Page 13 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

She realised why when she clicked on his profile: he was five foot eight, the same height as her, so below her minimum height specification. She preferred men who were taller than her. Who made her feel safe and protected. Ironic, she thought. Si had been six foot two and she’d felt anything but safe with him. She’d spent every minute walking on eggshells.

Forget Si, she told herself. She was making a fresh start. She was going to meet someone new.

It had taken her years to pluck up courage to even contemplate another relationship, and she couldn’t face dating after what Si had put her through. For one thing, she didn’t think anyone would want her anyway; years of first the other kids at school and then her husband telling her she was ugly and unlikeable had made her believe that. For another, Jo wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to trust another man; what if she met another Si? How could you tell? He had been charming at first – she’d been so smitten; couldn’t believe her luck – but then he’d changed, and she’d always blamed herself that she hadn’t realised sooner what he was really like. There must have been warning signs.

She’d been too fearful to start dating again, but when Gemma left, Jo had been overcome with loneliness, so had taken the plunge and signed up for a dating app. She trusted words more than pictures, so wanted an app where the emphasis was more on the words you wrote about yourself, rather than your appearance, and having read all the reviews, she’d decided that Buzzz was the app for her.

‘Take things slowly,’ Gemma had advised. ‘Don’t get attached to anyone too soon. Keep your eyes peeled for red flags. Always meet them somewhere public and don’t, whatever you do, go back to their place or get in a car with them until you really know them. Watch out for players. And control freaks. You do not want another Si.’

She certainly didn’t, Jo thought, remembering her friend’s words as the train trundled on. She turned her attention back to her phone and the profile of her new admirer. He hadn’t written much; it was – like her new profile – rather vague. Kate would have approved, Jo thought. She couldn’t glean much from his photo either; it had been taken in a mirror and the flash obscured half his face. From what she could make out, he had the messiest hair, a large nose and geeky glasses like the awful free ones they used to give schoolchildren on the NHS. Not exactly a heart-throb, but then she had wanted a dating app where you didn’t judge on appearances. She skimmed through his profile then reread his message.

He hadn’t sent the usual Hi, how are you? or You look nice or Can we shag? He’d come up with a decent question that showed he’d read what she’d written:

If you had to eat one type of cake for the rest of your life, what would it be?

She mentally gave him an A* for effort – it was original at least – and decided that, even though she didn’t fancy him, he at least deserved a reply.

Can I choose afternoon tea? That way I’d get a variety.

Variety – 13 points.

His reply came quickly.

No, that’s cheating!!!

Okay then. I’ll go for scones. Fruit ones one day, plain the next. With different jam.

Their online chat – still all about food – continued as the train dawdled through the outer suburbs of Manchester.

Favourite breakfast?

Croissants. No, pain au chocolat. Yours?

As the terraced houses and blocks of flats gave way to the dark hills of the Pennines, Jo’s phone pinged again.

Cold, leftover pizza.

Urgh

she texted back. She smiled to herself, her woes at the office almost forgotten.

The best meal I’ve ever eaten was a simple spaghetti bolognaise in a simple back-street café in Florence

he wrote as her train finally neared Hebbleswick station.

It sounded heaven and Jo suddenly wanted spag bol for dinner, even though it was already late. She dropped by the corner shop, picking up soya mince (they didn’t sell animal products), an onion, a tin of tomatoes (organic as it was all they had) and dried spelt spaghetti. Why couldn’t you buy a packet of normal spaghetti around here? Was everyone on a vegan, organic, whole-grain diet?

Jo finally reached Hazel Lane. Her key sounded hollow as it turned in the lock. The front door wouldn’t open; it had been sticking for weeks but DIY wasn’t her thing and the landlord was yet another man who didn’t return her calls. She managed to shove it open as her phone pinged again.

She threw her coat onto the threadbare sofa. Despite the fact that her belongings were everywhere, this place still didn’t feel like home. She kept intending to put pictures up and buy a throw for the sofa to cover up the coffee stain – at least she hoped that’s what it was – that the previous tenant had left.

She plonked herself down on the sofa and pulled out her phone to read his latest text.

Perhaps we’ll go there together one day.

Together? To Florence?

She went into the tiny kitchen to begin cooking. That latest message had surprised her. She hadn’t contemplated meeting him in real life; as far as she was concerned, they were only passing the time with a bit of online chat.