by Jessica Ames
Doris sounds like my mother. Maybe we could put them both on your island and see who talks who to death. I think my mother would win.
Maybe we should take out a full-page ad in the paper—tragic thirty-something-year-olds join dating site as a last hope. It does feel like that sometimes, doesn’t it? I don’t know if this will go anywhere, but I’m excited by the prospect it might. It’s the first time in a long time I’ve felt anything close to hope, so if nothing else thank you for that.
I’d best get back to work. I have about a million things to do today. If anyone ever asks you to organise a gala tell them to bugger off.
Sadie x
Yeah, I like this girl. I realise it’s only a message but she doesn’t seem like she takes herself too seriously, which I like. I want to know more. I don’t hesitate to type back.
Hey Sadie,
The older I get the more I realise jobs generally are boring. I’d rather be sitting on the beach, looking out over Pebble’s Bay or watching rugby with a beer. Unfortunately, being grown up means you have to do annoying things like pay bills.
Your week sounds like it’s been hellish. Hope you manage to relax over the weekend and get in some sleep time.
If your mother is anything like Doris then we may have to end this here and now. I’m not sure I can deal with two of them. It’s more than any sane person should have to cope with. Doris is lovely, but she’s an unmitigated gossip.
You should see my view today. We’re out about a hundred miles from the coast, and the weather is pretty good. I’ll take a photo and attach it at the end of the message. It’s days like today that I love being on the boat. It’s not as fun when the temperature is in single digits and salt water is blasting you in the face while you’re trying to bring the lines in. Still, I think I’d take fish guts over sitting in an office all day. Life would probably be easier if I could do that though.
I’m still finding this whole online thing weird, but it feels less weird doing it with you. I hope you feel the same.
Cal
“What the hell is wrong with your face?” Mace’s voice brings my head up from my phone.
“What?”
“You’re grinning like a lunatic.”
Shit, am I? I straighten my face and shrug. “I’m just happy about lunch.”
Alex shoots me a smirk, then glances down, suddenly consumed with interest in his own food. He knows I’m trying online dating, although I asked him to keep it to himself for now. I don’t know what Mace’s reaction to me dating will be, and if things get serious with this girl then I guess that’s a conversation we’ll need to have then.
If.
And that’s a big if.
So far, my foray into the dating world has not been entirely successful and I’m not exactly holding my breath that it will go any better here either.
18
Sadie
For the next two days, Cal becomes a part of my daily routine. While I work, we exchange email messages about our lives, our hobbies, our dislikes. I learn he’s a Scorpio, he loves rugby—watching, not playing—and he has two sisters—Elin and Haley—who live on the island and another—Francesca—who lives on the mainland. With them comes a gaggle of nieces and nephews. I get the impression, reading between the lines, most of the island is in his business more than he would like and I also get the feeling that despite that he loves living there.
I have no idea why I’m still talking to him. In fact, I’m slowly starting to hate myself for it because nothing can come of this. Nothing at all. He lives miles from me and he has a lifestyle that is nothing like mine. This can’t progress beyond talking and I know I shouldn’t keep inviting more from him but the more I speak to him, the more I want it to continue. Actually, for the first time in a long time I feel good about things.
So against my better judgement, I continue to keep contact with him. I’m not being fair, I know it, and I should stop it, but I’m selfish so I don’t.
Today, I’m having a lazy Sunday at home, just talking to him. In fact, I called off spending the afternoon with Emily so I could, which is crazy, so absolutely insane considering I’ve only been speaking to this man for a matter of days but the desire to talk to him is high and growing with each day. I don’t understand it, but I also am not going to question it either. Not at the moment, anyway.
When a message arrives on my phone, I scrabble to sit up straight on the sofa, brushing my hair out of my face. I shouldn’t be this excited about a message from him, but I’m nearly crawling out of my skin with the need to read what he has to say.
Hey Sadie,
You have no idea how glad I am to hear you like action movies. Me too. Although I probably could be convinced to sit through a chick-flick with the right person (in case I wasn’t obvious enough I mean you).
This statement makes me grin—so wide I nearly dislocate my jaw.
It’s been a crazy week here. There’s some kind of showdown going on between Doris (who works in the store) and Charlotte (who owns the pub). It’s going to come to blows. I’ve never seen anything like it. It all started over a barrel of homebrew. Doris has been selling bottles of it out of the store, which is taking people away from the pub… It’s a long story.
Anyway, I loved the photos you sent yesterday. There’s actually a lot of green space where you live. I wouldn’t have thought that in a city that size. You look cute in the one with the hat on. I liked it.
This makes me beam. I did look cute in that photo. I’d taken a trip down to my local park and taken some selfies and landscapes to prove that London isn’t just a concrete jungle. There is some green space and the green space we have is beautiful.
