The Dating Game

by Susan Buchanan

  There, that was better. She had to laugh at Janice’s forthrightness. Janice looked like a less well-dressed, more eccentric version of the crazy girl, Alice Springs Horton in The Vicar of Dibley. Their tastes differed greatly, but all that mattered to Gill was having an efficient, reliable and honest receptionist, and Janice fitted the bill perfectly.

  When Janice returned with their snacks, Gill thanked her and both of them returned to their desks.

  When she’d finished her muffin, Gill felt considerably more human. Turning her attentions once more to business, she short-listed candidates to call for the recently advertised technical position, and started to sort through the CVs of those who had applied for the SRC role within her own firm. There were so many. She thought maybe a woman would be best, but then some MDs and CEOs only wanted to deal with a man. Unfair, she knew, but it happened. If she hired a man, then they would be able to address those gaps. Part of her was relieved at taking on an additional member of staff, but another part felt sad as, since the agency opened, it had always been only her and Janice. At least the eleven o’clock meeting had been worthwhile. The chap seemed just right for the technical role they’d been asked to fill. Plus the appointment hadn’t overrun; a welcome bonus. By the end of the morning, Gill felt back to her old self, all traces of hangover gone. How much was down to positive, mental attitude and how much to the two aspirin she had taken, she would never know.

  By one o’clock, Gill’s stomach was rumbling again. Stretching like a cat, shaking out the stiffness from her limbs, she decided she needed some fresh air. She’d go across to the café and get their lunch.

  Janice was happy that Gill was going out, as the weather was blustery and miserable. They chatted briefly, catching up on the morning, then after taking Janice’s order, Gill ran across the road to the café, which was thankfully less busy than usual due to the inclement weather.

  Back at her desk, sandwich unwrapped; Gill took the opportunity to check her personal e-mails.

  8:42 - Caroline Morgan – Thanks for your confirmation. I have contacted the two gentlemen. If they are interested, they will be in touch directly by e-mail. Regards, CM.

  Fair enough, thought Gill. Hopefully she didn’t have to wait too long. She felt a bit tense, now that it was all actually happening, and would rather hear back as soon as possible.

  She knew it was too early to have already received a reply from Charlie or Anton, but just in case, she scrolled down. Damn, this was going to become more addictive than watching an item you’d bid for on eBay. There it was –

  12:41 - Anton Sidorov

  Excitedly, Gill clicked on the e-mail and started to read.

  ‘Dear Gill. I hope you are well. I am glad you would like to meet me. Your profile was very interesting and I hope this is OK to say, but you are also very pretty. Can you advise when you are free to meet? I am happy to let you choose the venue.

  Regards, Anton.’

  She read it a couple of times to see if she had missed anything, but no, it seemed pretty clear. He was leaving the ball in her court. She also thought it sweet of him to say she hoped it was OK to say she was pretty. Absolutely. She’d be more worried if he thought she was a total dog! Pretty was good.

  She pulled out her mobile and texted Debbie.

  Anton got in touch. He wants to meet and for me to choose when/where. What do you think?

  Not usually an indecisive person, Gill’s inability to choose decent men had sapped her confidence over anything to do with the opposite sex. Unless it was work-related, she behaved like a gibbering idiot in front of them. She was too transparent. She had always been the same. She had never understood why it wasn’t advisable to divulge everything about yourself to someone, once you were both sure that you really liked each other. The need to keep a little something back would never occur to her. For that reason, she wasn’t good at keeping men guessing and her friends despaired of her. This time she wanted it to be different.

  Five minutes later she received a reply from Debbie, ‘somewhere centrally located in town, either one night after work, for a quick drink, or Sat lunchtime. No food, just drinks.’

  As Gill digested the contents of Debbie’s text, ideas for venues swirled around her head. Chrysalis was out. Too noisy. They’d want somewhere they could talk. Tempo and Each To Their Own were out for the same reason. She discounted a few others, as either not being central enough, or being too noisy, before finally, punching the air. She had it! Chez Molinières. It was central, relatively quiet and upmarket, and it had the little private area off the main bar, too. The only problem was you couldn’t be guaranteed a table. She wondered how to fix that. No matter. She’d come up with a solution before then. She checked her calendar and saw that the following week she had no late meetings on Monday. Today was Thursday. That was OK, wasn’t it? That didn’t look too keen. Four days. Not a weekend. That way he wouldn’t know that her only plans this weekend were to visit her brother and his family, apart from doing housework and skimming through candidate CVs. Before she could change her mind, she typed,

  ‘Dear Anton. Nice to hear from you. How about Monday at Chez Molinières, just off Buchanan St, in Glasgow, for a drink? 7pm?’

