Swipe Right

by Stephie Chapman

  And what about the information? I brace myself and scroll down.

  * * *

  Green-eyed, sandy-haired boy looking specifically for a blue-eyed, red-haired media darling from Ruislip (who he definitely messed things up with).

  Still makes videos. Still likes live music. Still likes days on beaches and nights in pubs. Would really love the chance to spend time doing all of that with aforementioned redhead.

  (Still never been to Pen Y Fan)

  * * *

  I put the phone on the table and look at Carlina. She’s staring at me, and her eyes are big and wide. Neither of us speaks for a few seconds, and then she says, ‘What are you going to do? The ball’s in your court, babe.’

  ‘I know,’ I say, quietly. All the fun of before has faded. I can’t finish my cookie. There’s a smear of melted chocolate chip on the paper bag.

  ‘Don’t let the screen lock,’ she says, suddenly panicked. ‘If the app times out you might lose him.’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do,’ I say, indignant, but she doesn’t believe me. Her eyebrows slant down and she pulls her mouth to the side.

  ‘If you don’t swipe right on him, Fran, then to be honest, you’re a fool.’

  ‘If the app times out and I lose him, then I still have his number,’ I reason, slowly, chewing my lip.

  ‘But where’s the romance in that? Think how many people will have tried their luck with him, and the only person he’s looking for is you. You’re the red-haired media darling he wants to spend time on beaches and in pubs with. It’s like a modern day Cinderella.’

  ‘If he was so keen to find me then he could have sent a text.’

  She sighs. ‘There could be any number of reasons why he hasn’t, and anyway, you told him to leave you alone. You told him that. Remember?’

  Of course I remember. I still have that terrible exchange of messages. The worst I’ve ever sent and received in my life. I’ve staved off looking at them, and they sit, archived, on my phone. She leans forward and jabs her finger on the table next to my phone. ‘Get it done, Frances,’ she says, gently. ‘Just do it. Otherwise you’ll always wonder.’

  I place my finger in the centre of the screen and swipe right, and it’s a match. Carlina punches the air. ‘Yes!’ she hoots, and I, now a little overcome, lock my phone and throw it in my bag, put on my jacket and walk out. Carlina scuttles behind me.

  So what happens now? I don’t know whether I should send a message, or text, or call or wait, or what? I don’t know when he’ll find out we’ve matched or if he knows already. I don’t know how old that profile is and if he even still cares. He might have got back with Lou again. He might have given up waiting for me to find him, by chance, on Tinder and met someone else. And yet, just like before, I find myself glancing at my phone sporadically throughout the afternoon. I find my concentration lapsing. I’m writing a feature on my trip to the US, but on the whole the words won’t come, and the ones that do don’t pack nearly enough punch. Carlina keeps making faces at me, discreetly enquiring as to whether I’ve any updates for her, and every time she does, I nudge my phone towards her and press the home button. But each time I do, I have zero notifications.

  ‘Send him a text,’ she says, on the way out. ‘Or better yet, call him. He probably hasn’t seen it.’

  I consider this all the way home, and when I reach Stratford, I’ve decided. I leave the station but veer off towards the Olympic Park instead of along the street towards my apartment block because if I’m doing this, I want wide open spaces and fresh air and a decent signal. I go up the escalator, over the footbridge and through the shopping centre, and for once I don’t stop to look in any shops. Getting distracted by clothes and homeware would be an easy way to lose my nerve. My phone feels like a dead weight in my pocket. It slaps against my hip inside my jacket.

  It’s a fresh spring evening; there’s a pale sky draped with wispy clouds, a weak sun just setting. The sounds of trains and traffic and people all around me. It’ll be twilight soon, but for now the park is full of people enjoying the early evening, strolling, walking their dogs, playing with their children. I promise myself to take the first empty bench I see, and make the call, and I light a mercy cigarette for a hit of nicotine.

  The phone rings only once before he answers, and I think, was he somehow expecting this or what? Who answers their phone that fast?

  ‘Fran?’ he says, and there’s a rush of familiarity at the sound of his voice. It’s the longest I’ve gone without hearing it since the first time we met. I’ve missed it.

