by Zoe May
‘You research crisp production in World War II when you’re bored?’
‘Yeah.’ He smiles in a relaxed way that causes the skin to crinkle at the corners of his eyes.
‘Wow. You should really go on Mastermind or something, seriously!’ I reach for another crisp.
‘Yeah, I’d imagine the Mastermind audience might be more impressed by my general knowledge than my dates.’
‘Maybe you’re right!’ I admit, cringing. ‘I did learn a lot about noodles on our date. Oh, and tube stations!’
He blushes a little as he takes a sip of his drink. ‘I’m sorry. I have a bit of a phobia of awkward silences so I just try to think of stuff to say.’
‘And what comes out is food facts?’
‘Apparently,’ he sighs.
I take a few more crisps. ‘Look, seeing as I’ve eaten half your crisps, let me give you some dating advice. Women are not charmed by food facts. Maybe save those nuggets for date three or four if you have to, but it’s not exactly the most thrilling material for first date banter.’
‘I haven’t had a second date in months, let alone a third or fourth,’ Chris tells me.
‘Well clearly the factoids aren’t cutting it,’ I point out, brushing crisp crumbs off my hands before picking up my coffee cup. ‘Next time you feel like there might be an awkward silence, just ask the girl a question. Ask her about her hobbies, how long she’s been in London, where she hangs out, I don’t know! Anything! Just as long as it’s not, “Did you know this or that food fact?”’
Chris laughs. ‘Got it. Less food trivia, more questions.’
‘Exactly.’
He reaches for a crisp but instead of eating it, he just holds it hesitantly, as if considering something.
‘Is that why you didn’t want a second date then, because of all the facts?’ he asks.
‘Umm…’ I squirm in my seat. ‘I guess so, it was a little…’
‘Dry?’ he offers.
‘Yeah, I was thinking “boring” but dry works too,’ I tell him teasingly, but he looks a little hurt and glances down at his lap.
‘I mean, you’re not boring,’ I back-peddle. ‘You’re clearly an interesting guy, with your degree and your…’
I trail off, catching myself before I add ‘charity work’ which I only know about from having stalked him online.
‘Career,’ I opt for instead. ‘But the fact-chat is letting you down. Oh, and the figurine battle chat. Maybe don’t mention that on the first date.’
‘Yeah,’ he says glumly. ‘No one’s been into that.’
‘It’s a bit niche,’ I say, finishing off the last few bites of my sandwich.
‘Fair enough. So, if I don’t talk about facts or my battle games, would you be up for a second date?’ he asks, taking me by surprise.
‘Oh! Uhh…’ I appraise him for a second, sitting there in his crisp blue shirt, which is mercifully clean unlike the soy-sauce-spattered one from our date. He looks a bit different in the bright daytime light flooding through the windows of the café and his eyes seem bluer, layered with tiny flecks.
I look down at my coffee and peel a loose shred of plastic from the edge of the lid. Chris is a good catch on paper and he does seem sweet, now that he’s not quoting facts, but I’ve got my second date with Daniel tonight and it feels wrong to juggle.
‘I can’t,’ I tell him. ‘I just started seeing someone.’
‘Oh, right. Okay. Good for you!’ Chris says. ‘Anyone special? Well, I suppose he must be special if you’re dating him.’
‘Yeah, he seems special. It’s still early days but he seems nice.’
I don’t need to tell Chris that Daniel seems more than nice, he seems absolutely perfect.
‘Well good luck.’ Chris smiles.
‘Hah, thanks.’ I take a sip of my coffee, which has grown a little cold now.
‘Not that you need it!’ Chris adds. ‘But hey, at least I know your dating tips work then if you’ve found someone!’
‘Well, what can I say!’ Jokily, I flick my hair over my shoulder. ‘But it’s not been easy for me, believe me! You’ve just got to keep looking.’
He nods. ‘Yeah, you’re right.’
A couple of office workers carrying trays walk over and linger near to our table, appraising empty sandwich packets impatiently.
‘We should probably head off.’
‘Yeah.’ Chris glances at his watch. ‘I need to get back to the office.’
We clear our table, which is pounced upon the second we get up, and then head out of the café.
