Love Happens Here

by Clare Lydon

  I checked my watch. With any luck, Holly should be ringing any minute now with my get-out-of-jail phone call.

  * * *

  Holly forgot her emergency call.

  Tuesday November 29th

  “An extra hour of pain and an extra £7 — that’s what your failed call cost me.” I scowled at Holly from one end of our grey sofa. She was lying on the longer part as usual, with the TV set to the food channel. When left alone, Holly had been known to ingest three or four hours of food programming at a time. It was a habit that needed checking occasionally.

  “Why £7?”

  “That’s how much my extra glass of wine cost me.” I paused. “I should charge you.”

  Holly spluttered as she laughed. “You could try, but I don’t think you’d get very far.”

  I sighed and spread my palms upwards. “I’m just not sure this internet dating game is for me. I mean, how can things go so wrong? On paper, she was perfect.” I sighed. “We’re on to day four now, it’s nearly December. I don’t have time to waste.”

  “You’re being unrealistic. This was your first date. The next one is bound to be better. I mean, it really has to be judging by what you just told me.” Holly was eating a packet of pickled onion Monster Munch and the smell was seeping into every square inch of the living room.

  “I know,” I said. “But it was a pretty inauspicious start.” I frowned my best frown.

  “It could have been worse — at least she was pretty.” Holly licked her fingers of Monster Munch debris. “And she liked a bit of Jesus, so what? You like Barry Manilow, everybody has their vices.” She gave me a wide grin. “Anyhow, date number two is a goer. I can feel it in my bones. What’s her name again?”

  “Anna,” I replied.

  Holly gave a curt nod. “She sounds reliable. Anna won’t let you down. She’ll laugh at your jokes, I guarantee it.”

  I didn’t look so sure. “I dunno — she sounds like a librarian.”

  Holly scrunched up her face. “And what’s wrong with librarians? Without them, the world would be in chaos. In my experience, librarians are cool, calm and collected. And they know where you left your keys.”

  “She’s not actually a librarian. She does something in the City.”

  Holly yawned, mouth wide open, arms stretched above her head. “Even better. Ordered and rich. She can sort your spreadsheets out. And if this one fails, just remember, you’ve got me to come home to. What could be better?”

  I gave her a wide smile. “Just don’t forget the phone call this time, okay?”

  “That’s the spirit,” Holly replied.

  Thursday December 1st

  I was sitting in the staff lounge when my phone went — it was my mum. I turned down the radio, which was blaring out ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas’, the original Band Aid version.

  “Hey kiddo.” It was my mum’s standard greeting. “Just calling to make sure your December plans are in place.”

  I smiled a sad smile — Mum did this call every year now. It used to be the province of my dad, the original Christmas enthusiast and the person who had pumped the festive season into an unmissable yearly excitement-fest for me.

  Unfortunately, he’d also died on the same day seven years earlier, just a few months after my 20th birthday. An untimely heart attack on his second favourite day of the year, December 1st. Despite that though, Mum had carried on their traditions without missing a beat, even though I know how hard that must have been for her. And now, here she was, keeping the spirit alive.

  “All good — I’ll be putting up the tree and the decorations later, like always,” I said.

  “Did you get the Advent calendar?”

  I swallowed down some tears that threatened. Even seven years on, they could take me by surprise. “I did, thanks. It arrived yesterday.”

  Dad always bought us all individual calendars for the festive season, and this was another tradition that had continued even when I’d left home. Dad said he’d do it until I was married, then my wife could take over. For now, it was still Mum calling the Advent calendar shots.

  “I got you a chocolate one — got myself a picture one, though. You’re still young enough, I’ve got to watch my waistline.”

  I blinked as I pictured my dad with his chocolate calendar. He was always up first and he’d always eaten his chocolate before anyone else, like a naughty schoolboy. I always assumed he’d been hard done by as a child, but apparently not — he just loved Christmas and chocolate.

  “How you doing?” My voice was shaky, but I knew Mum would understand.