I skim through the rest of it, stopping over a line about him going out on the boat tomorrow, meaning he won’t be back until the afternoon. That works out well because I am not a morning person. In fact, I don’t usually see daylight when I’m not working until the afternoon.
Then I stop on the last paragraph.
I’m really enjoying talking to you. If you want to chat via text, rather than via the dating app here is my number. No pressure, just if you want to.
Cal x
I stare at the nine-digit number and wince a little. This has already gone further than it should have. I don’t respond to the email. Instead, I shut the app down and I text my best friend—who I should not have blown off in the first place. Emily is, as always, happy to meet up. That is one thing I can always count on her for. She’ll always drop everything to spend time with me, which makes me blowing her off this morning all the worse. I should have gone to meet her first thing, as I said I would.
I head across London toward Covent Garden and meet her in a small cafe we often frequent on the weekend. They make the most amazing pastries and I love to start my day with one of them. If Callum and I ever meet up and he comes to London I’ll bring him here.
She’s already waiting for me when I arrive and she beams as I weave my way around the tables to take the seat opposite her.
“Sorry I’m late. The Tube was heaving. It’s more like rush hour today.”
“It’s fine, honey. Don’t panic.”
I order a coffee and pastry and come to sit back down in front of her.
“So, what was so pressing this morning you couldn’t meet me?” Trust Emily to get right to the heart of the matter. Inwardly, I groan. I’m not sure I’m ready to share this secret with her yet, but my best friend has known me pretty much my entire life so she instantly narrows her eyes on me and says, “Something is going on with you. What is it?”
“Nothing is going on with me,” I mutter, taking a sip of coffee, hoping that will hide the truth of the matter. It doesn’t. Emily is like a bloodhound. Her eyes narrow further and she leans forward in her seat.
“Something is going on. Spill. Now.”
“Emily—”
Her hand snaps up. “I don’t want to hear any lies come out of your mouth. Tell me what is going on.”
I co
nsider lying, despite her words, but there is a part of me that wants to share this with someone, that wants to find out if what I’m doing is batshit crazy—and Emily will one hundred percent give me the truth.
“I logged on to that dating site you subscribed me to.” The admission is still given grudgingly, despite my need to offload.
Emily’s frown morphs into the widest grin I’ve ever seen. It hurts my face even looking at her.
“You did?”
“Yeah, I did.”
She claps her hands together and laughs loud enough to draw the eyes of the other patrons in the cafe. “That’s fantastic! Did you match with anyone?”
I tug my bottom lip between my teeth as I consider my answer. “Yeah, I matched.”
“Oh my God, that’s amazing! I’m so pleased for you!”
“Well, don’t get ahead of yourself. He lives on a tiny fucking island off the coast of Devon.”
Her smile dips slightly. “That’s not amazing but it’s not the end of the world.”
“It’s not exactly a positive thing that a potential boyfriend lives miles away either.”
Her hand waves absently. “Long distance isn’t that big a deal these days. Besides, he might be dying for a change of scenery.”
I snort. “I don’t think so. He seems pretty settled.”
“Tell me everything about him. What’s his name? What’s he do? Is he hot?”
This time I roll my eyes. “There’s no point telling you anything because this can’t continue between us.”
“Uh, why not?”
“Did you forget the part where he lives on an island in the arse end of nowhere?”
“I didn’t forget it. It just doesn’t matter.” She puts her mug on the table and gives me her full attention. “Honey, that site is designed to find your perfect match. If it put you with him it’s for a reason. Something about you both clicked. The distance sucks but it’s not the end of the world; if you like him you’ll find a way around it. Besides, what have you got to lose? It’s try this or become a spinster surrounded by a hundred cats. What would you rather do?”
“You know I’m allergic to cats,” I mutter absently.
“Sades! The cats aren’t real! It’s a metaphor for the sad as fuck life you’re going to lead if you don’t wake up and smell the hot guy sniffing around you! This guy is real though. Real and breathing and he’s talking to you. Just go with the flow, see what happens.”
“I feel like I’m leading him on though.”
“Have you promised him anything?” I shake my head. “Is there a clause somewhere that says because you were matched you have to be with this guy forever?” I shake my head again. “You haven’t pledged your troth to him.”
“My what?”
“Troth!” She pauses and frowns. “I have no clue what a troth is but either way, no promises have been made and nothing is expected either. Besides, he’s probably just as unsure as you are.” She reaches out and grabs my hand. “Don’t push him aside because you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared,” I protest.
Her brow arches. “Honey, I’ve known you all your life. You can’t lie to me. You are scared and it’s okay to be. Richard hurt you; he made you feel unsure and he took a great big hammer to your confidence, but that doesn’t mean you should sit at home for the rest of your life, hiding from the world.” She sighs. “Please, just stop thinking about the distance and the logistics and just go with it—see where you end up. You never know, this might be the best thing to ever happen to you and if you walk away without testing the water you’ll never know.”
Go with it. See where you end up.
