Copyright © Debbie Ioanna 2020
Debbie Ioanna has asserted her rights to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Blind Date
For Angela,
A lifelong friend to all, and loyal fan, who is sorely missed x
Blind Date
Debbie Ioanna
1
I stared at the menu before me, purposely hiding my face from the man sitting in the chair opposite. I can’t remember a time when I felt less inspired, by both a menu and another human being. Although if I had to compare, the prospects of food poisoning from ‘Gino’s Chicken Surprise’ did seem a tad more exciting than my current situation. The fact that he brought me somewhere that was situated above an Indian Takeaway and in the centre of Bradford should have been a huge clue that this was not going to be a match made in heaven.
‘He’s in education,’ my best friend Sarah had told me the week before over drinks. ‘He is very well respected and very well paid (she winked), you definitely need to meet him. I’ll give him your number and make sure he calls you!’
Sarah had a knack for talking me into situations I would later regret. She once convinced me that a holiday to Zante would be great for a quiet girl’s holiday with a few evening cocktails. That was definitely a hard lesson learned… However, at thirty years old I did not like the idea of a blind date that she was now suggesting. Having to make such an effort for a stranger on a Saturday night when I could be at home watching the latest episode of Sherlock with a Chinese takeaway seemed far too unnecessary. Surely, I am too old for this?
I have to admit that after he had called, I had been intrigued by Gerard’s husky voice and desire to meet me so soon. Maybe Sarah had over exaggerated to him my ‘beauty’ just like she had told me about how ‘interesting and exciting’ this man was. ‘She has these wonderful laughter lines, our Jenny has an infectious smile!’ I can hear her saying to him about the wrinkles that were creeping up on the sides of my mouth. ‘Her long flowing locks glisten and shine so fabulously in the sun, it is gorgeous!’ It had been a while since I’d made the effort to dye those few strands of grey hair. Well, I can honestly say that the most interesting thing this man had said to me thus far tonight in his ‘husky’ voice was that he should avoid eating anything too thick and fatty as he has a lot of phlegm sitting in his throat and he would hate to cough it over me. Nicolas Sparks could use some of his lines as inspiration for his next romance novel.
I had never been to Gino’s. I had never even heard of it before he’d booked it. The menu options were cheap so I was not so convinced of Gerard’s supposed wealth if this was where he’d wanted to take me for a first date. I should have turned around before we’d been led to our sticky table. The walls were an unintentional yellow with questionable green stains. Cobwebs plagued every corner. There was a lingering smell of over-used oil too. The Asian waiter handed me the menu of the Italian food while I spied a Chinese chef walking out of the customer toilets with a finger in his ear. Always a good sign. At least Dean Martin was singing ‘That’s Amore’ in the background to add some authenticity to our ‘Italian fine dining’ experience.
The waiter took our orders. I had decided on tomato soup with a bread roll, what could go wrong with this? Once Gerard had established with the waiter, who had limited English, that the lasagne would not contain mushrooms, would have extra garlic, grated cheese rather than sprinkled (this was very important), peppers chopped up too small to see but large enough to taste and be served with a side salad of just cucumber without the skin, we could proceed with our date.
Forty-seven minutes later, we had consumed our food. Well, I had finished my Heinz tomato soup and Gerard had fully dissected his lasagne for signs of mushrooms before reconstructing it to eat it. Conversation had been fast flowing for quite some time. Fortunately, it was not between Gerard and me but instead Gerard and another waiter who we now knew was named Israr. They had discussed in detail Israr’s life and why he had come to this country (he was born in England), why he had started working in such a respected profession (he was a full-time student and worked here to help support his family) and what his hopes and dreams were. I don’t think they would have noticed if I’d left. They seemed quite content with each other’s company.
‘Well then Jenny!’ Gerard said with far too much energy, he’d startled me as I’d been wondering what Benedict Cucumberpatch had been doing in this week’s episode of Sherlock. I do hope it recorded. The bill had just arrived at our table and he’d been studying it very hard. He must be making sure that his discount was applied for leaving mushrooms out of his food before paying it in full. ‘Your share is £12.98 exactly, do you have the cash?’
I hate Sarah.
2
Sundays are meant for lazing around in oversized pyjamas with unwashed hair and the smell of last night’s Chinese takeaway on your skin, occasionally finding the odd bit of rice in your cleavage (is that just me?). I love nothing more than being reminded that I have leftover chow mein waiting for me in the fridge to scoff with my morning cuppa. This Sunday however, I had to go and meet Sarah for lunch and kill her for setting me up with Gerard. Well, I wouldn’t necessarily kill her… but I would be making her pay for lunch. I would be having steak. Large. With all the trimmings. Extra fries. And a bottle of merlot. The expensive one.
I had a few things on my to-do list today. First, I would need to trawl through all my cupboards to find some Imodium to help my insides recover from last nights ‘fine dining’ with Gerard. I need to clean out the cat litter too as the smell is taking over the landing. I should also make sure the cat is still alive… I’ve not seen him for a few days. I should call my mother so she knows that I am still alive. Last thing on the list: Kill Sarah.
