“I know you do,” Mum said. “But Internet dating? Can’t you just wait to meet someone the normal way?”
“The Internet was Beth’s idea,” I reminded her. “I would never have bothered on my own, and I’ve been waiting nine years to meet someone the ‘normal’ way. There is no normal way.”
Mum tucked one chin into another and looked at me over the rim of her mug. “God knows you deserve a bit of happiness,” she said, which was the nearest I’d ever get to her approval.
“I’ve been OK, mostly,” I said, smiling at her.
“Well,” Mum said. “I’m just saying, what if this bloke you’re meeting tonight is a decent one and you turn up looking like Coco the Clown because you don’t want to upset your twelve-year-old daughter?”
An image of Brendan flashed before my eyes and I felt the knots in my belly tighten. “You’re right,” I said. “Pass me a baby wipe.”
By the time Beth had come back from her bedroom I had wiped my face clean and put on my usual make-up but with lipstick this time instead of just clear gloss.
“Mu-um!” she said. “What are you doing?”
“Well, it was lovely,” I said. “But your nan and I thought it was too special for tonight. I mean, it’s only a drink down the pub. I thought I’d just put on a bit of lippy, you know, and some mascara. Like I usually do.” Beth sat down heavily at the table and looked at me.
“You mean you hated it,” she said after a moment.
“I didn’t hate it, no . . .” I said, sounding uncertain.
“It’s all right,” Beth said. “It wasn’t going how I planned. I need to practice. I’ll have a go on Keisha tonight, and then if you have a second date, like a posh dinner or something, I’ll do it then and you can wear a dress.”
“Thanks, love,” I said, feeling let off the hook.
“That’s OK,” Beth said. “But you’re not wearing jeans tonight, OK? You have to wear a skirt. That black one you got in the sales. With the split in it. And your boots, OK?”
“Good idea,” I said, nodding.
“Are you going to tell her what to drink, too?” Mum said with an edge of sarcasm.
“Well, not too much for starters,” Beth said seriously. “You’ve got work in the morning.”
Mum and I smiled at each other. Maybe Beth was a bit bossy but she had this kind of solid certainty about everything in life that made her reassuring to be around. Nothing ever scared her.
“I wonder what he’ll be like,” Mum said. She opened her packet of Benson & Hedges and took out a ciggie. She wouldn’t light it up in here, because of Beth and my asthma, but she liked to hold one when she was having a cup of tea. Later on, when I’d gone and Beth was in her room with Keisha, she’d go and stand on the balcony and smoke it. She’d have another one after EastEnders and another just after I got in, while I told her how the evening went. All on the balcony, no matter what the weather.
“Well, at least we know he won’t be married,” Mum said, pressing her lips into a thin line of disapproval.
“Or old,” Beth said. “Joy wouldn’t set you up with an old bloke. Well, not older than you, I mean.”
“Who does Joy know who’s a nice catch?” Mum asked, leaning back in her chair and holding her fag between her thumb and finger as if she were about to take a deep drag.
We all thought for a long moment. I don’t know who they were thinking about, but I was thinking about Brendan.
The more I thought about it, the more I thought it had to be him. I’m not the sort of person who expects good luck and happiness. In fact, I spend most of every day thinking of all the things that can go wrong, as if thinking of them will somehow stop them from happening. When I was younger I never saw the bad stuff coming and I was never ready for it. So now I try and think of the worst thing. If I’m prepared for it, it won’t happen. And I try not to let myself feel too happy, because if I do I’m sure that I’ll jinx myself.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking that it would be Brendan waiting for me in the bar tonight. I don’t know why. I just had this funny feeling in my gut that made me certain that it would be him. I tried to pretend it wasn’t there. But it was bubbling away all the time. And I was starting to believe it.
“I hope he’s tall,” Beth said. “There’s nothing worse than kissing a man shorter than you are.” I decided not to rise to the bait.
