Swipe Right

by Stephie Chapman

  He stares down at the screen for a few seconds and then back at me, and I’m willing the call to end. But it doesn’t, and he answers it. And I feel sick.

  He steps away from me, out of the streetlight, and walks, just a few paces, not quite out of earshot, but far enough so that all I can hear is a quiet mumble.

  ‘Okay,’ he says, over and over. ‘Yes… look, can we talk later, I’m out at the moment… With Fran… I’ll call you when I get home,’ he says, and my heart sinks. I look back inside my building and the door man has noticed us. He’s watching all this unfold, with no attempt at discretion. He probably caught our almost kiss. And now he’ll be wondering why Ollie’s ambling around, gesticulating into the darkness. He won’t know that he’s talking to his ex, or that he’s promised to call her later on, which categorically means he won’t be with me. He won’t know that everything that’s unfolded between us tonight feels so new to me, and yet somehow as though it’s always been this way. I lean against the glass, root around in my bag. Check my own phone. Scroll through Twitter whilst I wait for him to finish the call. He looks apologetically at me when he does.

  ‘That was—’

  ‘Lou. Yes, I know,’ I say.

  ‘She’s home.’

  ‘Right.’ I nod my head slowly.

  ‘She said she…’ he stops talking, clearly confused, and there’s something different in his eyes now.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say. It’s not okay but what can I do?

  ‘Fran. I’m sorry, but I think I need to go.’ He wrinkles up his nose.

  ‘Oh.’

  There are the beginnings of tears pricking at my eyes but I look away and bite the inside of my cheek to stop them. I’ll never let it show.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  And all I can do is nod. It’s all a bit too much, to be honest. The last hour’s been quite a lot to handle and I’m too drunk to deal with any of it sensibly. A Deliveroo cyclist rounds the corner and stops next to us. Removing a pizza box from his insulated carrier, he watches Ollie and me stare at each other for a few seconds.

  ‘Are you—’

  ‘Frances? Yes,’ I snap.

  ‘Enjoy,’ he says, thrusting the box into my hands. He slings his leg over the crossbar, and hurtles off again. Ollie takes it as his cue.

  ‘I’m sorry Fran, really,’ he repeats.

  ‘It’s probably for the best,’ I say. ‘I mean, you and me? Imagine the regret.’

  There’s a wobble to my voice. It’s not a BAFTA-worthy performance.

  ‘But you said—’

  ‘It was the wine,’ I almost shriek.

  He steps forward and makes a move to put his arms around me again.

  ‘No, absolutely fucking not,’ I whisper. He steps back.

  ‘I’ll call you,’ he says. ‘Promise.’ But I can’t reply because the stinging in my eyes has really intensified and my vision is beginning to blur. He turns and crosses the road, heading back towards the station and I feel like I’ve been karate kicked right in the heart. I press my key fob against the reader and the door unlocks with a click. I push it open and shuffle towards the lift. It’s like a horribly awkward walk of shame.

  ‘Evening, miss,’ the doorman offers.

  ‘Yeah. Hi,’ I say, stabbing at the button with my free hand. Outside, Ollie rounds the corner and disappears out of view. The lift arrives.

  ‘Goodnight,’ the doorman says, as the door glides to a close.

  It’s dark inside my flat, the only light coming from the moonlight. I can see my reflection in the French doors leading out to the balcony. I drop my keys on the side table to the left and slump down on to the floor. I push the pizza box away and it skids across the laminate. I rest my face on my knees and push my hands into my hair and finally the tears come.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Ollie

  Hi Fran.

  Fran

  Hey, how are things? You get home OK?

  Ollie

  Yep, all good.

  Ollie

  I had a long chat with Lou.

  Fran

  Right. Well, yes, I knew that was on the cards.

  Ollie

  There are some things I need to explain.

  Fran

  OK…?

  Ollie

  We’re going to give it another shot.

