Closer to You

by Adam Croft

  I think instead we should go for classy neutrals, with a base colour of white. Apparently that is pure, clean and conveys brightness of spirit. Definitely the sort of feelings we want to communicate.

  I trust all is in hand and you’ll be able to make the necessary changes.

  Yours,

  Matilda

  I can feel the blood rising in my face as I read the email again, sure I must have misunderstood. We’ve got a week left until the event. One week. And she wants to change the bloody colour scheme?

  I go to compose a reply, but decide against it. If I send something back to her now, we’ll end up losing the contract. No doubt about that. Over the years I’ve become pretty good at biting my tongue, but every now and again I need to take some space.

  In any case, there’s not long to go now until Christmas. The office shuts down completely over the festive period and everyone goes pretty much incommunicado, with Sue, the director, having decreed a couple of years earlier that email access should be banned over the break. It’s a modern approach, but one which is definitely appreciated.

  I stand up from my desk, grab my bag and head for the loos. I need to calm down.

  When I get there, I dump my bag on the side, lean back against the cold tiled wall and exhale. I take my phone out of my bag and look at the screen. There’s a Tinder message from Tom, sent an hour or so earlier.

  Hope you’re having a good day. Speak soon x

  I smile, realising that he’s been thinking of me, even though his day has doubtless been as busy as mine. I’d be lying if I said I’d spent the morning thinking about him, but I have a funny feeling the afternoon might be different.

  I unlock my phone and tap out a reply.

  Not brilliant, to be honest. But I guess that’s what makes the evenings all the sweeter x

  Within a minute or so, he’s sent me another message.

  Oh no. Hope all’s OK…? x

  Yeah, all fine, I reply. Just the usual work stuff! Hope your day is going better x

  I don’t like to jump the gun, but he’s doing all the right things. He’s kind, attentive, communicative — all without being creepy or going overboard.

  I take the opportunity to touch up my makeup. I don’t wear a lot, but the act of applying it somehow tends to make me feel better.

  As I do so, I hear my phone buzz.

  Would it make you feel better if you had something to look forward to? x

  I think I know what he’s getting at, but I decide to play dumb.

  Such as? x

  His reply comes barely ten seconds later.

  Would you like to grab a drink somewhere tonight? x

  I look at the words on the screen in front of me, unsure how to reply. Would I like to? Yes. Obviously. Do I think I should? I’m less sure. I’m not in the habit of meeting people I’ve only been speaking to on an app for a couple of days, but at the same time he does seem like a genuinely nice person. And anyway, what harm can come of a quick drink in a local — public — bar? I’m in no more danger than I would be if I just happened to bump into him while out. He’s an actual person, after all. I’m not some sort of supernatural proxy which is going to enable his crossing over from The Internet to The Real World.

  Why the hell not, I tell myself. I’ve had enough of the mundanity of the day — the week — and he’s right: it will give me something to look forward to. What harm has a little spontaneity ever done anyone?

  Sure. Where were you thinking? x

  As far as I’m concerned, this is the real test of a man. I like someone who can take control, make decisions. If he comes back asking me where I’d like to go, he loses a point. If he makes a suggestion or takes some sort of positive action, it’s game on.

  His reply arrives.

  Brownlow Arms, 8pm? x

  A place and a time. And it’s local to me — to both of us, I assume. His Tinder profile said we were 4km away from each other. At least I can be pretty sure there won’t be two Brownlow Armses around there.

  Perfect. See you then x

  I smile. I can already feel my day getting better.

  3

  The Brownlow Arms used to be a dark and dingy country pub, but it’s recently been spruced up to become a light and airy gastropub. It’s not exactly in the country, either, rather nestled in a small hamlet between two smallish towns. It’s the sort of place that’d never survive if it didn’t do food, which I guess is one of the saving graces of the rise of the gastropub.

  Tom messaged me again in the afternoon to let me know one half of the pub was for dining only, so he’d meet me in the bar area and we could find a drinks-only table from there.

  I get there just over ten minutes early, having called a cab from my house. I definitely need a drink after the day I’ve had. I’m not the sort of person who likes to be late, and I prefer to get my bearings and feel comfortable with my surroundings before things kick off. I’ve not been in here since they’ve done it up. In fact, I don’t think I ever came in here before they did it up. It’s busy for a weekday evening, and I wonder how many of the couples and families will be heading through to the restaurant to eat.

  I order a soft drink from the bar — don’t want to be getting too far ahead of myself — and sit down at a small table in the corner by the window. At least this way I’ll be able to see when Tom arrives. He’ll be driving, he said, as he needs to be up early for work in the morning.

  After a few minutes, I see a white Audi pull into the car park. PCP White, my dad would call it, referring to the fact that so many people decided to ‘buy’ cars on Personal Contract Purchase plans nowadays, and kept the monthly payments down by choosing the basic white paintwork. I watch as Tom gets out of the car, and I decide I probably won’t tell him that little anecdote.