  “I’m okay,” she replied. “Some days are better than others.” A pause. “But I still love Christmas, still love all the memories we made over the years.” She rallied. “I bought your gran a calendar too. She told me I was mad, but I think she was secretly pleased.”

  I chuckled down the phone. “Like every year?”

  “Pretty much.” She paused. “So what’s new with you — job okay?”

  I nodded, even though I knew she couldn’t see me. “Yep, all fine. Job’s good, and I’m on a dating marathon to find a girlfriend by Christmas. It’s not going too well so far.”

  I could hear Mum frown down the phone.

  “Stop frowning,” I said.

  “How do you know I’m frowning?”

  “I just do.”

  A pause. “A dating marathon? Those two words don’t sound like they go together.”

  “You might be right, but I’ll let you know after date two, which is tonight.”

  Another pause — I could tell Mum wasn’t behind this plan. “Why the sudden rush to get a girlfriend?”

  “I just thought it was time, you know.” I let the sentence hang, and so did my mum.

  “And what does Holly have to say about this?” she asked eventually.

  “About the same as you — she thinks I’m being ridiculous.”

  My mum’s soft laugh landed in my ear. “Well, tell her hi from me, and tell her she’s welcome at Christmas too.”

  “I will,” I said. “Listen, I have to go. Thanks for the calendar. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Okay, but just be careful,” Mum replied. “You’re my only daughter and I worry about your heart. Listen to what Holly says, I trust her.”

  “More than you trust me?” There was a slight hint of indignation in my voice.

  “Sometimes, yes.”

  Friday December 2nd

  I worked for an online marketing company in central London, and I loved the buzz of working in the capital. Based in a team of 30, I was a solid performer, a big fish in a small pond. The owner, Sal, trusted my judgement, there was a fantastic coffee machine and free pastries daily. It’s amazing what such small stuff can do for staff morale.

  I was sitting at the staff room table, working out some figures for a quote when Sal walked in. Sal used to have long, flowing red hair, but last year she’d been diagnosed with cancer and had lost it all to chemo. Now, she wore it short and it really suited her. She was also mistaken for a lesbian far more these days, but told me she quite enjoyed the added attention.

  “Morning, No. 1 Lesbian.” That’s what she called me. Honestly, without any prompting. “How’s the dating game?” Sal made herself an espresso, then came and sat opposite me at the table.

  “Painful.” I turned down both sides of my mouth in a comedy frown.

  “Oh dear, what happened?”

  “Let’s see,” I said, counting on my fingers. “Date one was with a drunk Christian, and date two was with an uptight banker who called time on our date after a single coffee — like I’m the worst catch of the century.”

  “Ouch,” Sal said. “Some people just don’t know when they strike it lucky. What was her problem?”

  I shrugged. “No idea, but Anna did not like what she saw when confronted with me, so she bailed sharpish. Holly was so sure it would work too. I couldn’t sleep last night thinking about it — am I that bad she had to run when the froth
on her flat white was still warm?”

  “And there was me going to start moaning about my life. Sounds like you need a coffee.”

  “So long as it’s not a flat white,” I said, laughing despite myself. “But let’s see what date three brings tonight.”

  “Tonight? You’re packing them in.”

  I laughed. “That’s what Holly said. She reminded me I had a duty to go out with her too. So we’re doing that tomorrow — a date-free Saturday.”

  “Good. I don’t want you turning into one of those serial daters who struggle to cope with the real world.” Sal took a sip of her coffee and sighed. She looked tired, but that’s what having two-year-old twins will do.

  “I promise I’ll get out before I turn too weird.” I paused. “Besides, I can’t do this for a prolonged period of time. I think my body might have a breakdown and I know my wallet would. Dating is an expensive pastime and I’m already exhausted. Can’t you see the amount of make-up I’m wearing today?” I circled my face and jutted out my chin.

