Swipe Right

by Stephie Chapman

  ‘Perfecto. Mickey, how about you?’

  ‘I have heaps of quizzes lined up. Like, hundreds. Also I’m sifting through community submissions.’

  ‘Alright.’

  ‘There seem to be a lot about Friends.’

  ‘When isn’t there?’

  ‘I’m just surprised people haven’t moved on, I guess. I just… don’t see its appeal.’

  ‘Fair enough. Carlina?’

  ‘Which aftershow party you’d end up at based on which popstar you fancy,’ she says. ‘You know, since we’re gearing up for festival season and all. The hand that provides, every year. Can you tell us about the rest of your horrible date now?’

  Mickey shifts. ‘It didn’t go well then?’

  ‘No, it was possibly the worst yet. He was a shittier version of Lucas. Who knew that was possible?’

  ‘She caught him swiping through Tinder,’ Carlina announces. Mickey looks aghast but Sinjin’s face is expressionless and I wonder if he doesn’t think this is quite as unacceptable as I do.

  ‘Actually, that’s given me an idea,’ I say, changing the subject. ‘Might see if anyone else has any guest posts they might like to submit for the blog. Might take the pressure off me for a bit. Mickey, would you like to write something? You’ve really championed the digital search for true love, and you’re so upbeat and full of hope about it all.’

  She nods, full of enthusiasm. ‘Leave it with me.’

  ‘Do you need a break from it then?’ Carlina asks.

  ‘I think maybe I do, for a while. It’s totally hit and miss, you know, like with all that business with Ezra the Rockstar and even Paul the Cryer. They might have been odd but they weren’t really ever unpleasant—’

  ‘Erm, can I remind you about “Whore Her”?’ Carlina shrieks.

  ‘Yeah, but even that was sort of funny. What happened last night was not funny. There was a point where I felt a little concerned about the whole thing.’

  There’s a tap on the glass and we all look up. Ollie’s beaming in at us, seemingly over his sulkiness, and I gesture for him to come in.

  ‘Well, hello,’ I say, happy to pause my tale of woe for a few minutes. I pat the seat next to me and he sits. ‘What can we do you for?’

  ‘Just wondering if you’d mentioned the snack video? And, obviously I brought you this. There was a coffee run and it occurred to me you didn’t get anything in Starbucks.’

  He proffers a Starbucks cup and I take it, gratefully. What a hero! A lovely, slightly geeky Batman. He’s definitely cheerier now. Perhaps this time I was speculating the reason for his earlier reaction. Maybe it had nothing to do with my evening. Maybe Lydia was right and I am narcissistic and he’s got something on his mind. ‘Caramel syrup?’ I ask.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Semi-skimmed milk?’

  ‘Duh.’ He rolls his eyes.

  ‘That nice vanilla powder?’

  ‘No, because no whipped cream.’

  ‘Ah Ollie, what would I do without you?’

  ‘Get your own coffee and pastries? Anyway, the video?’

  ‘Yes. Sinjin’s your man.’

  ‘The man who can!’ Sinjin quips. No one laughs. ‘So, yes. Snackboxes,’ he says, quieter this time.

  ‘And then,’ Carlina says. ‘Fran was about to tell us why her date last night was so awful.’

  Ollie doesn’t make an excuse to leave. Instead he leans back on the couch and looks at me expectantly, which I’m taking to mean he is a little bit interested after all.

  ‘He Tinder-swiped at dinner,’ I whine. ‘And then, after dinner, I told him I didn’t want to see him again and he went berserk in the street. Called me really awful things, said horrible and untrue things about my vagina, and then asked me to reimburse him for the meal. It was aggressive.’

  There’s silence around the table, and then: ‘Fuck off!’ Carlina howls. Ollie looks concerned.

  ‘Jesus, really?’

  ‘’Fraid so. He texted me his bank details and everything.’ I unlock my phone and show them the text. Ollie chews his lip.

  ‘You know what I’m going to remind you of, don’t you?’

  ‘Let’s not, Ollie, eh?’ I say. ‘I know, alright?’

  ‘Just that stuff like that makes me worry a bit.’

  Mickey coos.

  ‘Are you going to pay him back?’ Sinjin asks.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘She’s definitely not going to,’ Carlina mutters. She looks at her nails.

