by Zoe May
I scrub it over my body and try to push the angry thoughts out of my head but they just grow in intensity instead. It’s so ridiculous that people make out that they want you to be happy and meet someone, and then when it actually happens, all they do is pick holes and find fault. And yes, it might seem a little strange just how perfect Daniel is, but I’m sure stranger things have happened. And anyway, when did Kate become so bloody pessimistic? She used to have all sorts of dreams. I remember one evening a few years ago, she came out of her bedroom looking teary and I asked her what was up.
‘I just started imagining my Oscar speech and I got so carried away that I cried tears of joy,’ she confessed, laughing at her own starry-eyed daydreams. She never talks about Oscars anymore, but just because she’s stopped dreaming big, doesn’t mean I have to.
I climb out of the bath, pulling out the plug to let it drain. The pipes make loud gurgling noises as the water is sucked away.
Kate knocks on the door. ‘Sophia.’
I grab my towel and start squeezing the water out of my hair.
‘Sophia.’ She knocks again. Seven or eight times. ‘Sophia, stop ignoring me.’
‘What?’ I snap.
‘Let me in.’
I put on my dressing gown and reluctantly unlock the door, releasing a cloud of warm damp air towards her. I turn back to the mirror and carry on patting my hair dry while Kate closes the toilet seat and sits down.
‘I’m sorry for what I said, it came out completely wrong,’ she says.
‘Right, because there’s a nice way to tell your best friend they’re not good enough for the guy they’re seeing?’
‘Of course not, that’s not what I meant. I was talking about people like us, not you,’ Kate replies. ‘We’re just normal people. We come from boring little towns, not Abu Dhabi. We drink in pubs, not private members’ clubs. All our friends are like us, we’re all just regular people. We’re not super-rich.’
‘Yeah, and…?’
‘It just seems a little odd that this guy who must be absolutely minted is using dating sites meant for ordinary people. You know, I once read an article about this girl, she thought she’d met the perfect guy online, and the next thing she knew, he was asking her to smuggle drugs for him across the Columbian border.’
I sigh loudly. ‘I’m not an idiot, Kate. I’m not going to smuggle drugs or do something stupid.’
I toss my hair over my shoulder and towel it vigorously.
‘I know,’ Kate says, although by the tone of her voice, she doesn’t sound too convinced. ‘My point is you need to be careful. I know how much you want to meet someone special, and believe me, I want that for you as well, but I want you to be safe too.’
Her voice is annoyingly tender.
I glance down at her, sitting there on the toilet, looking glum. Deep down, I know she means well.
‘Okay,’ I mumble.
‘So, you’re not annoyed at me?’ Kate asks in a small voice.
‘No, I suppose not…’
Kate jumps up from the toilet seat and gives me a tight hug. ‘Love you!’ she says, squeezing my shoulders.
‘Love you too.’
Kate sniffs at my neck. ‘Love you, even if you have been using my shower gel.’
I grin mischievously as Kate shakes her head.
‘Right, now that we’ve got all that out of the way, can I tell you about last night, properly?’ I ask.
‘Fine!’ Kate laughs. ‘But then I’ve got to read this bloody script.’
We make a cup of tea and prepare roasted bananas with mixed spice, nuts and demerara sugar – our weekend favourite. It almost feels like we’re at a camp, huddled round the kitchen table, eating spoonfuls of molten banana from husks of tin foil. But I suppose that childhood nostalgia is why we do it.
‘I have to admit, he does sound nice,’ Kate admits, placing her spoon down on top of the empty foil.
‘I know!’
‘So, when are you seeing him next?’
I pick up my phone just to check if any messages have come through. In case the message notification went off while we were busy talking. But no.
‘Not sure. He just said he’d see me “soon,”’ I tell her, doing air quotes.
‘Text him,’ Kate says.
‘No. No way.’ I finish the last few mouthfuls of my banana.. ‘I’m going to wait for him to text me. Leave the ball in his court.’