  She stopped herself from putting if that suited him. If it didn’t, he could tell her. This way she would come across as more self-assured and she would be the one in control.

  She tempered that with, ‘I look forward to hearing from you, Gill.’

  After pressing Send, she sat back in her chair, with a self-satisfied grin on her face. She’d done it. She’d taken a positive step. Reaching for her mobile, she texted Debbie the news.

  Chapter Nine

  Once the news hit the grapevine, Gill’s trio of friends were bursting to offer advice. She had the weekend to make herself beautiful, as Lisa put it, again answering Gill’s warning glare with ‘You know what I mean.’

  By Friday evening, Gill was surprised not yet to have heard from Charlie Prentice. She felt slightly peeved that he wasn’t keener. If that was his modus operandi, she was singularly unimpressed. The woman should keep the man waiting, not the other way around, thought Gill, not caring if that seemed old-fashioned. Putting Charlie to the back of her mind, she thought nervously about her upcoming date with Anton. She really hoped he matched up to his lovely name.

  After yet another busy day, Gill closed up the office and headed home. The solicitor’s office had locked up long before and Janice had also left Gill to it, a few hours earlier, to go to a murder mystery evening at the Warlock Hotel in Drymen for a friend’s fiftieth.

  Knowing that the evening ahead consisted solely of soaps on in the background as she sifted through CVs, Gill headed to the nearest supermarket.

  A bottle of Chablis, moussaka, a chocolate pot dessert, and a lottery ticket for the triple rollover, and Gill was suitably armed to cope with the evening.

  Saturday passed all too quickly. At least Gill had more or less achieved what she set out to do work-wise the night before. Her day consisted of mind numbing tasks; hoovering, dusting, laundry, changing the bedding, washing and cleaning out the car, paying bills, washing the kitchen floor. Such a shame there was no one to share these mundane tasks with, she always thought.

  At least she had the evening free to pamper herself. A long, hot bath with the latest crime novel from her favourite Nordic novelist, some Merlot left over from her last girls’ night in, a family bag of chocolate raisins and she was sorted.

  Gill felt a little stiff after all the housework. She really needed to make time to exercise and damn, she still needed to wash the windows. Thank goodness her window cleaner did the outside, or she wouldn’t be able to see out.

  Pouring some lavender oil into the bath she had run, Gill picked up her paperback, fetched a towel from the laundry cupboard and lowered herself gingerly into the steaming hot bath. She did love a good, hot bath. If she didn’t exit the bath wrinkled like a prune and lobster red, she didn’t glow with the same sense of satisfacti
on.

  Sunday 1st September

  ‘Aunt Gill, Aunt Gill,’ shrieked Harry. ‘Come and see me play the Wii. We’ve got a new wrestling game,’ Harry pulled at her hand, dragging her towards his bedroom, where his brother was oblivious to their imminent arrival, absorbed in WWE 2011.

  As her nephew rattled off the names of the wrestlers who played in the tournament, Gill wondered where her babies had gone. George and Harry both used to love nothing better than snuggling up on the sofa with Gill, reading stories together, and acting out all the voices of the characters. Now she barely saw them when she went to visit, unless she entered their lair, where they often hosted friends in Wii tournaments. Since Gill hadn’t possessed a computer until the age of thirteen, and it had been one which required cartridges or tapes or typing in three hours worth of code herself, the ready-made, gaming technology, which her young nephews embraced so easily, bamboozled her.

