Meet me at Covent Garden station at 7. I want to surprise you. X
That was the last text Daniel sent me. I try to imagine what he might have in store. Another private members’ club? A candlelit dinner for two? I picture us, sitting in a swanky restaurant, Daniel gazing at me with his piercing blue eyes, a few strands of hair falling across his forehead.
‘The next station is Bank where this train terminates. All change.’
Suddenly, the image of Daniel disintegrates and I come to my senses. Bank!? Shit! I’ve gone past my stop. I leap up, grabbing the gym bag I’ve stuffed with the little black dress I’m going to change into after work. It’s another purchase I’ve hardly ever worn. It’s a bit short and the material is sort of slinky, almost like a slip, but I figured, what better occasion to wear a sexy LBD than on a date with an insanely hot Robert Pattinson lookalike? And yes, I don’t know where he’s taking me, but it’s hardly going to be the local bowling alley, is it?
The train arrives at Bank and I barge my way through the throng of commuters, making my way to the opposite platform where I hurry onto a waiting train heading eastwards back to Shadwell. I stand by the doors next to a man who’s wearing gold studs just like the one Daniel had in his left ear. I love that stud. It adds a certain uniqueness to his look. If it wasn’t for that stud, he’d almost be too perfect-looking. It makes him look a little different. It jars; you don’t expect it to be there, yet it just works. I touched it when we kissed in The Cavendish Club, my fingers tracing over his ear before getting lost in his hair. The man trips a little, shoving into me as the tube judders to a halt.
‘The next station is Limehouse. Change here for C2C services.’
What? Limehouse?! Oh no! I’ve missed my stop again! I rush off the train. I can’t believe it! I glance at my watch. It’s 9.45am. Ted and Sandra will be wondering where the hell I’ve got to. I run across the station one more time and hop back on the westbound train. Okay. Get off at Shadwell. Don’t think about Daniel, I tell myself as the tube hurtles through the Underground.
Fifteen minutes later, I rush into the office.
‘Sorry I’m late, Ted!’
Ted purses his lips, doing his tense face.
‘Bit of a delay on the DLR.’ I hang up my coat before hurrying over to my desk.
‘Hmmm…’ Ted reaches into his drawer and pulls out a paper, before striding over. He plonks it in front of me, giving me a second to read the title: The effect of increased fluid intake on human intestinal transit and stool output.
‘I need this tidied up by this afternoon. We’re sending it to The Lancet,’ he states coolly.
‘Stool output?’
‘Yes, it’s a very important piece of work. Our researchers have been flat out on this for months.’
‘Oh, right.’ Reluctantly, I pick up the document.
Ted shoots me a look.
‘It’s a research paper, Sophia. You only have to edit it, it’s not like you actually have to see the stools. Although I can arrange a visit to the lab if you like?’ he asks, raising an eyebrow.
I laugh weakly. ‘No, I don’t think that will be necessary. Thanks for the offer though, Ted.’
Ted smiles and strides back to his desk, his oversized trousers swaddling his legs.
I read the first sentence. ‘Investigations assessing the affects of increased fluid intake on mouth-to-anus transit time in Humans have often yielded conflikting and, hence, inconclusive results.’ Bloody hell. Unnecessary capitalisation. Bad spelling. Conflikting for crying out loud! Great. Just great. I glance over at Ted, whose tongue is poking out of his mouth as he jabs away at his keyboard. Sandra cranes her neck towards her computer screen as she shuffles around a paragraph of text. They’re both in such deep concentration. I wish I could get as into my work as them, but I’d rather be doing anything else right now than editing a paper on human stools.
Oh! I could always do a quick spot of buffet research. I click onto Google and type ‘buffet food’ to get a bit of inspiration. I browse the images of vol au vents, chicken drumsticks, cute little finger sandwiches, scotch eggs and tiny scones. Why is food so much more enticing when it’s in buffet form? I grab my notebook and start making a list. I write down ‘chicken drumsticks’ and ‘finger sandwiches – fillings?’ I’m about to start googling finger sandwich fillings when a booming voice interrupts me.
