Swipe Right

by Stephie Chapman

  And eventually it’s my turn. My gift is a small box, no bigger than five centimetres square and I open it with care, looking around occasionally at my colleagues, to see if I can guess who it’s from, but I can’t tell; they all look as intrigued as I am. I open the lid of the box. It’s stuffed with tissue paper and I unwrap what’s inside, and hold it up between my thumb and index finger. It’s a fat, round glass marble, with blue and green swirls across the middle and fuchsia at either end. It’s beautiful, almost like a tiny replica of the world with electric pink aurora at the poles, and I gasp because as soon as I hold it up I know exactly who it’s from, and because it’s possibly one of the most thoughtful gifts I’ve ever received.

  ‘Oh my god, it’s beautiful. Thank you… Secret Santa,’ I say, and a few people around me lean over to get a better look.

  ‘What is it?’ Sarah from IT whispers.

  ‘A marble, obviously!’ Ben says.

  ‘What for? Like a paperweight?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘Like an ornament. It’s pretty.’

  Maxine moves on. I stare down at the marble in my hands for a few seconds and then gaze around the room. I’m looking for Ollie. I can’t see him, but he must be in here somewhere. I want us to catch eyes so I can give him some acknowledgement that I know it was from him, and that I appreciate it. Just something secret between us. No one else would know. No one else should know. Finally I see him, sitting at the other side of the room, next to Lily. They’re whispering to each other. He’s drinking from a bottle of beer and she’s sipping her martini. If I sit here and stare at him, I think, at some point he’s bound to feel it. Surely he’ll get that vibe that someone’s watching him, and look up. That feeling that makes the hair on the back of your neck prickle. Three people open their gifts whilst I will him to look at me, including Lily, but he doesn’t. Or maybe he just won’t. At the end, I put the marble in my handbag so I won’t forget it or lose it, and when I get home tonight I’m going to Blu-Tack it to the shelf in my bedroom.

  After Secret Santa is finished, we’re served canapés and more drinks by men who slink around wearing nothing but little aprons. Mickey is in her element. She loves Christmas. She’s fashioned an Alice band with some mistletoe attached like festive antennae. The more she drinks, the flirtier she becomes, and before the food is over she’s scored three cheek kisses.

  Then the music is turned up and the food is cleared away. Red and green and white spotlights dance around the room. Songs merge into one another and everyone is laughing and dancing and mingling. A few more people show up. I think they’re the partners of colleagues, but Ollie is still nowhere to be seen, having seemingly disappeared after we exchanged gifts. Lily doesn’t know where he is, and neither does Ben, and I don’t like the heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach when it dawns on me that if people’s other halves are here then he’s probably gone to meet Lou before coming back. I don’t want to have to deal with her tonight. Not at the Christmas party. Not when I know her boyfriend’s bought me something lovely, which I want to acknowledge but definitely not in front of her. I’m more than a little bit tipsy now and when my phone rings, I use it as an excuse to get out into the fresh air. It’s Lucas, unable to make it this evening due to the fact that I didn’t invite him. I didn’t know I could.

  ‘Hey, babe, you okay?’ I ask, pronouncing my words carefully so as not to slur.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he says. ‘How are you? Good party?’

  ‘Lovely party!’ I say.

  ‘What did you get from Secret Santa?’

  ‘Oh, Lucas, it’s the loveliest thing. The prettiest marble.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ve had too much to drink,’ he laughs down the phone. ‘A marble. What do you want one of those for? Have you lost yours?’

  Lucas doesn’t know about my marble collection. No one in my adult life knows about my marble collection apart from Ollie and my dad. And Dad never really asked.

  ‘Because it’s beautiful and nice to look at,’ I say.

  ‘Well, whatever floats your boat,’ he says, flippantly. ‘Are you coming to Battersea after your party?’

  ‘I wasn’t planning to,’ I say.

  ‘Oh, Franny-Frangipane. Come on. Come over. You could leave in a bit. You’ve had your Santa thing and a fair bit to drink—’

  ‘So? I’m having a nice time,’ I say, shortly. ‘And anyway, I’m in party get-up and I haven’t brought anything with me for tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ he says. ‘I think you look sexy in your jazzy little sequin number.’