‘I’m going this way.’ Chris motions down the street. ‘What about you?’
‘That way.’ I point down in the opposite direction.
‘Cool,’ he replies and for an awkward moment, we just stand there, neither of us moving.
‘Well, let me know how your new fact-free approach to dating goes. I’m curious!’
Unlike the last time I said goodbye to Chris, I realise I actually do want him to stay in touch. He may be a little socially inept, but he seems like a sweet guy and I am genuinely curious about how things go for him.
His face lights up. ‘Okay, I will!’ he says, with heart-wrenching enthusiasm, before heading off down the street.
Chapter Eleven
Daniel is already waiting when I arrive at Covent Garden. He leans against the wall outside the station reading a newspaper. He hasn’t noticed me yet and I pause for a moment to admire him. He’s dressed in an expensive-looking grey wool suit, his hair moulded into the most amazing sculptural peaks. The setting sun warms his skin and glints off the face of his watch. I wish I had a camera, he looks so good. A couple of women around my age are standing by a flower vendor nearby, whispering and glancing over, as if wondering whether to speak to him, but Daniel is completely oblivious.
‘Hey,’ I say as I approach. He looks up and smiles, craning in to kiss me on the cheek. He smells so good.
‘Wow.’ He looks me up and down, taking in the little black dress I donned in the work toilets. ‘You look great.’
Without thinking about it, our hands find each other’s.
‘This way,’ Daniel says, leading me past the girls, whose faces have dropped.
‘Where are you taking me?’ I ask.
‘Surprise.’ Daniel raises his eyebrows playfully. ‘How was your day?’ he asks.
‘Oh, not much to tell. Just another day at the office.’ I sigh. ‘It was a bit crap actually.’
Daniel looks a little concerned. If only he knew how literal I was being.
‘Tell me about your day,’ I say.
Daniel tells me about a client he’s working for, some investment banker who’s just bought three flats at the top of an apartment block in Canary Wharf and is having the walls knocked through to create one giant sprawling property. He groans about his décor brief – ‘homely minimalism’ - as we walk past a levitating busker. A typical Covent Garden hustler. A crowd of tourists whoop as another street performer juggles on a unicycle, but I’m lost in thought, trying to imagine the world Daniel inhabits. A world where people convert three flats into one.
‘I’m hoping I can get some decent materials in Milan,’ he says, squeezing my hand and pulling me along.
‘Here we are.’ He draws to a halt.
I follow his gaze to see we’re standing next to the entrance of an opera hall, where a hubbub of people funnels inside.
‘You said you wanted to go to the opera.’ Daniel grins.
‘No way!’ I clap my hands together, before pulling him into a tight hug. ‘Thank you, Daniel!’
‘Your wish is my command.’ He holds the door open for me. ‘Come on.’
The receptionist’s eyes zone in on Daniel the moment we walk into the foyer.
‘Reservation under the name of Hamilton-Reed,’ Daniel states.
‘Absolutely.’ She beams. ‘I’ll show you to your seats. This way.’
She guides us up a flight of stairs. I glance curiously
over at Daniel but he just looks straight ahead.
‘These will be your seats for the night,’ the receptionist says, batting her lashes as she holds opens the door to a private booth. The walls and seats are clad in red velvet; it’s like the inside of a jewellery box. The venue spills beneath us, hundreds of red seats shrinking into the distance. The ceiling is covered in ornate gold patterns and rises heavenwards in a spectacular dome. Dozens of lamps shimmer light over the hall. It’s so beautiful, it makes my heart ache.
‘Will this be alright for you?’ The receptionist asks us.
Daniel glances over at me but I’m still speechless. Alright for me? The kind of dates I go on involve things like voucher deals at Pizza Express or 2 for 1 cinema tickets. They don’t take place in private booths at the opera.
‘Yes, I think this will do,’ Daniel says with a playful smile.
I lean over the railing and watch as people find their seats in the stalls beneath us. Everyone’s dressed in their finest clothes.
‘Can I get you anything? Drinks? Snacks?’ The receptionist is still here.
‘Sophia,’ Daniel summons my attention away from the view. ‘Are you in the mood for champagne?’
