“Well, her loss is my gain,” he says, and he presses a warm hand to the small of my back. Something funny happens to my insides and my breath catches in my throat at the casual intimacy. “I’m just here with some colleagues, but I don’t suppose you want to grab dinner? They won’t mind. We come here every Friday.”
I do my best to maintain my neutral expression, but it’s very difficult with the fireworks exploding in my chest. A date. A real-life date.
“Dinner sounds good,” I say lightly, and Marcie would be proud of my composure. “I’ll just finish this.”
“Great. I’ll go and let them know. Meet you outside?”
I nod. When he disappears back into the throng, I tip the remains of the pint onto the carpet, set the glass on the bar, and head outside to wait.
Fifteen
My second datewith Freddie was more successful than the first. He chose a quiet spot a few blocks away from the office. Somewhere he knew our colleagues didn’t often frequent. Somewhere we would be safe from prying eyes. He’d sent the message the week before.
Can I buy you lunch next Thursday?
I read it several times over, unable to stop the grin spreading across my face. We agreed on a time and, once again, I was sent into a complete tailspin of preparation. By the time Thursday rolled round, I was barely sleeping more than five hours a night.
I met him at the lifts, and we went down together. It felt like a bit of a risk, but if questioned we could say it was merely a manager taking the time to check in with his subordinate. There was something wonderfully transgressive about the secrecy of it all.
Our hands brushed a couple of times on the walk over. Each moment of contact caused my heart to skip erratically in my chest, though neither of us commented on the mounting tension.
Freddie had booked us a table by the window. I felt awkward as I satdown, half wished that our colleagueswerethere, to assuage some of the pressure I felt. A strange sort of stage fright, I suppose. The pressure to perform, to be fun, and funny, and fey. To be just like her. I scrambled for something to say, but my mind had gone blank. Freddie seemed to sense my nerves, because he kept up a steady stream of chatter. Already, we were so in tune with each other that he was taking up the mantle when I failed.
We started with work, skirting around the deeper, more emotional subjects; neither of us was willing to venture into this territory without being sure of the other. He asked me how I was settling in, and what I thought of the office, and how I was finding the workload, but with each new question there was a blazing intensity to his eyes, as though he was hoping that I would read between the lines. Hoping that I would find the hidden meaning layered between his stale lines of questioning.
I wanted to tell him it was OK, that he didn’t need to put on a front for me, but I couldn’t find the right words, and Marcie’s principal rule when dealing with men rang round my head, over and over:Nevermake the first move, she used to say.They have to be unsure of you, until they’re not.
The rest of the lunch continued in a similar vein, and I could tell that we were both frustrated. Unable to bridge the gap between professional and personal. I began to wonder if perhaps I’d read it wrong. And then, very distinctly, Freddie shifted in his seat, and his leg brushed against mine. And just like that, the ice melted.
—
I’m not abig drinker, for obvious reasons. I don’t like feeling out of control. I hate the way my speech slows and my limbs feel heavy, and the fact that I don’t always think before I speak. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been drunk. It’s how mistakes are made.
But when Jack scans the menu in the upmarket gastropub he’s ledme to and asks if I’d like another pint, I nod. Just to maintain the veneer. I’ll have to force it down. It’s a lot of liquid to consume, and the taste will be horrible, but he’s worth it.Thisis worth it.
This establishment is a lot nicer than the one we were just in. On the walk here, I subtly applied more hand sanitizer, rubbing it into my skin to try to rid myself of the unpleasant feel of the dirty glass in my hand. The small rivulet of beer that had snaked down my wrist as I poured it away.
“A pint for her, and I’ll have a sparkling water,” Jack says with such authority that the waiter—a teenager with his hair pulled into a ponytail—gives a small, deferential bow more suited to a man twice Jack’s age. It’s attractive, the way he’s taken control. A good sign. He knows what he wants and he’s not afraid to ask for it. If only Freddie had been a bit more forthcoming at the beginning.
I try to mirror Jack’s easy manner, but I’m very conscious of how high the stakes are. It’s easy to maintain the charade for a few minutes of snatched conversation, but here I’m locked in for at least an hour. I’ll allow him to take the lead. Maintain the illusion of control.Eye contact is key, Iris. There’s something very seductive about the eyes, Marcie said once as she drew thick lines round her own, focus never straying from her reflection.
I place my elbows on the table and meet his gaze. Marcie, by her own admission, was excellent on dates. She knew exactly what to ask, and when. When to lean forward, to press her advantage. When to pull back. Unfortunately for me, I was, obviously, never present, though when Marcie recounted them for me afterward I hung on her every word while pretending to be absorbed in something else. Now I can’t help but feel that it’salmostlike an interview. A chance to get a feel for compatibility and longevity and attraction. But a date is an escalation of an interview: A job lasts years at best, whereas a partner is for life. Unless you’re careless, of course.
I decide to go with something benign, and, for lack of anything better to say, I ask a question I already know the answer to. “You don’t drink?”
He shakes his head. “Had a bit of a problem with it, back in the day.”
I widen my eyes in feigned shock, careful that there’s no judgment there—just a sympathetic smile as though I can’t fathom how the enigmatic man in front of me could have succumbed to such a horrible illness. And I do understand how horrible it is. I’ve seen the other side of addiction—even tried to break the cycle. But you can only help someone who wants to be helped, and, though I tried hiding the bottles from Mum, she always found more.
“Well done. Can’t have been easy.”
“Hardest thing I’ve ever done.” Jack leans back to allow the waiter to place our drinks down. “But I’m glad. I was headed down a bad path. But what about you, Iris?” I love the way he says my name. How it sounds coming from his mouth. I’m easing into it now. Not an interview, just a conversation. “Any skeletons in your closet I should know about?”
He smiles again. If only he knew.
If a man is interested in you, he’ll want to know everything about you. He’ll want to know what makes you tick.Another check on the list. This is a very positive sign.
I take a careful sip of my beer, suppress my grimace, and swallow the bubble of air rising in my esophagus. I’ll have to play this one cautiously. Marcie requires careful navigation.
