The Secret to Falling in Love

by Victoria Cooke

  So far, being without technology was proving to have its positives. I wouldn’t have met Doris had I continued my celebratory arrangements online, and I wouldn’t have had that wonderful afternoon at Lizzie’s, and I definitely wouldn’t have left the house this morning if my iPad was accessible. I’m starting to build quite a good case for my article, I thought smugly.

  Chapter Ten

  Amanda placed two steaming cups of tea down on her cream shabby chic coffee table and perched herself on a mink crushed-velvet pouffe opposite me. The china cups were presented neatly on saucers. I didn’t think I owned a saucer. I didn’t even own matching cups, just random mugs I’d received as gifts over the years sporting classy slogans such as ‘Basic Bitch’.

  I was always in awe of Amanda’s cosy, immaculate apartment, plush and glamorous, a complete contrast to mine. ‘So, how was last night? I texted Gemma to see if she thought you’d want company but she said you were going to a gig or something,’ she said.

  ‘Actually, not so great, but never mind.’ I stirred my tea nonchalantly to play down the excitement of my next piece of news. Before Amanda could press me for details I continued: ‘As it happens, I’ve just been asked out on a date.’ I tapped my spoon on the side of my cup and placed it on my saucer.

  ‘You devil!’ She grinned, throwing a cushion at me. ‘Who is he? How did you meet? Spill, spill, spill!’ She shuffled her bottom back and rested her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands.

  ‘I met him this morning in the coffee shop. It was really random; the place was busy and there was a spare seat at my table, so he asked if he could sit down. We got talking, and he invited me out.’

  ‘Tell me more – what does he look like? What’s his name, job, National Insurance number?’ She winked.

  ‘Well, he’s very good-looking. Dark, handsome, smart and quite mysterious. I never asked his name but . . .’

  ‘You don’t know his name?’

  ‘No. He gave me his business card, but I was trying to act casual and tossed it in my bag then came straight here. If I can just find it . . .’ I rummaged through my bag; I seemed to have everything but that card. Amanda cast a disapproving look at my collection of ancient tissues going through various stages of decomposition.

  ‘Don’t you ever clean out your handbag, you disgrace of a woman?’

  ‘What do you think? Ah, found it. Okay.’ I dusted off the card and cleared my throat. ‘His name is Joseph Hartley.’ Hmm, Joseph Hartley. I liked it. It suited him; it sounded distinguished. Joseph and Melissa Hartley. Okay, I was getting a little bit ahead of myself.

  Underneath his name was an email address: J.HartleyCEO@blackacquisitions.co.uk. I turned the card over to see a simple silver-foil embossed logo – a ‘B’ and an ‘A’ encompassed by an arrow. It was an impressive-looking card. I wondered what he did. I’d never heard of Black Acquisitions before.

  ‘Joseph Hartley. It sounds like a handsome name, but handing you a business card seems a bit naff. What does he do?’ Amanda asked cautiously.

  ‘The email address is for a company called Black Acquisitions, so I’m guessing he acquires things?’ I shrugged my shoulders.

  ‘Yes, sort of. Acquisition companies buy out businesses. Usually smaller or unsuccessful businesses, then they work on improving them or merging them into bigger businesses before selling them on for a profit. If he’s the CEO he could be quite a big deal, and quite a catch at that.’ Amanda grinned at her own last statement.

  ‘I want love, not money!’ I said in mock-indignation.

  ‘Imagine all the handbags and diamonds you could love with a rich guy’s money.’

  ‘Imagine all the new friends I’d meet at the polo club,’ I retorted, chucking the cushion she’d thrown at me earlier back at her. She knew how independent I was and how I’d hate to rely on anyone financially.

  Returning to the more pressing issue, Amanda asked, ‘When are you going to call him?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I thought today would be too soon, and he said he’d be going away for a few days tomorrow. I thought later in the week. Maybe Thursday?’ I took a sip of my coffee.

  ‘I agree. Let me look at his card. It’s rather expensive-looking.’ Amanda took the card from me and traced her fingertips across the soft matt-satin finish and foil-embossed logo. ‘So will you tell Dee that you’ve had to break your promise or just go behind her back?’ Amanda looked up to meet my gaze.

