At First Sight

by Hannah Sunderland

  ‘This is just the universe sayin’ that yer too damn pretty to be hidden behind all that make-up,’ he said through his laughter and reached a hand up to my face. His fingertips rested on my cheek while his thumb ran over my nose, taking the dried glue off in gentle strokes.

  ‘It was criminal to hide yer away behind all of this,’ he said quietly.

  He carried on stroking my nose until I was pretty sure that all of the glue was gone. ‘Álainn,’ he said under his breath, so quietly that I almost didn’t hear it.

  Just as I was about to ask what he’d just said, the lights dropped, sending the theatre into darkness and the ominous music of Dawn of the Dead began playing out into a room. He gave me one last meaningful glance before sitting far back until he was almost lying down in his seat, grabbing a handful of popcorn and piling it onto his chest, where he picked at it like a grazing pigeon.

  A sleeping woman, apparently having a bad dream, came up on the screen, beginning the second leg of this marathon. I turned away and pulled my phone from my pocket, hiding it down the side of my leg in the aisle, away from Charlie, and dimming the screen. I tried to type what he’d just said into Google, but I had no idea how to spell it and after receiving an angry tut from a man opposite, I tucked the phone away.

  The little plastic bobble-head zombie jiggled on the dashboard as I pulled up outside Charlie’s flat. He’d told me to park around the corner because the one-way system around where he lived was confusing, so I didn’t actually see the flat, just the general area. It was nice, not as good as where Ned’s and mine was but also nowhere near the depths of despair that my old kebab-scented flat had been.

  ‘Thank yer for coming with me,’ he said with one hand on the passenger-side door. ‘I’ve always wanted to go to one of those.’

  He looked so funny under the light of the LED street lamp that drifted through the rain-speckled windscreen. He too had had enough of his itchy fake nose by the end of the second film and had pulled it off like that famous scene in Poltergeist, where the man tears off his face in the bathroom mirror. He’d purposefully done it in plain view of Chatty Cathy from a few rows back, whom I was sure would be seeking out therapy sometime soon by the look of horror on her face. His real nose poked through the ruined make-up, a nice little reminder that his handsome face still existed beneath it all.

  ‘Don’t forget your prize,’ I said, reaching for the bobblehead. It was a prize that didn’t really justify the amount of effort that Charlie had put into it, but there was a charm to its mediocrity. It’d been unceremoniously handed to us by an usher who could not have cared less and, somehow, looked more like a zombie than we did. We’d decided to call the bobblehead George in honour of the George Romero marathon and we’d both become ridiculously attached to him very quickly.

  ‘Can you take care of him for now?’ he asked, tapping George’s head and making it jiggle with a quiet creak of its springs.

  ‘Of course. My lawyers will be in touch with your lawyers about custody.’ I chuckled and placed George back on the dashboard. ‘So,’ I said, turning back to him as he opened the door. ‘I’ll see you soon?’ It was a question that asked so much more than what the actual words meant.

  ‘Don’t worry, Nell. I’m not goin’ anywhere. I swear on George’s life.’ He leaned over the handbrake and pressed his lips to my cheek. They lingered there for a moment or two before he pulled away, sent me one last smile and got out of the car.

  I watched him until he disappeared around a corner with one final wave and I felt a tugging in my stomach.

  Why was it that every time he walked away, it felt so final, as if I’d never see him again?

  Chapter Eleven

  February transitioned into March with a chorus of birdsong that had been absent the day before. It was as if the birds had been waiting for the frigid winds of February to pass before coming out and darting around the windows of the office, ecstatic to feel the warmth of spring.

  ‘I like him,’ Ned said, his feet crossed at the ankles and resting on the corner of his desk as he ate a coronation chicken sandwich with the grace of a refuse truck. When I started commenting on people’s messy eating, you knew there was a problem. He’d prepared for the onslaught of yellow sauce that now sat on his chest, pre-empting any stains by cutting open the liner from his waste bin and laying it between the sandwich and his shirt. Needless to say, it wasn’t an elegant sight. ‘Charlie – I think he’s good for you and you’re good for him.’