  “You’ll get no sympathy here with tales of sleep woe. Sleep is something I fondly remember, like something from another, simpler life. Only my lack of sleep is due to two little rascals, rather than burning the candle at both ends.” A smile crossed Sal’s face as she spoke about her daughters. Then she leaned over the table and fixed me with her gaze. “But the question is, have you had a snog out of it yet?”

  I gave her a rueful smile. “Not last night, she bailed before I’d finished stirring my drink. And Ruby? Well, she tried to kiss me as we left, but she only got my cheek. Nothing passionate.”

  “But tonight could be the passionate one?”

  I shrugged. “We’ll see. She might be a raving lunatic or she might be the woman of my dreams.”

  Sal laughed. “What’s her name?”

  “Sienna,” I replied.

  Sal gave a slow nod. “Sienna — sounds like a bit of posh totty to me.” She smiled, before raising her espresso cup. “Here’s to you and Sienna — may you have a night filled with passionate kisses.”

  I clinked my imaginary coffee cup to hers.

  December 2nd and I was already on date three — even I was impressed at the speed of my progress. Holly had already told me I had to be more choosy, but being choosy was what had got me here in the first place.

  I was still exhausted, as today had been a busy day with three external meetings. I’d tramped across half of London, and my face felt like it needed to be put on a hot wash after miles of Tube travel. About the last thing I wanted to do right now was go on a date. My ideal date for tonight would be my duvet and my bed.

  I headed to the Thai restaurant where I was meeting Sienna, which was decorated in suitably chintzy shades of gold and pink. I’d wanted to try out this restaurant for a while now as it’d been getting stellar reviews. Tonight it was packed with customers all chowing down on Thai classics with a modern twist, and the scent of coriander, garlic and chilli made my mouth water. I spruced up my make-up in the toilets before taking a seat.

  Sienna worked in the charity sector, which immediately put her on the moral high ground. She was from East London, had a cockney accent that curled at the edges and a definite orange hue. She arrived half an hour late which didn’t endear her to me, causing me to drink a glass of wine before she arrived. Couple that with my extreme tiredness and I could feel my eyelids getting heavy before she sat down.

  “Sorry I’m late, I got stuck at work.” A waft of cigarette smoke sailed across my nostrils as she unwound her massive rainbow scarf and sat down, eagerly perusing the menu. “Have you ordered already?”

  “Only a glass of wine while I waited.” I indicated my empty glass.

  “Fab — I’ll get a bottle. Was it red?”

  I nodded and she got the attention of a nearby waiter.

  So, Sienna looked like her profile picture — tick. After all the scary stories I’d heard about online dating, I half-expected one of my dates to turn up and be a man. However, Sienna was very much a woman, her low-cut top providing an invitation to her breasts — double tick. She had short, black hair and was dressed casually in trousers and a red top. She was promising.

  “So sorry about my time-keeping again. Our American office decided they wanted to chat just as I was walking out the door.” She threw me an apologetic smile as she shifted in her seat to get comfortable.

  “American office? Sounds like you’re in banking and not the charity sector.”

  She shook her head. “A lot of people think that — but the charity sector is a big, global business these days. We’re always on the lookout for donations and ways to spend the money best. Nobody sleeps, believe me.”

  Mention of sleep deprivation made me open my eyes wider. I wanted to appear as alert as possible, even though I was this close to slumping on the table.

  The wine arrived a few minutes later and we ordered our food, then settled back to get to know each other. It turned out that Sienna was born and raised in London and her parents still lived within a ten-minute walk of her front door.

  “Really? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who didn’t move to London. I can’t imagine being raised here.” I shook my head. “That means you’ve been riding the Tube your whole life.”

  Sienna laughed. “I have. I used to take the Tube into town with my mates at the weekend and cause havoc. Still do, but I’m an adult now, so it’s overlooked.”

  I grinned at her. “Funny how that works, isn’t it?”

  “How about you? I can’t detect an accent.”

  I shook my head. “Oxford, no accent required. My mum’s a professor there.”

