by Jo Thomas
‘Morning, dear,’ says Pearl, as I watch her from the mirror, propping herself up stiffly on her pillows.
‘Sorry, Pearl, did I wake you? You go back to sleep. It’s very early.’
‘Not at all. At my age, the last thing you want is more sleep. Plenty of time for that when I’m pushing up the daisies.’ She coughs. ‘Is that what you’re wearing?’
‘You? Pushing up daisies?’ I laugh. Pearl must be the youngest at the retirement flats. If not the youngest, then certainly the fittest and most energetic. If it wasn’t for her and her organizing, I wouldn’t be here now, wondering what on earth to wear and what on earth to expect of my date.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask, as she doesn’t respond with her usual laughter.
‘Fine, dear. I always take time to be thankful for another day, since that bit of bother I had a couple of years ago.’
‘I presume you mean when you were ill.’
‘Yes, that. But we’re here and that’s what matters,’ she says briskly, and then her signature wicked smile is back in place. ‘Now, you’ve still got a while before you meet him. Fancy going for breakfast or just a coffee?’ She pulls her thin frame out of bed.
‘Actually,’ I swallow nervously, ‘I thought I’d go and suss out the place where I’m supposed to be meeting him. Give myself time, in case I get lost.’ I look out of the window. There’s just lights in mist from the buildings opposite and streetlamps. Nothing else to see at the moment: it’s too dark.
‘Good idea! Do you want me to come with you?’ She plumps up her hair with both hands. ‘Just to be on the safe side.’
I smile and take a deep breath. ‘No, but thank you. I’ll text you to say I’m safe and sound, like we arranged. But I need to do this on my own. And I hope it reassures me I’m not the total idiot I’ve been feeling I am. I just need to find my confidence again, I suppose.’
‘Just because he contacted you in the first place doesn’t mean he’s a fake,’ Pearl says.
‘No, but the fact that you answered him on my behalf is debatable.’ I laugh and so does she.
‘I couldn’t help it when I saw it sitting there unanswered in your inbox.’
‘I told you, hacking into people’s accounts is not good. You learned bad skills at the Silver Surfers club! It wouldn’t surprise me if you had a tracker system on me right now.’
She winks at me, playfully.
‘But, seriously, thank you. If you hadn’t given me a nudge, I wouldn’t have done this.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I just hope … I just hope he’s who he says he is. That I can …’
‘Trust him?’
Tears spring to my made-up eyes, infuriating me, and I wave my hands in front of them, hoping it will dry them.
‘It’ll be fine. I’m sure. He wouldn’t be checking on what time you were meeting if he wasn’t,’ Pearl reassures me.
I take a deep breath and lift my chin.
‘One last go. You promised Sam.’ Pearl looks at me.
‘Yes, one last go at internet dating. If this one doesn’t work out, I’m giving it up for good.’ I point a finger firmly but in jest.
‘I can’t bear the thought of you giving up on it so soon.’
‘But you can’t say I haven’t tried. I have. And look where it got me. After this, I’m happy staying at home with reruns of Friends!’
She frowns. ‘You’re always doing so much for everybody else. Baking for us, spending time with us when you make your deliveries, even if it does make you late, and running errands when you can. It’s time you thought of yourself for once.’
‘I promised Sam I’d get out there and start dating once he’d left home. And I did it. And mostly it’s been awful.’
‘But I’ve loved hearing about all your dates. We just want you to meet someone who deserves you.’
‘Perhaps, but this is it now, Pearl,’ I say, more firmly and seriously. I waggle my notebook at her, filled with dates, times, the set questions I have for each one, a round-up and verdict. ‘You can’t say I didn’t give it a go. It does seem the way to find your match is online these days … but there’s a lot of frogs out there, with very good filters on their photos. But for you I’ll give it this one last go.’
‘Okay, love. Have fun.’
‘Do I look okay?’ I run my hands over my high-necked knitted dress, which I’ve had for years, warm, cosy and figure-hugging, with a soft cream scarf around my neck that I got in last year’s sales as a treat to myself. ‘Not too tarty? Or frumpy? Or—’
‘You look gorgeous. He’s a lucky man. I hope he’s the one you’ve been looking for.’