‘I see you’ve moved on from naked hunks to scotch eggs?’ Ted is eyeing my screen. ‘Or is this more research for the Christmas party, because at this rate, Sophia, I’m expecting it to be pretty darn good.’
I giggle nervously and shut down the browsing window ‘Sorry, Ted.’
Ted clocks the words written on my notebook and raises an eyebrow.
‘I don’t pay you to make shopping lists, Sophia. Now please do some work.’
‘I will. Sorry.’ I shove the notebook into my desk drawer and crap on, I mean, crack on, with the poo paper.
‘Fancy going to the café down the road for lunch?’ I ask Sandra the moment the clock strikes 1pm.
‘I can’t today. This paper’s a bit of a tricky one,’ Sandra sighs, before holding up a sandwich wrapped in clingfilm. ‘Brought lunch in,’ she says.
‘Oh ok, no probs.’ I save my work and put on my coat.
‘By the way, how was your date with Daniel?’ Sandra asks in a hushed voice so Ted can’t hear. I move a little closer to her desk.
‘Amazing! You were right, Sandra, he’s the spitting image of Robert Pattinson,’ I gush.
‘Told you!’ Sandra says smugly.
‘It’s so weird the way everyone just stares and whispers. I thought you were exaggerating but it does actually happen!’
Sandra nods enthusiastically. ‘Yep. He’s very handsome.’
‘A dish!’ I can’t help adding.
‘He’s a real dish!’ Sandra grins. ‘If he were a dish, he’d have Michelin stars! Three Michelin stars! Anyway, where did he take you?’
I quickly tell her about our date at The Cavendish Club.
‘I knew it!’ she gasps, now seemingly oblivious to her pressing paper. ‘I knew he’d be perfect for you!’
‘It’s early days, Sandra,’ I remind her.
‘Screw early days! I’m buying a hat.’
Ted looks over and pointedly clears his throat. Sandra and I exchange a look.
‘I’d better get to lunch,’ I mutter.
‘Yeah,’ Sandra agrees, although she’s still smiling to herself, no doubt proud of her cupid role in bringing me and Daniel together, as she turns back to her computer.
I head to the café down the road, which is even more bustling than usual for a Monday lunch time. I pay for my lunch and scan the café for tables. It’s packed and I’m just about to give up and eat my lunch back at the office when I spot a free seat on a table opposite an older woman who’s tucking into her lunch while reading the paper. I hate sharing with strangers, but needs must.
I wander over.
‘Do you mind if I sit here?’ I ask, gesturing at the free chair.
She glances up at me.
‘Sure,’ she mumbles through a mouthful of food.
I tear open my sandwich and absently scroll through messages on my phone while I take a few bites, when suddenly, I become aware of a familiar voice behind me.
‘Did you know that crisps were almost banned in the US during the second world war?’ the voice says.
I glance over my shoulder. It’s none other than the noodle nerd sitting opposite a pretty brunette, ripping open a bag of crisps and placing it open on the table between them. Oh no! I quickly turn back to look at my phone, cowering into my seat and praying he doesn’t spot me.
‘The US government was regulating all manufacturing to meet wartime needs and basically declared crisps to be a “non-essential food” so they tried to ban them. You can imagine the outcry!’
He pauses, no doubt crunching through a couple of said crisps.
‘There were protests, demonstrations. Can you imagine? Banning crisps!’
‘Haha.’ The girl laughs weakly and I shrink further into my seat, cringing for him. Food facts must be his standard date chat.
‘In the end, the government had to back down. No one was having any of it, and thanks to all the furore, crisp sales went through the roof!’
‘Oh, right,’ the girl replies disinterestedly. Little does she know that this crisp factoid is actually quite interesting compared to the noodle seminar I endured.