  Fran

  What?

  Ollie

  She did a lot of explaining. She feels terrible about what happened. She got so upset on the phone.

  Fran

  To be really honest I think you’re being an absolute mug.

  Ollie

  Hey! Bit harsh, Fran.

  Fran

  Is it really!?

  Ollie

  I’m going to see her today, we’re going to talk things through. She’s been my rock for so long. And people make mistakes.

  Fran

  Why are you telling me this?

  Ollie

  Because we’re friends.

  Fran

  No I don’t think we are. Friends don’t do what you did last night. Friends don’t open up like that only to fucking snatch it all back the way you did. If you weren’t completely sure about being done with Lou then you shouldn’t have told me you were or that you thought about me and you definitely shouldn’t have kissed me. Douche move, my dude. Thought better of you, to be honest.

  Ollie

  I didn’t do any of that with the intention of hurting you. I truly thought we were over. I thought she’d met someone else over there. And you told me how you feel about me first.

  Fran

  Which sort of makes this even worse. Anyway, I don’t feel like that about you now. I just feel disappointment at what an absolute dick you are. Say she hadn’t called last night, would we have gone up to my flat? Would you have stayed? Would we have slept together? Then say she called this morning, what then?

  Ollie

  We can’t know that.

  Fran

  And yet, that reply leaves me in no doubt whatsoever. You have absolutely no integrity.

  Ollie

  Right… so what do you want to do?

  Fran

  I think I need to move away from all this for a while. I need to not think about you. I need to forget that I had feelings for you. I need to forget about last night and last December and all of it. I don’t think we should talk anymore.

  Ollie

  ??

  Fran

  Sorry to do this over text, but it’s probably for the best. Please don’t contact me again.

  Ollie

  WTF Fran?

  Ollie

  Are you really doing this? You’re the first person I called when I got back.

  Ollie

  I think this is really childish.

  Ollie

  OK fine. I hear you x

  Chapter Forty

  Why do shit things always happen to me when Suze is abroad? I lie in bed all Sunday and lament over my life choices. Turning everything over and over in my head. Thinking of all the things that would have been different if he’d not decided to leave the Christmas party at that exact moment after I’d bickered with Lucas. If I hadn’t bickered with Lucas at all. If Ollie hadn’t got me for Secret Santa. But mainly, and most importantly, if I’d never seen that photo of us. Funny the way little tiny moments can shape vast swathes of your life.

  I call my dad for a chat, with the intention of telling him everything. But when it comes down to it, I choke, and instead we make plans for this Christmas, even though there’s little need to so long before the day, and anyway, it’ll be the same as it always is.

  ‘Do you think you’ll go for a drink with your pal from, where was it again? Hillingdon?’

  ‘Eastcote. And no.’

  ‘That’s a shame. He seemed a nice lad.’

  ‘We sort of drifted apart,’ is all I say.

  Suze arrives home in the wee small hours of Sunday night and I hear her come in and try to be quiet. I drif
t in and out of sleep until dawn breaks, when I give up and get up. This is the second weekend in a row ruined by a man. I’m going to get in early and speak to Maxine first thing. I’m going to tell her my decision to discontinue the blog and I’m going to swallow my mortification and tell her all my reasons why. That for my own sanity I’ve decided to take a step back from dating. All the way into work I try to come up with fresh new ideas for something I can do instead but all I can think of is Ollie. And Ollie kissing me. And Ollie leaving. And all those terrible spiralling text messages. I’m not going to tell Maxine any of that, though. Definitely not.

  Except, I definitely do. I’m sitting at my desk when she arrives. Hunched over a mug of hot chocolate and three cheer-me-up pastries. I haven’t made any attempt to switch on my computer, and I must look worse than I imagined because she stops when she sees me.

