Talk to Me (4 page)

It went quiet as Barney strode into the centre of the room to explain the rules of engagement. I thought it was all pretty obvious but Barney had to make a meal of it. At last, just as I was thinking about sidling out of the room, he finished with, ‘Ladies and gentlemen – good luck.’

‘Who does he think he is, head of MI6 sending us off on a mission?’ I whispered, my stomach lurching in panic. Emily tossed her hair again and gave an excited little skip.

I almost expected a bell to ring to start us off, but with an imperious, ‘To your tables,’ Barney clapped his hands and we all jumped like well-trained sheep.

‘Show time,’ sang Emily and sailed off to her table, her hips swinging.

Searching out table seven, I arrived before my date.

Slipping into the chocolate brown leather banquette in my allocated alcove, I stuffed my bag at my feet with shaking hands and then hopped back on to my feet.

What was speed-date etiquette? Should I stand and wait, or sit back down?

Before I could decide one way or another a tall figure loomed over my hunchbacked position. Crossword Man. He held out a slim tanned hand before coiling himself onto his chair.

Up close he was gorgeous. Even my one-man libido sat up and took notice. Smooth coffee skin, sleek black hair, perfect teeth and dark brown eyes with amber flecks, but there was something distant and aloof about him.

‘Anthony,’ he announced in a deep voice adding, ‘and you are?’ His mouth curved with a slight hint of disdain, as if there was a nasty smell under his nose.

‘Hi, Anthony.’ My heart thudded uncomfortably. Why had I let myself in for this? ‘I’m Olivia.’

Settling himself onto his seat, he seemed at ease, almost as if he was conducting an interview. I wished I felt that confident or could even pretend to be.

‘Do you come here often?’ he asked, inclining his head and nodding as if he was a professor in a tutorial. It threw me.

‘Bugger, that was my question.’

There was a startled flicker in his eyes. Oops, shouldn’t have sworn so early in the date.

‘Of course, I meant it purely in an ironic sense.’ I couldn’t miss the patronising edge to his tone.

‘Y-yes … of course,’ I stuttered, feeling wrong-footed already

‘You know. I meant to imply the opposite of what—’

Great, not only was I foul-mouthed, but stupid too.

‘Yes, I do know what irony is.’ Perhaps I should have brought my degree certificate along.

He leaned back and paused for a moment, as if putting a great deal of thought into his next words. With great ceremony his fingers came together in a delicate point under his chin. ‘Tell me. What was the last film you saw?’

The grave expression on his face should have told me this was a potential deal breaker, but my mouth had disconnected itself from my brain and the words, ‘
Pretty Woman
’, popped out.

Whoops. Should have gone for something more worthy. What the hell was the name of that film all the critics had liked? The one I fidgeted all the way through.

‘What was the last film you saw?’ I asked in desperation.

‘
Idle Airs in Blue
. Don’t suppose you’ve seen it?’ His tone suggested that I’d probably never heard of it either.

‘That was it,’ I said with relief. See not a total philistine. ‘Just couldn’t remember the name.’

Scepticism was written in capitals all over his face.

Arrogant sod. Time to pull out the big guns. Show him that I did have a brain. ‘Great film. The cinematography was incredible, those sunrise shots with the main protagonist were breathtaking, and the acting was superb but there were a few flaws in the plot, didn’t you think?’

He blinked, his eyelids dipping so slowly he reminded me of a languorous lizard. I didn’t give him a chance to speak. ‘The lead character was totally unbelievable and unsympathetic. As if she’d go back to teaching. A very anti-climactic ending. Do you know? I think the writer and director ran out of steam. Just thought, “We’ve done our bit, let’s wrap this up sharpish.” ’

‘My brother wrote the screenplay.’

If there’s a God, he hates me.

‘Wow.’ I ignored his icy stare. ‘Bet your mum’s really proud.’ Please don’t let her be dead, blind or have abandoned him at birth.

‘Yes, she is. We all went to the premiere together.’

There was an expectant pause.

‘Did you meet many of the cast?’

Back on safe ground, I listened hoping my look of rapt attention was convincing. I didn’t need to say much, just interject with the odd, ‘Really? How lovely,’ and ‘Gosh, how fantastic.’

Who knew that three minutes could last such a long time?

Apparently the director’s second assistant’s boyfriend (or was it the second assistant’s runner’s boyfriend) was now one of Anthony’s best friends and could get him cheap tickets for
Phantom of the Opera
. At that point I couldn’t summon up a single nice comment. I’ve never liked Phantom, too much wailing and moaning. Give me
Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
any day.

The penguin, one of a variety of kitsch novelty timers that Barney had thoughtfully supplied to each table, finally buzzed into life so violently that it was in danger of vibrating its way off the table. Around the room half a dozen lemons, chickens and assorted peppers began to jump about.