  ‘What do you mean? I’m allowed to date people.’ I had no idea what Amanda was getting at.

  ‘Well, in your excitement, my dear, it seems you have overlooked a minor detail. This card has an email address only – no phone number or office address. So if you want to contact this dreamboat, you have to do so via the means of the internet.’ Amanda had gone into lawyer mode. She definitely liked to spot the details and be right, but I knew she hadn’t intended to hurt my feelings. In fact, I could preempt that what would follow would be her solution.

  ‘Oh, bugger,’ I muttered.

  ‘Don’t worry – I’ve made no promises to Dee. I’ll google his business and find a telephone number so you can call him.’ She took out her phone and began tapping in letters. My initial thought was great, it’s a win-win situation. But then I thought back to this morning and my realisation that all the positive things that had happened recently had been linked to me sticking to my promise and not cheating.

  ‘Amanda, wait.’ She stopped typing and looked up at me as if I was mad. ‘I have to stick to my promise. To write the article properly, I have to deal with the good and the bad – that way it’s a balanced argument. I think what will be, will be. Besides, he says he goes to the coffee shop every Sunday morning, so I can just accidentally-on-purpose bump into him next weekend instead.’

  Amanda raised an eyebrow at me. ‘Well, I admire your willpower. But you do realise that in a world free from modern communication technology that business card would have a landline telephone number, or at least a postal address, don’t you? It’s already flawed.’

  ‘I do realise that, but I think poetic licence will be acceptable. Besides, Dee will be pleased I have something juicy to write about.’ I stuck my tongue out at Amanda and she giggled.

  ‘How come you’ve never seen him before?’ she asked whilst typing something into her phone. When she eventually looked up I raised an eyebrow and nodded at her phone.

  ‘Oh, I see. On another note, your mum called me this morning. She wants you over at their house on Saturday. They’re having a little birthday lunch for your dad. I told her I’d pass on the message and then confirm it with her, so are you okay to go?’

  ‘Bugger, I’d forgotten all about Dad’s birthday. See what technological abstinence does to people? It makes them forgetful! Yes, tell her I’ll be there. Are you going? I’m sure she’ll have invited you.’ Knowing my mother, she’d probably only invited me so that Amanda would come and she could tell everyone what a wonderful lawyer Amanda was.

  ‘Yes, she did invite me, and I said I could go, so I guess we’re partying Saga-style next weekend!’

  ‘Excellent, you can give me a lift.’

  ***

  ‘Ah, Melissa.’ Dee smiled from her power seat as I entered her office on Friday morning. ‘I wanted to see how your article is coming on. You’ve had a full week without technology now, so I guess what I want to know is what have you found interesting. What will you write about?’ She rested her elbows on the desk and pressed the pads of her fingertips together, watching me keenly.

  ‘Well, yes, I’ve noticed a difference. There are downsides – the inconvenience, the—’

  She held her right index finger in the air. ‘Let me stop you there. I don’t want the downsides, Mel. I get that – you took the red pill, you’re unplugged from the Matrix, you miss social media, blah blah – but what is real life like?’ She punctuated the sentence by prodding the desk impatiently.

  ‘Okay. I’ve spotted more buildings, mo
re beauty around the city that I’ve never seen before. I’ve interacted with people I wouldn’t have even noticed in the past for being glued to my phone. I visited my sister – usually we just video chat, but I physically went to her house, played games with her kids and enjoyed it so much. I’ve definitely had a more sociable week for ditching social media. I’ve lived my life a little more and not other people’s. It’s been quite liberating in that sense.’ I relaxed into the chair, feeling accomplished.

  ‘Anything more groundbreaking to share?’ Dee, obviously not impressed with my findings so far, raised an eyebrow in expectation.

  ‘Not so far, but I’m working on it.’

  Chapter Eleven

  As we pulled up at my parents’ house it dawned on me just how much time had passed since I’d last visited them. I felt a pang of guilt when I looked up at their delightful yet modest (for Cheshire) suburban detached house. The pebble-dash above the brown brick had been freshly painted white – it amused me to imagine my mother nagging my father every weekend until he gave in and did it.

  It looked like Mum had been busy too. The garden, her forte, was immaculate, the lawn trimmed to perfection, bushes preened and manicured – not a weed in sight. Come rain or shine that woman would be out in the garden.

