by Matt Dunn
It had occurred to him that maybe Emma was some sort of giantess. That would be just his luck. But even if she was, he could always just tell her that people were all the same height lying down... Or perhaps he wouldn't. That was maybe a bit too suggestive. Too forward. And he didn't think that Emma was the suggestive type.
He'd done a quick search for her on Facebook, but not knowing her surname, it had been impossible to work out which one – or if one - of the seventy-three London-based Emmas that had turned up was her. Twenty-four of them had private profiles, and while he'd spent a couple of evenings skimming through the photos (and some of the friends' photos) on the rest looking for clues, or references to Archway, or pictures of dogs, or log fires, or the clincher - dogs in front of log fires in Archway - he still couldn't be sure if she'd been one of them. At least none of those Emmas had looked tall, though of course he couldn't even be sure of that. They could just have tall friends.
But Calum had persevered with his detective work. He'd even made notes. Though while he'd had had his hopes raised when he'd stumbled upon a series of photos of a fit-looking north-London Emma in a bikini on a girls holiday in Ibiza last year and could hardly wait to work the subject into their next conversation, it had turned out to be nothing. 'His' Emma had never been to Ibiza - unless she'd been playing a double-bluff... He smiled to himself. That was the trouble with the internet. Like some of the more graphic responses he'd had on LondonDate, too much information.
He suspected Emma had probably done the same to him, from what he knew from the cackling covens the women in the office formed around their computers from time to time. Girls, he'd found out, were big-time Googlers when it came to the opposite sex, and the day he'd learned that, Calum had gone through his own Facebook profile and deleted anything unflattering. Which, on reflection, had turned out to be most of his photos.
Eventually, worried there was a fine line between stalking and simply doing some background research, he'd decided to stop. Besides, the surprise was part of the fun. It added excitement. And although he'd practised his dead-pan Oscar-losing face in the mirror just so he wouldn't look too disappointed if she did turn out to be aesthetically challenged, Calum was determined to approach tonight with an open mind. Stay till the end. Do his best to enjoy himself - and make sure Emma had a good time too - whatever she looked like.
He stared out of the window as he recalled his last two internet-sourced dates. The first, with a girl called Clare, had started out well enough - despite the initial look of disappointment on her face, she'd let him buy her a drink - though when she'd downed it within ten seconds of him putting it on the table in front of her, Calum had simply assumed she must be as nervous as he was. He'd waited for a couple of minutes to see if she'd offer to buy him one back, but when she hadn't, he'd just sat there awkwardly, sipping at his pint, wondering what to do next, before asking if she'd like another. She'd refused, and instead, excused herself to go to the ladies, leaving Calum anxiously tapping his fingers on the table for five, ten, fifteen minutes... Until he was sure of what he'd initially feared. She wasn't coming back.
Perhaps he should have suspected something when she didn't take off her coat despite the pub being quite warm, but he'd never expected she'd do something so rude. And what was worse was when he'd got home, and sent Clare an email to check whether she was OK – a part of him had worried about her, after all – he'd found out she'd 'blocked' him. And it had made him feel awful.
The incident had taken Calum a couple of weeks to get over. He was surprised someone could be so thoughtless, and while he'd never be so cruel, he considered he'd had a lucky escape - after all. who'd want to go out with someone like that? So he'd logged back on to LondonDate and tried again, striking up a conversation with a girl called Annie who Calum had been pleased to find came from the same part of Ireland that he did. But when she'd pinged him back to say she hadn't moved all the way to London to go out with 'an eejit from back home', he hadn't quite known how to take that.
So he'd blocked her – childish, he knew, but it had made him feel better – and searched on, widening his criteria to include the 30-39 age group, and almost immediately he'd received a message from a woman called Ruth. While she'd been at the upper end of Calum's age limit, she'd looked good in her photo, and they'd got on in their initial few live chats, so when she suggested a meeting, he'd leapt at the chance - despite the ten-year age gap. Trouble was, when they'd actually met, Calum had suspected there was also a ten-year age gap between the photo on Ruth's profile and the woman sitting in front of him. While he wasn't rude enough to use the phrase 'old enough to be my mother', he'd had to call her on it, and yet, the amazing thing was, Ruth wasn't at all apologetic. She'd even challenged him for being ageist. He'd said he was sorry, and that one of the things he looked for in a woman was honesty, but Ruth had just laughed, and said 'good luck with that'.
