The Serial Dater

by Rachel Cavanagh

  “No, you misunderstand. It’s my career.” Not a job, but a career. “Oh, yes,” he continues, “I sell on eBay, but travel all over the country to buy them. Car boot sales, jumble sales, charity shops, you name it.”

  “Antique fairs?” I offer. He did ask.

  “No. They’re always too expensive. That would be like Bargain Hunt.”

  I look at him blankly.

  “You know, that programme where they buy from antique dealers and sell at auction, and wonder why they never make any money. They don’t because that’s where dealers buy the stuff in the first place.”

  I just think he’s getting more like a cartoon character when he says, “Doh!” and then spends the next minute or so that’s left telling me all about the different types of glass and stoneware bottles, which are the most valuable (I assume the oldest ones, but I’m soon put right), then, as he’s telling me all about his membership with the Antique Bottle and Pot Lid Collectors Web Ring, the bell goes. I’ve never been so pleased.

  Thirteen down, three to go.

  Number three is Mr Chilled, alias Quent, short for Quentin. I’d never have guessed. He’s a surfer dude out of place, given that we’re probably at one of the most inland points in the UK. He’s named after his granddad and very proud of it. He’s not making any notes and has no numbers ticked, and answers the questions with “yeah, you can do” or “I suppose so”. I can picture his bedroom (or flat, house, cardboard box – we didn’t get that far) being a shambles. He seems very ‘earthy’, so I imagine the place being full of plants, except they all died months ago and he’s not noticed. I feel rather wilted myself.

  Last but one is Maurice, a not-so-happy-snapper photographer. I have an uncomfortable feeling about him. My dad’s a retired photographer, so I usually like them, but can’t bond with this one. He’s a candidate for the most overdressed – not in your dinner jacket or tuxedo way, but too many layers of clothing. It’s a mild evening and I can count at least four. There’s a t-shirt under his shirt, which is a very nice blue check, then a not-so-nice patterned jumper, and an olive-green trainspotter type jacket. He’s also wearing nerdy glasses with detachable shades (which he’s wearing up, of course, because we’re inside, but they’re called detachable for a reason). Has no one told him it’s summer?

  “Aren’t you warm in all that clothing?”

  “A little, but you never know what the weather’s going to be like in May, do you?”

  Checking the weather forecast or looking out the window might give you a clue. “No, I suppose you don’t. It is England after all.”

  The conversation runs out of steam, just like me. I look at Rosie who’s nowhere near the bell and is looking at a couple at the far end of the room who seem to be getting on well.

  I’m desperate. “So, have you photographed anything nice lately?” Nice is such an insipid word but, as I said, I’m desperate. I feel like adding ‘underage children or trains’ but resist the urge.

  “Oh, yes.” At last, some passion. “I took a lovely picture of a door the other day.”

  “A door.”

  “Yes. It was lovely.”

  There are lots of things in this world I would call ‘lovely’, but a door isn’t one that springs to mind. “And where was this door? Somewhere nice?”

  “My goodness, yes.” He’s beside himself and I’m wishing I wasn’t. “On the top of a skip.”

  It just gets better. Maybe it was a skip on a beautiful tropical island. I dread asking. “And the skip was…”

  “At the tip.”

  “Oh.”

  “I know what you’re thinking.”

  I bet you do.

  “Not the most romantic of places.”

  “That thought had crossed my mind.”

  “But you can take some wonderful pictures of rubbish.” He’s nearly orgasmic now.

  Right.

  “One person’s trash and all that...”

  Is it still trash if it’s in a skip and not being saved?

  This is the longest three and a half minutes of my life.

  I look at Rosie again and she’s walking back towards the bell. She stops. No! I will her to step forward. “Just a few more paces.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Err… there must be a few more places you’ve found to take wonderful pictures.” I’m talking to him, but my eyes are fixed firmly on Rosie. She finally glances at her watch and looks horrified. She sprints to the bell and rings it as if her life depends upon it. “Yes!” I say a little too loudly and Maurice grunts before getting up and moving to his final table. Poor Miss Number Six.