As I climbed out of bed to make my way to the shower, I was suddenly met with the pain that can only come from standing on a cat’s tail. I am not sure who screamed the loudest, me or Bing Clawsby, but I definitely came off worse as now I had a whopping great scratch down my calf. Well, at least I know the cat is still alive, so that is one thing off the list. As for his cat litter, he can wait another day after that violent reaction.
Once I finally made my way downstairs into the kitchen, Bing Clawsby was waiting for me on the kitchen counter, butt-kissing my new scarf which I threw on there last night in frustration after a wasted evening.
“If you’re wanting breakfast you can wait,” I said, “I need a cuppa first.” I’m not sure why people talk to cats, they never respond, but they definitely understand. If looks could kill then Bing would have killed me long ago. Whilst I was pondering whether to have toast or crumpets, I got a text from Sarah checking that we were still meeting for lunch.
“Yes,” I reply, “I need to give you all the ‘juicy’ gossip from last night…ahem” I throw in an angry-face emoji for good measure.
“Oh no, that doesn’t sound good! I’ll wear my body armour ;) See you at Ricci’s! X”
Sarah and I love going to Ricci’s Place. It is right in the centre of Halifax and by far the best Italian restaurant around without visiting Italy itself. If you want a mundane pizza or sloppy pasta dish, then go to Frankie and Benny’s. If you want proper, authentic, decent Italian food then get to Ricci’s.
With my phone in hand I quickly called my mother to let her know; I am still alive, I am still single, no I am not freezing my eggs, no I am not joining any dating sit
es, yes I am eating healthily (occasionally, sometimes… there was that tomato last week), I am definitely not freezing my eggs, yes I am using the anti-wrinkle cream she sent me (the tub is great to lean my phone up against when I’m watching Netflix in the bath), and no, I do not want to hear all about my brother and his wife expecting their third child. Goodbye mother, I have to go and meet Sarah.
Another chore done with. Time to take care of the last item on my list.
“You are dead.” I walked through the glass door of the restaurant and possibly terrified one of the waitresses until she realised I was aiming my threats towards the beautiful blonde sitting at the table behind her.
“That could be why you’re still single,” Sarah replied, “you have no people skills!” she came towards me for a hug, the iceberg sized diamond on her left hand glistened in the sun shining through the window and reflected on to the wall. If she was to point it in the right direction I am pretty sure she could take down an airplane.
“Please don’t set me up anymore, it’s pointless, you got the last decent man out there.” I hug my friend and sit at the chair opposite hers, sulkily dropping my bag on the floor.
“Oh, hush now!” she lifted the bottle of red wine and began to fill my glass. “Look, there’s twelve months until the wedding. We have twelve months to find you a date. We will find you a date.”
“To be honest Sarah, I’m not that arsed anymore. I’ve been on enough bad dates to put me off for life. Can’t I just go on my own?”
“No, I will find you someone. Just you wait and see.” She winked as the bottle clinked back down on to the table. “You know, there is one person you could ask.”
“Who?” I picked up my glass and took a large gulp of wine. Oh, I needed that. I must refrain from downing it in one or else I won’t be able to read the menu. She wasn’t answering my question. “Who could I ask?”
“A certain mysterious man who turns you from my straight talking, confident friend to jelly on a plate? Wibble wobble, wibble wobble, Jenny on a plate?”
Zack. Oh, Zack. Even the thought of him makes my mouth go dry, my insides drop and my tingly area go all tingly. I’ve not seen him for a month, but I can picture him as though he was standing right in front of me. His black hair was messily perfect, green eyes that could melt all the ice at the North Pole, lips that I wanted to touch and such large, manly hands. He works for the same company I do, but from a different office building, only occasionally greeting us with his presence. I never know he’s coming until he shows up, all six foot two of him.
“You’re blushing now just thinking about him!”
“That’s the wine, I drank it too quickly,” I tried to defend my rosy cheeks but I could feel the heat rising in them, almost burning me, “oh, shut up. You know what he does to me. I can’t help it.” I try covering my cheeks with my hands. They give me away every time.
“Why don’t you ask him out? I’ll bet he likes you.”
“If a man likes a woman then he makes a move. Do you not remember He’s Just Not That Into You? Besides, there’s no way I’m his type. He’s all perfect, God-like, perfection and I’m the crazy cat lady.”
“You only have one cat, and you hate him.” Bing Clawsby loves Sarah, he loves everyone apart from me. “You need to stop putting yourself down. You’re beautiful and fabulous. You can have anyone you want. Anyway, I keep telling you, if you get on one of those dating apps…”
“You can cut that out straight away. We’ve talked about this before. You managed to talk me into going on a blind date, but I am NOT joining any dating sites.”
“I’m not saying you’ll find the man of your dreams on there, but at least have a little fun. That new app, Find Me A Date, is supposed to be…”
“Hush!” I picked up my menu. “You’re putting me off my free meal.”
She might set me up with strange men, but Sarah is a great friend. Ever since meeting her at university she has always had my back. But now she’s getting married and potentially moving away soon after the wedding. I knew the only reason she was obsessed with finding me someone was so I would not be alone if she did have to move, but I honestly did not mind anymore. Finding a man was proving to be too much hassle. I could just get a dog. They’re loyal enough to love me and it’ll piss Bing off too. Two birds with one stone.