  ‘Are you going to get out and attend this party in body as well as in mind, Mel?’ I hadn’t even noticed Amanda get out of the car, and now she was standing holding my door open like a chauffeur. ‘After you, ma’am.’ She gestured towards the house, making me chuckle.

  ‘Sorry, I’d just forgotten how long it had been since I’d been home. To be honest I feel quite terrible about it.’

  ‘Your folks are probably glad of the peace and quiet. Get yourself in there,’ she said as she shoved me onto the block-paved driveway.

  As always, my parents’ front door was unlocked, so we let ourselves in. There were quite a few more people there than usual. Normally there would just be Lizzie and her family, Mum, obviously Dad, and me, but on this occasion it was standing room only. A few of my aunties and uncles, family friends and neighbours were scattered around, chatting merrily. I said a quick hello around the door of the lounge as Amanda steamed straight in, catapulting herself into a conversation two of my aunts were having about last week’s Happy Valley. I caught sight of Mum in the kitchen, pulling a quiche out of the oven, and I headed over to her.

  ‘Hi, Mum. Quite a gathering you’ve got here,’ I said, flinging an arm around her and planting a kiss on her cheek.

  ‘Ooh, careful, darling. This is hot.’ She placed the quiche down and hugged me back. ‘It’s lovely to see you. I thought we could make a bit of effort for a change. Your dad never likes a fuss, but it’s nice to do something special once in a while, and I bought a new Delia Smith cookbook before Christmas that I’ve not had a chance to use.’ She turned her back to me and began slicing the quiche. ‘Is Amanda with you?’ she asked. I actually felt a little honoured she made the effort to make me feel welcome before asking about Amanda.

  ‘Yes, she’s in the lounge. Where is the birthday boy? He isn’t hiding upstairs, is he?’ I joked, knowing this would be Dad’s idea of hell and that’s exactly where he’d rather be.

  ‘No, not at all. He’s mingling, in the lounge, I think.’ She added some rocket leaves and cherry tomatoes to the quiche platter for decoration and thrust it into my hand. ‘Take this to the buffet table, will you, darling?’

  I walked through to the hallway and turned left into the dining room. Mum had put on quite a spread. The centrepiece was a whole salmon, and surrounding that was the usual buffet fayre – chicken goujons, salad, sandwiches, sausage rolls and so on. My stomach growled in anticipation, reprimanding me for skipping breakfast and lunch. I leaned over and pinched a tortilla chip and dipped it in Mum’s homemade guacamole. Mmm, delicious. I was in heaven. I took another.

  ‘Caught you,’ a male voice said, startling me. I spun around to see a man standing in the doorway, grinning. He looked about my age, maybe a year or so older. I wondered who he was. His short brown hair, deep blue eyes and lean muscular frame didn’t ring any bells, and he didn’t exactly have a face to forget.

  ‘I was just testing the food,’ I said playfully, catching a twinkle in his eye.

  ‘Well, that’s a strange coincidence, as that’s exactly what I’d come to do.’ He strode over to the table. I watched him, wondering who this mystery man was. The sleeves of his sweater were rolled back, revealing a strong, tanned forearm as he reached for a tortilla chip. ‘If I know your mother – which I don’t, not well, anyway, but I know my mother and I know that she’s pretty similar – I know that she would not appreciate us sneaking in to attack the buffet before the “proper” guests have been invited in. I won’t tell if you don’t.’ He grinned and shoved the chip into his mouth.

  It suddenly dawned on me who this guy was. ‘You must be . . .’

  ‘Jean’s son?’ he said with a mouth full of tortilla chips.

  My eyes widened. The image I’d concocted of a boring, guy in a tweed jacket and a comb-over had been somewhat off the mark. My mother had good taste after all. My surprise was swiftly followed by embarrassment; the acknowledgement that he knew who I was meant it was likely that he too had been urged to go on a date with me by his mother. He may have even known about the list. I winced.

  ‘So, I guess this is our destiny then, meeting like this – quiet room, delicious snacks . . .’ He winked, grinning knowingly. His direct humour helped to put me at ease.

  ‘I guess it is, though it’s not what I had in mind. I thought our mothers might have been more imaginative. They could have at least thrown in a sweet chilli dip.’

