Trying to brush away her self-pitying thoughts, she turned her attention to her online profile. If Mr Right wasn’t going to show up on her doorstep, she’d better go looking for him.
To her part-horror and part-amusement, she noticed a guy called Chris on there. Like Will, Chris had messaged her ten years ago. In fact, he was still using the same picture from all those years ago too.
Okay, that’s the first red flag, she thought. He clearly looks miles older in real life by now, but is using his ‘best’ pic – even if it is years out of date.
Instantly Sasha chided herself. Realistically, she took stock of her own photos. Were they not four or five years old? Had she not put on a stone (at least) since that profile picture? So she could talk.
But the truth is, that picture garnered her lots more clicks than any of her others. She was wearing a tight red top in it for starters. Probably a push-up bra underneath, if memory served her.
The bright red colour was eye-catching amidst a sea of other profile pictures. Then, in the picture, she was wearing black shorts with patterned black tights. She’d been doing a lot of walking at the time so the pins were looking pretty toned. The fact that she mostly worked from home now and never walked the length of herself was irrelevant in her opinion.
If she ever changed the photo to a more recent one – a close-up of her (with wrinkles in some places), she received very few clicks – so it was a no-brainer in her opinion. Did that make her one of those deceptive weirdos off the internet who posted old photos of herself? She would have to admit that she was guilty as charged. Therefore, she couldn’t really judge Chris.
As the messages flowed back and forth between them, he seemed quite promising. He was easy to talk to. He asked open questions. He seemed to have a modicum of intelligence. And he was pretty okay looking.
Sasha mused with interest that if she and this Chris character clicked in real life, the irony would not escape her. What if her Mr Right had messaged her ten years ago and she was only getting around to meeting him now? She could forgive the Universe its delay, if it was her fault for not pulling her finger out.
Chris suggested he phone her one night. This was another tick in his favour. A phone-call prior to a coffee date was always a great idea. If he was able to string a few sentences together on the phone, chances were the date would be bearable. If, however, he sounded shy, uncomfortable and hard to talk to, the coffee date was inevitably going to be too much like hard work. Did she really want to take time out of her weekend to get all dolled up and make her way into town to meet a total stranger, only to discover that talking to him was like trying to draw blood from a stone? Hardly.
However, he phoned her. He was chatty. He could string a sentence together. The conversation flowed just fine. He had definite potential. Setting aside that his photo was out of date, he seemed okay! So, when he suggested a coffee on Saturday, it was all systems go.
Sasha ignored the tiny, nagging voice that whined, I don’t have the energy for this any more. I can’t do the endless fishing, the throwing the rod in, the casting about, the discovery that the fish doesn’t suit, the throwing the fish back in again. I’m tired of it all. Where is he?
But there was no point in listening to that self-pitying whine. That whine was not going to get her anywhere.
If she was going to stick to her Year of No Rules plan, she had to follow the pointers one by one and not get side-tracked.
So she made the best effort she could. She wore a dress that flattered her and made her look slimmer. She booked in for a quick wash and blow-dry prior to the date. And she turned up with her best smile and her most positive attitude.
She could see him standing at the doorway waiting for her. She recognised him immediately. At first, she noticed his grey hair.
Oh God. He’s grey. He’s old, she heard her negative voice saying. How could I be going on a first date with an old man? How is this possible?
But she quickly chided herself for being negative, put on her best smile and prepared to make a good effort.
“Hi,” she smiled.
“Hi,” he returned her smile, then gave her an awkward half-hug, half-kiss on the cheek.
First impressions – he’s not bad, actually. Good build. Not fat. Clearly works out. Well dressed. Nice jeans. Smells nice. This is promising!
All the awkward arranging things happened after that. He asked her what she wanted. She offered to get them a seat. And before long, she was sitting upstairs on a two-seater sofa waiting for him.
When he arrived, she had the chance to do a double-take on his build. Really quite nice, actually.
The thought that he had messaged her years before this date danced in the back of her mind like an ironic joke.
Ha ha. I messaged you years ago and you’re only getting around to seeing me now. Some girls have no idea how to spot their Mr Right!
They chatted easily. The conversation flowed.
The only problem was his body language. He folded one leg in the opposite direction from her and he seemed a bit uncomfortable at the two-seater sofa set-up – but apart from that, all was grand.
So when Sasha said her goodbyes and he gave her another awkward half hug/half-kiss on the cheek, she was sure he’d follow up with a text shortly after.
The text would say what a nice time he’d had and he’d love to see her again – maybe this time for dinner? She would agree and they would go on a second date. He would be the perfect gentleman and pay for everything. They’d have several dates like that – dinner, or cinema, or theatre; he would be the perfect gentleman again and never once expect to go back to hers afterwards for a kiss and cuddle or a shag.
On and on they’d date; him treating her like a queen and it all turning out hunky-dory.
However, no text appeared.
An hour passed, no text.
The evening passed, no text.
The ‘three day rule’ passed; no text.
Sasha was puzzled. She was sure they’d got on fine. What on earth could be the problem?