“Anyway,” she picked up her menu, “which of these extortionate steaks will you be ordering to punish me this time?
3
Several hours and too many glasses of wine later, we had discussed wedding plans, possible hen do ideas and the upcoming engagement party next weekend. Sarah also tried to broach the subject of the dating apps again.
“Look, just sign up and create a profile. You don’t have to meet up with anyone.” She reached for my phone. “Just let me download it and you can check it out properly tonight when you’re at home.”
“Drop the phone, I can’t do it. My mum has been on at me for years to join up, she even offered to pay for them. She’d sell me off to the highest bidder if she could. If she found out I had signed up she would be so smug that she won that argument.”
“Since when do you tell your mum anything? Don’t tell her. She doesn’t have to know. It’s just between us. Please?”
Her big, blue eyes did their trick. I could never disagree with her for long once she gave me that look. Especially not after this much wine anyway. That’s how she talked me into getting blonde highlights in our first year at uni. I have made sure there is no photo evidence left of that disaster. I’m so glad I was a teen before smart phones and easily accessible cameras became a thing.
“Ok, fine, but I’m creating the profile and choosing the photo.” I put my foot down.
“Woo! That’s fine! Let me see you download it though so I know you’ve done it. And I want screenshots tonight showing me your profile.”
“Ok, ok! I will. But I need a dessert first.”
Once Sarah was satisfied that the app had been downloaded and I was satisfied that I’d eaten enough tiramisu, we said our goodbyes and I went to find a taxi. I wouldn’t normally leave my car at home for a lunch date, but I knew there would be a lot of wine involved today, so I had to be sensible.
As I walked through Halifax, treading carefully on the cobbles which were clearly put there to catch out the afternoon drinkers, I suddenly realised I had some food lodged in my back teeth. I didn’t want to stick my fingers in my mouth to free it whilst in public, but I couldn’t leave it there either, so instead used my tongue to fish around when…
“Jenny?”
I looked up, my cheek bulging from where my tongue was pushing its way to the back of my mouth and almost losing my balance on a loose cobble. Oh no, surely this was a drunken illusion? A mirage? It was him.
“Zack!” oh, the tingles… “Hi! How are you? What are you doing here?” alright, Spanish Inquisition, calm yourself.
“Erm, I’m alright,” he looked into my eyes, if he could read my thoughts he would run away scared, “are you ok? You seem a little off balance.” He was looking down at my feet which were crossed over as I’d almost fallen when turning to look at him. I can’t let him know I’m almost drunk on a Sunday afternoon… What would he think of me?
“I’m fine, I’m fine, I just need to pee that’s all.” Need to pee? Need to pee?! Where’s a sinkhole when you need one? I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks again, I hated blushing in front of him. “I mean, erm…” there was no way to recover. What an idiot. “Yea. I’m fine.”
“Ok,” he laughed, “listen, I’m working from your office tomorrow, so I’ll probably see you in the morning.”
“Oh, great stuff, well, I’ll fill the kettle for you, ha-ha.” Fill the kettle? Seriously? I should film some of these meetings to show my mother so she stops wondering why I’m still single.
“That’s good to know,” he looked at his watch, “I have to go, see you in the morning.”
“Yea, bye.” I watched him walk away not able
to take my eyes off him.
What is it with me when I am near him? Some kind of force takes over me turning me into a stuttering, embarrassing mess of a woman. I can’t control my words, I can’t control my stance and quite frankly I act like a moron. I hope he didn’t see any food in my teeth. I dug around in my bag for my mirror to check my teeth and quickly wish I hadn’t. Had I not opened up that compact then I would have gone home and managed to salvage the rest of my Sunday regardless of that embarrassing meeting, but no. I had to look. I had to look at myself in the mirror and spot the cream from the tiramisu which was on my chin and down my jumper. What a tit.
By the evening I had managed to sober up completely, which meant I could not stop reliving my encounter with Zack over and over. I was thinking about it that much that all the frowning was giving me a headache.
My phone buzzed.
“Have you done your profile yet? Get on it! X”
Sarah would not stop pestering me until I sent her evidence of my completed profile. Unfortunately, I hadn’t done it yet.
“Doing it now,” I lied, “bear with me Xx”.
For God’s sake. Here we go.
I clicked open the app that Sarah had downloaded earlier and started looking through at the profile and what information it wanted from me. There was basic stuff; name, age, location. It reminded me of the MSN chat room days where you’d be constantly asked ‘ASL’. Today’s kids wouldn’t have a clue what that meant which was very sad.
I had to tell it if I was looking for a man or a woman (or if I preferred not to say as I was gender neutral, whatever that meant). It wanted to know what I liked to do in my free time, my ideal date location, if I wanted someone who was teetotal or enjoyed drinking, if I was looking for someone of a particular religion, favourite movies, favourite music, favourite holiday destination. It went on and on. Once I had finished, I felt like I had just written my own autobiography.
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