  ‘You think?’ I asked, my mouth forming a happy grin.

  ‘Well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile as much as the last couple of weeks. Granted, not when he was messing you around, but the rest of the time, you can’t seem to keep that grin off your face.’

  I bit into my own sandwich, laying the wrapping down with as much care as I would an injured kitten. It had arrived about twenty minutes earlier in the hands of a volunteer I’d never met before, who hadn’t known who I was so had ended up just shouting my name out into the room until my head popped up, whack-a-mole style, from my cubicle. He’d handed me a hot cup of coffee, along with a paper bag containing a hummus and pepper sandwich from Cool Beans, with a note scribbled on the paper.

  Try not to fling this one at any unsuspecting Irishmen.

  Dinner tonight? Let me know and I’ll meet you from work if you want to.

  But until then, this is to tide you over.

  Charlie

  My face had blushed bright red as I read the note and had turned radioactive when Ned had called from his cubicle in a high-pitched voice, ‘Ooo, Nell got a love note.’

  The rest of the office had turned to look at me and I had quickly hurried back to my seat before I could spontaneously combust from embarrassment.

  ‘If you don’t stop smiling your face is going to split in half,’ Ned slurred around his lunch.

  ‘Shut up, Old Man,’ I jibed.

  He sighed. ‘Oh, to be young and in love.’

  ‘You’re just jealous because you had to make your own sandwich,’ I replied, taking an overzealous bite and almost choking on it.

  Hours passed by so unbelievably slowly that I wondered at one point if Ned had remotely reset the clock on my screen to mess with me and the longer time took to pass, the more nervous I’d got. I flicked the head of George the bobblehead zombie, the springs inside his head letting out a quiet squeak. He’d been sitting on my computer every shift since we’d won him. I’d always slip him into my bag when I was headed home though, as I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving him alone overnight.

  I knew I’d done things with Charlie before, but this was the first thing that felt like a date, with the romantic note and the surprise offer of dinner. I had a short but positive call from Jackson where he told me that he’d somehow managed to finish off the entirety of Game of Thrones since I’d last spoken to him and then listened to a fifteen-minute rant on how he’d have preferred it to end. It was good to hear him so enthusiastic about something again. The drugs that the doctor had put him on were working better than anything he’d tried before and he was hopeful that he’d soon be anxiety-free enough to ask out the girl at work that he’d had his eyes on. This was a huge step for him. When we first started talking, he could barely talk to the postman and now he was contemplating dating.

  I’d signed off feeling like Jackson would be just fine and it gave me an extra spring in my step. People often saw anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds as giving in to weakness but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Having the guts to ask for help was a strength that all too many people didn’t possess and the social stigma around anxiety, depression or other mental health issues often deprives people of that final ounce of courage to seek the help they need.

  Ned descended the stairs beside me at the end of our shift with the enthusiasm that came of knowing that a fresh pot of Ben and Jerry’s and a newly purchased box set of Cold Case Files awaited him at home. We’d been trying to get more adventurous with our
ice cream flavours, graduating from Chocolate Fudge Brownie to Cherry Garcia to what awaited us now, Birthday Cake flavoured ice cream. It could go one of two ways, but no matter if he loved it or hated it, history dictated that it would be gone in less than thirty minutes and I wouldn’t even get a look-in.

  My enthusiasm, as I almost skipped down the stairs beside him, was for a completely different reason. I craned my neck as we neared the last landing, scanning through the glass doors to steal a glance at him, but his brooding silhouette didn’t fall into view. I’d ducked into the bathroom before leaving just to drag a brush through my hair and apply a revitalising layer of mascara. I’d taken a long hard look at my reflection in the water-stained bathroom mirror and given myself a pep talk.

