Perfect Match

The Tom who texted me a couple of days ago asking if I could meet for coffee. Bugger. I completely forgot to text back. I remember thinking it was weird at the time that he’d wanted to meet, just the two of us. Especially since we’ve only ever hung out in the company of Lyn on the handful of occasions she’s invited us both round for Sunday lunch. I hope she hasn’t twisted his arm into taking me out on a date or something.

‘My Tom’s a lovely lad,’ Lyn says, looking pensive as she chews on a digestive.

I eye her suspiciously, trying to figure out if she’s set us up.

‘Why you looking at me like that?’ Lyn pipes up through a mouthful of crumbs. ‘Here, have a biscuit.’

She pushes the plate towards me, seemingly more concerned about filling my stomach than playing Cupid.

‘Nah.’ I ignore the biscuits and glance at my watch. ‘I’d better go, Lyn. Gotta get to work.’

‘Oh, all right, love, you get on,’ Lyn relents.

She gives me a kiss on the cheek, thanks me again for doing the shopping and I head off. As I sit on the DLR, I reply to Tom, suggesting coffee on Saturday afternoon at The Muffin House in Lewisham, before logging on to Dream Dates. Five new messages! I flick through them. There’s one from Bigboy17, another from Mysteriousluva; ManCandy4u and Hoplessromantic, bloody hell. I’m just about to log off when I spot the final message, which must have come through while I was walking to the station from Lyn’s, from Daniel_86. It’s him. I open the message.

Daniel_86:

Hi Sophia,

I’d love to chat about all things cats, volunteering and RPatz-related, but unfortunately, I’m off to Paris today for work. I’ll be back on Saturday if you fancy meeting in the evening?

x Daniel

P.S. I see you removed the penis measurements from your profile…? ;)

I break into a massive grin. He’s so cool! He travels for work, he calls Robert Pattinson, ‘RPatz’ (which clearly means that he doesn’t take life too seriously), he’s cheeky enough to tease me, and he even added a flirty wink! I bet his penis measures up perfectly.

‘Can I see your ticket please?’ the train conductor says, for what I suspect is the second time, judging by his impatient tone. I must have been too wrapped up in my message from Daniel to have noticed him.

‘Oh!’ I rummage around in my bag and retrieve my wallet, holding it out for him to scan.

‘Thank you,’ he says in a clipped voice before moving on to the next passenger.

I reread the message. How is it possible that by creating the world’s most obnoxious dating profile, I’ve somehow managed to find someone who seems like such a catch?! I really want to look at his photos while the train hurtles along but he’ll be able to see that I’ve viewed his profile again and I don’t want to look obsessive. I should have taken screenshots so I could have had something nice to look at on the way to work. Never mind. I flick through Metro instead, half reading an article about a freak shark attack in Hawaii while daydreaming about my potential date with Daniel on Saturday night. My phone buzzes. A text from Tom.

The Muffin House at 4 p.m. is perfect. See you there. x

By the time I arrive at work, Sandra is already sitting at her desk, no doubt getting a head start on her latest fungal assignment.

‘Morning!’ I chirp.

‘Morning,’ she replies, her eyes following me as I cross the office and sit down at my desk.

‘Sooo? Did you message him?’ she asks.

She was nagging me to message Daniel all afternoon yesterday, but I refused. I wanted to get Kate’s advice first, although that turned out to be a downer. I look at Sandra’s eager open face. She certainly doesn’t look like she’s catfishing me.

‘Yes, I did!’ I admit.

Sandra grins and lets out a little squeal. ‘Oh my gosh! Can I be maid of honour? Can I?’

‘Ummm… Maybe!’

‘What did you say?’ Sandra asks, her eyes wide.

‘I just asked him if he fancied meeting up for a drink tonight. Kept it casual, not too keen,’ I tell her as I turn on my computer.

‘And? What did he say?’

‘He’s going to Paris for work so he can’t meet until Saturday.’

Sandra looks momentarily glum.

‘Well, Saturday’s not that far off,’ she reasons.

‘Yeah, exactly.’

‘It’s so exciting!’

‘I know!’ I grin, unable to stop myself and then Kate’s words come back to me, about how I always expect too much and then I’m always let down.

‘There must be a catch though,’ I think aloud. ‘He can’t really be as great as he seems. He’s just too good to be true.’

‘Trust me, he’s gorgeous,’ Sandra insists.