“And clean,” Mum said. “I hope he’s clean with a steady job.”
“And funny,” Beth said. “A good sense of humor is really sexy in a man.”
“Beth!” Mum and I said together. Beth shrugged.
“Well, it is,” she said, holding up the magazine. “It says so in here!”
“Well, at least if Joy’s arranged it he’ll be better than the last bloke you had a date with down the White Horse,” my mum said, deciding to change the subject.
I frowned as it took a second for me to remember who she was talking about. And then it came back.
“Yeah,” Beth said. “At least this one should turn up.”
The One I Didn’t Meet at All in the End Because He Never Turned Up
I walked into the bar.
I never usually go down the White Horse during the week, but I was glad to see it was almost completely dead. Just a few of the usual regulars stood around the bar, including Janet, the butchest woman I have ever seen, with her husband, Frank. Joy said if ever there was somebody with issues it was Janet, but not very loudly because she was as hard as nails and once broke this bloke’s arm in two places for calling her a lesbian. And I saw Old Joe sitting in the corner by the slot machine making his half a pint of Guinness last and chatting to whichever one of his invisible demons he’d brought out with him tonight.
I looked at a few lads standing around one of the pub’s tellies watching a game of footy with their arms crossed. It couldn’t have been a local team playing because if it was, the place would have been packed with fans baying for blood.
I couldn’t see my date or anyone who I thought might be him. I didn’t have a photo this time so I had to go on his very modest description of himself. Average height. Average build. Average looks. The space where it should have been on the website said “photo pending.” So I just had the description and a name: John Smith.
And he’d said I would know him because he’d be the one drinking half a lager.
“Not a very exciting name,” I’d said to Beth when she’d read out his message to me.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she’d said. “What are you, twelve?” Then she’d realized what she’d said and we’d laughed.
John Smith didn’t have an exciting name but I liked the sound of his profile. He didn’t sound flashy or like he was trying to impress. He sounded like a normal bloke and his message was sort of funny instead of trying too hard to be interesting. Beth decided I should give him a go. I couldn’t believe it when he suggested we meet in the White Horse.
“He must be local,” Beth said.
“Yeah,” I said, feeling suddenly worried. “But who?”
“He can’t know you,” Beth had said. “Because if he did he would never ask you out.”
I blinked at her.
“On the Internet, I mean,” she replied quickly. “Because if he knew you he’d ask you out face-to-face!”
I walked up to the bar, but there was no one around. I fished in my pocket for the tenner I’d brought out. Wrapped up inside it was a joke from Beth.
Why are ghosts invisible?
They wear see-through clothes!
Right now I felt like I was invisible. Even Old Joe’s ghostly drinking pals were getting more attention than me.
Then Brendan came out from the back.
“Hi, Sam,” he said, smiling. I felt my stomach bubble and wished I hadn’t rushed my tea. “Wow, you look great!”
> “Thanks,” I said, examining the money in my hand so that my hair fell over my face. “Um, a glass of wine please?” I asked him from underneath my fringe. He raised an eyebrow.
“Not your usual, then?” he asked.
I shook my head. I don’t know why, but a Bacardi Breezer didn’t seem like the right thing to be drinking on a first date.
“Don’t usually see you here on a Tuesday,” Brendan said. “It’s nice to have a pretty face to brighten the place up.” I didn’t say anything for a moment but looked at the polished wood of the bar top through the yellow wine. It wobbled and wavered. That was how I felt just then.
“No, well . . .” I paused. For some reason I didn’t want to tell Brendan that I was waiting for a date. But I had to because when John Smith turned up he’d know anyway. “I’ve got a date,” I said, taking a reluctant sip of the wine. I really didn’t like drinking wine much.
I expected Brendan to laugh or be surprised when I told him about my date, but his face didn’t move.
“Yeah?” he said after a second.