  ‘Ollie,’ I say.

  And then there’s a slightly awkward silence for what feels like an eternity until we both say, ‘how are you?’ at exactly the same time, and another whilst we both see who’s going to answer first.

  ‘You go,’ he says, eventually.

  ‘I’m… doing alright,’ I say. ‘Been away for a while. New York. Not sure if you knew. How are you?’

  ‘I knew,’ he says. ‘I saw on Twitter. I watched your videos. Read your articles. I’m… yeah, I’m okay.’ He breathes down the phone, and I’m worried that all the ease there was between us has been snuffed out for good. I want so desperately to talk to him the way we used to, but I don’t know how. And now that I’m sitting here, phone pressed to my ear, in the middle of the park in the dimming light, I wonder if there’s been enough water under the bridge anyway.

  ‘What are you doing with yourself these days then?’ I ask, tentatively. ‘For work?’

  ‘I’m freelancing, actually,’ he says. ‘Doing some work for Channel Four at the moment.’

  ‘Check you out! Now who’s the media darling?’ I say.

  ‘Ha. Yeah. It’s nice though. Different vibe to the hive.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’ Another a few bars of silence I desperately want to fill. ‘How long have you been doing that?’

  He exhales down the phone. ‘Err, since I got back from Thailand so… Six months. I’ve missed you, Fran.’

  It takes a couple of seconds for me to register what he’s said, and it sends a shiver through me.

  ‘I’ve missed you, too,’ I allow myself to say, quietly. ‘And a funny thing happened today. I don’t know if you’ve seen. Carlina said you probably haven’t, and it might well be moot. I might be making a prat of myself. Again. But it’s what prompted this phone call.’

  ‘I do know,’ he says, and I think, fucking hell, mate. Didn’t feel like taking the lead then? ‘And it’s not moot.’

  My heart swells. I don’t want it to, because I’m scared and I know if I allow it, I’m opening myself up for all sorts of Ollie nonsense all over again.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ I admit. ‘Our track record… what if this isn’t meant for us?’

  ‘She’s gone, you know. For good, this time.’

  ‘Right, well. Right.’ There’s doubt in my voice that he can definitely hear, and which I don’t think is unreasonable.

  ‘I made a giant mistake before, Fran,’ he explains. ‘Answering the phone that night was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I’ve regretted it every day since. And giving things another shot with Lou, who, you were right by the way, really is awful.’

  ‘How do you know I called her that?’

  ‘Because I have fucking ears, Fran,’ he says, and laughs.

  ‘Well, I’d apologise for being rude about her, but I don’t want to lie to you. And I’m not sorry.’

  ‘I guess I wanted to try again because of everything we had, all those shared memories. And up until we went away it was great. And if I’m really honest, men are creatures of habit and we stick around when it’s easy to. But then I realised that all that history I had with her didn’t stand up to what I had with you. And it stopped being easy, and it stopped being fun and it felt like I was constantly trying and always failing, whereas I never felt I had to work that hard with you. Even when we used to argue, it felt like you were challenging me to get the best out of myself, and n
ot just because you were being a dick.’

  ‘When did you realise this?’ I say.

  ‘When I stopped being cross with you for cutting me off,’ he says, blithely, and then, when I don’t reply, he continues. ‘Actually, I remember exactly when. It was at Christmas. Mum went to bed early and I thought about the year before, and how we had that drink, and how nice it was. And how welcomed I felt in your dad’s place, and how warm and comforting the whole atmosphere was. I wanted to text you, Fran. I did start to text you. I typed out this whole message, heaps of times. But I never sent it because you’d made yourself very clear. We weren’t friends. I was out of your life. I’d made my choice, et cetera et cetera. And really, I don’t think I had the balls. Because if you hadn’t texted back I’d have felt even worse.’

  ‘Were you not with Lou?’

  ‘No. She wouldn’t come to Eastcote,’ he says, dismissively. ‘She wanted to be in Wales the whole time. I wanted to spend a bit of time with Mum and she didn’t like it. That was where it started to decline again really. She became distant and I got a feeling. Suspicion will do horrible things to a person and I’m not proud of it but I got into her Facebook. There were messages to that guy she was with in Thailand. It wasn’t ever really over.’