  Reluctantly Gill followed Harry into his bedroom, strewn with toys, home to games without covers, and a floor covered in the detritus of cast-off instruction booklets, plastic cases and nunchucks. Was she alone in feeling really dim as her six-year-old nephew talked her through the moves he was making on his wrestling partner? It astonished her to discover they had a variety of names, much like the ballet terms of arabesque, plié, demi-plié and pas de bras. Instead, here she encountered flying clothesline, backhand chop, stinger splash and tilt-a-whirl crossbody. She was out of her depth and stared at her two beloved nephews blankly as they droned on in great detail. She sat down on the bed to watch George and Harry play each other and felt a sharp pain. Reaching under herself, she discovered a figurine which turned out to be John Cena.

  ‘Aunt Gill, come and play me. George is rubbish,’ said Harry.

  ‘I am not rubbish,’ declared George indignantly. ‘You’re rubbish. Aunt Gill, tell him I’m not rubbish. I’m going to beat him in the next round, ‘cos I’m going to have Big Show as my wrestler,’ said George seriously.

  Gill had no idea what they were talking about. She listened as her young nephews dumbfounded her with further wrestler-specific vocabulary, completely bemused.

  ‘Lunch is ready,’ Sarah called. Relieved, Gill wrested the controls from a reluctant Harry and ushered both boys into the bathroom to wash their hands before lunch.

  As Sarah proffered the salad bowl to Gill, Christopher asked his sister what she had been up to.

  ‘Working mainly, what about you two?’

  ‘No, don’t go changing the subject, sis. I’m worried about you. You’re not relaxing enough.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been out for drinks with the girls a couple of times this week.’

  ‘That’s a start,’ said Sarah, glancing briefly at her husband.

  ‘Gill, don’t you think it’s about time you started seeing someone again?’ asked her brother gently.

  ‘Don’t push her, Chris,’ his wife chided him.

  ‘No, it’s OK, Sarah. He’s right. Actually, I have kind of been doing something about that.’

  ‘You’re seeing someone?’ Christopher’s eyes lit up. His attention was temporarily distracted as he retrieved the fortunately empty juice cup, which George had sent crashing to the floor.

  ‘Not exactly. I have a date tomorrow night.’

  ‘Really!’ her brother exclaimed and Gill didn’t know if he was astonished or impressed.

  ‘Who is he? How did you meet him? What does he do?’ her brother rat-a-tat-tatted the questions at her.

  ‘Chris, let her answer!’ Sarah said in exasperation, whilst smiling affectionately at her husband.

  Gill cast Sarah a grateful glance.

  ‘His name’s Anton and he’s a research scientist.’ She chose to avoid answering how she met him, hoping Christopher wouldn’t press her on it.

  ‘Anton. That’s a lovely name. Sounds sexy,’ grinned Sarah wickedly.

  ‘Yes, that’s what I thought. He’s Russian.’

  ‘Ooh, exotic,’ said Sarah.

  ‘So, how did you meet him?’ Christopher asked.

  ‘Daddy, I feel sick,’ interrupted George then promptly burst into tears.

  ‘Hey, little man, come here,’ Christopher told his son, then felt his head when he sat on his lap.

  ‘He is a bit hot, Sarah,’ he said, after placing the palm of his hand against his son’s forehead.

  ‘Let me see,’ Sarah intervened. She then picked up her son and carried him out of the room.

  Although sorry that her little nephew was unwell, Gill breathed a sigh of relief that she was no longer being quizzed on how she had met Anton.

  Sarah returned twenty minutes later. ‘He’s OK now. Sleeping. He was sick.’

  ‘Poor wee thing. Hope it’s nothing serious,’ Gill said anxiously.

  ‘I’m sure it’s just a twenty-four hour thing. There’s a lot of it going about at the moment. So, Gill, tell us more about your hot date!’ Sarah said eagerly, settling herself back in her chair.

  ‘Well,’ began Gill, trying to offer something quickly, before Christopher could jump in again asking how they met. ‘He’s six feet three and lives in Stirling. He works at the university there and he’s originally from Vladivostok.’

  Sarah nodded her approval, keen to hear more. Gill tried to think what else she could tell them, given that she didn’t know much more than that herself. But of course they didn’t know that. Racking her brain, trying to remember what had been on the profile, she recalled a couple of his wacky hobbies – Zorbing and potholing. When she relayed this to her sibling, he burst out laughing.

  ‘Oh Gill, I hope you really like this guy, ‘cos I know what you’re like. If he asks you to roll down a hill at breakneck speed in a large transparent sphere, you’ll say, “sure, no problem.”’