  Last but not least is number one, a teacher. He hasn’t told me he’s a teacher, but he can’t be anything else. Who else wears tweed? He sits down opposite me and stretches out a long scrawny arm. I shake his hand and tell him my name.

  “Hello, Izzy. I’m Quigley, Victor Quigley. I teach 7VQ… Year 7 physics.”

  I was rubbish at physics. At my first parents’ evening, my physics teacher told my mum and dad I should give it up. I was only too glad to do so.

  I glance behind Victor and see Donna and Duncan getting on very well. Duncan then spots me spying and smiles. I can’t really see what Donna’s doing, but it looks like she’s writing furiously on her card. She’s got her other elbow on the edge of the table and is looking dreamily at him. I love her to bits, but I’m willing her elbow to slip in a classic Only Fools and Horses moment.

  “And what do you do? Hello?”

  “Sorry. My friend’s sitting behind you. She’s a bit nervous,” I lie.

  Victor turns and Duncan smiles at him. This makes Donna turn round and say, “Hiya.”

  Rosie comes over. “Victor, please turn round.”

  “Sorry.” The teacher blushes like a naughty schoolboy as she walks away.

  “What did you ask me, Victor?”

  “What you did for a living.”

  “Sorry, yes. Secretary for a training company.” I’ve said it nearly thirty times and am beginning to feel that’s what I do.

  “So we have a lot in common then.”

  He waits for me to agree, which I don’t because I don’t have a clue what he’s talking about.

  “We help people learn. Take an empty shell and fill it with enlightening information.”

  “Yes, I suppose we do,” I concede.

  Victor’s telling me all about their latest experiment when the bell goes. I think I remained conscious throughout, but either can’t remember or understand a word of it, and say, “That sounds interesting. I’m sure my friend Donna, the one sitting behind you, would love to hear all about it. Nice to meet you.”

  “Oh, yes, I had her first. She was lovely,” he says then gets up and heads for Rosie, marking his card as he walks. I look down at mine and the empty boxes. Just to have something to hand in, I tick box number sixteen (Duncan).

  As Duncan also walks towards Rosie, Donna turns to me and claps. “Wasn’t that great?”

  “Yes, delightful.”

  “Come on. It was fun.”

  “I suppose. Definitely different. Lots of fodder for tomorrow’s article.”

  With that, she slaps her hand over her mouth.

  “What have you done?”

  “I might have said something to someone.”

  “Who?” Please don’t say Duncan.

  “Number…” She looks at her card.

  “Yes…?” I’m slightly relieved; it can’t be Duncan because she would have said his name not his number.

  “Well…”

  “Donna.”

  “I think it was either number three or number ten.”

  Looking at my card with the notes I’d written in the margin that signified ‘Chilled’ and ‘Waffler’, I think I’m pretty safe. I don’t figure Chilled for someone who’d put two and two together, and Waffler, if Donna had managed to get a word in, wouldn’t have been paying attention because he’d be too busy concentrating on what to say next.

  �
�Don’t worry, I’m sure they won’t say anything.”

  “Oh, and number one... Victor. He was really interesting, telling me about a new microscopy technique that’s allowed researchers in the US to make the first measurements of the earliest stages of crystallisation. He said the technique could help scientists gain a more complete understanding of how materials crystallise – which might eventually lead to high-speed computer memories based on crystallisation.”

  She, and her auditory memory, never cease to amaze me. “Only Victor and Duncan know we’re friends and unless the two of them are… no!”

  Donna swings round in the direction I’m looking. Victor and Duncan are heading for Rosie at the same time and they’re chatting like best friends. I feel sick. I can’t imagine Duncan making a big deal of it, but Victor might. ‘Take an empty shell and fill it with wondering information.’ I know it still applies to what I really do, but most teachers abhor lying and I’ve told a few whoppers here tonight.

