Love & London: The love story 2021 needs. Heartbreakingly beautiful and hilariously funny!

by Ellie White

  There is a palpable buzz in the air that builds each day as more and more people join us. They bring new personalities to the mix as people meet for the first time despite working only one floor apart for who knows how long. It feels like how I imagine watching your children making new friends in the school yard feels like. There are nerves and excitement but, deep down, you know everything will be fine at the end of the day.

  This is the fresh start I was hoping for and, for the first time, I feel optimistic for the future. I can see past the grief and see my life progressing naturally.

  Jake and I are closer than ever before, it's almost like the last eight years hadn't happened at all. My friendship with him is different to how it is with everyone else. I haven't had the pressure of putting on a show or having to pretend like I'm having a good time because I am having the best time with him. We can act as ridiculous as we want and that's okay because, unlike everyone else, he isn't watching me 24 hours a day, waiting for me to slip up and admit to how hard life has been living as a widow in her twenties. It probably had something to do with my emotional breakdown on Monday: He saw, first-hand, how damaged I am and there was no reason to feel embarrassed about it.

  He hasn't brought up what happened the other night and neither have I but, if I had wanted to talk about it, I know that he'd be there to talk to.

  I think back to how I've behaved over the years, hiding my emotions and my pain. With Jake, I can't hide it and I don't want to hide it. I have the urge to tell him everything. No-one has ever been able to comfort me like he did. No-one has ever held me quite like he did. I wonder if he realises how much he's helped me this past week, breathing fresh air into my life like a breeze blowing away the dust that’s settled on me over time.

  I wonder if he knew what it was like before he opened his life back up to me. Has James told him the extent of my low moods over the years? Did he talk to him how broken I've been and still am?

  I'm not quite clinically depressed (as much as my therapist thought I was) but I'm certainly not happy. At least, I wasn't happy for a while. Lost would be a better description; not knowing where I fit in without Philip, having no idea about the kind of person I used to be, never mind the person I want to be.

  I love talking to Jake. Whenever we aren't at work, we're texting each other about absolutely anything. If he sees something on Facebook that he thinks I'll like or find funny, he sends it to me. He knows that I still don't have an account, no matter how much he tells me I'm living in the stone age.

  We take it in turns to buy our morning coffees – he bought today’s. He's gone as far as sharing the biscuits his mum baked for him despite me knowing he never shares them. We've eaten dinner together almost every night this week, too. Since we've been putting in extra hours on the Stephenson’s pitch, we either order a takeaway to the office or eat in the restaurant below our building if we need to take a step back from our work.

  I smile as I look over to him, sat at his desk, wearing a dark jumper over an open collared shirt and dark jeans - a far cry from what he used to wear to work. When I asked him why he opts for a shirt instead of a t-shirt now, he'd told me that he wanted to make an effort for his new position.

  I can tell he's concentrating hard on whatever he is working on because, every so often, he moves his head to the side and chews on his lower lip. I have only ever seen him do this when he is working on his computer, never when he's writing on the white boards or working on his drawing table.

  "What?" he asks with a grin as he catches me staring at him.

  "Nothing. I was daydreaming," I say, blushing.

  I avert my eyes and focus on my screen again but reread the same line of my email that I've been writing for twenty minutes.

  Our phones buzz in quick succession. Laura set up a group chat the other night so I assume it's someone messaging both of us there. I give my head a quick shake and finish typing up the email I was working on before I pick up my phone to read the messages.

  Laura: George tonight?

  James: Yep.

  Simon: We'll be there at 8.

  Harry: I love how we're a ‘we’ now xoxoxox

  Helen: Can I bring Cylvie?

  I can feel Jake watching me as I type and it takes all my self-control not to look up and meet his gaze. We had already agreed that we wouldn't work late on a Friday, that we would have everything finished by 5 so we could go to the pub. It was Jake's idea; he'd said that I put too many hours in as it is and I should enjoy a stress-free Friday night with my friends.

  I quickly finish my text and put my phone face down, not meeting his eye.

  Maggie: Sorry, can't make it.