  ‘Stop taking the piss, Chris,’ his sister booted him under the table.

  ‘No, you’re right. So, where is he taking you?’

  Ignoring the opportunity to come clean and admit that he wasn’t taking her anywhere per se, they were by mutual agreement meeting in a bar in town, Gill replied,

  ‘We’re going to Chez Molinières.’

  ‘Oh, is that the restaurant just off Buchanan St?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘We went there for our Christmas night out a few years ago. ‘It’s very swish,’ added Sarah, ‘Full of city types.’

  Gill gave a wry smile. She wondered if her sister-in-law considered her a city type, but she guessed she reserved that description for the male of the species, in their pinstripe suits, cufflinks and designer shirts.

  ‘And the food’s fantastic.’

  Gill excused herself to go to the bathroom, escaping the possibility of Christopher asking her something she might not want to answer.

  ‘Thanks for lunch, guys,’ Gill said as she was leaving.

  As she drove off from their three-bed detached townhouse on a new estate in the outskirts of Balloch, Gill beeped the horn and waved goodbye.

  Chapter Ten

  Monday 5th September

  Gill appraised herself in the mirror. She hadn’t looked this good since her brother’s wedding and, of course, then she had been professionally made over, too. Lisa had tamed Gill’s unruly locks, making them fuller, curlier and shinier. Her naturally wavy hair now looked effortlessly curly and tousled. Lisa had actually approved of Gill’s choice of clothing, and had given her some jewellery to set off her outfit. Chocolate moleskin trousers, paired with a cream square necked slinky top, which fell to below her hips. She wore a gold watch, a gift from her parents and gold earrings. Slipping on chocolate and gold coloured sandals, with just the hint of a heel, she was ready.

  It had been agreed that Lisa would drop Gill off, and then join the girls in the pub next door, in case Gill needed rescuing.

  As Gill walked up the steps into Chez Molinières, the noise of laughter and the sound of several voices greeted her. It was Monday night. She’d picked this venue as she thought it would be quieter. It
was five past seven. She’d tried to be on time, but Lisa wouldn’t allow it.

  ‘You have to make him wait. You can’t arrive before him,’ she said firmly, grabbing Gill by the wrist, as Gill once again tried to get out of the car. It simply wasn’t in her DNA to turn up late for anything. Finally giving in, she waited a few minutes before sliding out of the car. She had been watching the entrance to see if he arrived whilst she waited. But she hadn’t seen anyone go in who resembled him and he certainly wasn’t hanging around in the entrance vestibule.

  Bracing herself, Gill opened the door, holding it open to let an elderly gentleman pass her and then she stepped inside. It was quite busy for a Monday, but as she entered she saw that most of the noise emanated from a group of about six men at the bar. Just then the waiter came to tell them their table was ready and she waited as they filed past her towards the restaurant, before she approached the bar. Gill glanced around as subtly as she could. Then she saw him. He was watching her. Smiling, he stood up and came towards her.

  ‘Gill. Nice to meet you. Anton,’ and he kissed her on both cheeks. It was customary in Russia to kiss on the lips, but Anton thought Gill might not be familiar with this custom; after all, he was in Scotland.

  Flushing slightly, Gill murmured hello and at his invitation, sat down.

  ‘What would you like to drink?’ he asked her.

  ‘A vodka and coke, please.’

  Anton smiled at her, ‘One moment.’

  She noticed he wasn’t drinking vodka, but had some form of cocktail. Perhaps she would have one next.

  Gill smothered a snort. Next. What am I like? We’ve barely said hello and here’s me thinking about a second drink.

  As he stood at the bar, she made the most of her chance to appraise him. He was tall, very tall. She thought perhaps he had underestimated his height. Often Europeans did when converting from metric to imperial. She reckoned him to be nearer six feet five. Short hair, blond, not a trace of grey, although she supposed he was only thirty-eight. Not quite as thin as his photo had suggested. It suited him. He was slim and wore beige trousers and a white open-necked shirt - very smart. She couldn’t see any jewellery, only a watch. She liked that. Gill wasn’t big on men who wore necklaces, chains or bracelets. He turned suddenly, smiling at her. Too late to avert her gaze, she returned his smile.