  ‘I dunno,’ Ollie shrugs. ‘Maybe you should pay him back?’

  Carlina, Mickey and I stare at him. Sinjin winces.

  ‘Don’t tell me you agree with him?’ Mickey says, raising an eyebrow. ‘Because there are hashtags for men who think like that.’

  ‘Easy!’ Ollie warns. ‘What I mean is, you could refund him a ridiculous amount, like, a penny or something. Do you know where he lives?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘Why?’

  ‘Ah too bad. You could have sent a cheque.’

  ‘Ollie, that is amazing.’

  ‘Even better, do some sleuthing and send it to his work. Far funnier than a bank transfer. He’d have to go to the bank to deposit it.’

  ‘I won’t have to sleuth much, he was very vocal about what he does for a living. Hedge funds, in case any of you give a shit.’

  ‘We don’t,’ Carlina mutters. ‘You could write that into your post. It would risk outing yourself but it might be worth it. Chances are one of his colleagues will read it.’

  ‘Fuck it. Yes. I’m going to do it. If we’re done here, we can go and make a start now.’

  Sinjin’s up and out of the room before I’ve even closed my notebook.

  ‘Actually, Fran, any chance I can grab you?’ Ollie scratches at his chin and looks pensive.

  ‘Right this second?’ I ask. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to him now. I love talking to him. People still joke that we’re work spouses, and we laugh it off but I’m not sure they aren’t right. We’ve found our feet and established the boundaries of our friendship and he’s become my co-conspirator and best pal at Viral Hive, surpassing even Carlina, though I’d never, ever tell her.

  It was our Christmas Day drink that did it. The conversation we had about his mum, and him walking me home and getting a cab back to Eastcote. It opened us both up a little. Almost as if that tiny glimpse into each other’s lives was enough to cool all the tension there had been between us. Eradicate some of the mystery. We didn’t talk about our kiss again, aside from that one time on Slack, and it turns out he was wrong about men and women being incapable of friendship, because we’re managing just fine.

  But I can’t sit and chat with him now, despite how joined at the hip we are between our core working hours of ten and three. Not when I’m pumped to get started on publicly shaming Louis. I probably won’t be able to wait for lunch to Google him.

  ‘Nah, it can wait,’ he says. We follow the others back to our desks. ‘Lunch today?’ he asks, and something about the way he’s looking at me makes me think there’s something he wants to talk about, so I agree without hesitation. The salad will keep.

  ‘Mexican?’ I suggest, and blow him a kiss.

  ‘How you two haven’t boned I’ll never know,’ Carlina says, after he’s out of earshot.

  ‘It’s just not like that,’ I say. ‘Ours is a platonic love, founded on a mutual appreciation of Starbucks cinnamon rolls, tacos, Mark Heap TV shows, and bands from Newcastle.’

  ‘I know, I know, so you always say.’ She rolls her eyes.

  ‘Plus, Awful Lou is very much still on the scene, as you well know,’ I continue, needlessly.

  Lou is still awful. She hasn’t mellowed towards me even after a year, and as it stands she just watches my Instagram stories without comment, and, I suspect, creeps on my Twitter.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Carlina mutters, and even though Lou’s warmer towards her nowadays, she still shares my opinion out of loyalty. ‘Awful Lou.’
/>
  ‘How are you going to find Louis?’ Mickey asks, changing the subject.

  ‘First I’m going to Google his name, then I’ll paste his phone number into Facebook, to cross reference. Then I’ll see if his work is listed. Check their website, take it from there.’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Sinjin says. ‘I’m a bit scared of you, Fran.’

  ‘He has it coming,’ I say, grimly. ‘No one gets to make slanderous accusations about my fanny with no payback. Especially when they haven’t been close to it. There’s going to be a reckoning.’

  ‘Calm down,’ Carlina laughs. ‘You’re just sending a cheque.’

