by Matt Dunn
I walk over to the till, and gaze up at the options board, wondering what ‘surprise me’ actually means. Is this some kind of test? Will the choice of coffee I bring back to the table say volumes about me? Or will it tell her what I think about her? The obvious surprise would be to order her a cup of tea, I suppose.
I glance back towards where she’s watching me from the table. Can you tell what kind of coffee someone likes by how they look? Is she a cappuccino girl, or more of a latté type? And if I order her a skinny latté, is she going to worry that I think she’s fat, and could do with losing some weight? Or what about one of these new flavoured coffees? Aargh.
As the woman behind the counter turns round to take my order, I jump slightly. It’s Emma–the girl I met in the toilets yesterday. She finishes tying her apron, evidently just starting her shift again, and smiles at me.
‘On your own today?’ she asks, looking around exaggeratedly for any abandoned children.
‘Yes. I mean, no, but no kids. I had to give them back.’
Emma nods. ‘Probably just as well.’
‘Quite. Listen, I just wanted to say thanks again for yesterday.’
Emma shrugs briefly. ‘Don’t mention it. And sorry to hurry you, but’–she nods towards the growing line of people behind me–‘what can I get you?’
I look back at the table, where Julie has started reading her book again, panic, and order the first thing that comes into my head–a cappuccino–but then when Emma says, ‘Tall, grande or venti?’ I face my second dilemma. If I buy her a small one, she’ll think that I’m a cheapskate. Medium, and she might think that I can’t make my mind up, or am not very generous. Large, and she might think I’m trying to be flash. Why does everything have to be so difficult?
I throw caution to the wind and order a venti, and wait there nervously as Emma makes up a small bucketful of coffee, which I’m going to need two hands to carry back across to the table. But as I’m sprinkling chocolate over the top, it occurs to me that this might be a huge mistake. What if she turns out to be the blind date from hell? I’ve then got to sit and listen to her droning on for the next two hours while she struggles to finish the gallon of coffee I’ve stupidly just got her.
I get back to the table, wondering whether I should have got an espresso instead, and as Julie puts her book to one side, she surveys the huge mug of coffee I’ve just put down in front of her.
‘What’s this?’
‘Well, you said to surprise you, so I got them to make up a special blend of coffee, topped with frothed milk, and a sprinkling of chocolate powder…’
‘A cappuccino, you mean?’
‘Er…yes.’
‘And is this for the both of us to share?’
‘Ah.’ In my rush, I’ve forgotten to get myself one. ‘Back in a sec.’
I join the end of the queue, cursing silently to myself. But just as Emma’s about to take my order for the second time, I feel a tap on my shoulder.
‘Will?’
When I turn round, there’s a girl standing there with a quizzical expression on her face. She’s about five foot two, with short dark hair, and very pretty. And pretty much as Barbara described, as well.
‘Hi,’ I say, an awful realisation suddenly dawning. ‘You must be…?’ I don’t want to take any chances.
‘Julie,’ says Julie. ‘Of course.’
‘Of course.’
Bollocks. I glance anxiously across to my table, where the woman I’ve assumed up until now is Julie is watching me. Watching me talking to the real Julie, that is.
‘Can I, er, get you a coffee?’
She smiles. ‘That’s very kind of you. Shall I go and find us a table?’
Shit. ‘Why not. What would you like?’
She looks up at the board behind the counter. ‘Surprise me,’ she says.
As the real Julie peers around the café, trying to locate an empty table, I turn back towards the counter, worried that I am going to surprise her, but not in the way she’s expecting. What on earth do I do now? For a split second, I wonder whether I can pull it off. If she manages to find somewhere to sit out of the view of the other woman, then maybe I can extract myself from that in time to…Oh, who am I trying to kid? I’m screwed. Particularly when I feel a hand on my arm.
‘Will?’ says woman-from-the-table, stepping in between Julie and myself.
‘Oh, hi.’ I turn back to Julie, who’s looking a little confused. ‘Julie, this is…’
‘Susan,’ says Susan, a little coldly. ‘Have you got yourself a coffee yet, Will?’