‘Me too, Pearl.’
‘Just one thing, dear. What happens if he is the one?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, if it is the perfect match. It’s all very well coming out here on holiday and going out on dates. But what if it’s serious? You can’t be popping over to Germany every other weekend and him to the UK. You’ll have to work it out. And quickly.’
My excitement fizzles out, like droplets of water on birthday candles, fizzing and hissing. ‘Pearl! You were the one who said to just have some fun! “You don’t have to marry him,” you said!’ I stare at her.
‘Just thinking aloud.’ She shrugs impishly.
‘Let’s see if he’s who he says he is to start with.’ I pull down my hat firmly and put all other worries out of my mind. First things first. I’m not going to let myself get burned again. I’m doing exactly what Sam told me to do: playing it by the book.
‘Well, you have just five days to find out.’ Pearl grins. ‘Now go and do it!’ She beams and coughs, waving me off.
Just five days to decide if I’ve met the man I want to share the rest of my life with. It’s not possible, is it? In five days, could he tick every box? I laugh as I walk through the drizzle, much like the drizzle we left at home, taking in the little town and its Christmas market. The stallholders are gathering around their chalets, preparing for the day and night ahead. The bar is being restocked and the cleaners are out in force, emptying bins, sweeping the streets and clearing away any evidence of the day and night before.
On the skyline, high above the square, I can see the outline of a castle. Below it, the town falls away like a beautiful ballgown, glittering as lights begin to turn on in the houses and down the cobbled streets to the square I’m standing in. I walk through it, looking for somewhere to get a coffee to help settle my jangling nerves. Or maybe just to warm me up. It’s cold. I shiver. But maybe I’ll wait for coffee until afterwards. I don’t want to be looking for a loo on my date. I follow Google Maps down a dark alleyway and wonder if I’ve done the right thing in coming out so early – it’s barely light.
I pull my coat round me. It has to be near here somewhere. We’re due to meet at eight, before Heinrich goes to work. It’s a busy week for him, and I’m assuming that’s because it’s nearly Christmas. He has an early-morning meeting here. ‘First thing,’ he said. ‘We’ll have a breakfast date and take it from there,’ were his words. Very sensible. Then, if we don’t like each other, we can just move on with the rest of our lives. But everything about his work ticked boxes. He even runs a bakery. I turn down a narrow cobbled street and stop, catch my breath and stare. It’s love at first sight.
I stand outside the little shop, an orange glow pouring from the small panes of glass at the bay window. It’s just like the Werther’s Original and the Lindor Christmas adverts all in one. This is where Heinrich arranged for us to meet. It’s perfect! Magical, almost. That’s a big tick. I pull out my notebook and open the page, drops of rain creating wet circles on it. I quickly write down the name of the place, how it makes me feel, and give ‘Meeting Place’ a big tick. I wonder if this is his bakery. I put away my notebook and take a photograph of the shop. I step forward for a closer look. There’s no one around, but the smell of baking fills my nostrils and wraps around me, like a soft cashmere blanket, making my mouth water.
All of a sudden, I
hear voices and I’m gripped with nerves, the usual worries whizzing round my head. What if he’s nothing like I’m expecting? This place is just perfect. What if he’s just as perfect? What if I’m about to meet my Mr Right? I’m not sure I’m ready. I need a moment to compose myself. This dating malarkey has a lot to answer for. I was a together, confident person, in control of my own life before I started hanging around in doorways, waiting to meet strange men. I don’t want to be there first, maybe seeming over-eager. Or like I want to get the meet over and done with. I have to get this right.
I dart into the shadows of a narrow street opposite, slipping on the wet cobbles and sliding against the wall. I can still see the little shop from the shadows and a figure moving around inside. I think it’s one, maybe more, but I’m not sure with the drizzle distorting the orange glow from the windowpanes. I try to photograph the shop again to post to my online baking group, but my hands are shaking with cold and nerves. This is it: this could be the moment I get to see him, the man I’ve been messaging for a couple of months. My cheeks burn at the memory of the last man I put my trust in. ‘It’s like falling off a horse,’ Pearl had insisted. ‘You’ve got to get right back in the saddle.’ With that, she had opened up her iPad, then my profile page on the dating website, handed it to me and went to make coffee in her kitchenette.