Kate smirks a little. ‘Alright. I’d better go read this script.’ She sighs, before shuffling off to the sofa.
‘Cool, good luck.’
I go to my room, flop onto the bed and twirl my phone in my hand, but no amount of willing seems to make a message come through. I grab my laptop and open my novel, picking up where I left off. I try to write but I can’t get Daniel out of my head. I click onto Google and type in his name again. I scroll through the results but none of them seem to point to him. I try typing ‘Daniel Hamilton-Reed, Interior Designer,’ but still, nothing comes up, which is a bit odd. Surely, he’d have a website, or some kind of record for his company? I try typing his name in Companies House, but still, nothing. I would have expected something. Maybe there is something weird about this whole thing. No! I close the browser. Just because Kate’s cynical, doesn’t mean I need to be infected by that kind of thinking too.
I open up my novel and start typing when my phone buzzes. It’s Daniel!
Hey Sophia, hope you’re feeling good this morning. I’m flying to Milan on Tuesday but do you want to meet on Monday night? X
I grin, clutching my phone to my chest, my doubts falling by the wayside.
Chapter Ten
Meet me at Covent Garden station at 7. I want to surprise you. X
That was the last text Daniel sent me. I try to imagine what he might have in store. Another private members’ club? A candlelit dinner for two? I picture us, sitting in a swanky restaurant, Daniel gazing at me with his piercing blue eyes, a few strands of hair falling across his forehead.
‘The next station is Bank where this train terminates. All change.’
Suddenly, the image of Daniel disintegrates and I come to my senses. Bank!? Shit! I’ve gone past my stop. I leap up, grabbing the gym bag I’ve stuffed with the little black dress I’m going to change into after work. It’s another purchase I’ve hardly ever worn. It’s a bit short and the material is sort of slinky, almost like a slip, but I figured, what better occasion to wear a sexy LBD than on a date with an insanely hot Robert Pattinson lookalike? And yes, I don’t know where he’s taking me, but it’s hardly going to be the local bowling alley, is it?
The train arrives at Bank and I barge my way through the throng of commuters, making my way to the opposite platform where I hurry onto a waiting train heading eastwards back to Shadwell. I stand by the doors next to a man who’s wearing gold studs just like the one Daniel had in his left ear. I love that stud. It adds a certain uniqueness to his look. If it wasn’t for that stud, he’d almost be too perfect-looking. It makes him look a little different. It jars; you don’t expect it to be there, yet it just works. I touched it when we kissed in The Cavendish Club, my fingers tracing over his ear before getting lost in his hair. The man trips a little, shoving into me as the tube judders to a halt.
‘The next station is Limehouse. Change here for C2C services.’
What? Limehouse?! Oh no! I’ve missed my stop again! I rush off the train. I can’t believe it! I glance at my watch. It’s 9.45am. Ted and Sandra will be wondering where the hell I’ve got to. I run across the station one more time and hop back on the westbound train. Okay. Get off at Shadwell. Don’t think about Daniel, I tell myself as the tube hurtles through the Underground.
Fifteen minutes later, I rush into the office.
‘Sorry I’m late, Ted!’
Ted purses his lips, doing his tense face.
‘Bit of a delay on the DLR.’ I hang up my coat before hurrying over to my desk.
‘Hmmm…’ Ted reaches into his drawer and pul
ls out a paper, before striding over. He plonks it in front of me, giving me a second to read the title: The effect of increased fluid intake on human intestinal transit and stool output.
‘I need this tidied up by this afternoon. We’re sending it to The Lancet,’ he states coolly.
‘Stool output?’
‘Yes, it’s a very important piece of work. Our researchers have been flat out on this for months.’
‘Oh, right.’ Reluctantly, I pick up the document.
Ted shoots me a look.
‘It’s a research paper, Sophia. You only have to edit it, it’s not like you actually have to see the stools. Although I can arrange a visit to the lab if you like?’ he asks, raising an eyebrow.
I laugh weakly. ‘No, I don’t think that will be necessary. Thanks for the offer though, Ted.’