  "You're not coming tonight?" Jake asks, looking at his phone. “Please don’t say it’s because of Cylvie?”

  "No. I, uh, have plans," I say, vaguely waving it off, not really wanting to get into details.

  "You got a date or something?" he says with a laugh as if it's a completely inconceivable idea.

  "Yeah. Someone I met on this app Laura set me up on. It's no big deal," I say, trying to make it sound less daunting than it is.

  I feel bad that I didn't mention it to him before now. I made a point of keeping it from him for no other reason than my request of him. He has stuck to his side of the bargain and hasn't mentioned his sex life to me at all this week so I didn't want to be a hypocrite and start talking about my new dating life.

  I was about to give up on the whole online dating thing when Martin messaged me. It was a pleasant change from the dozens of dick pics I'd received over the course of the week. I mean, who even thinks that’s okay?

  Spoiler alert: It's not ever okay.

  "Tell me it's not Tinder," he says through gritted teeth and a tense jaw. He sounds annoyed. Maybe I should have told him what's been going on in that aspect of my life.

  "What if it is?" My instinct is to go on the defence. Why shouldn't I date? Why shouldn't I have a Tinder profile? Who does he think he is to judge me about my dating methods when all he does is go to the closest bar and finds the sluttiest girl? As soon as the thought enters my head, I get a horrible feeling that maybe he's been doing that and not telling me. Not that it bothers me; he can do what he wants.

  "Come on, Maggs, you're worth more than a Tinder date."

  "Just because I met the guy on Tinder doesn't mean he's not a decent person," I argue.

  "Do you even know anything about him? How long have you been speaking to him? What does he do for a living? Where does he live?" he says, shooting off questions.

  "A few days. His name is Martin, he lives in Waterloo and he is an entrepreneur. Not really sure what sector but I'm sure I'll find out later when we get to know each other," I snap, letting my annoyance show. I hope he doesn't pry further because I know nothing else about this man other than what's on his profile.

  "I think it's a terrible idea but whatever. Have fun," he says, standing to pack his things away and turning to leave. Not once has he left the office before me this week. He usually waits for me to finish up and we get the tube home together but, this time, he doesn't.

  I don't want him to leave. I want him to stay and tell me why we're arguing about this on our first official day of being in charge. I want him to tell me why he's mad at me because he is mad, right?

  "I'll see you tomorrow then?" he asks as he pauses in our doorway, looking like he wants me to say something. I should ask him to stay, ask him to talk to me but, for some stupid reason, I don't.

  Instead, I settle for a snide remark. "Yeah, if you're out of your mood by then."

  I regret it as soon as the words leave my mouth and it almost looks like he is about to snap back at me but thinks better of it.

  "I'll call you in the morning, Maggs," he says, clenching his jaw, the anger rolling off him in waves. With that, he walks out, leaving me staring at the empty space where he stood with no clue how we got to this point.

  "What was that about?" Sasha asks me from her desk that sits just outside of
our door. Thomas looks just as confused.

  "I have no idea," I say in annoyance.

  I sit back at my desk to reply to the last of my emails but I can't concentrate anymore. I pick my phone up and call him but his phone goes to voicemail, presumably because he is on the tube with no signal. When I try again half an hour later, he doesn't answer and I know he's purposely ignoring me. His phone is connected to his watch so I know he can see my call coming through. This time, he's choosing to ignore me and it annoys me more than it has any right to.

  ***

  Martin arranges to meet me at a fancy restaurant in Chelsea so I wear a black, low cut dress that wraps around and pulls my waist in. I pair it with my new Louboutin’s which now remind me of Jake. I try to focus on the positives rather than our earlier argument: I'm getting use out of my obscenely expensive shoes so it almost makes the cost worth it. I can't argue with how confident and sexy I feel in them.

  The decor of the restaurant is sort of industrial chic with exposed brickwork that seems to be all the rage these days, brass accessories and weird, erotic art.

  "My name is Tiff and I am your waitress this evening. Can I get you a drink?" the pretty waitress asks me.