‘Umm… yes, why not?’ I try to sound casual, as if I’m always quaffing champagne on Monday nights.
‘Perfect. I think last time I was here I had a bottle of Blanquette de Limoux. Do you still have that one?’ Daniel asks.
‘Of course, I’ll have it brought up immediately. Can I get you anything else?’ She pushes her buxom chest forward ever so slightly.
Daniel smiles tensely. ‘No, that’s fine. Thank you.’
‘Right, coming up,’ she replies before hurrying off.
Daniel takes a step closer and slips his arm round my waist. We stand side by side, watching as the stalls fill up. Some people seem blasé as they take their seats, whereas others, like me, are unable to peel their eyes away from the intricate ceiling, the huge glittering dome, the breath-taking beauty of it all.
‘Happy?’ Daniel asks softly.
‘So happy,’ I murmur, leaning into his body, breathing in his woody scent.
‘It’s so funny that we only just met because I’ve been thinking about you a lot,’ he tells me. ‘You’ve been on my mind ever since Saturday.’
I look up and gaze into his eyes. ‘I’ve been thinking about you too,’ I admit.
He lowers his lips to mine and we kiss. A slow tender kiss punctuated by the clatter of metal. The receptionist carries over a tray with two fluted glasses and a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice.
‘Your champagne, Mr Hamilton-Reed,’ she says.
‘Thank you,’ Daniel replies, plucking the bottle from the ice.
He glances momentarily at the label before reaching for one of the glasses. The receptionist stands before him, her hands bundled, as if thinking of something to say.
‘Thanks, that’ll be all for now,’ Daniel dismisses her.
‘Of course.’ She looks a bit embarrassed as she lowers her head and slips away.
The hum of conversation from the stalls buzzes up to our booth. Daniel pops the cork from the bottle and pours the champagne into the flutes, before handing one to me.
‘Thank you.’ I take the glass.
Daniel clinks his against mine. ‘Cheers,’ he says.
‘Cheers, Daniel! This is amazing.’
‘Haven’t you been here before?’ he asks. I shake my head. Daniel looks a little taken aback.
‘But I thought you liked the opera?’ he presses.
I feel myself blushing and take a swig of the champagne. Damn that profile.
‘I do! I love opera!’ I change the subject. ‘Wow! This champagne is great.’ I take another sip.
‘Tastes like…’ Okay, not grapes. Not fruity. Not sweet. What’s an insightful thing to say about champagne?
‘It’s from Limoux, it’s a region in the south of France that started producing sparkling wine long before Champagne discovered the double fermentation process. The taste is actually a lot finer, crisper. Don’t you think?’ Daniel asks.
I take another sip, and then another. What’s he on about?
‘Mmm… Yes, definitely.’ I take another sip. ‘Absolutely.’
Daniel smiles.
My phone buzzes. It’s Tom messaging back about one of my party food suggestions from earlier.
Not so sure about scotch eggs. The kids have them in their packed lunches and they reek… x
I quickly hit ‘delete’, hoping Daniel didn’t see the wholly unglamorous message. I take a sip of my champagne instead.
The venue is nearly full and yet there are still four empty seats in our booth.
‘Where’s everyone else?’ I ask.
‘There won’t be anyone else,’ Daniel says. ‘It’s just us up here.’
‘But all the booths opposite are full,’ I point out.
Daniel shrugs. ‘I thought it would be nicer this way.’
I’m lost for words. Did Daniel book every single seat in this booth? I got that he was a VIP, but surely you’d have to be a VVVIP to swing something like that?
‘We can let strangers in if you like, though,’ Daniel suggests, leaning over the edge of the booth.
‘Hey!’ Daniel shouts to the people below.
I poke him in the chest and he grins.
‘Shut up, Daniel!’
His eyes sparkle naughtily.
‘I suppose you and I will have to do,’ I joke, although I’m still trying to get my head around this whole thing. The entire booth, just for us?
‘Have you seen Eugene Onegin before?’ Daniel asks as he sits down.
I shake my head.
‘It’s a classic, you’ll love it.’ He takes a sip of his champagne.