  I open up a browser and make a start. Louis Simkin, take cover. It doesn’t take long to get everything I need. Louis is neither shy on the internet nor savvy with privacy settings. Turns out he’s not a hedge fund manager at all. He’s some sort of analyst. My searches throw up photos of him on a boys’ holiday. He’s leaning out of a cab window, sucking down a WKD. He’s feeling up a drunk, uber-tanned female at a foam party. He’s in a football kit after some sort of five-a-side kickabout that no doubt he’d try to elevate to premier league status. I find a Twitter account where he is openly derogatory towards women and is abusive to anyone whose politics don’t align with his own, and mine do not. He’s worse than I ever imagined. I dodged a bazooka. In the last few months I’ve learnt that all this research should be done before a date, and this foul binlid of a human is exactly the reason why. I’d never have gone out with him if I’d seen all this. It’s a step I vow never ever to overlook again.

  An instant message pings up in the corner of my screen.

  Oliver Taylor

  Still up for tacos for lunch? Or Pho?

  Frances Tatlin

  Tacos! Ollie, why isn’t everyone as nice as you are?

  Oliver Taylor

  You Googled him then?

  Frances Tatlin

  :(

  * * *

  Over our usual lunchtime taco deal, I tell him everything I found out about Louis whilst sipping a cocktail, because hibiscus iced tea is not going to cut it today and I definitely deserve a drink after all that.

  ‘I’ve had a rethink about the money thing,’ I say.

  ‘You not going to do it?’ Ollie says.

  ‘Oh no, I am. He’s getting a cheque for a penny. But I’m going to set up a charity fundraiser in his name. Perhaps one to help refugees, or homelessness or something he’ll definitely have a small-minded opinion on.’

  ‘I say you stick it on one of those fundraising websites. Whack in your initial donation and see if anyone else wants to join in. Bet you’d get all the angry bra burners hate-donating.’

  ‘Bra burners! Behave yourself,’ I say. He smothers a tortilla chip with guacamole and I steal it.

  ‘Oi!’ he says, and I laugh, crunching down on the chip.

  ‘Best guac ever,’ I say, thickly, and suck down some more drink to clear my throat. ‘Spot on margarita, too.’

  ‘I’ll miss this,’ he says, wistfully.

  ‘You what?’

  ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about earlier. I wanted you to be the first to know.’

  Suddenly I’m clammy. The tortilla chip feels like it’s lodged in my throat.

  ‘The first to know what?’ I croak.

  ‘Fran, I’m leaving London. Lou wants to go travelling, and I just thought… Well, it’s prime time. I don’t have a mortgage and the flat is furnished. My housemates will be able to replace me in no time, and it just seems like a cool time to see a bit more of the world, before we settle down.’

  ‘Replace you?’ I ask, ignoring the fact that he’s definitely thinking long term with the meanest girl in the world. ‘How long are you going for?’

  ‘A year, initially,’ he says. ‘We’re going to work our way around the world. I’m going to stay on as a freelance content creator at Viral Hive though. I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? What with all the offices dotted around. It’s income potentially in Australia, the States, Germany, Brazil. I can hotdesk for a bit, Lou can pick up something else, and then we’ll move on.’

  As if Lou will pick up anything else. Lou wouldn’t pick up a bar tab. I look at Ollie and I’m floored. Completely gutted. He said he wasn’t going anywhere and now this, his biggest curveball to date. How am I going to cope without him?

  ‘That’s why you shelved your podcast, isn’t it?’ I say, working hard to eliminate the shake in my voice.’ Ollie nods.

  Suddenly my lunch feels like it’s going to make another appearance, and I gulp down the rest of my margarita to stop it. ‘Oh,’ I say, and then I tune out whilst he tells me more about it. It isn’t intentional, but it’s a lot to process. I feel winded. Briefly, I can hear my own pulse.

  ‘Are you happy for me, Fran?’ he’s saying when the sound returns to normal. ‘You seem to be chasing your taco around your plate.’

  ‘I, er—’

  ‘I hope you are. I want you to be. It’s an amazingly exciting opportunity.’

  ‘Yes. Of course I am,’ I say, but as I do, I’m not entirely convinced I’m skirting even remotely close to the truth.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  July

  I tap a spoon against my glass and do a little cough. No one notices. Chink chink chink.

  ‘Hello. Excuse me?’

  A couple of people close by look round and nudge each other. One tells me to stand on a chair, but we only have swivel chairs and fuck if I’m falling off one of those. Someone would film it. I’d definitely end up on the internet for all the wrong reasons. I clamber up on to a desk instead. Chink chink chink.