‘Kate reckons he’s just using photos of Robert Pattinson he found online,’ I tell her.

‘He’s not,’ Sandra scoffs.

‘Well, he could be,’ I reply, not so sure. Much as I want to believe Daniel’s for real, I’ve got to admit that it’s not exactly likely.

‘Well let’s see then, shall we? Log on to the site,’ Sandra says, as she scoots her office chair over to my desk.

‘Why?’

‘Just do it,’ Sandra tuts. She can be quite authoritative sometimes. All she needs is a cane and a chalkboard to go with her grey cardigan and pencil skirt and she’d be just like a headmistress.

‘Okay.’ I open a browser and log on to Dream Dates.

‘Now go on to his profile,’ Sandra orders. I do as she says.

‘Right.’ She nudges me aside and right clicks on one of his photos, saves the image to my desktop and goes onto Google.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

‘Google Image search,’ she tells me, as if it should be obvious.

‘Ah, okay.’

Sometimes I forget that Sandra’s actually quite good with computers. Probably because I automatically tune out whenever she starts eulogising about how Linux is the best operating system, far better than Windows and blah blah blah.

Sandra uploads the image to Google and clicks ‘search’. ‘Image not found’, it says. I scan the ‘visually similar images’ that Google has generated: pictures of men in a similar pose with stubble and dark hair, none of whom look particularly similar to Daniel.

‘So he’s legit…?’ I question.

‘He’s legit!’ Sandra claps her hands together. ‘So, what are you going to wear for your date?’ she asks as Ted walks into the office, frowning at us.

‘Morning, ladies,’ he says sternly, placing his briefcase on his desk.

‘Morning, Ted! Morning!’ Sandra quickly returns to her desk.

‘Morning,’ I mutter as I open the catheter document and start reading where I left off.

Specimens of urine can be removed from the catheter by using a syringe and an alcohol-soaked sponge… I keep reading, expecting the paper to ruin my mood, but surprisingly, it doesn’t. An email comes through, from Sandra.

From: [e-mail]

To: [e-mail]

Have you replied to him?

I hit reply.

From: [e-mail]

To: [e-mail]

No. Waiting ’til this afternoon.

Sandra coughs and I glance over. She crouches behind her computer, making sure that Ted can’t see her and angrily mouths, ‘WHAT?!’ I roll my eyes and draft another message.

From: [e-mail]

To: [e-mail]

Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen. (please delete this message in case Ted sees)

From: [e-mail]

To: [e-mail]

Ok then *sighs* (deleted – and please delete this).

I hit delete and get on with the document. The morning flies by. I feel like I’ve got something to look forward to – even if it is only writing a message to Daniel this afternoon. I know if Kate were here, she’d give me a slap for getting so carried away, but it’s so hard not to. I keep thinking about that photo: Daniel’s wry smile, his dishevelled hair, his gold stud.

‘Are you coming for lunch, Sandra?’ I ask as the clock strikes 1 p.m.

Sandra glances up from her screen. ‘Not today, brought a packed lunch. Just going to plough on with this paper. Bit of a tricky one,’ she says, making a face.

‘Okay, good luck.’

‘Thanks.’ Sandra smiles optimistically.

I slip a notebook from my desk into my handbag, before leaving work and heading to the café down the road. It’s good that Sandra’s not coming in a way as it gives me a chance to work on my novel. I walk in, grab a sandwich from one of the display fridges and join the queue, before scanning the tables for a quiet place to sit. A stunning long-haired girl laughs loudly, tossing her thick wavy hair over her shoulder as she beams at the man opposite her – a blond guy with his back to me. He scratches his neck, turning his head as he does so. Oh my God! It’s ho fun guy! Chris. That boring noodle nerd from the other night. Bugger! I turn around and look down at the floor, praying he doesn’t see me. I’d forgotten that he worked in Shadwell too. He thought that was so interesting. Straight before he launched into his lecture on noodles, he’d been going on and on about what a bizarre coincidence it was that our offices were just down the road from each other. Damn, I thought I’d never have to see him again. I didn’t even bother replying to his text.