He'd felt a bit sorry for her, so he'd stayed for a drink – a drink, of course, he'd paid for – while wondering how he could let her down gently. He tried the 'I want to have kids one day' line, and she'd laughed, and said he could have hers – all five of them. Calum hadn't found that funny, so he'd gone with 'I just don't think we'd be compatible,' and Ruth had pointed out that men and women weren't anyway. And she knew – she'd been divorced twice.
In the end, it was Ruth who'd made her excuses - she'd had to get home to relieve the baby sitter - and Calum was relieved himself, until she'd tried to kiss him, and not just on the cheek, as if some last-minute lunge might demonstrate how passionate she was, and leave him wanting more, though the only thing the unexpected presence of her nicotine-flavoured tongue in his mouth left him wanting was a sick bucket. He'd finally managed to break away, though not before wondering whether that was how the guy in the Alien film must have felt when that thing had attached itself to his face and forced god-knows-what down his throat. And when Ruth had asked him if he thought she was a 'MILF', Calum had nodded politely - he knew what the letters stood for, but had wanted to change the 'f' to 'flee' - so he'd done just that, then gone straight home, rinsed with almost half a bottle of mouthwash, and changed his LondonDate settings back to his original age range.
And it was then Calum realised that although it had initially seemed he was a child in a sweet-shop, in actual fact, internet dating made him feel more like a blind person trying to navigate their way through a minefield. Far from providing him with an endless succession of dates from which he could pick and choose his ideal partner, the reality was he could be wasting years on a series of one-night... Well, not even 'stands'. Interviews, perhaps, and interviews where he had to buy the interviewer a drink. And this, he knew, was one of the reasons he was so looking forward to tonight. He'd already gone past the interview stage with Emma. And aside from her asking him for references, the job - that of being her boyfriend - was his to lose.
As his bus stop-started along Oxford Street, Calum stared anxiously back down at his phone, then an idea popped into his head, so he quickly composed a text, and pressed 'send' before he lost his nerve. 'It'll be lovely to see you later,' was what he'd written. And that, he realised, was doubly true.
Mark Webster exchanged 'good mornings' with Mia-Rose as she watered the huge rubber plant in reception, then he walked into his office, sat down at his desk, and - with a loud sigh - switched his laptop on. For the past seven weeks, he'd been trying – and failing - to come up with imaginative ways to break the ice with Julie, and although he thought he'd finally found one, it had occurred to him on the tube this morning that sending her an anonymous Valentine's card wasn't necessarily going to help him do that. If anything, he feared it might make him more nervous about talking to her, and given that he'd been little more than a mumbling fool in her presence since the night they'd kissed, that probably wasn't a good thing.
He could always forget the card, he realised, and try the sideways approach instead. Collar her about something work-related, bring up the subject of Valentine's Day, then
cleverly steer the conversation on to the two of them. But talk about what? Mark was Seek's UK Financial Director, Julie was their Marketing Manager. The only reason they'd actually have to talk about anything today would be if he was questioning the expenses claim she'd filed last week, and you'd have to be a genius to turn a conversation about the receipt she'd presented him with for a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts for the last sales meeting into 'will you go out with me?'.
He opened his briefcase and stared at the bright red envelope. He'd have to drop it off in her pigeon hole soon if he wanted to be sure she got it first thing, or else risk trying to sneak it onto her desk when she popped out for her usual mid-morning muffin from the Pret A Manger across the street. He hadn't seen Julie come in yet, so perhaps dropping it off now was the safer option, but then Sophie might see him, and the last thing Mark wanted was for a rumour to start. Especially if that was all it was ever going to be.