Perhaps he had noticed her one-stone weight gain from her photo and had dumped her into the ‘sad loser who posts old photos’ bin. If that was the case, Sasha reasoned, he was shallow and superficial.
Perhaps he was being a gentleman and expecting her to text him with some ‘thank you very much, it was lovely to meet you’ encouragement. But she refused to do that. That would be chasing him and she had vowed, years ago, never to chase a man. Besides, if he wasn’t alpha male enough to take the bull by the horns, and chase after her, then she wasn’t interested.
No, she clearly had to concede that he just wasn’t keen. That yet again, another one had bitten the dust. And she was one step forwards, one step back.
Chapter Thirty
After the disappointment of Mr Right not texting, despite her best efforts to be positive, Sasha was beginning to lose hope. It just seemed that one date after another was a disappointment. So much for her efforts to move on, she chided herself. A Year of No Rules? I don’t think so.
But there was also a tiny voice inside her that was stronger than that. That didn’t even care if there were no more dates. Sasha had taken up dancing again. It had been years since she’d been to a dance class. There was a time when she’d gone three times a week, sometimes even entering competitions. It was part of the ‘what small steps could you take this week?’ strategy, when she wrote her To Do List after her chat with Jason. She needed to pick her hobbies up again. She needed to shift her focus. It couldn’t be all about Kirk. Her thinking had to go elsewhere.
It was as if the Universe brought it to her. No sooner had she written down the intention to join a dance class than she spotted a poster screaming ‘Kerry’s Dance Aerobics.’
The venue was located near her; it was held on a Saturday morning and there was no reason for her not to attend. So, that Saturday morning, donning her new sports gear and tying her hair back into a ponytail, she trotted off towards her new hobby.
It was a fresh, crisp morning. The birds were singing. The streets were quiet and devoid of traffic. Sasha couldn’t help but feel a sense of healthy pride when she realised that, instead of duvet diving with depression, she was taking one small step. One small thing that she could tick off that day, and say that she had made an effort.
The class was exhilarating. Yes, it was hard. Yes, her muscles groaned in protest after years of non-use. Yes, it was a little difficult at first to get the hang of the routine. But she did it. She got through it, red-faced and sweaty, but exhilarated.
As she walked home, her ponytail bouncing behind her, she realised that for the entire hour she hadn’t given Kirk a second thought. She’d been too busy concentrating on the moves. Furthermore, the exercise had given her a little serotonin boost; setting her up for the day and putting her in good spirits.
Over time, she became friendly with the other girls in the class; they planned Saturday nights out dancing; and there was even talk of them performing in a busy shopping centre as part of an advertising campaign. Life was starting to look a bit more interesting.
On one of their Saturday nights out, Sasha got talking to a guy who had met up with one of his friends in their group. He was called Sam and he had that huge smile and easy chit-chat that made Sasha instantly feel at ease.
They went outside to have a smoke together and chatted effortlessly. Sasha wondered how it was possible to have only just met someone, yet feel like you’d known them for ages. He was chatty; very chatty. The conversation flowed endlessly – and yet it was interesting conversation. Not conversation where she’d felt as if she was trapped listening to someone’s monologue.
His face lit up, it was full of expression; he had plenty of good ideas to contribute to the conversation. Sasha enjoyed his company.
Sasha didn’t think any more about it that night, though. She didn’t even wonder if she fancied him, or wonder if he was single. She simply enjoyed talking to him. It was as if she had flicked that switch off in her life:
• Dating: not interested
• Dating: been there, done that
• Dating: given up
The hours spent trawling through internet sites, making polite and repetitive conversation, having awkward and stilted phone-calls, meeting up for interview-like coffees, trying to force romance to happen in time-slots mutually arranged by both parties. It just seemed so… artificial.
Sasha felt like giving up. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be. Perhaps Kirk was her one shot and now that was gone.
Sasha had no option but to try to make the best out of a bad situation. Okay, Kirk had left. But now what? Why don’t I try to have gratitude for the situation, she thought to herself. Why don’t I sit down and try to think of every single positive about Kirk leaving? Every positive point about being single.
Gratitude for being single:
• I don’t have to listen to talk-a-thons anymore
•I don’t have to have my self-esteem bruised by someone constantly focusing on my faults
•My money is completely my own and I don’t have to spend hundreds trying to impress someone who will never think I’m enough
My time, my space and my place are my own. I have peace
Sasha read this list every morning like a daily affirmation. Interestingly, after only a few days, Kirk left her head completely. After years of him living rent-free there like an unwelcome visitor, he was gone.
It was peace; perfect peace.
Shortly after that, Sasha decided to take her profile off the internet dating sites. She didn’t need to hunt after a man – she was more than happy being single. No wonder no man could live up to her expectations; she subconsciously didn’t even want to be with anyone. Why would she risk getting into another car, metaphorically, when the last one had ended up in such a horrific accident?
It was like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, a burden rolled away, no more trying, no more forcing, no more manipulating. Just be.