I watch the door of the bakery, my heart pounding. It’s like waiting to enjoy a freshly baked cake as it cools, hoping you’ve got it right, and that it’ll be as glorious as it looks in the recipe book. You’re aching for it to be delicious and bracing yourself for disappointment.
I shiver as raindrops run down the back of my neck. What am I doing here, hiding in the shadows, trying to get a glimpse of my date?
I hear voices again, not from the shop this time but in the square. I listen. They’re familiar. I snap my head round. It’s getting lighter and I can see, gathered under a big metal streetlamp, Pearl, Norman, Ron, Di and Graham, who is leaning heavily on his stick, his bobble hat sliding over one eye, Alice dressed to the nines, pushing Maeve, her handbag on her lap, and John at the back.
‘What on earth …?’ I say under my breath.
‘I’m sure this is the place,’ says Norman.
‘Maybe she won’t want us here,’ Di points out sensibly.
‘What time did you say she was meeting him? I don’t think this is my watch. Could be Aunt Lucy’s,’ Norman says.
‘I just want to check she’s in the right place,’ says Pearl, and shushes them all loudly.
I hear voices from inside the shop again, raised voices, getting louder. My heart is beating faster. My head snaps back to the bakery doorway.
‘She said it was a bakery. It’s lovely!’ says Pearl.
‘Just because it looks pretty on the outside …’ says Maeve, from her wheelchair.
‘Well, let’s just make sure she’s here, safe and sound.’ The group starts moving towards the bakery.
I stand in silence, frozen to the spot in horror. It’s as if Mum and Dad have turned up on my date, except I’m a grown woman and it’s a group of pensioners I deliver meals to, about to stick their faces up to the window. What on earth is he going to think when he comes out to meet me … and my friends? He’ll run a mile! I’ve come all this way – and this could ruin everything.
‘Pearl! I hiss. They don’t hear me. I try again, louder this time. ‘Pearl!’
This time, to my relief, she turns.
‘What are you doing here?’ I frown.
‘More’s the point, dear, what are you doing here?’ She gestures at the alleyway where I’m hiding.
I feel my cheeks flame.
‘I thought you were on your date. We thought we’d just wander by, discreetly, check you were okay.’
‘Check him out, you mean. And that I haven’t made a fool of myself again. That he actually exists.’
‘We can all make mistakes, Connie love. Life wouldn’t be the adventure it is if we didn’t.’
I feel such a fool when I think about how taken in I was.
There’s more voices from inside the bakery.
‘I’m just waiting,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to be the first to get here, and I’d like a moment to see if he’s what I’m expecting. It’s just what I do. First impressions.’ I hold up the notebook Sam gave me for Christmas two years ago when he went to university and explained to me about making a list for my dates. ‘That, and choice of venue.’
‘Well, that gets a big tick,’ says Pearl.
‘Ah, there you are, Connie,’ says Ron, who has taken over pushing Maeve in the wheelchair.
‘Look, it’s lovely of you all to come and check on me, but, really, I’m fine. I’ll tell you all about it later. Why don’t you go and find somewhere to have coffee? Text me. I’ll meet you,’ I say hurriedly, keeping an eye on the shadow in the doorway now.
‘We were hoping to get something round here,’ says Ron, lifting his nose into the air like a sniffer dog trained to search.
Suddenly, the shadow in the doorway gets bigger and I see the outline of a figure. Bigger, broader than I was expecting. My heart leaps into my mouth.
‘Quick!’ I say to the group. ‘Over here!’ I beckon them into the shadows of the street where I’m standing in the wet December morning light. They do as I say, hobbling over the cobbles towards me and tucking in against the wall, their heads popping out over mine or, in Maeve’s case, beside me from her wheelchair. We stand and listen. All I can hear is my companions breathing or, in Ron’s case, wheezing, their breath creating plumes of condensation in the early-morning air. And then a man comes out of the shop, holding not one gingerbread heart as arranged, but a whole handful. I catch my breath.
FIVE
‘Catfished! That’s what you’ve been,’ says Norman.
‘What?’ The others turn to him.
