The waiter left and Nora hoped they’d be quick with the food so that she could eat and leave. ‘What was it you were going to ask me?’
Gareth clicked his fingers. ‘It was Mother. She wanted to know if you have any hereditary illnesses.’
‘None that I know of.’ Although she could feel a rashappearing on her neck. Was it possible to be allergic to another human being? ‘How about you? Any diseases in your family?’
He pulled in his chin, seemingly irritated at the suggestion. ‘Not unless you count the bedwetting, though I suppose that’s more of a habit than an illness. But enough about me, I don’t like to dominate, I’m not that sort of man. Unless that’s something you’re into?’ he said with a tilt of his head.
Nora gripped the chair. It was the only way to force herself to stay seated. She was still processing what he’d said when he leaned forward.
‘Which of the following would you like to choose as a topic for discussion?’ he asked. ‘Finances, political views or past relationships?’
An unhelpful statistic flashed into her mind– 50 per cent of first dates ended with a first kiss. She would have to discard her no-analysis-until-after-the-date rule because she couldn’t risk being in a situation where Gareth wanted to kiss her. Her body cringed at the thought and she found her shoulders making for her ears.
‘Actually, I’m just going to pop to the ladies, if that’s OK,’ said Nora, getting rapidly to her feet.
‘Don’t go climbing out of the window!’ He guffawed at his own joke. Little did he know he’d foiled plan A. She’d have to come up with something else, and fast.
2
Nora had returned home after her disastrous date with Gareth, poured herself a large glass of Merlot and updated her dating spreadsheet. Nora loved a spreadsheet. She liked to be objective, and scoring her dates was a consistent and logical approach. Numbers were reliable, and reliability made her happy. She felt a little bad when she hit the total button on Gareth’s score but there was no point in continuing with the date when there was nothing they had in common and his ick level was off the scale. Maybe she needed to accept that the odds were very much against her and give up.
She didn’t need a random man, she needed the right one, and if they were too hard to track down, perhaps it was better that she remained single. If all failed, at least she still had Oliver. He was easy to live with, a great listener and had almost 360-degree vision. Oliver was the silent type whose favourite hobby was sitting on Nora’s head. He was a veiled chameleon who most of the time was a lovely green colour, who liked to watch David Attenborough programmes with one eye and observe what Nora was doing with the other.
Nora loved her life. A daughter of immigrants who had arrived in England from war-torn Bosnia with very little other than the clothes they were wearing, each other and a baby. She had been brought up to embrace new opportunities, work hard and be thankful. Nora had done all of this and had the photographs of her parents, crying with pride at her graduation, housewarming and every school play she’d ever been in, to prove it. She could picture her parents dancing at parties, kissing under the mistletoe at Christmas and holding hands in the park. Her parents were devoted to each other and had been through a lot together– escaping Bosnia was just the start. Negotiating the challenges of a new country, strange language and low-paid jobs had made them an unbreakable team. By comparison, Nora had had things easy, and being in her parents’ protective bubble filled with love had got her through any trials life had thrown her way.
Perhaps she was simply trying to find what her parents had, or sometimes she wondered if she was trying to prove what a rare thing it was that they shared. At this stage she was no longer sure. What she did know was that she was twenty-nine and single and thanks to Gareth that’s how things were going to stay for now.
Instead of an evening out with Gareth, Nora’s best friend Dixie came round for a debrief. Dixie unlaced her Doc Martens and they took their usual seats on the sofa while Nora provided a detailed update.
‘You told Gareth you had diarrhoea?’ asked Dixie with a splutter.
‘No, I got the waiter to tell him I had diarrhoea while I paid and got my scallops to go.’
‘I take it you’ve not heard from him?’
‘Only to ask if I wanted to pay half towards his car park fee. I declined and then blocked his number.’ Nora noisily puffed out a breath. ‘There must be a better way?’
‘Stay single?’ suggested Dixie. ‘It has its benefits.’
‘I know. I can choose what I want on Netflix without judgement, I get both sides of the bed and the toilet seat will be forever down. And there’s always the single council tax reduction.’
‘I was thinking more that you can put yourself first for a change and there’s nobody to let you down.’ Dixie was still getting over a nasty break-up. Not that she was admitting that she was still recovering. It had been quite a few months but she still twitched when her ex was mentioned and could no longer walk past the squirty cream in the supermarket without blushing.
‘How was your week?’ asked Nora, feeling better for unburdening herself.
‘Yeah, bit mixed.’ Dixie sipped her wine. ‘Monday I made my first successful batch of tiger loaves. Wednesday a customer said I had a lovely smile. But yesterday Glenda sacked me.’
‘No way. What happened?’
‘You know I was on my final warning because I told her it was a bad idea to have pre-wrapped alphabetcupcakes out on display that people could rearrange, so when we went viral on TikTok along with the hashtag “pooey bum cakes”, Glenda thought it was me?’
‘Yes,’ said Nora.
‘So, Glenda asked me to finish off a cake for a local youth cricket team and deliver it to them.’
‘That’s good,’ said Nora.
‘I thought so but’– Dixie pulled a face– ‘it wasn’t until all the teenage boys were laughing and filming the cake that I realized there must be something wrong with it. I had looked at that cake so much that morning and had read and reread the inscription– Congratulations County Youth Cup Winners. However, it was only when it was sitting in the middle of a buffet table that I noticed I’d missed the letter O out of County. Unfortunately, Glenda didn’t see the funny side and sacked me.’