  ‘What happened to you?’ she asks, jovially. ‘Hangover? I have some pills in my desk if you need them.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ I say, and then, embarrassingly, I start to weep. Immediately, Maxine swoops in and envelopes me in a hug. She roots in her bag and hands me a travel packet of tissues, and they’re the nice kind with balm on them. ‘Can we have a chat?’ I splutter, horribly aware that a snot bubble is bulging from my nostril, and she nods.

  Up in her office, I curl up on her sofa, and she hands me a blanket, which I tuck around myself.

  ‘I have to stop the blog,’ I say.

  ‘Okay,’ she says.

  ‘I’ve been on some horrible dates, and although my terrible luck has been comical at points, they weren’t funny at the time. And a couple of guys have asked about the blog, and I’ve had to lie, and really, I think it’s time I stopped this.’

  ‘You don’t have to explain,’ she soothes.

  ‘Also something happened last week, Max, and it’s bad. And I think you should know.’

  ‘Go on,’ she says, looking concerned now.

  ‘I met someone at a New Year’s Eve party, and I thought we hit it off, but things went cold, so in a misguided, and very stupid, not to mention futile attempt to keep him interested, I sent him pictures—’

  ‘Ah. I know,’ Maxine says, quietly, and she wrinkles up her nose.

  ‘You do?’

  She nods. ‘Last Friday, just after you left, we got an email, and Sarah gave me a heads-up.’ I shrink back in my seat, my face burning up. Maxine pats my knee and looks kindly at me. ‘It’s going to be okay, Fran. Sarah did a reverse look up on the photo, so far it isn’t anywhere else. And I’ve taken advice. We can go to legal.’

  ‘We can?’

  ‘Of course, revenge porn is a crime.’

  ‘So I’m not getting in trouble?’

  ‘No. What you get up to in your own time is your business. What that little shit did could land him in some deeply hot water.’

  ‘But he’s a solicitor,’ I say, pointlessly.

  ‘Then he should know better, shouldn’t he?’ She pulls the plastic lid off her coffee and blows. ‘If the blog is causing you stress like this then it’s time to shut it down. We’ll think of something else for you. Maybe it’s time to think about switching it up a bit. You could work on video for a while…?’

  ‘No!’ I say, quickly. ‘I don’t think so. I couldn’t.’

  ‘You’re good at it, Fran. I know he’s not here anymore but you and Ollie made some fantastic content.’

  I shuffle my legs even closer to my chest and wrap my arms around them.

  ‘It’s not so much that,’ I sniff. ‘I know I could do it, but I… I just can’t. I’m sorry.’

  Maxine studies me for a few seconds, and then goes to her desk, and takes a packet of fancy chocolate cookies from one of the drawers, and I think what a homely set-up she’s got here. Bet there’s a hot water bottle as well.

  ‘Have you heard from him?’ she asks and I nod. The tears start again and I wipe them off my cheek with the back of my hand.

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He’s back. He got back last week.’

  Maxine, surprised, says, ‘Oh! I thought he was away longer than that? Obviously I was wrong.’

  ‘You weren’t. It went tits up in Bangkok. He came home early.’

  ‘Eesh,’ she says, and bites into a cookie. I take one from the packet she’s proffering and nibble it like a little mouse. ‘I take it there’s been a reunion?’

  ‘Mmhmm.’

  ‘And… might I be right in thinking that reunion is why you’re sitting here weeping into your hot chocolate?’

  ‘Fgggnnn.’ More snot bubbles. More tears. My tissue is damp. I take another. ‘It was so shit. So shit. And so unfair, and he’s ruined everything. Why are they all such bastards, Maxine?’

  She reaches her arm around my shoulder and I lean into hers. ‘Aw, they’re a completely different species, and they don’t come with a manual. Though God knows they should.’

  We’re interrupted by her phone and she reaches across her desk and picks it up. I can tell immediately that it’s Carlina by the way Maxine talks about me without using my name, the way people do when they’re trying to convey a point in a discreet way.