  ‘Nice girlfriend you had there,’ I say, snippily, and it sounds cold and composed but I don’t care. And in any case, I’m not really composed at all. Or cold. My insides feel like magma. My blood feels like it’s on a rolling boil. I don’t think she ever really wanted him again after Thailand, she just couldn’t stand the thought of me having him instead, and she knew he’d call me when he got back. It feels personal.

  I light another cigarette. Suck in the smoke. Hold it. Breathe it out and just say, ‘Well, let’s not dwell on Christmas. It wouldn’t have been good timing anyway, and I’m not even sure I would have texted you back. I don’t think you know how much you fucked me up. Maxine made me take time off sick, Ollie. I never, ever take sick days.’

  ‘You went away, Fran. I had an idea, and I felt terrible. Let’s not talk about it.’ He sounds reflective and a little bit sad.

  ‘I think, at some point, we might have to… If we’re going to feature in each other’s lives again.’

  ‘Is that what you’d like?’ he asks, the reflectiveness suddenly sounding a little more hopeful.

  ‘I swiped right, didn’t I?’ I say, stiffly. He doesn’t need to know that I hadn’t wanted to at first.

  ‘You did,’ he says. ‘I got a push notification.’

  ‘And yet I’m the one who called you.’

  ‘I wanted to leave it up to fate.’

  ‘Cop-out answer, Taylor. Absolute tosh. Since when did you believe in fate? Behave! You could have put me out of my misery at any point this afternoon.’

  ‘Ah you know what, Fran?’ he says, and he sounds like he’s stretching. ‘I think you should get over it, and then I think you should take me out.’

  Cocky little shit.

  ‘Tried that once before. Didn’t end well.’

  ‘Didn’t have you pegged as a quitter, to be honest,’ he says, and it makes me laugh. We’re warming up a bit now, getting ever so slightly back into ourselves. Thawing out just a little. Joking like we used to. I settle back on the bench, and then draw my legs up to my chest and fiddle with the buckle on my boot with my free hand.

  ‘I’m no quitter,’ I say, slowly. ‘And at the risk of wearing my heart entirely on my sleeve, I think I would like to see you again. But you have to know I don’t have it in me to go through what I did before. There’s no spectacularly timed secondment waiting for me right now, you get me? If we’re doing this, it needs to be like starting over.’

  ‘I get you,’ he says, and I know him well enough to know by his voice that he’s trying to be cool about it, but we both understand there’s a lot riding on this. ‘But she really is gone. And I made a Tinder profile for you. I only swiped right on you. Isn’t that nice?’

  ‘It was the longest of long shots,’ I say, ungraciously.

  ‘And yet… here we are, which goes to prove that perseverance really does pay off.’

  ‘Alright,’ I say. The breeze is cooler now, and my bottom is numb from sitting on the bench. I wrap my jacket around myself and start walking, slowly, in the direction of my flat. ‘Friday night. After work. Not The Whippet. Somewhere we can just go and… be us.’

  ‘I’d really like that,’ he says. ‘And Fran?’

  ‘Yep?’

  ‘I was going to call you, or at the very least message you, tonight. I was figuring out what to say. I wanted to come out with some sort of cool opener.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Well, I guess I sort of ruined that for you, didn’t I? Did you think of one?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Well, feel free to lay it on me when you do,’ I say, and he laughs.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Friday afternoon could break records for the slowest that time has ever stretched. I am sure I’m experiencing some sort of time dilation, but when I mention it to Carlina, she looks at me like I am a sandwich short of a picnic.

  ‘Imagine if Sinjin heard you say that,’ she says.

  ‘Don’t! He’d only roll his eyes and try and actually explain the theory of relativity to me,’ I giggle.

  ‘Well, you don’t need a scientific explanation; you already know it’s because you’re about to meet the love of your life again,’ she coos. ‘And this is the beginning of the rest of your days.’