‘Sssh!’ I try to quieten them, my heart thumping, head pumping and a hot sweat breaking out around my brow.
‘Catfished!’ he repeats, in a very loud whisper, presumably thinking that makes it okay. The man holding the gingerbread hearts by their strings, my date, it seems, looks around and frowns. ‘Nothing like the photo Pearl showed us.’
They’ve even seen a photo of him! I roll my eyes.
‘Sssh!’ I say again, waving a gloved hand in Norman’s direction but not taking my eyes off the man with the gingerbread hearts, his unruly dark hair. He’s not tall and blond, or smart and fit. He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused, in the direction of the alleyway we’re standing in. My fists tighten.
This is not what I was expecting, not at all. He promised he’d be carrying a gingerbread heart, but that’s about the only thing that’s right with this image.
The beautiful building in the narrow cobbled street is not what I was expecting either. A black cat runs across the street with little raindrops, like diamonds, scattered across its back. It hurries across our pathway, stopping only briefly to stare at me, then run on.
‘See? It’s a good-luck sign,’ says Pearl, trying to be positive. ‘It crossed your path from left to right.’
I’m still speechless. This man looks nothing like the guy in the pictures I’ve been sent. I’m trying to match the voice on the phone to this face, not the one I’d imagined. I pull out my phone to check that I’m in the right place at the right time, meeting Heinrich carrying a gingerbread heart. My notebook comes with it, tumbling from my bag and falling onto the wet cobbles. The gold writing on the front catches in the orange glow from the shop: ‘hopes and dreams’. I have a feeling my hopes and dreams have plummeted down the drain with the rainwater that’s trickling between the grooves of the cobbles, like liquid mercury. I pick it up and shake off the wet. I feel like someone’s pulled the plug on a lovely warm bath filled with bubbles that I was about to enjoy, and instead I’m cold and wet, shivering, with only a damp towel to cover myself.
I pull up the picture Heinrich sent me on my phone and hold it up. Pearl and the others crane their necks to see, t
hen look at the man outside the bakery, who is shaking his head as he starts to hang the gingerbread hearts under the awning over the window. Is he wondering why I’m not there on time?
I look at the clock in the tower on the square. It’s almost eight. My mouth is dry and my chest tight. We agreed that timekeeping was important to us and if I don’t go over now I’m going to be late.
‘Definitely catfished!’ says Norman again.
‘What is “catfished”?’ Pearl asks, handing back my phone, which they’d passed between themselves, looking at the picture and tutting.
‘When you send a picture that looks nothing like you or pretend to be someone you’re not. Like him … nothing like his picture.’
‘How do you know all this?’ Pearl asks.
‘Done enough online dating myself to know all about catfishing, ghosting, orbiting,’ says Norman.
‘I never knew you’d been online dating,’ Pearl says in surprise.
‘Well, why would you? We don’t really see each other, any of us, do we? We’re all living in the same building but barely know our neighbours. If it wasn’t for Connie, we might not know what’s going on at all. She’s the glue that’s keeps us together. Without her visits …’
‘And her online dating updates,’ says Alice.
‘… we’d barely know each other’s names.’
A silence falls over the group.
‘He’s right. You’ve been catfished. It wouldn’t be the first time,’ Maeve joins in.
I don’t really hear what else they’re saying. It’s all a bit of a blur. How could I have got it wrong again? I’m not stupid. I’m not desperate. I’ve followed all my own guidelines. The questions are bouncing around in my head as I’m trying to back away into the shadows even further. I don’t want to be here. That man is not who I came to meet. Norman’s right: I’ve been catfished. And Maeve is right too, not for the first time. I’ve come all this way and I’ve been taken for an idiot. Again! Angry tears spring to my eyes. My cheeks burn with embarrassment and humiliation. The man I came to meet, the one in my picture, is tall, blond and lean. This man has wild, dark hair, with a bandana round his head, for heaven’s sake. He’s shorter than I was expecting and with broad shoulders. Nothing like the Heinrich I’ve spent nights fantasizing about. I’m furious for agreeing to come, for making a fool of myself again. I was much happier when I could just think about him. Our nightly chats online were lovely. It was safe! I couldn’t get hurt. Now I’m really hurt, and feeling foolish.