  "Glass of rosé, please," I ask.

  "You seem nervous. First date?"

  "You're good. It’s my first date since my husband died eight years ago," I casually state, taking the waitress by surprise. I sometimes forget that it's not common to be a thirty-year-old widow.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry,"

  "Thank you. I just figure it's time to move forward with my life so I'm giving the dating thing a try."

  "Well, Hun, I'm a pro at first dates. I see enough of them in here. The good, the bad, the ugly. If you need me, just give me a wave."

  I relax like she's said the perfect words. It's reassuring that I've got someone looking out for me tonight even if I didn't know I needed that.

  As Tiff leaves to get my drink, I quickly pull out my phone. After Jake left the office and decided to ignore me, I calmed down enough to try talking to him again. I must have sent him at least 10 texts that have gone un-answered, asking if he's okay or if he's still pissed off at me. He could really work on his communication skills and I would normally point that out but I don't want to rock the boat any more than I apparently already have.

  This time, when I look at my phone, I'm relieved to see his name blinking back at me. At least he's not ignoring me anymore, though he does seem to avoid answering my questions.

  Jake: Just be careful tonight, please. Ring me if you need anything or when you get home safe. I don't care what time it is x

  Jake: I'll be at the George x

  Does it mean he wants me to meet him there? I do notice there was no apology but maybe he wants to apologise in person. Why can't he just use his bloody words and tell me what’s wrong?

  I don't have time to reply or worry about Jake's bad mood as Martin walks in, escorted to our table by Tiff who gives me a quick smile. I quickly put my phone back in my clutch bag. I'll text him back later, give him a taste of his own medicine, see how he likes being ignored. I'm not his mum, I don't have to mother him or pander to his mood swings. I try to do my usual compartmentalising and lock him in a box in my mind to deal with later but, for some reason, I can't. It's like I can feel him pecking away at my brain, that little message of concern still niggling at me.

  Why is he mad at me?

  "Mandy, lovely to meet you," Martin says, kissing me on both cheeks all while having one eye trained on our pretty waitress, looking her up and down.

  Great. Even she notices and gives me a look as if to say, ‘Is this bloke for real?’

  "It's Maggie. Nice to meet you, too," I say, taking my seat again and ignoring the fact he's just openly checked out another woman within five seconds of meeting me.

  I'm not sure what I was expecting but it wasn't this. His shirt is dirty and creased and his trousers hang far too low for comfort. He’s wearing a chunky, gold chain that looks like it came out of a mid-90s Argos catalogue and a hoop in his ear that looks infected.

  I try not to judge - I really do - he just doesn't look like someone who is on a date. He looks like he's thrown on the first lot of clothes he could find and raced out of the door. Had he even checked out this restaurant when he suggested it because they have a dress code and I'm sure he's violating it.

  "I'll have a San Miguel, double vodka Red Bull and 2 shots of Patron," he says to her. "Do you want anything?" he adds to me.

  "I have a drink, thank you," I say, trying not to sound appalled at the number of drinks he's ordered at such an early stage in our date.

  We start off with small talk although I'm trying my best not to appear distracted. He talks about how shitty the weather has been this week, how nice the restaurant is, the recent tube strikes. It’s really generic stuff, nothing to write home about. The entire time he’s talking, his eyes follow Tiff and the other waitresses around the room. He's literally watching their every move and isn't trying to hide it at all.

  Tiff brings him his drinks with a scowl, obviously having noticed his wandering eyes. He takes it upon himself to grab her hand and licks his lips at her which freaks me out as much as it does her.

  This is not going well at all.

  It gets even worse when he doesn't waste any time downing both shots of Tequila and his vodka Red Bull. Tiff and I just look at each other in disbelief.

  Now, I'm a bit rusty when it comes to dating but I know that's not how you act on a date when you're trying to impress someone.

  "Remember, I'll be right here if you need anything," she says for my benefit, walking away and keeping her narrowed eyes on my date.

  "So, Molly -"

  "Uh, it's Maggie." Seriously? Twice he's got my name wrong and I've had to correct him.