I take a step forward in the queue and furtively glance over my shoulder again. The girl is smiling and pouting. She’s dressed in office clothes, but she’s certainly not acting like a colleague. They must be on a lunch date or something. She throws her head back in laughter again and then takes a sip of her drink. How is she finding him so funny and charming? I shuffle over to the fridges and put my sandwich back. I can’t have lunch here now. I need somewhere peaceful and devoid of past dates in order to write. I glance over at them one last time before slipping out of the café. She really is a beautiful girl – perfect glowing skin, the body of a Victoria’s Secret model, long flirty eyelashes. I walk out onto the street and head down the road. A bulky man in a suit barges into me, knocking into my shoulder without bothering to apologise.

‘Excuse me!’ I call after him, huffily.

What a rude man. Honestly. Some people in London. I walk into another café, a dingy place where no one ever goes to because the sandwiches are always flavourless and stale. I buy a coffee and an unappetising cheese baguette and sit down, glaring out of the window as I eat. I watch as office workers stomp down the road. Why do people have to be so self-important? Can’t everyone just chill out? I tear off a few angry bites of my sandwich but eating the sweaty cheese and tough bread just makes me feel worse so I give up and take out my notebook instead to do some novel writing, but I can’t get into the zone; I’m in too much of a bad mood. Okay. Forget about the rude man who barged into me. Forget about the horrible food. I take a deep breath and try to calm down, but something else is niggling at me. That beautiful girl and the noodle nerd. Why has seeing them together pissed me off? It’s not like I’m into him. He’s just a random weird guy with an obsessive interest in noodles and tube station geography. Why do I care? Although she looked like she was having such a good time. Maybe he was just having an off day on our date. After all, he was really good on paper, with his intellectual degree and his charity work.

I pull my phone out of my bag. Why am I giving a second thought to some random noodle nerd when I potentially have a Robert Pattinson lookalike at my fingertips? I quickly draft a reply to Daniel, telling him I’m free to meet on Saturday. I take a sip of my coffee. I wonder what he’ll suggest we do for our date. It would probably best if we just start with a drink so if he does turn out to be a complete freak, I can leave fairly quickly. Not like my date with Chris. What was I thinking, agreeing to an entire dinner! Talk about holding your date hostage!

‘Good lunch?’ Sandra asks, as I get back to the office forty-five minutes later.

‘All right.’ I shrug. I’m not going to mention seeing Chris, it’s not like it matters anyway.

‘So, did you send the message?’ Sandra presses me.

Ted glances over. He looks a little confused but doesn’t push it.

‘I did indeed,’ I reply.

Sandra grins. ‘So exciting!’

I sit back down at my computer and click on to my catheter paper. My phone vibrates, muffled by my bag. Surely, it’s not Daniel already? I undo the zip and reach for my lip balm while subtly glancing at my phone screen. One new message from Dream Dates.

Daniel_86:

Hi Sophia,

Saturday night it is. How about 8 p.m. at The Cavendish Club? Do you know it? I look forward to meeting you.

x Daniel

It’s him, it’s actually him! I quickly google The Cavendish Club. ‘Set on a leafy Victorian square in a townhouse that was once the Spanish embassy, this exclusive private-members club features sumptuous décor throughout. This stylish venue boasts three bars, a restaurant catering for up to eighty diners complete with private dining rooms, a members-only nightclub, a library, several suites, and a spacious roof terrace overlooking London.’

I click through the photos, which show a wood-panelled bar with floor-to-ceiling red velvet curtains; a dining room with gold pillars and chandeliers; hotel rooms with four poster beds; waiting staff wearing crisp waistcoats carrying trays of drinks. The sound of a phlegmy throat being cleared suddenly pierces my daydream.

‘That doesn’t look like a medical research paper to me, Sophia,’ Ted barks, over my shoulder.

I swivel round.

‘Sorry, Ted, I just…’ I rack my brains for a reasonable excuse.

‘I was just… researching venues for the ummm… office Christmas party,’ I tell him even though it’s only September and our last Christmas party took place in dingy greasy spoon down the road called Janine’s. All the food was either brown or beige: Scotch eggs, sausage rolls, crisps and salted peanuts, washed down with flat Prosecco.

‘Just get back to work,’ Ted huffs, before stomping back to his desk.

‘Will do,’ I mutter.

I click on to Dream Dates.

Sophialj:

8 p.m. at The Cavendish Club would be perfect.

See you there. X

I quickly add my phone number and hit send. Ted shoots me a warning look and I awkwardly smile back before getting on with my work.

Chapter Seven

Come Friday night, I’m at a West End bar. Kate has just got out of the Globe and is still wearing her heavily contoured stage make-up, which always looks odd when paired with black leggings and a baggy jumper. A group of us have gathered to celebrate our friend Cassie’s twenty-ninth birthday.

