Then he suddenly kisses me on the top of my head and says, ‘Goodnight, Hannah, it’s been lovely.’
I long for him to say more, to pull me in again, to tease me with more kisses, to take things further, but he doesn’t, he just turns and walks away.
I think I might cry with disappointment and confusion as I watch him go, the street lamps providing a grainy light over the road and houses and a dark figure walking away. It reminds me of his photos on Instagram, bleak, unreadable, rain reflected in pavements. I stand in the cold for a long time after he’s gone. Tonight, I’ve been adored and rejected within a matter of hours, and now my chest is wide open, and my heart exposed – visible for anyone who might be passing to see.
Chapter Two
When I woke this morning, the first thing I thought about was last night. I made a pot of tea, and thought about his eyes; microwaved some porridge and analysed everything he’d said, every facial expression, every nuance. I’ve pushed away the kiss that ended so abruptly, and tried not to dwell on the spoon and napkin he slipped into his pocket. Instead, I’m reliving the best parts of the evening. Driving to work, I almost ran a red light remembering how his hand brushed mine, the way he looked at me, and listened. Really listened.
‘How was last night?’ Sameera calls when I arrive at work, popping her head out from the office kitchen expectantly.
‘Good, good,’ I answer, grateful for the camaraderie and support from my colleagues, but wishing at the same time they didn’t have to know everything. My fault, I overshare – but what I don’t tell them, Jas does, so Sameera and Harry, my other colleague, pretty much get filled in one way or another.
‘Did you get laid?’ Harry asks.
‘Like I’d tell you if I did!’ I laugh.
‘Oh no, were you catfished?’ He laughs. ‘Was he really a seventy-six-year-old with a heart problem and a harem of young brides?’
‘He was lovely actually.’ I smile.
‘Any gaffer tape and scissors in his car?’
I smile, and stick my tongue out at him.
In this profession, you get close to your co-workers quickly. When you’re dealing with the mess of life, you need support, and you give it too. There are just four of us in the office, we go through a lot together on a daily basis, and our bond is deep.
‘So, how did it go?’ Jas mouths through the glass pane of her office. I’m now checking my phone to see if he’s called, or texted. He hasn’t. ‘Come on, spill the beans, I want to know everything,’ she calls, beckoning me in with her finger.
Jas has taken it upon herself to be my ‘dating coach’. After my horrible break-up with Tom last year she’s encouraged me to meet new men. Jas lost her husband, Tony, in a car accident more than ten years ago, and I can only imagine how devastated she must have been to suddenly become a widow in her thirties. I think Jas is almost scared of finding love again in case she loses it, which explains why she only seeks casual relationships, and wants to live vicariously through me. Now she wants a blow-by-blow account of last night. But it doesn’t matter how well I think it went, the fact we haven’t made arrangements for a second date makes me feel I may have got it all wrong. I so want to believe it went well, but why did he pull away from the kiss? Did I misread the signals? I’m torn between feeling elated and wondering if I’ll ever see him again.
Margaret, our receptionist and admin assistant, waves at me from across the office. ‘Was he as good looking as his photo?’ she asks, having studied his online profile in some detail, along with the rest of the office, last time she popped up on her break.
‘Better looking, if that’s possible, Margaret,’ I call back.
She smiles and gives me a wink. She’s like the office mum, even bakes cakes for us all on our birthdays. ‘I was never lucky enough to have my own children,’ she once said to me, ‘but the universe has a way of giving you what you need.’
Last night, the universe gave me Alex. But now it’s playing twisted games and might have plans to take him away. As the minutes tick away with no word from him, my heart is beginning to feel slightly tender.
‘Thing is,’ I say to Jas, after I’ve given her the highlights of my date, ‘I’m not sure he feels the same.’ I told her about the kiss, but haven’t mentioned the spoon and napkin ‘theft’. It isn’t important, and she’ll only turn it into a drama. ‘Why do you think he didn’t invite himself to come in for coffee, Jas?’ I know she’ll have a theory.
‘Oh girl – it has been a while, hasn’t it?’ She sits back in her chair, plonking her Converse-clad feet on the desk. Jas loves throwing her energy into my non-existent love life, it’s probably a welcome break from the traumatised teens and lost adolescent souls we deal with every day.
‘Men these days don’t want to come over as pushy, they’re scared of being accused of some heinous crime. Or perhaps he was just playing games with you by making you want him, then pulling away?’
‘Two solid theories, but what if he just didn’t fancy me?’
She laughs.
‘I mean… my photos on the app make me look quite attractive, but what if he thought I was horrible in the flesh? Do I look older, fatter?’
‘Hannah,’ she says, ‘please stop with this constant self-flagellation. It’s boring. But if he didn’t mention a second date, then his loss – he doesn’t appreciate how amazing you are. Men never do – you’re gorgeous, and don’t you forget it.’
‘And you’re kind – or blind.’ I roll my eyes, I’m not good at taking compliments. ‘It seemed to go so well though. I thought he liked me. But I drank a lot of wine – Merlot – turns out that’s his favourite too. Honestly, Jas, we have so much in common, it’s mad.’
‘Merlot, eh? I hope you’re not going to start drinking Porn Star Martinis with him, that’s our drink,’ she jokes.
‘No way. You’ll always be my Porn Star Martini partner.’
‘He probably wasn’t that great anyway,’ she says as a softener. ‘You saw him through the bottom of a wine glass. It’s easy for them to come over as a dream guy on a first date, but, trust me, a few dates down the line and you’d have seen a different guy to the one you saw last night.’
I know she’s only trying to console me, but it isn’t working. Jas was the one who suggested I go on the bloody dating app, so it’s annoying that she’s doing her ‘no fish in the sea worth having’ speech now.
‘Jas, if you’d been there, if you’d met him, you’d know what I’m saying – we just fit.’
‘I’m sure you do and, hey, there’s nothing to stop you giving him a call,’ she suggests.
‘Mmm, I could,’ I murmur doubtfully.
She raises her eyebrows and, lifting her long, denim-clad legs off the desk, brings the conversation to a close with her body language.
Harry’s in the doorway waiting to see her, so I get up and move to the door.
‘Have you two finished discussing… no, dissecting, the men you slept with last night?’ Harry asks.