  Cards delivered, they’re pointing in our direction. Uh oh, they’re walking over.

  Victor puts out his hand in Donna’s direction and she shakes it warmly. “It was so lovely talking to you.” He then does the same with me before whispering, “I’ve put both your numbers down. You were delightful, truly lovely.”

  I don’t know what to say other than a feeble, “Thanks.” He pauses as if waiting for me to say that I’ve also put his number down, but he’s got a long wait. “Nice to meet you too,” I continue. “Have a safe journey home.” He takes that as his cue and walks to the bar.

  “That was mean.” Donna sees the best in everyone.

  “Not intentionally, but I couldn’t tell him I wasn’t interested.”

  “Have you put my number down?” Duncan asks.

  I slap the card to my chest, blank side out, and smile. “Now, that would be telling.”

  “I have!” Donna bounces enthusiastically.

  “Thank you, Donna. I’ve done likewise. In fact…” He leans in closer between Donna and I. “You’re the only two numbers I’ve put on my card.”

  We’re both speechless.

  “Well, ladies, I’d better go. Donna, a pleasure. Isobel, a re-pleasure.”

  Donna sighs again as we watch the little red label walk out the door, then she slaps me with her card. “Why didn’t you ask him out?”

  “We’ve already been out.”

  “I know, but you like him.”

  “So do you.”

  “You got there first.”

  I wonder whether I only have feelings for him because I had to share him with fourteen other women including my best friend. I’m not into mumbo jumbo, as Keith Mk 2 put it, but decide to let fate take its course. Rosie will send our details and if it feels right, then I will.

  I look around the room for Ursula, but she’s chatting away to Nick the librarian and I’m surprised when I see he’s giving as good as he gets. She’s found a topic that gets more than the monosyllable, so we leave her to it.

  Donna can’t stop talking on the way back to my house. She relives the last couple of hours in her mind, except it’s spilling out through her mouth. I find it hilarious though as her take on the evening is so different to mine, but to me it’s still work and to her it’s excitement, Donna style.

  Chapter 16 – Adam at the Red Lion

  I can’t wait to log on to my emails to get my matches from Rosie.

  One name, and it’s not Duncan’s. Seeing as I’d only requested him, I email Rosie saying I think she’s made a mistake. She has.

  Sorry. Thought you’d requested Victor too. That means that there were no matches for you both ways. Sorry again.

  I can’t believe Duncan said what he did and then didn’t request me, so I send him an email via tallgirlnn1. A nice one of course. I figure he’ll be at work, so don’t expect a reply today.

  With so much to type up from last night, I make a large mug of tea and get cracking. I’m nearly done when William comes over.

  “Hi, Izzy.”

  No Isobel? “Hello, William. How are things?”

  “Good, thanks. Can I see you in my office for a minute?”

  Uh oh. I smile and say, “Sure.”

  I follow him to his office and he steps back, letting me go first. I say, “Thanks,” and he follows me, closing the door behind him. I stay standing, but he goes behind his desk, sits, then indicates that I should do the same.

  I sit, but say nothing, letting him go first.

  “Now, Izzy.”

  Here we go.

  “I’ve been reading through your articles this month…”

  Yes, and they’re a load of rubbish. You’re fired, clear your desk, and to add insult to injury, I’m going to get Mike to walk you out of the building.

  “…and they’re great.”

  Oh. Great.

  “There’s just one thing.”

  Here we go. A compliment first, dull the pain, then wham!

  “Rita’s given me your expenses to sign off.”

  You did give me the okay beforehand, and I’ve not…

  “You’re not spending very much money.” I can’t decide from his expression whether he’s complaining or congratulating me. “Is everything all right?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “From the articles it looks like you should be spending more than you are. You’re not using any of your own money, are you?”

  I suppress a laugh. Me, spend money on work? Not happened so far. “No. It’s worked out on some occasions that the guy buys the first drink and then we don’t get to a second.”

  “Oh.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “No, not at all. You’re producing great work – quality, quantity. No complaints from me.”