  ‘Thanks, but like I said, it’s for the party. Not really for going home from Battersea to Stratford tomorrow morning when you kick me out for Parkrun.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And I don’t see why you can’t come to Stratford once in a while,’ I continue, on a roll now, and more than a little annoyed. It’s the drink talking. I never get this firm with him. ‘You always expect me to come to you. What’s wrong with my flat? My bed is comfier than yours and I won’t kick you out early doors.’

  ‘Fran—’ he starts.

  ‘No,’ I cut him off. ‘If you want to see me so much, you can come to Stratford. Why has it always got to be on your terms? When do I get terms? Fuck it. I’m taking terms.’

  He doesn’t respond, and I stand there, suddenly feeling the cold, heavy breathing down the phone, my exhalation breaths making cross little clouds of condensation before dissipating into the night air.

  ‘Right, well, I’ll see you then,’ he mutters.

  ‘Guess so,’ I say, and hang up.

  Now I lean against the wall outside and light a cigarette to clear my head and calm down. I never speak to Lucas that way. I’m cool, dependable Fran, who’ll always make the effort and who never gets annoyed. Fran who’ll trek to South West London to see her boyfriend who, she’s come to realise, isn’t so keen on doing the same for her. Fran who’ll leave early on a Saturday so that he gets to have brunch with his mates. Fran who laughs off jibes and massages egos. Well, not tonight. Tonight, Fran isn’t playing. I look up at the sky and blow smoke into the air. I reach into my bag and clamp my hand around my marble, cold and solid and heavy under my fingers and I wonder how long he had to think about what to get me when I was allocated to him. Did he ponder over it, secretly, for a while or did he know instantly? I smoke right down to the filter and watch people as they pass me in the street, wrapped up in coats and scarves and hats and boots whilst I shiver in my short silver sequin shift dress under the coat I can’t be bothered to do up. I chuck my fag butt on to the pavement and grind it into the concrete, and at the same time the door opens and Ollie appears.

  ‘Bit nippy out,’ he says casually, as if seeing me out here isn’t a surprise. He rubs his hands together and blows on them.

  ‘What are you doing out here? Are you off?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah… think so,’ he says. ‘I’m a bit pissed, to be honest. What about you, work wife?’

  I point to the squished cigarette butt on the pavement. ‘Had that after a snippy conversation with Lucas,’ I shrug.

  Ollie looks pensive for a couple of seconds, like he’s weighing something up in his head.

  ‘Why are you with him, Fran?’ he asks, quietly.

  ‘What do you mean, why am I with him?’

  ‘You always seem to have snippy conversations. You’re better than that. It doesn’t ever seem that… easy with you two.’

  ‘How on earth would you know that?’

  He shrugs. ‘Just things I’ve overheard. Some of the things you say to Carlina. How he never comes out on a Friday but he calls and he clicks and you run. Just little things, you know?’

  ‘Okay, well thanks for your unsolicited opinion, and also for the gift,’ I say.

  ‘What gift?’

  ‘You know exactly what gift.’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he says. But he won’t catch my eye. He’s looking ever so slightly to the left of me.

 
‘Oh come on, Ollie. The marble? It could only have come from you…’ I let go of it in my bag and rub my hand on his arm. He looks down at the movement, but he doesn’t flinch or move away. He just looks at me rubbing his arm through his jacket. ‘Anyway, it’s beautiful. And thoughtful after everything I told you.’

  ‘I think about you all the time,’ he says, only now his eyes are closed, almost like if he’s not looking at me, and he can’t see my reaction, then this hasn’t really just been said.

  ‘Where’s Lou?’ I say, my voice wavering and nervous, and immediately want to kick myself for asking.

  He shrugs again. ‘Not here tonight,’ he says.

  ‘Oh. I thought she would be. I was looking for you earlier. I wanted to say thank you, but I couldn’t find you. I thought you’d gone to get her.’