‘No, not quite. I was just…’
I stop talking abruptly, hoping the ground will swallow me up. I don’t know why I’ve introduced them. It seemed like the thing to do, but we’re hardly all going to sit down at the same table and have a pleasant chat. And now Julie’s going to be wondering why on earth I’m apparently here with another woman while I’m supposed to be waiting for her, while Susan is going to think…Well, I can’t imagine exactly what Susan’s going to think.
‘Will,’ says Julie, breaking the stand-off, and pointing towards an empty table. The table that Susan’s been sitting at. ‘I’ll be waiting for you over there.’
‘That’s my table,’ says Susan. ‘Find your own, love.’
By the look on her face, I’ve got a feeling she’s not just talking about the table.
‘But he’s supposed to be meeting me,’ says Julie.
‘Well, he met me first,’ says Susan, taking me by the arm and pulling me back towards where she’s been sitting. After a second’s hesitation, Julie grabs my other hand and, for a moment, I’m the rope in a tug of war between the two of them.
‘But we’re on a blind date,’ protests Julie.
Susan looks her up and down. ‘He’d have to be blind to want to go on a date with you.’
As the two women regard each other confrontationally, I’m wondering whether there’s going to be a fight, which under any other circumstances I’d be happy to watch. And while the prospect of two women fighting over me has always seemed like a story that I’d want to tell to my grandchildren–which, at this rate, I’m never going to have–at the moment, it doesn’t seem like quite such an attractive option, particularly as, given the raised voices, everyone else in the café seems to be watching. But just as my arms are about to pop out of their sockets, and the two girls are squaring up to each other, Emma comes out from behind the counter and steps in between them.
‘Is there a problem here?’
For some reason, although the girls are the ones behaving menacingly, it’s me she’s addressing this remark to.
‘No,’ says Julie, letting go of my arm abruptly, causing Susan and me to nearly fall on top of each other. ‘No problem at all. In fact, I was just leaving.’ She gives me a dirty look, turns on her heel, and storms off.
I stand there, open-mouthed. ‘But…’
‘Me too,’ says Susan, picking up her book from the table and stomping out of the door.
I’m too stunned to try and stop either of them, and although I want to leave as well, I don’t want to run the risk of bumping into either of them on the street outside. Instead, I sit down at the table and pick up Susan’s untouched cappuccino, trying to pretend nothing’s happened. But when I’ve taken a long sip, which doesn’t seem to have any noticeable effect in terms of reducing the amount of coffee in the oversized mug, I notice that Emma is looming over me like a schoolmistress.
‘Well?’ she says, standing there with her hands on her hips.
I look up at her, trying rapidly to come up with an excuse, but decide that on this occasion, perhaps honesty is the best policy. When I explain about my misunderstanding, Emma’s face breaks into a grin.
‘You seem to be making a habit of getting into trouble in here,’ she says, sitting down across from me.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, sounding like a scolded child. ‘I won’t do it again, miss.’
‘So,’ she says. ‘Blind date,
eh?’
I take another sip of my coffee, and look at her over the chocolate-frothed rim. She’s actually very attractive, and even makes the Starbucks uniform seem sexy.
I nod. ‘Which is well-named, because now I’ll never see her again.’
Emma smiles. ‘That looked like it might have turned nasty.’
I nod again. ‘Thanks for rescuing me. Perhaps you might let me buy you a cof—’ I stop myself, realizing I’ve just made quite possibly the most unoriginal suggestion to someone who, in fact, works in a coffee shop. But maybe she’ll take it as ironic. ‘I mean, a drink, sometime?’
Instead, Emma suddenly becomes all defensive. ‘Oh, no, that’s okay, Will. Thanks, but…I can’t. I mean…I don’t really like coffee.’
I don’t know what’s more embarrassing–having two women argue over me in public, or being turned down by Emma. But from where I’m sitting, it’s absolutely the latter. ‘Oh,’ I say, trying to keep from blushing. ‘Right. Not a problem. Just thought I’d, you know, ask.’