“Yeah,” I said. There was a long time when he seemed like he was going to say something else, but then Janet waved her pint glass at him from the other end of the bar. He smiled at me and winked.
“Don’t move,” he told me, before going off to serve her. I realized I was hoping that John Smith would not be coming into the bar before Brendan had finished serving Janet.
I looked at the clock behind the bar. It was gone eight. John Smith was twelve minutes late. That was all right, twelve minutes. That didn’t mean anything except traffic, or not being able to find your front door keys. Brendan came back to where I was standing and punched some numbers into the till, before dropping in the coins Janet had given him.
“Thanks for the drink, Jan,” he called out to her. “I’ll take half a lager with you.” I watched him as he poured himself a drink. I noticed he had nice arms.
“You know,” he said in a low voice, as he poured his own drink, “it takes a special kind of man to love a woman like Janet. I’m not saying she’s not a wonderful lady—but, still, that Frank must have balls the size of boulders.” He made me laugh just as I took a mouthful of wine, so I spurted a bit out. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and hoped Brendan hadn’t noticed me dribble.
“Not here then yet? Your date?” Brendan asked me, looking around the bar.
“No,” I said with a shrug. “He’s running a bit late, I expect. But I reckon he’ll get here. He didn’t sound like the arsehole type.”
“No?” Brendan said, smiling. “I’m glad.” When he was behind the bar, the raised floor made him look about two inches taller than me. When he’d come out from behind the bar to collect glasses or something I’d noticed that he was almost exactly the same height as me, so that when he talked to me I was looking straight into his eyes. He was the first person I’d met in my life who had properly green eyes. Not hazel or gray but proper green, like the glass in a beer bottle. He had lovely eyes.
“Do you want another?” Brendan asked me. I looked down. Somehow I had finished my wine. That was probably why my tongue felt numb. I glanced at the clock again, it was nearly half past eight. John Smith was now half an hour late. That was a broken-down car, ran out of petrol, or fallen down a lift shaft kind of late.
“I suppose,” I said, glancing over my shoulder and feeling the weight of the change in my pocket. “I’ll have one more and then if he’s not here by then . . .”
“Have one more on me,” Brendan said, and he put a bottle of melon-flavored Bacardi Breezer down in front of me. My favorite drink.
“Thanks,” I said and smiled at him as he put a straw in the top of the bottle. I was pleased he’d remembered what I like to drink. I mean, I knew it was his job to know what his regulars were having, but I was pleased anyway. It’s nice to have someone remember something special about you.
“What I don’t get,” Brendan said, propping his chin on one elbow as he looked at me, “is why you bother with all this Internet stuff? I mean, you’re a great-looking woman, Sam. You must get asked out all the time! I see guys looking at you on a Friday night.” I felt the skin across my nose and cheeks begin to heat up again.
“I don’t,” I said. “Joy says I don’t give off the right signals. I think it’s because they are all looking at Joy, not me. And anyway, even if I did get asked out . . .” I paused. I had no idea how much Brendan knew about me or how much I wanted him to know. “It’s important to me that I don’t just end up having a one-night stand.”
“Because of your daughter, you mean?” Brendan asked me.
“Yes,” I said. He knew a bit more than I expected. “Because of Beth, but also because of me, too. I . . . want something that will be good.”
“I know what you mean,” Brendan said. “So you’re saying that you like to get to know a man properly before you get serious. You don’t like a guy to just ask you out and see how it goes. You like to make sure he’s a decent sort before you get really involved.”
“Yes,” I said, sounding a bit surprised. He did know exactly what I meant.
“Me too,” he said, and then his cheeks flushed red. “With girls I mean.” I laughed again and Brendan laughed too.
“So, how does the Internet help you do that, then?” he asked me. “Because, you know, I might give it a go, if it’s working for you.”