  “Does that mean you’re posh?” Sienna poured wine into my glass with a reassuring glug.

  “People tend to think so, but no, it doesn’t just rub off like gold dust. Besides, being a professor is a grand title with poor pay. At least, that’s what my mum always tells me when I try to tap her up for a loan.”

  We chatted for another half an hour with no sign of food. With another glass of wine in my empty stomach, I kept having to shake my head to snap myself awake. Falling asleep at the table was definitely bad manners, but I desperately needed some food to sustain me.

  A few minutes later, I excused myself to go to the loo — all the liquid had taken its toll. I sat down, sighing with tiredness, closed my eyes and leaned my head on the cool, white tiles of the toilet stall. Against my hot, red cheek they were wonderfully soothing.

  Date number three wasn’t going so bad. First, she’d ordered a bottle of wine which meant she had no intention of running away any time soon. Second, she hadn’t tried to convert me to Jesus yet. What’s more, she was attractive and seemed on my wavelength. This could be the start of something, so perhaps Sienna would be my Christmas girlfriend? Plus, Sienna was a beautiful name — I could well get used to going out with a Sienna.

  I let my mind drift off as I rested my head heavier against the reassuring toilet wall. Perhaps we’d kiss outside the restaurant later, then go on to a bar and sit closer than necessary to each other. Then perhaps we’d brush each other’s hands under the table. Kiss at the bus stop on the way home and send each other soppy messages tomorrow as we made plans for our second date and beyond. Perhaps...

  However, when I woke up 35 minutes later, those were not the thoughts I was thinking. On opening my eyes, I squinted into the bright light of the cubicle, clutched the toilet seat and steadied myself. I peeled my head off the wall, wincing as my neck screeched at me for leaving it at such an awkward angle for over half an hour.

  Where the hell was I? I rolled my shoulder and tried to loosen my upper body, which was stiff from lack of movement. I winced at the pain, while wiping up dribble from my chin and my shoulder with some toilet tissue.

  I clung on to the toilet roll dispenser while my brain tried to make sense of the situation. Why was I asleep on a toilet? A toilet that wasn’t even mine? And since when did I fall asleep on toilets?

  And then i
t came to me.

  I was on a date. I was on a ruddy date.

  But instead of sitting opposite my date, being charming and laughing at all of her jokes, I was dribbling on a toilet with my trousers around my ankles.

  I closed my eyes and exhaled. I was the world’s worst date, in widescreen technicolour. With a cherry on the top.

  And it had all been going so well.

  The last thing I wanted to do right now was get up off the toilet and face my mistake. But it was the one thing I had to do, especially if I wanted the kissing, drinking and soppy text messages to take place. All of which had seemed a pretty sure bet 40 minutes ago. But now? Not so much.

  I rubbed the heels of my hands into my eyes to wake myself up, then swore lightly under my breath as I remembered too late I’d applied extra mascara before the date. I was now pretty sure that extra mascara was smeared down my cheeks. I wiped dribble from my mouth again and got myself upright, pulling up my trousers and crashing into the toilet wall as I did. I stopped and steadied myself again, breathing deeply through a blurred haze. My head was foggy, like I was shipwrecked.

  I hurled myself out of the stall, staggering left, then right. I slowed my movements, allowing my body a chance to wake up — it was clearly still asleep and who could blame it? I clutched the sink in front of me, and sure enough, when I surveyed my face, I looked like a drunk, mascara-obsessed panda. Triffic.

  I splashed some water on my face and frantically tried to use some tissue to clean it up, but I only managed to smear the mascara over a wider area. I shook my head and laughed at my reflection, mild hysteria swelling inside. If Sienna hadn’t already left, she was certain to run like the wind when she saw the horror story walking towards her.

  I straightened my hair the best I could, already composing my apologies in my head. But what exactly did you say to someone when you’d left them sitting alone for over half an hour? Did you admit to falling asleep, or make up some emergency? I decided to go with the emergency option.