Ted smiles and strides back to his desk, his oversized trousers swaddling his legs.
I read the first sentence. ‘Investigations assessing the affects of increased fluid intake on mouth-to-anus transit time in Humans have often yielded conflikting and, hence, inconclusive results.’ Bloody hell. Unnecessary capitalisation. Bad spelling. Conflikting for crying out loud! Great. Just great. I glance over at Ted, whose tongue is poking out of his mouth as he jabs away at his keyboard. Sandra cranes her neck towards her computer screen as she shuffles around a paragraph of text. They’re both in such deep concentration. I wish I could get as into my work as them, but I’d rather be doing anything else right now than editing a paper on human stools.
Oh! I could always do a quick spot of buffet research. I click onto Google and type ‘buffet food’ to get a bit of inspiration. I browse the images of vol au vents, chicken drumsticks, cute little finger sandwiches, scotch eggs and tiny scones. Why is food so much more enticing when it’s in buffet form? I grab my notebook and start making a list. I write down ‘chicken drumsticks’ and ‘finger sandwiches – fillings?’ I’m about to start googling finger sandwich fillings when a booming voice interrupts me.
‘I see you’ve moved on from naked hunks to scotch eggs?’ Ted is eyeing my screen. ‘Or is this more research for the Christmas party, because at this rate, Sophia, I’m expecting it to be pretty darn good.’
I giggle nervously and shut down the browsing window ‘Sorry, Ted.’
Ted clocks the words written on my notebook and raises an eyebrow.
‘I don’t pay you to make shopping lists, Sophia. Now please do some work.’
‘I will. Sorry.’ I shove the notebook into my desk drawer and crap on, I mean, crack on, with the poo paper.
‘Fancy going to the café down the road for lunch?’ I ask Sandra the moment the clock strikes 1pm.
‘I can’t today. This paper’s a bit of a tricky one,’ Sandra sighs, before holding up a sandwich wrapped in clingfilm. ‘Brought lunch in,’ she says.
‘Oh ok, no probs.’ I save my work and put on my coat.
‘By the way, how was your date with Daniel?’ Sandra asks in a hushed voice so Ted can’t hear. I move a little closer to her desk.
‘Amazing! You were right, Sandra, he’s the spitting image of Robert Pattinson,’ I gush.
‘Told you!’ Sandra says smugly.
‘It’s so weird the way everyone just stares and whispers. I thought you were exaggerating but it does actually happen!’
Sandra nods enthusiastically. ‘Yep. He’s very handsome.’
‘A dish!’ I can’t help adding.
‘He’s a real dish!’ Sandra grins. ‘If he were a dish, he’d have Michelin stars! Three Michelin stars! Anyway, where did he take you?’
I quickly tell her about our date at The Cavendish Club.
‘I knew it!’ she gasps, now seemingly oblivious to her pressing paper. ‘I knew he’d be perfect for you!’
‘It’s early days, Sandra,’ I remind her.
‘Screw early days! I’m buying a hat.’
Ted looks over and pointedly clears his throat. Sandra and I exchange a look.
‘I’d better get to lunch,’ I mutter.
‘Yeah,’ Sandra agrees, although she’s still smiling to herself, no doubt proud of her cupid role in bringing me and Daniel together, as she turns back to her computer.
I head to the café down the road, which is even more bustling than usual for a Monday lunch time. I pay for my lunch and scan the café for tables. It’s packed and I’m just about to give up and eat my lunch back at the office when I spot a free seat on a table opposite an older woman who’s tucking into her lunch while reading the paper. I hate sharing with strangers, but needs must.
I wander over.
‘Do you mind if I sit here?’ I ask, gesturing at the free chair.
She glances up at me.
‘Sure,’ she mumbles through a mouthful of food.
I tear open my sandwich and absently scroll through messages on my phone while I take a few bites, when suddenly, I become aware of a familiar voice behind me.
‘Did you know that crisps were almost banned in the US during the second world war?’ the voice says.