  ‘Yes. No. Not really. No. Oh right? Interesting. Hang on.’ She covers the mouthpiece. ‘Do you want Carlina to pop up?’ and all I can do is nod. If I’m coming clean at all, then it might as well be to Carlina as well. In for a penny and all that. Within seconds she’s bounded up the steps and has parked herself between us on the sofa.

  ‘Mate,’ she says, her eyes wide. ‘I’ve had a weird email from Ollie just now. And I think all this,’ she waves her hands in circles in my general direction, ‘has something to do with it.’

  ‘I think I can probably guess,’ I say.

  ‘I think you probably can,’ she agrees, and tilts her head to the side.

  ‘Well, you can delete it. I don’t care.’

  ‘You really look like you don’t care,’ Carlina says, and I shrug and wrinkle up my nose. ‘All it said was, “Can you tell Fran I’m really sorry”,’ she says. ‘That was it. What’s he done to be really sorry about?’

  ‘You were right,’ I say, staring ahead at the exposed brick wall. ‘And you’ve always been right. And something did happen once. And now it’s all totally fucked.’

  Maxine and Carlina share a look.

  ‘You know,’ Maxine says, gently. ‘I always got a vibe about you two. Right from the beginning. But like it was a right person, wrong time sort of scenario. You had energy.’

  ‘What happened?’ Carlina presses.

  ‘Last year, at the Christmas party, he was my Secret Santa. And he gave me the nicest thing. And I knew it was him because I made a throwaway comment about it weeks before that no one else could have known about. So I was having a fag and he was on his way out, and I thanked him for the gift, and then things got really intense and we kissed.’

  ‘I knew it! I fucking knew it!’

  ‘I think everyone did, though I don’t know how. I overheard some stuff… It freaked me out, but then it quietened down so I figured we’d got away with it. Anyway, last week I find out he’s back, and that things went very wrong with Lou—’

  ‘Awful Lou,’ Carlina interrupts, and Maxine smirks.

  ‘Yes. Awful Lou. She cheated on him in Thailand and he came back. We met up, and he asked me to make him a fucking Tinder profile because he was all about moving on,’ I say, making air quotes. ‘And as I was doing it, I saw this picture of us. You took it, Carlina. Of us downstairs, and we look like there’s no one else in the whole world. And I looked at it and saw what you’ve been saying for months. And then I looked at him and I just sort of realised that it’s been him all along and has been since we met.’

  ‘Aww, well I’m sure he’s sorry about asking you to make the Tinder profile,’ Maxine says, making a well-intentioned but inaccurate stab in the dark.

  ‘That wasn’t it,’ I say. ‘I made a shit profile in a weird attempt at sabotage, and we left the pub
, both a bit drunk. And we got to the station and I saw a chance and took it. I told him I didn’t want him to meet anyone else because of everything I’d realised. I told him I had feelings for him. And I was holding on to him and then we kissed again, and it was almost perfect, but then his phone rang, and it was—’

  ‘Awful Lou?’ Carlina offers.

  ‘Bingo,’ I say, sadly. ‘Anyway, she was back. He went to her, and I get this bullshit text on Saturday morning saying they were giving things another shot. Long story short, I lost my shit and cut him off, and now I don’t have him in any capacity.’

  No one speaks. Maxine and Carlina just look forlornly at each other and then at me. They don’t know what to say and neither do I. Silence falls over us, and we can hear the buzz of everyone downstairs, going about their day. Oblivious to my personal drama playing out up here.

  ‘I can’t work in video, Max, because of all of that. The memories would just be a bit too much I think. It wouldn’t do me any good. So if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll stay where I am, and figure something else out. I’ve got nothing holding me here really, so I might see if there are any opportunities for secondments abroad. Just for a few months, to get my head together.’

  Maxine nods and says she understands. Carlina looks sad and tells me to do what I have to do. I tell them both I’m just exploring options for now. Spitballing.