‘It’s interesting when you think about it, even in these modern times when we’re supposed to be so health conscious, crisp sales are still off the charts. Did you know that Brits consume six billion packets a year?’
‘Really,’ she replies flatly.
‘Yeah, the crisp industry in this country is worth over a billion pounds.’
‘Mm-hmm,’ she murmurs.
They lapse into silence and I take a few bites of my sandwich, feeling painfully aware of every second of non-conversation ticking by. Even as a secret by-stander, this date is painful to witness. I almost wish he’d come up with another crisp fact to fill the silence.
‘Well, err… I’d better be off. Got to head back to work,’ the girl says. She jolts her chair backwards so quickly that it knocks into mine.
‘Oh, sorry,’ she apologises.
‘’S’ok,’ I mutter, keeping my head down and hoping Chris won’t spot me.
‘Ok, well, nice to meet you. Bye then,’ the girl says before hurrying off.
I turn back to my sandwich, hoping I’ll blend into the array of non-descript office workers and go unseen.
‘Sophia?’ Chris punctures my wishful thinking.
Slowly, I turn around, to see him sitting there, red-cheeked, in front of the open packet of crisps still mostly uneaten.
‘Hi…’ I smile awkwardly. Not only did I never want to see him again, but I didn’t bother replying to his text and I’ve just witnessed his date walk out on him. Could this be any more uncomfortable?
He clears his throat. ‘How are you?’ he asks.
‘I’m okay,’ I reply. ‘How are you?’
‘Not too bad.’ He shrugs, looking over my shoulder towards the woman sitting opposite me, minding her own business. He realises I’m alone.
‘Do you want to sit here?’ he suggests, gesturing at the empty seat in front of him.
‘Oh, err…’
He shuffles in his chair and looks down at the crisp packet, torn open in front of him.
‘Or not, don’t worry about it,’ he croaks and suddenly I feel pretty bad for him.
‘Sure,’ I reply, getting up and picking up my lunch tray. ‘Why not?’
‘Great, you can help me with these crisps!’ he jokes, plucking one from the packet and popping it into his mouth.
I let out a feeble laugh as I sit down opposite him.
‘Sorry I didn’t reply to your text the other day,’ I remark. ‘Been really busy.’
‘It’s okay,’ he replies in an emotionless monotone as he picks up another crisp. I get the feeling that he’s used to it. He’s used to girls not replying to his texts and not wanting a second date.
‘So, err… how have you been?’ I ask.
‘I’ve been better.’ He smiles sadly. ‘I was just on a date actually, but I guess she wasn’t interested. Well, she definitely wasn’t interested! She just upped and left,’ he admits, reaching for a crisp.
‘Yeah, umm, I overheard,’ I confess.
‘Oh, did you? Great!’ Chris laughs despondently and I can’t help laughing with him. After all, it is quite funny, in a tragic way.
‘So how the hell do you know so much about crisps?’ I ask, reaching for one.
Chris shrugs. ‘I dunno. I just pick up random facts. I read a lot and I research things when I’m bored.’
‘You research crisp production in World War II when you’re bored?’
‘Yeah.’ He smiles in a relaxed way that causes the skin to crinkle at the corners of his eyes.
‘Wow. You should really go on Mastermind or something, seriously!’ I reach for another crisp.
‘Yeah, I’d imagine the Mastermind audience might be more impressed by my general knowledge than my dates.’
‘Maybe you’re right!’ I admit, cringing. ‘I did learn a lot about noodles on our date. Oh, and tube stations!’
He blushes a little as he takes a sip of his drink. ‘I’m sorry. I have a bit of a phobia of awkward silences so I just try to think of stuff to say.’
‘And what comes out is food facts?’
‘Apparently,’ he sighs.
I take a few more crisps. ‘Look, seeing as I’ve eaten half your crisps, let me give you some dating advice. Women are not charmed by food facts. Maybe save those nuggets for date three or four if you have to, but it’s not exactly the most thrilling material for first date banter.’