‘So, this is Mike,’ Cassie says, introducing us to her new boyfriend. He looks round the group, blushing a little, before he’s swept up in a frenzy of hand-shaking and hugs. Cassie grins. Kate and I shared a flat with her briefly after university until her habits of burning sage, chanting spells and leaving handmade wands (aka tree branches) everywhere began to get a bit much. Then when our tenancy ran out, Kate made up some elaborate excuse about landlords and council tax or something so that we wouldn’t have to endure any more amateur witchcraft. Still, we both felt a bit guilty, especially when Cassie moved into a miserable basement studio in Elephant and Castle, so we’ve always made an effort to keep in touch.

‘Nice to meet you all,’ Mike says, shrinking back towards Cassie. She clutches his hand.

‘So how did you guys meet?’ Laura, another old friend, asks over the music.

Mike and Cassie smile awkwardly and I notice Cassie squeezing Mike’s hand a little tighter.

‘Online,’ Cassie admits. ‘OkCupid. I saw this little thumbnail of Mike. He looked so adorable! I sent him a message and then that was it, we started messaging 24/7. We were on the phone every day for hours. Even before I met him, I just knew,’ she insists, giddily.

‘Awww…’ Kate and everyone else gushes.

Mike smiles sheepishly.

‘So how long have you been together?’ Kate asks.

‘About three months now,’ Mike tells her, taking a sip of his pint.

‘Yep, we had our three-month anniversary on Tuesday,’ Cassie adds. ‘Mike even got me a ring for it.’ She holds out her right hand, brandishing a silver Celtic ring featuring two little hands cupping a heart.

Kate inspects it. ‘Pretty,’ she squeaks in the slightly high-pitched voice she always uses when she’s lying.

‘It’ll be an engagement ring next!’ John, one of our other university friends, adds.

Cassie and Mike laugh, brushing off the suggestion, but not without exchanging a quick, meaningful look as if they might have already discussed it. They seem so close. They even look similar with their dark choppy hair, thick-framed nerdy glasses and big green eyes. I smile awkwardly. All of my university friends are now either married or on track towards getting married. John got hitched to Rose, his girlfriend of four years, recently. Laura married Simon last year. Rich got engaged to Jack a few months ago. Lucy’s still going strong with her childhood sweetheart, Ahmed, and, of course, Kate’s got Max. Thankfully, he’s still on stage tonight, because then I’d well and truly be the thirteenth wheel.

‘What about you, Sophia?’ Rich pipes up and in one horrible swoop, everyone looks round.

‘Yeah, how’s the love life?’ Jack adds.

‘It’s all right,’ I grumble. I’m half-tempted to tell them all about Daniel, but I haven’t confessed to Kate that I didn’t delete my Dream Dates profile, let alone admit that I arranged a date.

‘There just don’t seem to be any decent guys out there,’ I sigh.

‘That’s not true.’ Rich shakes his head defiantly. ‘There are plenty.’

Jack shoots him a look, but Rich carries on, oblivious.

‘Your problem is you’re too fussy.’

‘I’m not, there just aren’t—’ I start to protest but Rich cuts me off.

‘Remember when I set you up with James from work? Then when you and me met up the next day, you said you wouldn’t go on a second date with him because he didn’t pronounce his Ts properly?’

‘I think you mean, “when you and I met up the next day”,’ I say.

Rich slowly shakes his head.

‘Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with fancying well-spoken people!’

‘Or the time you turned down that guy after he told you his entire outfit cost ten pounds,’ Cassie adds, grinning naughtily.

‘He was a cheapskate! Anyway, disposable clothes, disposable man.’ I take a swig of my G and T.

‘Oh yeah,’ John pipes up. ‘And then there was that Jim Morrison guy you thought was the dog’s bollocks, then when you went on a date, you ran a mile.’

‘I sobered up. Beer goggles. I didn’t expect him to actually look like dog’s bollocks!’

Lucy joins in. ‘What about when you broke up with that really hot guy, Corey, after two weeks because you didn’t like his feet,’ she reminds me.

‘They were Hobbit feet,’ I insist. ‘Anyway, guys, can you stop giving me a hard time!’

‘Oh!’ Kate slaps the bar, recalling something. ‘Remember last week you refused to message that really nice guy on Match.com because he wrote that he was looking for his “partner in crime” and you said you couldn’t stand that.’ She grins wickedly.