Suddenly aware of a figure looming in his doorway, he shut his briefcase hurriedly, and pretended to be interested on something on the screen in front of him.
'Wotcha!' said Nathan, breezily.
Mark breathed a sigh of relief. 'Surprised to see you here so early.'
'Huh?'
'I thought you'd have trouble climbing over that pile of cards on your doormat.'
'Yeah, yeah. Very funny,' said Nathan sarcastically. He and Mark were good friends, so good he'd even told him about Ellie, then politely resisted his continued attempts to help him get 'back in the saddle'. In return, he'd managed to get Mark drunk one night before Christmas, when he'd learned about his 'thing' for Julie, though Mark had made Nathan swear on pain of never having his expenses approved again that he wouldn't tell anyone. Especially her. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and swiped the screen to wake it. 'Just wanted to check you were still on for this evening?'
Mark nodded. 'I suppose so.'
'Try not to sound too enthusiastic.'
'Sorry. It's just... I don't suppose she's going, is she?'
'Who?' said Nathan, as innocently as he could, and Mark reddened.
'You know exactly who.'
Nathan made a show of searching through the list on his phone. 'When I checked last night she wasn't,' he said, and Mark's face fell. 'Lucky for you I talked her into it when I bumped into her on the way in this morning. And I almost did bump into her. She ran right out in front of...'
'Does she know I'll be there?'
Nathan shrugged. 'I didn't tell her. Which reminds me...' He tapped at the keyboard, and Mark peered at him anxiously.
'What are you doing?'
'Relax. I'm just mailing her the details.'
'Oh. Right.'
'Sorted.' Nathan slipped his phone away. 'You said anything to her yet?'
'Don't be ridiculous.'
'Like me to?'
'No!' said Mark, sharply. 'Sorry. No, thanks.' He lowered his voice to a whisper. 'Though I have got her a Valentine's card.'
Nathan raised both eyebrows. 'Good on you.'
Mark tapped the briefcase at his feet. 'I thought I'd better, you know...'
'Why are you showing me your briefcase?'
'Because that's where the card is.'
'And is Julie in there too? Or d'you mean you're actually going to give it to her, rather than have one in there to give her, which isn't necessarily the same thing?'
'Of course I'm going to give it to her. I just need to pick my moment.'
'Well, given that you've probably got around five minutes before she gets here, you better pick one quickly.'
'What?' Mark leapt to his feat, a panicked expression on his face. 'But...'
'Relax.' Nathan put a hand on his friend's shoulder. 'I've got to go past her office. I'll drop it on her desk if you want?'
'Really?'
'Really.'
'Well, if you're sure?' Mark reached into his briefcase, checked no-one was walking past his doorway - being seen giving a Valentine's card to Nathan would be one piece of gossip both of them could do without - then removed the envelope and handed it over. 'Thanks.'
'No worries.' Nathan pulled a copy of Computer Weekly out of his bag, and slipped the card inside. 'So, back to tonight. Five-thirty, SuperBowl on Queensway.'
Mark gave him the thumbs-up. 'It's a date.'
Nathan nudged him with his elbow. 'You just make sure that's what it turns into,' he said, heading for the stairs.
The sound of a polite cough made Sophie look up from where she'd been bending over the printer trying to free a paper jam, and while the unexpected sight of Nathan silhouetted in her doorway made her heart skip a beat, she feared presenting her not-quite-Kylieesque bottom to him like this perhaps wasn't the best way to begin her Valentine's campaign.
'Morning!' he said, an awkward grin on his face, and Sophie stood up quickly, wondering what he was doing here. As far as she knew, there were no outstanding issues with either her or Julie's laptops that would require a visit from technical support, so unless Nathan had seen her sneakily drop her card onto his desk a few minutes ago, or had worked out who'd sent it from her clever computing puns, he'd have no reason to visit.
'Morning yourself.' Sophie frowned at the printer as she pulled hard at the stuck sheet of A4. 'What's your...'
'Nathan.'
'What? Oh, you thought I didn't... No, I was frowning because I couldn't... I mean, when I said 'what's your...', I was actually speaking to the printer.'
