wandering around Sainsbury’s together collecting bits and pieces for dinner.

  The second picture I clicked on showed her lying back on a bed supported by a number of coloured pillows and cushions. I noted that the bedroom was pleasantly neutral in its decoration, with the exception of the curtains which were a little too flowery for my taste. Her blonde hair was pinned back from her face by an attractive red butterfly clasp and she had a cheeky smile on her pretty face.

  But what really grabbed my attention was the large banana inserted in her vagina and the fresh cream smeared liberally all over her large breasts. Two small strawberries were strategically positioned over each nipple. Linda’s photograph certainly changed my opinion of her being a girl Pauline would take to, and the thought of her selecting items for a fruit salad in Sainsbury’s with my mum was no longer such an innocent one.

  I flipped back to the inbox and opened the last one.

  HI Andy, Chloe here, bugger off, I’m married.

  That puzzled me: why would a married woman be on a dating site? I opene
d her profile and her picture showed a slim girl with dark hair and fabulous cheekbones. Nowhere on her profile did it mention she was married. Maybe she only said that to anyone she wasn’t interested in or maybe she just said it to everyone and was clinically insane – anything was possible. I wondered if being told to ‘bugger off’ amounted to cyber bullying – I must remember to ask Jamie.

  Apart from Chloe, Lindsay obviously had the knack of chatting in romantic terms to women. I was again left wondering what her technique was. If I could have bottled it and sold it to feckless blokes like me, I’d have made a fortune.

  I was still reluctant to do anything about the whole dating thing and Lindsay would have been well aware of that. That was why she had set up the Friday/Saturday night dates. I was unsure and nervous . . . no not nervous, terrified. I hadn’t been on a date since . . . well, since I had met Lindsay.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I spent Friday morning and the early afternoon with Amy. Friday was one of my ‘off-work’ days this week. First we went to Red Roosters, a huge soft-play arena and then I took her swimming – part of our usual routine. For some weird reason I couldn’t help thinking about ‘the little red-haired girl’ Amanda, then thought that the phrase sounded familiar. I remembered eventually that it was from the Charlie Brown and Peanut books. Charlie Brown had an unrequited love thing going on with a little red-haired girl in a number of the stories. I always thought it was incredibly sad that he never got the girl and never got to kick that damn football. I once read that the whole red-haired girl thing was to do with Charles Schulz, the writer of the Peanuts stories, being spurned by the woman he loved when he was young.

  I’m not sure if he suffered a similar traumatic experience on the sports field that led to the whole football issue, but I wouldn’t be surprised. I hoped my experience with Amanda, if I ever had one, didn’t end up like that. And of course, as soon as I thought about her again I also felt incredibly guilty, as if I was betraying Lindsay, even though she was the one orchestrating the whole thing. No wonder I was confused.