“Well, the person you’re meeting . . .” I looked at the clock once more. “Supposed to be meeting, has to tell you a bit about themselves and you do the same. It’s not like pulling some bloke you’ve just met on a Friday night. You sort of know what you’re getting.” I smiled and shrugged. “At least you’re supposed to, but so far it hasn’t quite worked out like that for me.”
“I heard.” Brendan looked at me with those green eyes. “Don’t you think that sometimes you should just let your feelings tell you what to do?” he said. Something in his voice made my chest tighten and I reached into my pocket for my inhaler before I realized it was not the early sign of an asthma attack that was making my heart race.
“Um,” I said, looking down at the bar top again. “Not really.”
I looked around at the still near-empty bar again. “Well, it looks like this John Smith’s not coming,” I said, making myself look up again. “And I had high hopes for him too.”
“You did?” Brendan asked me.
“Yes,” I said. “He seemed, you know . . . nice. Real, like he wasn’t pretending to be someone else.” I laughed. “That’s why I don’t let my feelings tell me what to do. I’m always wrong!”
“No one is always wrong,” Brendan said.
As I pulled my jacket on, I looked around the bar, still hopeful that John Smith might turn up after barely escaping from being kidnapped by aliens.
But he still had not arrived by the time I had done up the last button.
“Well, bye, then,” I said to Brendan.
“Sam,” he said, and he reached out his hand across the bar and caught hold of my fingers. “Look, I’m really sorry . . . I . . .”
“Why?” I asked him, looking at his fingers holding mine. “It’s not your fault John Smith is an arsehole after all!” He let go and my hand dropped like a stone to my side.
“I’m sorry that he didn’t turn up, I mean,” Brendan said, sounding like he really was sorry, before adding quietly, “And he’s a fool, whoever he is.”
“Thanks, Brendan,” I said, suddenly wishing I wasn’t about to leave.
“I’m glad he didn’t turn up, though,” Brendan said. “I’m glad we got a chance to talk, just us two, to get to know each other a bit better.”
Before I could reply Janet called him from the other end of the bar, waving her empty pint glass.
“Bye,” I said again, but Brendan was already at the other end of the bar.
When I stepped out of th
e warm, smoky air of the pub into the brisk cold of the night, I went back over the evening. I realized I wasn’t feeling annoyed or upset that John Smith hadn’t turned up. In fact, I was glad that he hadn’t.
By the time I stepped out of the lift and let myself into the flat, I knew for a fact that I fancied Brendan. And there was this other little nagging thought that kept popping up, too. One that said that, after the way he’d acted and the things he’d said, he might fancy me too. But I didn’t let myself think that one too often.
After all, I didn’t want to jinx myself.
Nine
“You look great, Mum,” Beth said to me as I stood on the doorstep. I tried to move but I could not make my feet walk toward the lift door. I hadn’t been this bad on the other three dates. But I hadn’t really cared about the other three dates.
“You do look lovely,” Mum said, managing to smile despite the frown slotted between her brows. “I just hope this one is worth it.”
“I reckon he will be,” Beth said. “I’ve got a funny feeling about it, plus your stars said that today you’d have a ‘pleasant surprise that would change everything.’”
Still my feet had not moved.
“Go on, then!” Beth said impatiently, giving me a little shove. I tottered onto the smooth surface of the corridor in my heeled boots.
“Bye, then,” Mum said, going back into the flat as the music from Emmerdale started up in the front room. “Have a nice time.”
“I’ll walk you to the lift,” Beth said. She hooked her arm through mine as we walked the few steps to the lift and then she pressed the down button.
“It’ll be fine,” she said, patting my arm. “Don’t be nervous.”
“I am fine,” I said, looking at her. “I might just stay at home.”
The lift doors slid open.
“Don’t be stupid,” Beth said, giving me a gentle shove in the right direction. I stepped into the lift and turned round to look at her, my finger holding down the “doors open” button.
“I love you, Beth,” I said, suddenly needing to tell her. She rolled her eyes.
Woman Walks into a Bar Page 4