‘And it was sweet of you to,’ says Emma, sensing my discomfort. She looks over towards the till, where a small queue is starting to form again. ‘Listen,’ she says, standing up. ‘I’d better get back and…’
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘I’ll just finish this and–’ I look at the gallon or so of coffee in front of me, pick the mug up, take a deep breath, and drain it all in one–‘be on my way.’
And as Emma walks back towards the counter, I get up and, trying hard not to burp cappuccino as I go, head miserably out through the door.
Chapter 7
When I arrive at Tom and Barbara’s for lunch the next day, Barbara doesn’t say a word, but just glowers at me.
‘I made a mistake…’
Barbara shakes her head. ‘That’s the last time I try and set you up with any of my friends. What am I supposed to tell her now?’
‘That it wasn’t my fault?’ I say, as I chase Jack and Ellie around the sofa.
‘And how wasn’t it your fault, exactly?’
‘Well, she was late, for one thing. That’s hardly the most encouraging start, is it?’
Barbara sighs. ‘Will, she’s a woman. Of course she was late.’
‘True,’ says Tom. ‘It’s genetic. Just like they can’t read maps, they can’t tell the time either.’
Barbara digs him in the ribs. ‘Why do you men always think it’s a bad thing?’
‘How do you mean?’ I say, as Tom rubs his side gingerly.
Barbara shoos the kids into the conservatory. ‘The reason we’re never on time is because we’re getting ourselves ready for the likes of you. Take it as a compliment next time. We’re probably just choosing what to wear, so we can look good for you.’
‘Is that why it’s called “fashionably late”?’ I ask, making sure I’m out of elbow range. ‘And why don’t you just start getting ready earlier? Or is that too difficult a concept for you to grasp?’
Tom smiles. ‘You’re assuming there’s a finite time that women take to get ready, mate. Not so. It’s not like us–shower, shave, squirt of deodorant on the old nether regions, and we’re ready. Girls are always changing their outfits, or making last-minute tweaks and adjustments.’
‘Which normally go unnoticed by you gorillas, as all you want to do is stare at our tits, once you’ve stopped being all moody because we’ve kept you waiting, that is.’
‘Not true,’ I say. ‘You can be hours late, and we don’t dare leave, and then when you eventually turn up looking gorgeous, we forgive you anything. Whereas if we’re not punctual, you give us five minutes and then you’re off. What we don’t understand is what on earth takes you so long.’
Barbara shrugs. ‘We’ve got to shave our legs, for example. It only takes you five minutes to shave your chin.’
‘Even if you’ve got two of them, like Tom,’ I suggest.
Barbara sighs. ‘Look at the Mona Lisa. You don’t hear people saying, “Bloody hell, Leonardo, why’d it take you so long to paint it?” People look at the end result and they’re happy. And that’s how you men should view us.’
‘Which we do. Assuming it’s worth the wait,’ adds Tom, adeptly dodging another poke in the ribs. ‘Which it always is for you, my love.’
‘So,’ I say, ‘did Julie say anything else? About me, that is. Anything…positive?’
Barbara puts an arm around my shoulders. ‘I’d like to be able to say yes, Will, really I would, but…’
‘But what?’
‘Well, she said you seemed really nervous. Although, on reflection, I can probably see why.’
‘I was nervous,’ I say. ‘It’s tough, meeting someone for the first time like that. Particularly when, well, you’re asking them to do what I am. I’m just not good at it.’
‘Well, you’re the life coach,’ says Tom. ‘What would you advise someone to do in that situation?’
I think about this for a second. ‘Well, role play is normally a good idea. It gets the person used to the situation they’re going to find themselves in.’
‘Excellent idea,’ says Barbara, sitting down and patting the seat next to her. ‘Come on, then, Will. Try and chat me up.’
I look at her blankly. ‘What?’
She nudges me. ‘Come on. Imagine we’re on a blind date. And remember, first impressions, and all that.’
‘Okay. Er. Hi…’
Barbara shakes her head. ‘Properly, Will. Pretend you’re meeting me for the first time.’
I sigh loudly, then get up, walk out of the door, and come back in again.
‘Hi. I’m Will,’ I say, extending my hand.