  ‘OI!’ I yell into the microphone, and briefly hold it in front of the speaker. Feedback screeches around the room and this time everyone quietens.

  ‘Woooooo Fran,’ Carlina yells from somewhere to my left.

  ‘Hi, yes. Thank you. Right, so I’m told that usually Joe or Maxine give the farewell speech, but, seeing as Ollie’s my work husband, it seems befitting for me to do it, and as such the baton has been passed. So here goes. Bear with, I’m winging this.

  ‘As people who have been here longer than we have might remember, Ollie and I first met on the sofas in reception just over a year ago. We were both interviewing on the same day, for the same job, and I looked at him, sitting across from me in his skinny jeans, and his varsity jacket, and his Adidas trainers, all serene and cool, and I thought, argh, you absolute bastard. I’ve got no hope… Truthfully, I think he thought he had it in the bag as well.’

  There’s a rumble of laughter throughout the room. The main door swings open but whoever enters hangs back and hovers behind the giant plant by Mindy’s desk and I can’t see them.

  ‘Still, I bumbled my way through and we did our pitch, and you can imagine my surprise when I not only got the job, but found out on my first afternoon here, that Ollie had too, and that we’d be working together a lot.

  ‘And I think it’s fair to say it wasn’t completely plain sailing at the beginning. Was it, Oliver?’

  I scan the room for him, finding him eventually when someone points. He’s shaking his head, but he’s grinning up at me. Probably revelling in my slight discomfort. Public speaking has never really been a favourite of mine. It’s that same, lovely, authentic smile that gave me a buzz at the beginning. It’s giving me a bit of a buzz now, and that buzz is very swiftly followed by a pang in my chest that I squash down so I don’t well up.

  ‘But it soon became apparent that we’re quite the dream team, and now I’m going to hero-worship a bit and list some of the things he’s done, partly because Joe told me to, but also because it deserves to be celebrated.’

  More laughter. I take a list from my pocket, the only part of this speech that is at all pre-prepared, and read from it.

  ‘First and foremost. The food series we pitched at the interview. We were both slung right in at the deep end, but Ollie really pulled it out of the bag. It was during the making of the first one that I
learned that he’s a goddamn pedant.

  ‘Then there was the mini series with our own Lily and Lexi about regional dialects and accents. Then the foray into podcasting, which was entertaining if short-lived. And not to mention all the funny posts and articles he can somehow throw together without even really trying. The science and tech shorts that were then replicated over in the US, and finally the other food-based video series he recently finished working on with Sinjin. I think we can all agree that Ollie hit the ground and never ever stopped running for a minute…’

  I trail off, because the next bit is going to be tougher for me.

  ‘And on a more personal note, even though at times I have wanted to string him up, and even though at the beginning he sometimes made me so mad that I had to walk away and clench my fists, or go for a mercy fag break with Carlina, we’ve become really good pals… the best of pals, actually. He’s the yin to my yang. My partner in, if not crime, very definitely viral content creation, and I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather spend my days with—’

  ‘Oi!’ Carlina yells from my left. ‘That’s lovely that is. No more mercy fag breaks for you!’

  ‘You excluded, obviously, and in any case, after tonight the position of work spouse will be vacant again.’

  She blows me a kiss and I look back towards Ollie. The expression on his face has changed a little, all the smirks and jokes and playing to my praise of all the good he did here, gone. Everyone might well know how we are, but neither of us have ever publicly acknowledged it the way I just have, and his lovely, open smile, the one that gave me a rush, is replaced with the same unreadable stare I’ve seen just once before, through a reflection in a mirror at The Whippet.

  ‘So,’ I say, wanting to finish up now, because suddenly I’m feeling a fraction spooked. ‘I think we should all raise our glasses to Ollie, maybe get him so drunk tonight that he forgets he’s flying away and comes in on Monday. We all love you, dude, and I, for one, am going to miss you the very most. Safe travels, and send us a postcard, yeah?’

  Our colleagues break into wild applause and I jump from the desk, put the mic down and push my way through the crowd to get to him. No one tries to stop me. No one gets in the way. I reach my arms around him and bury my face in the crook of his neck.