Which is why she found it strange, on that second time she saw Sam. She really thought she was beginning to fancy him.
It started when she walked into the bar and saw him standing there with her new-found dance friends. She hadn’t even noticed before how tall he was. Oh, she did like a tall man.
Next, how smiley he was. An open, grinning face, a cheery hello, offering to buy her a drink.
The easy chat again; the feeling she’d known him for ages. But the real indication was later on, when she found herself experiencing a little bit of jealousy. Kirk had had her believe that jealousy was an extremely negative emotion; something shaming, to be repressed. Yet here she was, experiencing a bit of jealousy that felt wonderfully alive and indicative. Oh! Her mind was saying to her heart. Really? You feel a little jealous? Well, that’s a good sign. That’s the first time in a long time that you’ve felt jealous. That shows that you like this guy – that you wish it was you who was talking to him. Cool.
It felt like a completely positive experience, rather than the shameful feeling that Kirk viewed it as.
Later, when the group diversified and made separate taxi trips towards a nightclub, Sasha found herself pleased that Sam was in the same car as her.
Oh really? her mind said to her heart again. That’s interesting. That’s what you call chemistry – when you suddenly notice where a person is in the room, who they’re talking to, and you’re glad when they’re talking to you.
The chat in the taxi was fun. Sing-alongs. Talk about his upcoming birthday. “I want to go to Vegas,” he said. “So if anyone wants to join me?” He gave her a look as though he was inviting her but she brushed the notion away. Surely he couldn’t be inviting her to America? They’d only just met!
Inside the club, she found herself pleased to discover that he was a good dancer. You could tell a lot about a man by the way he dances, she thought. If he’s a good dancer, chances are, he’s good in bed.
Again, the jealousy popped up. When he was dancing with another girl, she’d feel that little stab; wishing that he was dancing with her. When he did dance with her, she felt her heart flush with joy.
And my goodness, he danced. He never left the dance floor once that night, until at one stage he was dripping with sweat. Sasha wondered if this little infatuation was just a passing phase. She really couldn’t imagine kissing someone who was so sweaty. It was unappealing.
So, typically, that was when he motioned for her to sit down and join him. Sasha felt very strongly that he was trying to lean in for a kiss. Trying to be subtle to see if she responded. But she just couldn’t. Something held her back. And her body language indicated that to him. Fleeing the scene, she found solace in one of the dance group and confided her thoughts to her.
“I would be careful with him,” her friend advised. “I saw him cuddling up to Leanne earlier. We don’t know him well enough yet and I don’t know if he’s just going to try to work his way around the group. Wait – and get to know him first.”
Of course, Sasha thought, practically face-palming herself. Had she not learnt anything from the Kirk experience? Of course she should wait and suss him out first of all. Lesson learned with Kirk!
Chapter Thirty-One
The next time that Sasha saw Sam was on a weekend trip away. Not a weekend trip for just the two of them; but a weekend trip for a group of them; organised by Sasha’s friend Sonia.
Sasha had met Sonia through her dance classes. Sonia was one of those friends that every girl needed in their life; friendly, vivacious, bubbly, the one that organises parties, brings people together, secretly match-makes. It was a skill that Sasha lacked and even envied. Veering more on the introvert side, Sasha was used to following the crowd; certainly not leading it.
It was as if Sonia had suspected a lack in Sasha; noticed an invisible sign over her head that said ‘help me, look after me’. Sonia had taken her under her metaphorical wing; knowing that she needed direction, mentoring, guiding with her social life.
As they all sat around that night drinking wine, eating a mixture of crisps and dips, pizza and garlic bread, Sasha felt like she had been transported back to university days. As though they were all a bunch of students in halls of residence; with the taste of freedom and independence, and yet the sense of camaraderie and fellowship they so needed. She remembered the number of times that, as students, they sat by that big bay window, watching the world go by, talking about boys and coursework and lectures; soaking up the latest gossip and offering their opinions.
As Sasha sat there in that conservatory, glass of wine in hand, this new circle of friends surrounding her, she suddenly became imbued with a warm glow; a feeling that she was going to be okay. Kirk had gone, but here was a new set of friends in his place. A transient and fluid group of friends. Some people would come, some people would go; but there would always be this group. She wasn’t dependent on just one person.
That had been the thing with Kirk, she mused. With Kirk, it had just been Kirk, Kirk, Kirk. She went out for dinner with Kirk. She had sex with Kirk. She texted Kirk morning, noon and night. Kirk was who she thought about when she first woke up in the morning, and the last thing she thought about when she went to sleep at night. Kirk was the one she went on holiday with, went to the cinema with, went for walks with. Everyone else had faded into oblivion and the obsession was Kirk, Kirk, Kirk. No wonder her world fell apart when he left. He had been her entire world.
The notion of this new independence settled in the recesses of her mind like a comforting realisation. That obsession with Kirk was being replaced by a new freedom and independence; a realisation that people could come and go and yet she would be okay. She need never be alone.
The Year of No Rules Page 14