Can I do that?
Yes, I think I can.
After talking to Emily (and having her put me back on track), I head for the Tube station. While I’m sitting in the carriage, I pull up Callum’s number on the email and I decide to bite the bullet. What’s the worst that can happen, right?
ME: Hey, it’s Sadie. You said to text you so… well, I’m texting you. How’s your day been? I’m currently sitting on the Tube so this probably won’t reach you until I hit topside, but I’m glad you liked the pictures. Here’s another for you.
Subtly, I snap a selfie of me and attach it to the text. Then I hit send. I don’t have any reception on my phone so I shove it back in my bag and ride the rest of the journey, contemplating Emily’s words.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I do need to just give it a go and see what happens. It’s not as if we have pledged our… troth? What the hell does that mean anyway and where the hell did Emily learn that word?
When the train pulls into the station, I alight from the carriage and step onto the platform, moving with the sway of people heading for the escalators. It’s late afternoon so it’s still fairly busy, meaning I can’t move through the crowds as fast as I would like. When I finally make it to street level and the throng of people thins out, I take a breath. It was stifling down there and while I’m used to that level of busy it’s still not much fun getting squashed and bumped around.
There is a buzz around Islington’s bars and pubs as I start my walk to the flat. This is not unusual; the pubs around here are seemingly always busy and as it’s the weekend everyone is letting down their hair.
I pull my coat further around my body to ward off the chill in the air and hurry in the direction of home.
As I’m walking, I feel my phone vibrate even as it pings. I dig it out of my bag and unlock the screen. It’s a message from Callum.
CALLUM: Hey! It’s great to hear from you. You look beautiful in the photograph you sent. I wish you could share the view I have right now. I’m sitting on the beach, looking out over the bay, although there’s a shifty looking seagull that may be able to rough me up for any loose change I might have. If we ever get to the meeting stage I’d love to bring you here and show you it—the beach, not the seagull. What do you have planned for the rest of the day?
I barely finish reading the text when an image message pops up. It’s not a selfie, but a stunning view of the beach, as he said. There are little dunes in the distance, clumps of bracken and seaweed on the golden sand which merges into a swathe of pebbles, then the sea spans as far as the eye can see. In the distance I can see the outline of land—possibly the mainland, I’m not sure. It doesn’t look too far away. It is stunning, an unspoiled vista, free of tourists. It looks like a lost paradise and I would absolutely love to visit.
But that’s probably getting a little ahead of ourselves, considering we’ve only just started texting.
ME: That’s absolutely stunning. I’m a little bit jealous of your view. Okay, I’m a lot jealous of your view. I’m in danger of sounding slightly stalker here, but I did look up where you live on the internet. Not where YOU live specifically. I mean the island—Kildirk. It looks amazing. I’m so used to concrete and traffic and noise though. I’m not sure I’d know what to do without a tourist or two ploughing through me on a daily basis.
I hit send and continue walking, splitting my gaze between my phone and the pavement in front of me. After a couple of minutes, I see the three dots appear on the screen, indicating he’s replying.
A nervous tingle goes through me as I wait for his response and I feel the tendril of something I’ve not felt for a long time—excitement. It’s been so long since I last felt this in a relationship that I have forgotten what it feels like to be in that phase where everything is new and thrilling. Even an innocuous text message can feel like a monumental event when you’re in the beginning throes of a relationship, and I’m not sure what to expect from his reply. Maybe I went too far with mine. Stalking is probably something I shouldn’t throw in until we’ve been talking a while.
My phone dings and the reply bubble flashes on the screen.
CALLUM: It is a view worth being jealous of.
I read the message again and smile. Then I decide to be a little daring, and I have no idea why because daring is not something I usually am. I’m the play-i
t-safe girl. There’s a reason why I chose Richard—he was as safe as safe could be. At least, I’d thought he was. Turns out I was completely wrong about him, so trusting my own judgement hasn’t really worked out for me in the past. This means I ignore the little voice in the back of my head that says I should not do this, because where in the hell has that voice got me in the past, and I forge on ahead.
ME: I would really love for you to show it to me one day. It looks like a perfect spot to picnic.
I groan. Okay, that was cheesy. I have no idea how to flirt with a man. I was with Richard for five years. Five years in dating terms might as well be fifty-five. I’m screwed if this is me bringing my A game. If this man has any sense he’ll run for the hills—screaming.
My thoughts are briefly interrupted as I reach my building. I quickly unlock the outside door and push into the foyer, checking the door clicks shut behind me. Then I make my way over to the post boxes on the wall. I quickly unlock mine, grab the handful of mail inside it and relock it. Then I head for the stairs.
My flat is on the third floor, which also happens to be the attic. Despite taking these stairs twice a day—sometimes more—I’m still not used to them, so by the time I reach the top I’m winded. When I finally get into the flat, I’m still breathing heavily and I sag into the armchair in front of the television.