Barbara takes it and shakes it, rather formally. ‘Pleased to meet you, Will. I’m Dolores.’
From behind me, I hear Tom snigger.
‘Dolores?’ I say. ‘Where on earth…?’
‘Be quiet, Will. This is role play, don’t forget. I can be who I like.’
‘Fine. Dolores. Nice to meet you too. Can I get you a drink?’
Barbara–sorry, Dolores–smiles. ‘Yes, please. A cup of tea, please. Two sugars,’ she adds, looking over at Tom.
Tom sits there obliviously, before realizing that he’s evidently in the role play too. ‘Fine,’ he says, standing up and heading towards the kitchen. ‘Will?’
‘If you’re making one.’
‘Apparently, I am,’ says Tom, disappearing through the doorway.
As we listen to Tom banging about in the kitchen, Barbara turns back to me.
‘Well?’
‘Er, well, so, I want to be a father, and…’
Barbara shakes her head. ‘No, no, no, Will. Don’t just go straight for it. This isn’t a business transaction we’re talking about here. Start again.’
‘Oh. Right. Sorry. Anyway, Barbara, I mean, Dolores. That’s a pretty name. Where’s it from?’
Barbara stares at me in disbelief. ‘Will, is that really the best you can do? That’s a pretty name. This is a crucial meeting to discover whether I’m going to be the mother of your child. And your opener is straight out of the pages of the paedophile’s handbook.’
‘Sorry,’ I say, blushing. ‘It’s just that, well, it’s difficult, isn’t it?’
‘Will, you’ve got to come across like you’re sorted. Like this is the most natural thing in the world for you. Not like some hormonal teenager who’s only after a quickie behind the bike sheds.’
‘Sorry. Let’s start again.’
‘Fine. Hello, Will.’
‘So, you found the place okay?’
Barbara puts her head in her hands. ‘Will–this is why women despair of you men. If I’m quite plainly sitting here in front of you, then of course I found the place okay. What do you think–that I had to fight my way here through crowds of warring Red Indians? That I’ve been kidnapped by someone from a rival coffee shop chain? Or that, because I’m a woman, I’m unable to locate a branch of Starbucks just off the high street?’
I wince slightly at Barbara’s onslaught. ‘I
’m just making small talk.’
‘Well, what you see as small talk, we see as inane. Pay me a compliment, perhaps, or ask me something interesting, but for God’s sake don’t patronize me with the first words that come out of your mouth.’
Tom plonks the mugs of tea down on the coffee table, careful to use coasters this time, and catches my eye, although I’m not sure whether his expression is one of sympathy or pity.
‘How’s it going?’ he asks. ‘Will managed to talk you into bed yet?’
‘Well, he’s in danger of sending me to sleep,’ says Barbara. ‘Which isn’t quite the same thing.’
I clear my throat. ‘Can we get on with this, please?’
‘So,’ says Barbara. ‘What makes you think you’d make a good father?’
‘Well, for a start, I love kids.’
She stares at me. ‘And?’
‘Er…I used to be one. So I can relate to them, you know?’
Barbara sighs. ‘Will, that’s like applying for a job working in a bank because you like spending money. Give me something more concrete.’
I think for a moment about something more concrete, but it doesn’t seem to be setting. ‘Er…’
‘Well, what about how you’ve always wanted kids? What about the fact that you’re godfather to Jack and Ellie? How about the fact that you work for yourself so you’re always going to be available to help out around the house, and you’ll never miss a school play or sports day? How about the fact that your dad left when you were young, so you’re determined that when you have a child you’re going to make sure they don’t lack for anything?’
‘You couldn’t speak to these women for me, could you? Or do me a reference?’
‘Will, remember, you’ve got to sell yourself. You don’t have the luxury of time like Tom and I did. When you’ve known someone for a while, you get an understanding of how good they are with children, because you see first and foremost how they are with you, and other people and, more importantly, other people’s kids.’
‘Okay.’ I clear my throat. ‘Let’s go again.’
‘So what are you offering me?’
‘Well, I’ve got a good career, and I have a nice flat, so…’