'Speaking to the printer?'
'Yes. You know, asking it what its problem was.' She blushed. 'Well, not asking it in that I was expecting it to actually tell me.' She let out an embarrassed laugh. 'I knew your name was Nathan, obviously. Well, not obviously...' Sophie stopped talking. To freely admit she knew his name might give him a clue that she'd sent that card, but then again, of course she knew his name, and besides, that was what she wanted, wasn't it? Suddenly she wasn't so sure. What had she been thinking? He was gorgeous, fit, funny, trendy, clever, and she... Well, she wasn't sure she was any of those things, though to her shame, Sophie knew she'd have taken the 'gorgeous' tag at the expense of all the others.
He nodded at the printer. 'Problem?'
With a desperate tug, Sophie triumphantly freed the offending document, then shook her head. 'Not any more,' she said.
'Great.'
She glared at the machine, which was sitting there inanimately, then struck it lightly on the side. 'Come on,' she whispered.
'You sure?'
'Just waiting for my prints to come...' Sophie suddenly realised how that phrase could be misconstrued – today of all days – and blushed. 'I mean, for it to print.'
Nathan walked over, reached past her, and pressed the power button, and the machine whirred into life. 'You just needed to, you know...'
Sophie swallowed hard, and tried to ignore the musky scent of his aftershave. 'Turn it on?'
'Exactly.' He took a step backwards. 'Your boss around?'
'Julie?' Sophie tried to perch casually on the corner of her desk, only realising after the third attempt that it was too high for her, then worried it looked like she'd been trying to scratch her backside against it, like a bear might on a tree. 'Er, no. Not yet.'
'Excellent.'
Nathan winked conspiratorially at her, and Sophie felt herself go weak at the knees. 'Anything I can, um, you know...' She wanted to slap herself. Of all the basic life skills, Sophie thought she'd mastered 'talking' years ago, but apparently not - or at least, not when Nathan was around. She cleared her throat. 'Do for you?'
'That's okay.' Nathan smiled again, and briefly patted her upper arm, and Sophie fought not to reach up and touch the spot where his hand had been. 'Just got to drop something off. Probably best for all concerned if I do it when she's not here.'
He pulled a red envelope out from between the pages of the magazine he was carrying, and Sophie couldn't believe her luck. Nathan surely wouldn't have had the time to open her card, work out who'd sent it, then go out and buy one for her
, so unless he had a supply of cards in his desk drawer for such eventualities - though she wouldn't have been surprised - he must have been thinking the same way as she was, and had bought it for her beforehand.
Sophie wanted to punch the air, and shout 'yes' at the top of her voice - she knew they'd had a connection that day - but she told herself to be cool, and let him make the first move. Though unfortunately, as she held her breath in anticipation, the move Nathan seemed to be making was to walk straight past her to place the card slap-bang in the middle of Julie's desk.
It was all she could do to stop her jaw dropping open, and for the third time that morning she almost felt like crying. How could he? Especially when there was a card from her sitting on his... Suddenly, she noticed Nathan still had his coat on, and his bag over his shoulder, which could only mean one thing - he hadn't been down to his office yet. And if that was the case, then he wouldn't have seen it.
She had a sudden impulse to run down and get her card back, but there would probably be other people milling around downstairs by now, and she'd have a hard time explaining her actions. Besides, she knew that would be a bit defeatist - just because Nathan was giving Julie a card, it didn't necessarily mean he wouldn't be open to offers from elsewhere. Plus, if Julie wasn't in yet, then logically he couldn't think the card he'd shortly be finding on his desk was from Julie, which meant he'd know he had an admirer somewhere else in the office. And anyway, Sophie decided, even if her boss was going to be her rival for Nathan's affections, she could deal with that, especially after she'd seen what had appeared to be her going home with Mark Webster after the Christmas party.
She became aware Nathan was looking at her strangely – possibly because she was staring off into space with a dreamy expression on her face. She struggled to control the blush she could feel building up, then smiled up at him.