  "Right, Right. I just want to get this out there in the open because that's the kind of guy I am. I'm honest. I don't want kids anytime soon and I don't want to get married. I'm not after anything serious. I am not monogamous and I like to keep my options open so there will be other women. I'm not willing to change anything for anyone, not even you, sweetheart. If you like me, this is what you get."

  "Uh, excuse me?" is all I can say. I'm absolutely floored. Is this guy for real or is this a sick prank? Is this 2003? Can I expect Ashton to pop up from behind the bar and yell ‘Punk'd’?

  "I'll be right back. Need the pisser." Charming. He makes his way to the toilets by passing another waitress, trying to grab her arse. Maybe I can just ditch him and pay the waitress for my drink on my way out. I can go find my friends and salvage my night.

  I try to hold my groan in when I think about Jake. How do I avoid telling him that he was right about this? Of course, he was right. He's always bloody right. Ugh, I really don’t want him to know that he was right.

  I pull out my phone again and openly groan when I find the group chat has been lit up with questions on how my date is going.

  No more texts from Jake.

  Laura: Is he good looking?

  James: Just remember, not all of us want a play by play of this date.

  Helen: Ignore him, the rest of us want to know everything. EVERYTHING!!!

  Harry: Remember... No sex on the first date but that doesn't mean you can't have other kinds of fun ;) If you need any tips, just ask!

  James: This is the type of shit a brother shouldn't have to read about his baby sister.

  Maggie: Date is going well. Will text later.

  It’s a lie but I just can't face the embarrassment of them knowing how awful this date is.

  Tiff comes over to the table to check on me as it's been 5 minutes since Martin went into the loo. She's tells me they sent a waiter in to check on him and I tell her I need to leave as soon as physically possible so follow her to the hostess stand.

  I really wish I had left 5 minutes ago when I first had the idea because the next few moments pass in a blur.

  As I'm about to pay, six police officers dr
essed in tactical gear make their way through the restaurant into the men’s toilets. They aren't there long when they emerge with Martin, hands cuffed behind his back as they escort him out of the restaurant. I'm no expert but I've seen enough movies to understand that the white powder covering most of his face is probably a class A drug.

  "Are you Martin Sinclair's date?" an officer asks as he approaches me at the payment machine.

  "Yeah, Maggie, Maggie Jones," I say with a mix of shock and confusion as Martin is escorted out.

  "Miss Jones, I need you to come with me," the officer says as he detaches his handcuffs from his belt, taking my clutch and coat from my arms.

  Oh, dear god.

  "Are you arresting me?" I ask, my voice a few octaves higher than usual. For the first time, I notice everyone in the restaurant is staring at me.

  "We just want to ask you some questions about your boyfriend," he says, cuffing my hands in front of me and leading me out to the police car parked in front of the restaurant.

  I'm in too much shock to say anything. I don't understand what’s happening and, to be perfectly honest, I'm terrified. I can't go to prison on the first day of being CEO. I can't go to bloody prison at all.

  Martin is being forced into the back of squad car as the man who introduced himself as Police Constable Jordan stands me next to his car.

  "Officer, I can help. I witnessed the whole thing," Tiff says, running towards me. “She didn’t know him and, from the second he walked in, he was a complete dick head to her."

  "How did you meet Mr Sinclair?" Police Constable Jordan asks me.

  Suddenly, I find my voice and the words rush out all at once. "I met him on Tinder. My friend, Laura, who is also my dead husband's sister, thought it would be a clever idea to get myself back out there. You see, I was married to her brother and he was killed in a car accident eight years ago. This was my first date since I lost him. I had spoken to Martin for the past 3 days and he asked me out so I said ‘yeah, what’s the worst that can happen?’. I didn't think I would be standing here in cuffs." I wave my wrists around dramatically. "He seemed like a normal bloke until he turned up late, tried to feel up the waitresses, drank 2 shots and a double vodka. He told me that he wanted to shag multiple women and then disappeared into the loos for 10 minutes. I was leaving when you all came in. I should have left sooner."