  ‘Now,’ I’d said to myself with seriousness, ‘there is no need to be nervous. Everything is fine. You will chew your food with care and under no circumstances will you order the salad, because everyone knows that there is no graceful way to eat a salad. You don’t need the food working against you. You will think before you speak and limit yourself to make sure that he gets a word in edgeways. Do you understand me, Nell Coleman?’

  It was at this point that I’d heard the flush of a toilet and one of the cubicle doors had opened. Striding out of it had been someone wearing a lanyard from the homeless charity across the hall. I’d felt my cheeks begin to radiate heat strong enough to give someone sunburn as I’d tried to quickly gather up my make-up and hairbrush, somehow managing to fling them further out of reach. I’d almost yelped a little when I looked up to find the girl staring at me in the reflection of the mirror.

  ‘You’ll do great. I believe in you,’ she’d said. ‘And you are right, there is no graceful way to eat a salad.’

  ‘Th-thank you,’ I’d said glancing down at her lanyard, ‘Kathy.’

  ‘No worries.’ And with that she’d disappeared out into the hall.

  Ned was complaining about something that the new volunteer, Maddie, had said whilst he’d been waiting for the filter coffee to dribble into the communal pot. But I wasn’t really listening, overcome with a brand-new sense of infectious confidence, as we stepped through the automatic door. The air was still as cold as it had been in January, the spring air harshened by an icy blast of lingering winter. Just outside the building, leaning with one shoulder against the sign that bore the names of Healthy Minds and all the other companies that shared our building, was the figure I’d been waiting to see. I recognised the brooding slant of his shoulders, the nonchalant way that he crossed one leg behind the other, balancing on the sole of one hefty black boot like a grungy flamingo. His hand was up beside his face, holding his phone to his ear. I could hear the tinny voice of the other person from here, their words distorted by a bad connection. I held a finger to my lips, hushing Ned, and pointed Charlie out before sneaking up behind him.

  ‘Boo!’ I said, loudly into his ear.

  ‘Feck me!’ Charlie cried out, clutching a hand to his chest and spinning around in surprise.

  ‘Not here, surely?’ I jested.

  His phone fell away from his ear and the screen burst back into light. The voice on the other end of the line said something in distorted, garbled sounds and I glanced at it long enough to see that the number wasn’t saved into his phone. He quickly ended the call and shoved it into his back pocket.

  ‘Yer tryin’ to kill me, woman? ’Cause I could have done with yer a couple of years ago if that’s the case.’ He pretended to be annoyed but I could see the worried smile trying to break through his forcibly sullen face.

  ‘Not funny,’ I said loudly, the information too new to be mentioned flippantly.

  ‘Shame. And we put so much work into plotting your demise,’ Ned said, deadpan. He held out a hand for Charlie to shake and it felt very formal for two people who’d, less than a week ago, seen each other tear up over Channing Tatum.

  Charlie shook his hand and then pushed both fists down into the fraying pockets of his denim jacket. He was wearing a red beanie hat that squeezed his hair down over his eyes and made it look twice as long with the way it flicked out from under the hem.

  ‘So, have you decided where you want to eat? It’s ladies’ choice,’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t mind. Anywhere is good, although I am craving garlic bread,’ I replied.

  ‘Italian it is then.’ He smiled, lighting up his eyes, which I swear got a deeper shade of blue every time I saw them. ‘You can come too, Ned, if you want to.’

  I turned to Ned with wide eyes that did all the talking for me. They said, don’t you dare. This is my chance, Ned. My chance at being more than a counsellor to that beautiful man. Go home and eat your ice cream and watch some decade-old crimes being solved.

  Ned looked at me as if to say, as if I’d want to come and watch you mentally undressing him over the table. ‘Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got a date with a spoon and two men right now. And besides that, I’ve seen her eating spaghetti before and I still have PTSD about it.’ He leaned over and kissed the side of my forehead. I looked up and caught his eye. He sent me a wink, hailed his goodbye and strode off down the path.

  ‘Two men, one spoon?’ Charlie asked once Ned was out of earshot.

  ‘Ben and Jerry,’ I explained.

  ‘Oh, thank God.’ He sighed. ‘For a moment there, I thought he’d found himself some very niche porn.’