  He’s instantly recognisable from his picture, and that immediately earns him an extra point. Too many people seem to have old photos on their profile, or ones which have been doctored or filtered to make them look better than they actually do. He’s taller than I imagined, but not by much. He’s wearing a smart jumper over a shirt with light-coloured chinos and brown shoes, and seems as though he’d fit in perfectly with the rest of the clientele here. Might have to be careful I don’t lose him in a crowd.

  He spots me as soon as he walks in, and I stand up as he makes his way over and plants a kiss on my cheek.

  ‘How are you?’ he asks.

  ‘I’m good,’ I reply. ‘Busy in here tonight.’

  ‘Must have chosen the right place then,’ he says, winking. ‘Would you like a drink?’

  I’ve nearly finished my soft drink, so I tell him I’d like a glass of red. I stare absentmindedly out the window until he comes back from the bar with a non-alcoholic beer, and he sits down on the opposite side of the table.

  ‘So whereabouts do you live?’ he says. ‘I don’t think we ever actually did that bit.’

  I laugh and tell him I live in the next town along. He lives in the opposite direction, but only a couple of miles away. I go to say it’s odd we’ve never bumped into each other before, but I’m not originally from round here and, judging by his accent, neither is he.

  ‘Cornwall,’ he says when I ask him about it. ‘Decided to stop crunching carrots and upped sticks to head here.’

  His accent is more rounded than the typical West Country burr, so I ask him how long he’s been up here.

  ‘Not long,’ he says. ‘Personally I’d love to lose the accent completely. Not exactly got good memories of the place.’

  I want to find out more, but can’t exactly ask him to explain what he means. I decide to try another way around it.

  ‘Not keen to head back, then?’

  He lets out a sarcastic chuckle and shakes his head. ‘No I am not. It’s a bit of a long story, but I might as well be open and honest from the start. I was married. We had a daughter. I totally understand if you want to get up and run now. Most do.’

  ‘Seriously? Why would they do that?’<
br />
  Tom shrugs. ‘Dunno. I guess they have these ideas about how they’d like things to be. My baggage doesn’t quite fit into those plans.’

  ‘What happened?’ I ask. ‘I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m just genuinely interested.’

  Tom lets out a deep breath. ‘Well, all seemed to be going fine. One day I came home and found a note on the kitchen table saying she wanted a fresh start and they were gone. That was the last I heard from her.’

  ‘Jesus. And she still lives down there?’

  ‘So I’m told. But her family won’t tell me a thing, obviously. Looking back, she was always going to self-destruct.’

  ‘So when was all this?’ I ask, trying to work out the dates in my mind.

  ‘A couple of years ago now. Seems like an age.’

  ‘So you don’t see your daughter?’

  ‘No,’ he says quietly, his face dropping. ‘I shelled out thousands trying to track her down. Hired a private detective, the lot. But she made up a load of stories about me so I couldn’t get joint custody. I almost lost my job. I worked from home most of the time, and obviously after all this I didn’t have a home. I couldn’t afford to keep the house by myself. I travel quite a bit for work anyway, so I knew it’d be handy to be closer to London and the airports and to give me a fresh start. My boss put me up in a flat he owns up here. This was all a little while after, of course. I stayed down in Cornwall for a long time, hoping things might work out. But after a year and a half or so, I was out of money and couldn’t keep the house on. I’ve been up here for three or four months now.’

  I wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t expecting any of this. ‘Wow,’ I say. ‘Sorry to hear that.’

  ‘The car’s not mine either,’ he says, somehow managing to get there before me. ‘That’s my boss’s too. He gets a company car, so he uses that and lets me use the Audi.’

  ‘Wow. Sounds like a good friend.’

  ‘He is, yeah. I’d be lost without him. He’s kept me on my feet.’

  ‘What about your family? Do you still have them?’

  ‘No,’ Tom says, his face dropping slightly. ‘My parents died.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘Was it recent?’

  ‘Fairly. A couple of years back. Car accident. Sorry, you must think I’m some sort of mental case.’

  ‘No, not at all,’ I say, reaching across the table and putting my hand on his forearm. ‘We’ve all been through things. It doesn’t make you a worse person. It just makes you human.’

  We chat for another two hours, mostly about nothing but enough to let me find out more about him. I come to admire his positive outlook. Even after everything he’s been through, after almost losing everything, he still manages to hold a smile and look to the future. There were one or two negative comments, of course, but on the whole he seemed to be determined to make his life better in every way he could. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I always find that to be attractive in a man.

  With the time past ten o’clock, we make our way out into the car park, where my taxi’s waiting. Tom offered me a lift, but I insisted he didn’t need to go out of his way. In any case, I wasn’t quite comfortable with him knowing where I live just yet — not that I told him that. A true gentleman, he didn’t push the point and insisted instead that he pay for the taxi.

  As we say our goodbyes, I lean in and kiss him.

  Later that night, while I’m getting ready for bed, I see another message pop up on my phone. It’s him.

  I hope I’m not jumping the gun here, but I really like you. I think you might be the ying to my yang x

  I smile, and tap out a reply.