  “Great.”

  I’m debating whether the conversation’s over and that was my cue to leave, when he asks, “How did it go last night?”

  “Good, thanks. Writing it up now.”

  “Speed dating, wasn’t it?”

  “Err… how…?”

  “Receipt for the reservations.”

  Then it hits me. I’d also booked Donna’s place with the company credit card. “I’d meant to pay for Donna’s…”

  “No, Izzy, it’s fine. She’s a colleague. It was a work event, sort of. It’s fine. I’ve signed it off.”

  “Thanks. It was going to be my treat to her though, honestly.”

  “It’s fine. All gone through. Besides, you’re ahead by more than that in the first two weeks of this project.”

  That was true, and it did make me feel better.

  “And you’re still okay about the whole thing? Not getting too much?”

  “Not at all. Having a blast.” That was a bit of an overstatement, but it was fine. Makes a change from testing boys’ toys (the best aspect of my job) and I get to go to places I’ve either not been for ages or have always wanted to visit. Other than thirty-one dates in thirty-one days, when would I get the opportunity to do that again? Actually, forty-five in thirty-one days, but who’s counting? Yes, I am.

  Donna looks worried as I leave William’s office, so I give her the thumbs up and she smiles.

  I make a fresh cuppa to help me finish the article (I’m on Mr Unemployable and boy, is he fun to write about) and have just sat down when Tigger D comes bouncing over. If history didn’t have to follow chronologically, I’d swear AA Milne’s character was based on her.

  “What did William want? What did he want?”

  “To fire me.”

  “No!”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t seem disappointed.”

  “Of course I’m not. No, really, what did he want?”

  “He likes my articles.”

  She claps her hands (they must be so sore because she does that at least twice a day, and that’s only the times I see her do it). “I think he likes you.”

  “Donna, don’t be so ridiculous.”

  “No, I think he does
.”

  “You think everybody likes me, and me them. Besides, I still think it’s someone a little closer to home he’s got his eye on.”

  “What, you know his neighbours?”

  “Donna, for someone with a photographic memory, you can be so blonde sometimes.”

  “Eh?”

  “By someone closer, I mean geographically.”

  “Like a neighbour.”

  “No. Someone geographical at work.”

  “Me?” She looks horrified.

  William’s not that bad. “Donna!”

  “You mean Janine?”

  “It wouldn’t be Keith, would it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, Donna, it’s Janine.”

  “You did mention something the other day. Do you really think…?”

  “Yes, Donna.”

  So, the theme of today’s article is ‘quality not quantity’. And the two ticked boxes? Don’t write someone off on a first date if you have a good time and could, at the very least, be friends (however clichéd that sounds) and Do go out there, have fun and circulate. You’re never going to meet anyone staying at home (although I’m looking forward to a night off… in fourteen nights’ time. That sounds ridiculous. Two weeks. Get a grip. Lots of people work night shifts fourteen days in a row and spend their whole day sleeping, so this is no different is it? No, Isobel, it’s much better).

  Three boxes… and do try speed dating. While you run the risk of meeting a dozen or so oddities (I scrub out ‘oddities’ and replace it with ‘men you have nothing in common with’), the chances are that there will be one or two people you do get on with and even if you don’t want to swap details, you can have a fun evening.

  I’m looking forward to tonight. I’ve not been to the Red Lion for ages and it’s quite posh, so he… (I look at my notes to remind me of his name), Adam, must be ‘of good standing’ as my dad would say. That reminds me, I’m due a visit to the olds on Sunday so ring to confirm. Plus I have to pack the theatre away (fortunately all the bits are there – I had to take it out of the box to check, didn’t I?) and take it for Lola. L O L A Lola. I can rarely resist singing the Kinks song whenever I say her name (although Ellen, my sister-in-law, says she was named after Ludwig the First of Bavaria’s mistress Lola Montez because she studied her in Bavarian history, but I know my brother is a Kinks fan).