‘I can’t! I’d honestly rather die alone than match with yet another guy looking for their “partner in crime”.’

They all tut and shake their heads, but they just don’t get it. They’re coupled up – oblivious to the daily struggles of the dating scene. Thankfully, ‘I Bet You Look Good On the Dance Floor’ by Arctic Monkeys comes on, a classic song from our university days, and everyone forgets about my shambles of a love life and runs off to dance. Arctic Monkeys blends into ‘Hey Ya’ by Outkast and everyone’s dancing and happy. Rich twerks against Jack, who keeps pretending to spank him. Cassie’s twirling around in her dreamy ethereal way as if she’s not at a busy London bar at all but seeing in the morning sun at a summer solstice party, while Mike cuts shapes around her like a malfunctioning robot. Lucy’s smiling to herself as Ahmed plants a kiss on her neck. John’s dancing close to Rose and Laura’s got her arms around Simon’s neck. Thank God for Kate, who’s singing along and grooving with me like the old days.

The DJ puts on a slower song, one that Kate and I don’t know the words to, and as we dance, my mind begins to wander to the hard time my friends always give me about my pickiness with guys. I get that they think I’m picky, but I feel like when I meet the right guy for me, I’ll just know and so far, I’ve never really had that feeling. In fact, I’ve not even come close. With my uni boyfriend, Sam, I gradually got to know him through friends and realised he was cool, and then with Paulo, it was more a matter of having instant chemistry, rather than love. My dad says the moment he first saw my mum, he instantly knew she was the woman he was going to marry and I keep waiting to have that type of revelation too. But none of the guys I’ve dated have inspired anything like that kind of passion in me; most of the time I don’t even want a second date, let alone marriage.

‘I’d better head home,’ Kate says, shouting over the music, after the seventh or eighth song. ‘Need my beauty sleep.’

She gets her phone out of her handbag and orders a taxi. Kate always has to be home reasonably early on Friday nights to make sure she gets a good night’s sleep before her matinee performances.

‘Cool, I’ll come with you,’ I shout back. We say our goodbyes to everyone and then head outside, where we get into the car.

‘What do you think of Mike?’ I ask Kate as I fasten my seatbelt.

‘He looks like a thirty-year-old Harry Potter, but he seems nice. I reckon he’s good for Cassie,’ she remarks.

‘Yeah…’ I murmur as we drive away from the bar. ‘I know it sounds sad, but I never thought I’d be the last singleton standing.’

‘You thought you’d find someone before Cassie, you mean?’ Kate asks.

‘Well, yeah! I’m not into Wicca or chanting, I’m normal and yet…’ I trail off.

‘And yet you’re holding out for a Robert Pattinson-lookalike multimillionaire who doesn’t exist!’ Kate quips.

Our taxi driver shoots a curious glance at the rear-view mirror.

‘You never know,’ I say knowingly, but Kate just scoffs.

‘Seriously, Sophia!’

I gaze out the window. I want to tell her about Daniel, but I know she’ll burst my bubble. Yes, I’m aware that Daniel could turn out to be a catfish, or if he’s the real deal, then he’s more than likely to be an arrogant nightmare, but I can’t help hoping that perhaps he’s not only going to be gorgeous and successful, but charming and kind too. Our date tomorrow feels like a special little secret I’m keeping close to my breast. A nugget of faith that maybe I have managed to find a dream man.

‘You know, the moment you get real and stop expecting to be whisked off your feet by some ridiculous man-god, I bet you’ll find a boyfriend and you’ll be happier than you ever imagined,’ Kate says.

‘Hmmm…’ Maybe she’s right, but I at least want to meet Daniel first, just to see.

‘There are plenty of things I don’t like about Max,’ she insists. ‘The way he makes these snotty snuffling noises in his sleep, the fact that he reads tabloid newspapers, his habit of eating peanut butter by the spoonful, his love of U2!’ She shakes her head morosely. ‘Not to mention his obsession with comic books and the way he calls his friends by their surnames and—’

‘Do you actually like Max at all?’ I interrupt.

‘I adore him,’ Kate insists dreamily. She takes a deep breath.

‘“Let me not to the marriage of true minds, Admit impediments”,’ she intones, switching into her loud crisp stage voice. I shrink into the seat; I should have known talking about love after a few drinks would lead to a full-on Shakespeare rendition.