I glance over my shoulder. It’s none other than the noodle nerd sitting opposite a pretty brunette, ripping open a bag of crisps and placing it open on the table between them. Oh no! I quickly turn back to look at my phone, cowering into my seat and praying he doesn’t spot me.
‘The US government was regulating all manufacturing to meet wartime needs and basically declared crisps to be a “non-essential food” so they tried to ban them. You can imagine the outcry!’
He pauses, no doubt crunching through a couple of said crisps.
‘There were protests, demonstrations. Can you imagine? Banning crisps!’
‘Haha.’ The girl laughs weakly and I shrink further into my seat, cringing for him. Food facts must be his standard date chat.
‘In the end, the government had to back down. No one was having any of it, and thanks to all the furore, crisp sales went through the roof!’
‘Oh, right,’ the girl replies disinterestedly. Little does she know that this crisp factoid is actually quite interesting compared to the noodle seminar I endured.
‘It’s interesting when you think about it, even in these modern times when we’re supposed to be so health conscious, crisp sales are still off the charts. Did you know that Brits consume six billion packets a year?’
‘Really,’ she replies flatly.
‘Yeah, the crisp industry in this country is worth over a billion pounds.’
‘Mm-hmm,’ she murmurs.
They lapse into silence and I take a few bites of my sandwich, feeling painfully aware of every second of non-conversation ticking by. Even as a secret by-stander, this date is painful to witness. I almost wish he’d come up with another crisp fact to fill the silence.
‘Well, err… I’d better be off. Got to head back to work,’ the girl says. She jolts her chair backwards so quickly that it knocks into mine.
‘Oh, sorry,’ she apologises.
‘’S’ok,’ I mutter, keeping my head down and hoping Chris won’t spot me.
‘Ok, well, nice to meet you. Bye then,’ the girl says before hurrying off.
I turn back to my sandwich, hoping I’ll blend into the array of non-descript office workers and go unseen.
‘Sophia?’ Chris punctures my wishful thinking.
Slowly, I turn around, to see him sitting there, red-cheeked, in front of the open packet of crisps still mostly uneaten.
‘Hi…’ I smile awkwardly. Not only did I never want to see him again, but I didn’t bother replying to his text and I’ve just witnessed his date walk out on him. Could this be any more uncomfortable?
He clears his throat. ‘How are you?’ he asks.
‘I’m okay,’ I reply. ‘How are you?’
‘Not too bad.’ He shrugs, looking over my shoulder towards the woman sitting opposite me, minding her own business. He realises I’m alone.
‘Do you want to sit here?’ he suggests, gesturing at the empty seat in fron
t of him.
‘Oh, err…’
He shuffles in his chair and looks down at the crisp packet, torn open in front of him.
‘Or not, don’t worry about it,’ he croaks and suddenly I feel pretty bad for him.
‘Sure,’ I reply, getting up and picking up my lunch tray. ‘Why not?’
‘Great, you can help me with these crisps!’ he jokes, plucking one from the packet and popping it into his mouth.
I let out a feeble laugh as I sit down opposite him.
‘Sorry I didn’t reply to your text the other day,’ I remark. ‘Been really busy.’
‘It’s okay,’ he replies in an emotionless monotone as he picks up another crisp. I get the feeling that he’s used to it. He’s used to girls not replying to his texts and not wanting a second date.
‘So, err… how have you been?’ I ask.
‘I’ve been better.’ He smiles sadly. ‘I was just on a date actually, but I guess she wasn’t interested. Well, she definitely wasn’t interested! She just upped and left,’ he admits, reaching for a crisp.
‘Yeah, umm, I overheard,’ I confess.
‘Oh, did you? Great!’ Chris laughs despondently and I can’t help laughing with him. After all, it is quite funny, in a tragic way.
‘So how the hell do you know so much about crisps?’ I ask, reaching for one.
Chris shrugs. ‘I dunno. I just pick up random facts. I read a lot and I research things when I’m bored.’