  ‘The infamous Mel.’ As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on me more intently, and for a moment I was held in his gaze, all humour evaporated.

  ‘The one and only,’ I managed, returning his stare.

  The tension in the atmosphere thickened, and I was stuck for anything else to say. Luckily, before the silence grew uncomfortable, the door burst open.

  ‘Mel, are you in h—?’ Amanda paused as she set eyes on us, caught slightly too close, eyes fixed on each other. ‘Sorry, am I interrupting something?’ she asked cautiously.

  ‘Not at all,’ I said, composing myself. ‘I was bringing in a quiche and, er . . . this is Jean’s son, who came to steal a tortilla chip.’

  ‘Please, call me Scott. “Jean’s son” is far too formal.’ He smiled and stretched out a hand.

  ‘But a handshake isn’t?’ Amanda winked and reached out her hand in return. ‘So, Scott, what brings you to this party of retired rockers?’

  ‘I’m in the process of finalising my divorce. Mum is worried about me and wants to make sure I don’t spend my days wallowing in self-pity. This is her idea of me having fun.’ He managed another smile, though it seemed forced, and I glimpsed genuine sadness beneath his blithe attitude. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to divorce this man, not that I knew anything about him – he just seemed too nice. I was a little annoyed with myself for previously dismissing him purely on the basis that my mother suggested I date him. But someone in the final stages of a divorce was still out of bounds regardless.

  ‘A divorce? You don’t look old enough!’ I was glad of Amanda’s typical forwardness; I was dying to know more but didn’t dare to show this level of interest. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she added, softening her surprised tone.

  Luckily he laughed. ‘Thank you. I don’t really want to go into details because I’m still adjusting, but I’m okay about it. I’ve dealt with the shock and the emotional stuff. My mother has been keeping me busy enough, doing her odd jobs around the house and trying to set me up on dates.’ He looked at me as he said the last part, waiting for a reaction, but I was too embarrassed to meet his gaze. I fixed my eyes on the table in an attempt to appear nonchalant.

  ‘It sounds as though you’re doing well. I’m surprised Jean and Mel’s mum haven’t conspire
d to set you two up!’ Amanda snorted.

  ‘Actually, they did,’ he replied calmly, eating another tortilla chip. I was shocked by his forwardness; all I wanted to do was crawl under a rock.

  ‘What? Mel, you never told me this.’ Amanda turned her head, forcing me to meet her gaze.

  ‘It was nothing. Mum suggested it to me one afternoon when she was bombarding me with concern about me “being single at my age”. She just mentioned Jean’s son was single.’

  ‘Technically, I’m not single,’ Scott butted in, mid-crunch.

  ‘There you have it. Mothers, hey?’ I threw my hands up in the air and headed towards the door.

  ‘They made a list,’ Scott continued. I froze, mid-stride; please can the ground swallow me up right now?

  ‘A list?’ Amanda sounded intrigued.

  ‘Yes, they drew up a pros and cons list of Mel and I getting together. It was really quite comprehensive – I probably should have done a similar list before I married my wife.’ His tone was still light and merry, but my cheeks were burning and I just wanted the conversation to be over.

  ‘Oh my God, I can’t believe it! Well, actually I can. Mel’s mum is pretty desperate to get her married off.’ Amanda gave me a playful nudge in the ribs. ‘Did you know about this, Mel?’

  Great, she’d brought me back into this awkward conversation. ‘Unfortunately I did. Lizzie mentioned it. Apparently it had slipped my mother’s mind to fill me in on her plans. The conclusion was that Scott and I were not meant to be.’ I lifted the back of my hand to my forehead in mock-disappointment to hide my genuine discomfort.

  ‘It’s true. Apparently Mel here is just too disorganised for me, and way too outgoing. Apparently, she can be a little materialistic too.’ He shook his head, feigning disgust. ‘I’m just glad that our mothers went to the trouble of making a list. They’ve saved me a fortune in dinner dates and probably a second divorce. I mean, could you imagine if we had moved in together for me only then to discover Mel’s lax attitude to cleanliness? I may well have to ask our mothers to appraise all of my future dates.’ He casually grabbed the second-to-last chip.