She replied instantly. Depends. Are you nice to meet?
Depends… on who I’m meeting, Jason responded.
This is why I do aikido,she sent back.
Jason wasn’t sure how to reply to that.
Some people are NOT nice. Dating apps can be a minefield of douches and bad pick-up lines.She beat him to it.
Might be guilty of the latter.He answered, after a second.New to this. Sorry.
Ah, a dating app virgin,she sent swiftly back.Well, don’t be shy. I don’t bite. Not unless I’m hungry.
Jason started to type –That’s a shame– and then backspaced. What was he doing?
Not the world’s greatest online conversationalist, are you?she messaged, before he could think of anything else to say.
No. Sorry. Jason answered honestly, and wondered again what in God’s name he was doing exactly. If he needed someone to talk to, he should talk to his sister, or possibly Mark. Except, with her husband out of work, Hannah had a shedload of her own problems right now, and Mark… Jason was pretty sure what his advice would be:Go get yourself laid and take your mind off your problems.If only it were that easy.
Aw, don’t be, Jessie sent back.I like it that you’re shy. Like your profile too. Sporty = good. Pic = good. No six-pack on show = not a douchey shirtless Casanova.
Glad you approve. You have a nice smile.
My best feature. Fancy talking properly?
Again, Jason wavered. This was nuts. He had a family. Except… he didn’t, did he? In fact, he’d never felt more alone in his life. His marriage had ended. That was an inescapable fact. He wanted to hold on to it, desperately wanted to do that, but he couldn’t. His business was finished. His life was crumbling. Was this really risking anything, then? He was talking to her, that was all. With the distance between them, it wasn’t likely to lead to anything more.
Jason took a breath, typedLove to, and hit send.
Twenty-Five
KARLA
I took this morning off, on top of the time I’ve already taken off ‘sick’, but I slip into my office just before lunchtime in order to do some necessary private online browsing. John, the chief executive, has his weekly meeting with the housing association’s development department manager this afternoon, so I’m confident I can steal a little more time. It’s gone two when I check the clock, and I calculate that John will be tied up for at least another hour, so I set about creating my Tinder profile, which according to information I’ve googled about this particular site needs to be kick-ass in order to stand out and get noticed by the right guys, for the right reasons. I’m not sure what my reasons are, who the right guys are. All I know is that the man I considered to be my Mr Right, my soulmate for life, isn’t. I don’t know what I want from these sites, other than to feel wanted, desired – to feel something other than the almost debilitating emptiness I now feel. Do I care if Jason knows I’m also playing the dating game? ‘Hooking up’ with other men? Sleeping with other men, which I know is the end game here?
Yes, of course I do. I’m not sure I’ll actually have the courage to sleep with another man. I don’t want to. I’m not sure I would know how to. But I do want Jason to feel as crushed as I do. I want him to question everything he ever was to me; to feel as insignificant to my life as I clearly am to his. To feel jealous. I thought, at first, when I discovered he’d been browsing dating sites, that it was some kind of angry reaction to me having pushed him to approach my father for the business loan. I tried to convince myself it was an act of rebellion, that he’d felt somehow emasculated, that it was something he was doing to get back at me. My stomach clenches painfully as I recall how furious he was that I would accuse him of doing this, his vehement denial, when the evidence was there, right in front of my eyes. His lies. It’s been more than browsing, more than the odd flirt to reaffirm his manhood, I would bet my life on it. How long he’s wanted out of our marriage, I have no way of knowing.
He won’t be jealous, Sarah sighs, and my heart, which has been sinking steadily since I accessed his internet history, settles like ice in my chest. He’s moved on. He’s not likely to be distraught if I seek the company of other men. Even so, as pathetic as I realise it is, there’s an ember of hope still burning faintly inside me that he might wake up to the fact that it’s me he wants. That he might realise he loves me when he knows he’s lost me.
If he doesn’t, what will I have lost that was worth anything in the first place?
Ignoring the phone ringing constantly to my side, I concentrate on compiling a list of enticing things about me that I can include on my profile. Tinder is populated by the dating-app generation, after all. If I don’t want to be hastily swiped left by men as desperate as my husband to move on to something more exciting, I have to be able to compete with tempting young things. I need to get in touch with the real me, the person I used to be, who felt she could climb a mountain, touch the sky or swim an ocean. She didn’t die the day she got married. She got side-lined, that was all. She’s still here inside, waiting to unfurl her wings.
Work hard, play hard, I begin. I figure I might as well go for it.Dance till I drop. Embrace love and life and all the world has to offer. Love thrills + excitement. Wind in my hair, sunshine, sand dunes, cocktails + rollercoaster rides. Seeking – Man who can dance w/me, not afraid to catch me + lols. Introduce yourself!
Mentally running through the new clothes I’ll need to purchase in order to dare venture into nightclubs, I upload the selfies I’ve taken, in which I actually look quite acceptable – sexy, even – with my fake tan, fake hair and face. Fake me, I think. It’s not really so hard to reinvent oneself. But I’m not trying to do that. I’m trying to find myself. I’m reassembling myself. Repackaging and presenting myself as a more attractive option than a boring wife and mother. Isn’t that what men want? What Jason is looking for? Obviously, I have to embellish a little. And when it comes to meeting men in the flesh? I’m an actress. It’s time I put my skills to the test.
I’m uploading the last photograph when John walks through my office door, almost giving me heart failure.
‘Karla…’ Trailing curious eyes over me, John looks surprised. ‘You look well.’
Hell.I cringe inside, realising it’s probably not a good idea to still be wearing the fake tan and false eyelashes when I’m supposed to have crawled here from my sickbed. ‘I thought I’d make a bit of an effort,’ I tell him, with a stoic smile. ‘If you look better, you feel better, that’s my motto.’
He nods, now looking taken aback, possibly because that last came out a little over-brightly and with no hint of the croaky voice I’d phoned in with yesterday. ‘It appears to be working,’ he says, smiling uncertainly. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but do you think we could have the post distributed any time soon? It’s just that I’m expecting tenders in for the maintenance contracts on the new-build site.’
‘Has it not been distributed?’ I glance around my office, where there is no sign of the post.
‘I don’t think it’s been brought up from the post room yet,’ he suggests hesitantly.