‘I haven’t had a second date in months, let alone a third or fourth,’ Chris tells me.
‘Well clearly the factoids aren’t cutting it,’ I point out, brushing crisp crumbs off my hands before picking up my coffee cup. ‘Next time you feel like there might be an awkward silence, just ask the girl a question. Ask her about her hobbies, how long she’s been in London, where she hangs out, I don’t know! Anything! Just as long as it’s not, “Did you know this or that food fact?”’
Chris laughs. ‘Got it. Less food trivia, more questions.’
‘Exactly.’
He reaches for a crisp but instead of eating it, he just holds it hesitantly, as if considering something.
‘Is that why you didn’t want a second date then, because of all the facts?’ he asks.
‘Umm…’ I squirm in my seat. ‘I guess so, it was a little…’
‘Dry?’ he offers.
‘Yeah, I was thinking “boring” but dry works too,’ I tell him teasingly, but he looks a little hurt and glances down at his lap.
‘I mean, you’re not boring,’ I back-peddle. ‘You’re clearly an interesting guy, with your degree and your…’
I trail off, catching myself before I add ‘charity work’ which I only know about from having stalked him online.
‘Career,’ I opt for instead. ‘But the fact-chat is letting you down. Oh, and the figurine battle chat. Maybe don’t mention that on the first date.’
‘Yeah,’ he says glumly. ‘No one’s been into that.’
‘It’s a bit niche,’ I say, finishing off the last few bites of my sandwich.
‘Fair enough. So, if I don’t talk about facts or my battle games, would you be up for a second date?’ he asks, taking me by surprise.
‘Oh! Uhh…’ I appraise him for a second, sitting there in his crisp blue shirt, which is mercifully clean unlike the soy-sauce-spattered one from our date. He looks a bit different in the bright daytime light flooding through the windows of the café and his eyes seem bluer, layered with tiny flecks.
I look down at my coffee and peel a loose shred of plastic from the edge of the lid. Chris is a good catch on paper and he does seem sweet, now that he’s not quoting facts, but I’ve got my second date with Daniel tonight and it feels wrong to juggle.
‘I can’t,’ I tell him. ‘I just started seeing someone.’
‘Oh, right. Okay. Good for you!’ Chris says. ‘Anyone special? Well, I suppose he must be special if you’re dating him.’
‘Yeah, he seems special. It’s still early days but he seems nice.’
I don’t need to tell Chris that Daniel seems more than nice, he seems absolutely perfect.
‘Well good luck.’ Chris smiles.
‘Hah, thanks.’ I take a sip of my coffee, which has grown a little cold now.
‘Not that you need it!’ Chris adds. ‘But hey, at least I know your dating tips work then if you’ve found someone!’
‘Well, what can I say!’ Jokily, I flick my hair over my shoulder. ‘But it’s not been easy for me, believe me! You’ve just got to keep looking.’
He nods. ‘Yeah, you’re right.’
A couple of office workers carrying trays walk over and linger near to our table, appraising empty sandwich packets impatiently.
‘We should probably head off.’
‘Yeah.’ Chris glances at his watch. ‘I need to get back to the office.’
We clear our table, which is pounced upon the second we get up, and then head out of the café.
‘I’m going this way.’ Chris motions down the street. ‘What about you?’
‘That way.’ I point down in the opposite direction.
‘Cool,’ he replies and for an awkward moment, we just stand there, neither of us moving.
‘Well, let me know how your new fact-free approach to dating goes. I’m curious!’
Unlike the last time I said goodbye to Chris, I realise I actually do want him to stay in touch. He may be a little socially inept, but he seems like a sweet guy and I am genuinely curious about how things go for him.
His face lights up. ‘Okay, I will!’ he says, with heart-wrenching enthusiasm, before heading off down the street.