‘What’s it about?’ I ask tentatively, hoping I don’t sound too ignorant.
‘Well, it’s a romance,’ Daniel says.
‘Oh, romance!’
‘It’s about this guy, Eugene. He’s young, a dandy, enjoying city life…’
‘Sounds familiar.’
Daniel raises an eyebrow. ‘Do you want to hear the story or not? I should probably tell you now since it’s in Russian.’
‘Go on then!’ I relent.
Daniel tells me the plot, which is essentially just about a guy, Eugene, who receives a love letter from a young girl called Tatyana. He turns her down because he thinks she’s too naïve but then years later he meets her again at a party. She’s beautiful, poised and popular.
‘She’s married to an older guy now, a prince. But when Eugene sees her this time, he does fall for her and-’
‘Typical man,’ I interrupt.
Daniel looks at me quizzically.
‘The moment he sees her with another guy, he decides he’s interested. Typical alpha male behaviour.’
Daniel laughs. ‘Well Eugene, being the typical alpha male that he is, tries to win Tatyana back but now it’s him writing the letters and her ignoring him.’
‘Oh…’
‘She tells him it’s over. He had his chance before but that ship’s sailed. She stays with her husband.’
‘Oh… that’s unusual.’
‘Wait until you see it, it’ll make more sense,’ Daniel assures me. ‘It’s starting.’ He nods towards the stage, where the conductor, a stocky man with a handlebar moustache, greets the orchestra.
Daniel takes my hand and squeezes it gently as the lights are dimmed. A singer, presumably Eugene, takes to the stage. Being in Russian, the opera is a little hard to follow, but perhaps the plot doesn’t matter. The sheer sound of the singers’ voices vaulting through the venue, rising up to the domed ceiling, is enough to make my hairs stand on end.
After a few scenes, I glance over at Daniel. The lights from the stage reflect on his smooth skin, dancing over his fine features. His eyes are narrowed slightly in concentration and a tiny half-smile of satisfaction plays upon his lips. Feeling my gaze on him, he turns and smiles. I smile back and
we look to the stage, where the singers command our attention, projecting their voices towards the audience. Tatyana falls to her knees because Eugene hasn’t replied to her letter.
‘This is the letter scene. It’s really famous,’ Daniel whispers, slipping his hand over my knee.
He traces tiny circles with his forefinger over my inner thigh and moves his fingers a little higher up, making the hem of my dress bunch up a little above my knee. My skin is covered in goosebumps. I look over at him, but his eyes are fixed impassively on the stage as he moves his hand further up. What’s he doing? It feels good but it’s too soon. I push his hand away but he looks over at me and smiles his wry half-smile.
The opera ends with Eugene weeping on stage, lamenting his unrequited love of Tatyana. Even though I can’t understand the words, the emotion is palpable. Eugene falls to his knees and is plunged into darkness. A moment of silence passes before everyone rises to their feet in a standing ovation.
‘What did you think?’ Daniel asks as the applause finally dies down.
‘It was so moving. So powerful. I loved it.’
Daniel smiles. ‘I thought you would.’
‘Thank you, Daniel. That was incredible,’ I enthuse.
‘It was my pleasure,’ Daniel says, the word ‘pleasure’ rolling enticingly off his lips. ‘Do you have time for a drink?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, without skipping a beat.
‘Perfect.’ He picks his jacket up off the seat next to him and shrugs it on. The label flashes behind his neck: Versace.
I put on my coat as well. I unpicked the New Look label after Saturday night to avoid any more potential embarrassment. I really need to invest in a decent coat.
‘Come on.’ Daniel places his hand on the small of my back as we leave the booth. I glance over my shoulder, trying to preserve the memory of the gold embossed dome, the plush chairs, the magic of it all. It strikes me as we’re leaving the opera hall what a stark contrast mine and Daniel’s incredible date has been compared to the noodle nerd’s tragic lunch walkout. I picture him sitting there, looking glum with the packet of crisps spread open on the table in front of him and find myself hoping things will work out for him. He may have been a bit on the boring side with his endless trivia and food facts, but everyone deserves romance and he seemed like a sweet enough guy.