  He steps towards me and now my mouth feels dry, and the ball in my stomach is back, and this time it’s accompanied by the heavy thumping beat of my heart.

  ‘Fran,’ he says, and now he’s looking right at me. Those clear green eyes are locked on mine.

  ‘Ollie,’ I start, but any other words that were going to come get stuck in my throat, and I swallow them back down instead. He looks past me, at the wall, then up at the office window, and then finally, excruciatingly, at me.

  ‘Shall we pretend, just for a few moments, that we don’t belong to anybody else?’ he asks, and it’s both tentative, and yet not really a question all at the same time. Of course we’re going to play pretend for a little while. Of course we’re going to kiss. I’ve argued with Lucas and Ollie’s just told me he thinks about me. It was never going to go any other way.

  ‘Yes,’ I whisper, breathing out, and that one tiny, three letter word feels like my biggest admission. Yes, Ollie, you can kiss me, and I want you to. Yes, Ollie, I feel it too. My back is against the wall now, and the bricks are cold even through my coat, but all I feel is the warmth of him against the front of me as we collide. His hand is on the back of my neck and I find myself gripping on to his jacket so hard that my fists seize up. I squeeze my eyes shut until I see stars. We are magnetic. The kiss deepens and we press ourselves against each other. At this moment there is no Lucas, and there is no Lou. At this moment there is only us, and the way we’re drawn to each other.

  And then it ends just as quickly as it started. He pulls away but leans his forehead against mine, and we’re both panting slightly in the cold air. His hand is still in my hair and his thumb is stroking the nape of my neck. I’m still holding his jacket, my finger has worked its way through a button hole and my knuckles are white and numb from the cold. The tips of our noses are just about touching. My breath is still hitching. My heart is still pounding. He peels himself away and paces around for a few seconds. Stops. Looks back at me, still leaning against the wall in my silver sequin shift dress.

  ‘Oh, god,’ he says, and I know his real life has caught up with him again. I know the force field around us has shattered. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t,’ I say. ‘Whatever you say to me next, don’t make it an apology. Don’t make what just happened something you feel sorry about.’

  ‘But, Fran,’ he says, panicked now. ‘Lou—’

  ‘I know,’ I interrupt. ‘I know, okay? And also, hello! Lucas.’

  ‘How did this happen, Fran?’ he says, gesturing between us, talking louder now, still pacing.

  ‘Ollie. Shh!’ I hiss.

  ‘I just…’ he trails off.

  ‘Look,’ I say, sighing a little. His panicking makes me nervous. He needs to get a grip on this, and so I decide to take charge. One of us has to. ‘That was fucking lovely.’ He nods, but there’s guilt in his eye and it mars the whole thing, to be honest. ‘But it probably shouldn’t happen again. We got caught up in the Christmas spirit and the festivities and my lovely Secret Santa gift. We got caught up in this… thing we have where we’re not really sure how to be around each other. So maybe we were just testing the water, but that’s done now and doesn’t need to be revisited.’

  ‘Yeah. Exactly,’ he says.

  ‘And it’s okay,’ I continue. ‘These things happen. No one saw. We can take this to the grave and no one need ever know.’

  ‘To the grave,’ he echoes.

  ‘Yeah. Draw a line underneath it, right now, and never cross it again.’ I draw an imaginary line between us and he instantly looks happier. I ignore the fact that it feels like a bit of a slap in the face.

  ‘What do we do now?’ he asks. ‘Because you’re right, sometimes I don’t know how to be around you,’ and I think this is the most honest, and the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen him.

  ‘Let’s start over, shall we? When it’s good, it’s really good. So, friends?’

  ‘Friends,’ he says.

  ‘None of this men and women can’t be friends nonsense. And no more competitive bollocks, okay. I’m not your competition. We make amazing things together. So let’s just let the friction go, and be kind to each other, yeah? Be actual work spouses.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he says. We hover around each other again.

  ‘Okay. Well that’s good then. Thought you were heading off.’

  ‘I am,’ he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  ‘And I’m going back inside,’ I say. ‘I’ll see you on Monday.’

  ‘Yes. Have a good weekend, Fran. Get home safely okay?’