  We watched him disappear into the darkness as the beginning-of-date awkwardness began to thicken the air between us.

  He looked at me from under his eyebrows and a smile tugged at one corner of his lips. ‘You’ll have to lead the way. I haven’t been out for a proper sit-down meal in so long that I don’t even know where the restaurants are anymore.’

  I lifted a hand and pointed in the vague direction of Giorgio’s, the only Italian worth going to around here, and we set off at a slow ramble. I copied his stance by pushing my hands into the pockets of my coat. I wished I’d known this morning that this would be happening – that way I might have dressed a little less office chic and a little more daringly. Compared to Charlie’s easy style, I looked like I might be his accountant or parole officer.

  ‘So, have you got over Channing Tatum yet?’ I asked, deeming the actor safe grounds for conversation.

  ‘Can anyone ever truly get over Channing Tatum?’ he said moving beside me and jutting out his elbow. I fidgeted for a moment, stunned a little by the sudden invitation for physical contact, then slid my arm through his. The coarse fabric of his sleeve brushed against the material of my coat, making little swishing sounds as we walked.

  ‘Well, there’s something I feel like I should tell you.’ I looked up into his eyes with feigned concern. His brows knitted with worry. ‘There’s an alternate ending on the DVD extras. I found Ned watching it last night when I got in. So, I’m pretty sure we’re going to have to watch it all over again and play the other ending instead.’

  His brow softened and his smile returned. ‘I don’t know if my heart can take it.’ He chuckled.

  He stiffened a little and moved his hand around to his back pocket, pulling out his phone and frowning at the same unknown number.

  ‘You avoiding someone?’ I asked, that sense of dread creeping back to me like it did so often around him. Was the persistent person on the other end something to do with the things he’d told me about? Or was it a whole other can of worms that we hadn’t even found the right tin opener for yet?

  He scrunched up his nose and shook his head. ‘It’s not important.’ He pushed the phone back into his pocket and turned to me with a forced smile. ‘You sloppily eating spaghetti is all I want to be thinking about right now. I’m imagining something like the Ood from Doctor Who, with the mouth tentacles.’

  ‘I know who the Ood are; you can’t hold the monopoly on being a nerd you know. And be careful what you wish for, because I’ve been told that I make an uncanny resemblance.’

  ‘Oh good,’ he said with mock excitement. ‘Because I always found the O
od the sexiest of all the Doctor Who creatures.’

  As we settled into the window booth of Giorgio’s Italian, with a smiling waiter pouring iced water into our glasses, I began to think that this was a bit of a heavy place for me to have chosen. The ceiling hung with obviously fake, but aesthetically pleasing vines that trailed down around large columns and mock frescos sat on faux-aged walls. I clutched my menu with nervous fingers as Charlie pulled off his hat and ruffled a hand through his unruly hair.

  Violin music played through the speakers and the subdued lighting made it the perfect brightness for all of the couples. The waiter withdrew a lighter from his pocket, clicked it on and lit a candle between us, smiling manically, as if years of hearing this same violin music over and over again had driven him into the realms of insanity. Charlie seemed unfazed by the enforced levels of romance as he checked his phone again and pushed it underneath his hat, which lay on the table next to an unnecessarily large pepper grinder.

  Who knew, maybe this was exactly the sort of setting he’d been after when he’d asked me to choose a place to eat, or maybe he was just being too polite to show his discomfort at the couple at the table closest to us who were hand feeding each other chocolate-dipped strawberries. The woman lifted a fondue fork, stabbed a square of waffle and dipped it into the bubbling cauldron of chocolate, before lifting it to her partner’s mouth. He didn’t get to it in time, the chocolate dribbling down his chin and onto the napkin waiting on his lap. They giggled and he wiped it from his chin with a playful finger, offering it up to her. I watched on in horror as she raised his finger to her mouth, placed it inside and licked the chocolate from his skin.

  I looked back at Charlie but he hadn’t seen a thing.