  ‘Carlinaaaa,’ I say. ‘That’s a whole lot of pressure for something that’s meant to be low key,’ but really, I think, she can be quite romantic when she feels like it.

  ‘Yeah, alright,’ she scoffs. ‘Bet you haven’t eaten all day, have you?’

  ‘I’ve had picky bits,’ I say. ‘Couple of miniature Scotch eggs. Bit of pitta and some of the beetroot houmous they were making earlier. That sort of thing.’

  ‘Well, this is going to get you tipsy then,’ she hoots, and deposits a cold bottle of beer on my desk, as is our Friday afternoon tradition. ‘Also, that was very garlicky houmous. So you’re going to need a Polo before you leave here. In fact, brush your teeth.’

  ‘It’s not that bad, is it?’ I ask, cupping my hands over my mouth and breathing out, suddenly paranoid. It’s fine, but I will take that mint. ‘I never got this much scrutiny when I went out with people before.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s because we knew deep down they were all just losers that you had to wade through and cast aside before you finally truly deserved your prince.’

  ‘They weren’t all—’

  ‘Yes they were, Fran,’ Carlina insists.

  I haven’t mentioned seeing Ollie again to anyone else, but somehow, everyone seems to know, and I’m reminded again of what a gossip Carlina can be. Lexi catches me reapplying my eyeliner in the loos, and wishes me well for the evening. Ben tells me it’s about time Ollie and I ‘got our shit together’ and Mindy messages me from reception asking if we’re joining everyone for a drink at The Whippet and she seems genuinely disappointed when I tell her that definitely isn’t on the cards.

  ‘Where are you meeting?’ she asks, hovering by my desk on her way back from the kitchen, beer in one hand, packet of Quavers in the other.

  ‘I’m just going to call him when I leave here and see where he is. It’s all very casual.’

  ‘Aww. It was so cute watching you fall in love with each other.’

  ‘You what?’ I say.

  Carlina snorts, but she spins her chair around and looks interested all the same.

  ‘Yeah, it’s amazing what you notice sitting on reception,’ Mindy says, breezily. ‘Like, on your interview day when you were nervous and then he sat down opposite you. You kept glancing at him.’

  ‘Not true,’ I protest, embarrassed, but I know it is. I remember it well.

  ‘Damn well is. Not to mention all the nice little things he’d do. All those coffee and donut runs and whatnot.’

  ‘He go
t coffee for lots of people, though,’ I reason. ‘That doesn’t mean shit. You’re reaching a bit with this.’

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ she says, and she seems very certain.

  ‘He never bought me coffee. Or a donut, for that matter,’ Carlina says, and pouts. ‘Never even asked.’

  ‘He’d do the actual fetching of the coffee,’ Mindy explains. ‘This is true. But people used to pay for their own.’

  ‘Oh my god,’ I gasp. ‘I didn’t know this. Do you think I owe him money?’

  ‘Nooo. He wouldn’t have done it if he thought you were taking the piss.’

  ‘And he never went to lunch with anyone else. Ever.’ Carlina adds. ‘It was mentioned on Slack once or twice.’

  ‘Fuck, I’m so embarrassed,’ I admit, and I cradle my head in my hands. Carlina pats my hair.

  ‘Don’t be. No one minded. It just sort of became a thing that no one encroached on. You two came as a pair, and that was that.’

  ‘Are you seriously telling me you didn’t know any of that?’ Mindy asks. She looks incredulous.

  ‘Aw, she definitely didn’t. Not until fairly recently, at least,’ Carlina says, and I’m glad that even after all the ribbing I get from her, she still sticks up for me when it’s important. She pats my hair again and then the phone rings in reception and Mindy scurries off to answer it.

  ‘I really didn’t know any of that,’ I say, sitting up and composing myself again.

  ‘I know you didn’t, baby girl,’ Carlina says.

  * * *

  At five to five, I pack up my bag and switch off my computer for the weekend. Mickey gives me a once-over and Carlina sprays a cloud of my perfume into the air and makes me walk through it.

  ‘I always wanted to work on the fragrances counter in a department store,’ she muses. ‘This is like living the dream.’ She musses my hair. ‘Right, off you go. Text me later.’