  ‘I’ll take a cab,’ I lie. It’ll be the tube all the way.

  He does a little wave and slopes off down the street towards the tube and I return to the party. It’s getting late but it’s still in full swing. I dance with Carlina and Mickey and Ben and Lee for a while. We drink more and nibble on the food still left out from earlier. On the outside I’m Good Time Girl Fran, but on the inside all I can think about is what just happened. There’s no denying it; that was an electric kiss. I liked all of it. I liked the way he looked at me beforehand, and I liked the way he rested his forehead against mine afterwards. I liked the tiny fraction of time when I knew it was going to happen. I liked the way his lips felt and how delicate and feminine I felt when he was holding the back of my neck. I think about it all the way home. My head is full of Oliver Taylor, and his question about why I’m with Lucas, and I allow it to be. Just for tonight. Tomorrow I’ll parcel it up and condense it down to nothing and hide it away.

  * * *

  It’s dark as I unlock my front door, and I take off my shoes and tiptoe through the flat so as not to wake Suze. In my room I undress without switching on the light and put my handbag down next to my bed. I slip between the sheets and an arm snakes across my stomach. Unsurprisingly, I jump a mile.

  ‘The fuck?’ I hiss, scooting right to the edge of the bed.

  ‘Relax, Franny-Frangipane.’ Lucas’ voice, deep and thick with sleep, drifts through the darkness. ‘It’s me.’

  I can feel the heat radiating off him as he pulls me close. His chest is warm and familiar against my back. He’s breathing on the nape of my neck, exactly where Ollie’s hand was not even two hours ago.

  Oh, fuck. Would he be able to tell? Do I smell of Ollie’s aftershave? Does he smell of my perfume? Did he go home and get into bed with Awful Lou?

  ‘Oh, wow. Hey you. What are you doing here?’

  ‘You were right. I could do better. So I decided to surprise you.’

  But my mind races with thoughts of the marble, sitting cold and heavy in my bag. About the meaning behind it. And how kissing Ollie felt dangerous and lovely and exciting. And how he thinks of me all the time. About how Lucas has come all the way from Battersea so that I had a warm body to cuddle up to tonight. About how I hate being called Franny-Frangipane, but I can deal with that because him coming here was sweet, and that’s why I’m with him. For moments like this.

  Lucas isn’t the only one who could do better. The swirls of pink on the marble curl around my thoughts like smoke from a blown-out candle, but I push it all away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  There are about t
en blissful seconds immediately after waking on Saturday where everything is normal. Where beams of bright winter sunlight slice into the room through the crack in my curtains, and I don’t have a martini hangover and I didn’t kiss Ollie at the Christmas party. And then the truth bubbles up to the fore, knocking me for six, and I flinch. I’m under murky water, details of the evening floating around, playing on a loop in my head like an old home movie. The marble. The kiss. The minute immediately after, processing it all, our foreheads touching. My hands gripping his jacket. His thumb stroking my neck. Dancing with my colleagues in a vain attempt to replace the memory. Suddenly I’ve gone from cosy to too hot and I push the duvet off me and swing my legs over the side of my bed. Behind me, Lucas stirs.

  ‘Morning, you,’ he mumbles. He pushes dark curls out of his eyes and sits up.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, not looking at him. ‘I need a glass of water. You want one? Or a coffee? Or both?’

  ‘Coffee would be good,’ he says. ‘But first…’

  He leans over and hooks an arm around my waist, pulling me back towards him. My stomach reels, but I curl into him anyway. He kisses my neck, his hands wander across my body but I can’t respond and I can only stand it for a few seconds before rolling away again. ‘Oh, alright,’ he says, put out.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘Massive headache. Let’s have that coffee though. Stay there.’

  In the kitchen, I stand at the coffee machine and wait whilst it cranks into life. I knock back a couple of paracetamol with a glass of water and gulp down a few lungfuls of fresh air with my head out of the kitchen window. I have to put this to bed now, like I said I would. I have to take a cup of coffee back to the boy who came over to surprise me last night whilst I was kissing someone else.