  4

  Sunday 24 November

  Today was much more bearable than yesterday, largely because I had Tom’s messages to keep me going — as well as memories of our second date from last night.

  We met up for a bite to eat, then went bowling in town. It’s not my usual cup of tea, but Tom suggested it and I thought at least we’d be able to chat and get to know each other, rather than sitting in silence in a cinema somewhere.

  It’s not like me to be out two nights in a row, but I’d already arranged to go round to Cath’s this evening to help her with her wedding plans.

  Cath and Ben have been together for almost five years, and announced last year that they’d got engaged. I don’t think they quite realised how much work would go into planning a wedding, though, and I’ve ended up being appointed their unofficial wedding organiser. I don’t mind that one bit, though. I’m quite enjoying it, and looking forward to making sure they both have their best day of their lives. Cath being Cath, she decided they’d get married on Valentine’s Day, because she thought it would be romantic.

  ‘The main thing now is to sort out the seating plan,’ I tell her, as we sit down in her living room with a glass of wine. ‘Is Ben around? He should probably be in on this.’

  ‘I sent him to the pub,’ Cath tells me. ‘We tried to sort it out ourselves, but we just keep disagreeing. He’s got this bee in his bonnet that the numbers need to be even on both sides. Well, his mum has, anyway. Problem is, I’ve got a huge family. He’s an only child and so were both of his parents, but there’s four of us on my side, plus twelve cousins. If there’s going to be even numbers on both sides, his mum’ll end up inviting her second cousin three times removed before my brother’s even got a seat.’

  We sit down on her living room floor and move pieces of paper around for a good half an hour before realising there’s no fair or democratic way to do it. The numbers are going to be unbalanced in any case.

  ‘You’ve either got to stop at cousins, or whatever line on the family tree you choose, or match numbers on both sides. You can’t do both,’ I tell her.

  ‘I know. I’ve been telling Ben that for months. His mum’s still under the impression we’re going to invite more people from her side of the family. He’s going to have to say something to her pretty quickly. We can’t go inviting people at this stage, not so long after all the invitations have gone out. They’ll know they’re afterthoughts.’

  In the end, we decide to go for a plan that couldn’t possibly upset anybody: complete randomness. We write all the couples’ names on pieces of paper — as well as anyone attending on their own — and put them in a bowl. Then we mix them up and take them out one by one, seating them around our imaginary tables. They get what they’re given.

  ‘Ah. Problem,’ Cath says, scrunching up her face. ‘Uncle Mike can’t sit there.’

  ‘Why not?’ I ask.

  ‘He used to be married to Teri. Can’t have them on the same table.’

  ‘So move him back a couple of tables.’

  ‘But he’s my dad’s brother. We can’t really have him at the back.’

  ‘We’re going for randomness, Cath. No hierarchy, remember?’

  ‘Even so. There must be somewhere else we can put him.’

  I sigh. ‘Well let’s move Teri instead. Mike can stay where he is, near the front.’

  ‘But she’s my mum’s best friend. And she needs to be on that table, because it’s closest to the disabled toilet.’

  I’m starting to see why wedding planning tends to cause so many rifts and arguments in families.

  ‘I tell you what,’ I say. ‘I went to one last year which was ridiculously informal. They had a chip van outside the venue that did the catering. Everyone queued up for their fish and chips, then went and sat down wherever the hell they wanted. People moved about, got up and mingled, it was great. Why not do that? You can still save a seat near the disabled toilet for Teri, and as far as her and Uncle Mike are concerned, never the twain shall meet.’

  Cath scrunches up her face. ‘A chip van?’

  ‘Obviously I’m not suggesting that bit, but scrapping the seating plan would solve your problems.’

  ‘What about the food, though? The venue need a list of everyone who needs the vegetarian or gluten free options. They’d be running around
like blue-arsed flies trying to find the right people if we did that.’

  ‘Some sort of table marker then,’ I suggest. ‘Like when you go to a pub and you take a wooden spoon with a number on it. Maybe have colour coded ones, so people who’ve ordered the vegetarian or gluten free options can make themselves known.’

  Cath’s got that look on her face which tells me she can’t see any flaws in my logic, but still doesn’t like the idea because it’s not quite how she envisioned it. I take the opportunity to move onto the next item on the list — preparing the wedding favours.

  As we make them, I bring up the subject of Tom. Everything happened so fast yesterday, I haven’t had a chance to update her yet.

  ‘Tinder strikes again, eh?’ she says.

  ‘Honestly, he’s really nice. You’ll like him.’

  Cath smiles. ‘Good,’ she says. ‘You know, there’s still time to put him down as your plus one for the wedding. If he gets his meal choice in within the next few weeks, he can come to the day too.’

  ‘Oh, I think that’s a bit soon,’ I say. ‘I only met him a week ago.’

  ‘I know,’ Cath says, smiling again. ‘Just saying. You deserve someone. Especially after what happened.’

  I don’t think it was necessary for her to bring up Matt, but it’s too late now. The damage is done.