Clutching the quivering penguin with gratitude, I almost fell over the table leg in my haste to get away. I’d known I’d be rubbish at this. Stopping to rub the lump already appearing, I was caught by Barney who hissed in my ear. ‘Girls stay put.’

As Anthony disappeared, I heavily circled around the ‘no’ box on my little scorecard. Not that I needed to, judging from the curl of distaste on his full lips, he wouldn’t be ticking my box. One down, another nine to go.

Date number two loomed over me. Hoping he hadn’t seen my vehement reaction to his predecessor’s tick box, I bobbed up to say hello, shoving the scorecard under my bum.

‘Hi,’ I muttered from my Quasimodo position, half-standing and half-sitting. He immediately grasped the table and pulled it, giving me room to straighten up.

‘Thank you.’ My thighs relaxed in relief. ‘I’m Olivia.’

‘Ned. Do you want to sit down now?’ He waved his hand at the banquette and I promptly sat, like a plummeting pigeon. Off to another great start then.

There was a pause, which lengthened and was just fighting shy of awkward when I opened my mouth at the same time as him.

‘Do—’

‘Do—’

I let him carry on. ‘Do you come here often?’ He looked round at the décor with a barely concealed shudder.

My lips twitched but I felt on safer ground with this guy. With watchful brown eyes and a grave but gentle smile lurking around his mouth, he gave off an unassuming air.

‘I assume you’re being ironic.’ I grinned at him.

‘Of course. How about getting down to the nitty-gritty?’ His eyes kept politely shying away from my fake cleavage and looking at the abstract picture behind my head. ‘Do you have some pre-prepared questions à la
Blind Date
or shall we just go with the flow?’

‘I thought of some earlier, but …’ Now I wasn’t so sure. Having made such a spectacular idiot of myself with Anthony, I was loath to make it a double.

‘Go on. Let’s try one out for size.’ He leant his arms on the table moving closer. I checked them out. Slender forearms with dark hair – but not gorilla – and a chunky, trendy watch.

‘OK then. Rugby or football?’

‘Definitely football,’ he said, his face lighting up. ‘Been an Arsenal supporter man and boy. Didn’t go to the kind of school where they played rugby.’

Not a public school boy then, not that he dressed like one; his crumpled corduroy jacket was more trendy sociology teacher than ex-Etonian.

‘Tea or coffee?’

You’d have thought from the childish ‘yeugh’ face he pulled, I’d said cod liver oil or Babycham.

‘Neither. I don’t like hot drinks. Can’t stand all this cappuccino nonsense.’ He shook his head. ‘Give me pubs over coffee bars any day. Next one?’

‘OK, which super power would you chose – invisibility or flight?’

He looked at me with stunned admiration, planting both elbows on the table, cupping his chin as a frown of concentration wrinkled his forehead.

‘Corker of a question!’

I preened. Ben, my lovely, vague brother has a nice line in these surreal musings. I’d pinched it from him, prompted by the song I’d heard on the tube.

‘Phew. Difficult.’

I had to give him credit – he was giving the question plenty of consideration.

‘If I say invisibility … and I’m tempted … you might think I was a bit of a perv. But there’d be so many benefits.’ His face lit up as if a particularly naughty thought had crossed his mind. ‘Would you still be able to see my clothes or would I have to strip off to be, you know …?’

I hadn’t given it that much thought. My eyes strayed to the smooth line of his olive-green Timberland T-shirt – no bulging pecs, but no man boobs either. My gaze slipped further down. No podgy overhang clutching the top of his jeans which a lot of blokes get as they near thirty.

He caught my eyes straying downwards. I blushed. Oh God, did he think I was checking out his tackle. He’d think I was right old slapper.

‘No,’ I squeaked. ‘Invisibility cloak, I think, like in Harry Potter.’

His face crinkled in amusement. Nice brown eyes. Warm.

‘Now that would be cool.’ His eyes shone with the possibilities. ‘I think I’m going to have to nick your fantastic question. Do you think it will work on any of this lot?’

We peered round the corner of the banquette, scanning the uniform selection of streaked blondes with dead straight falls of hair in skinny jeans and ballerina pumps.

‘Mm, perhaps not. How good are you on shoes and handbags?’

His eyes widened in instant horror. I couldn’t help it, I laughed out loud at his panic.

‘Christ, I wouldn’t have a bloody clue.’ He ducked his head under the table. Popping up again he said, ‘I don’t suppose those came from Clarks did they?’

‘No, they bloody didn’t.’ I figured it was safe to swear with him. Cheeky bugger, there was well over £100 worth of leather on each of my feet. ‘You say that to anyone here and they’ll lynch you. With shoes, stick to Jimmy Choo or Manolo. Handbags, Gucci or Prada or you could try Mulberry.’

‘Whoa. That’s way too complicated. Who’s Jimmy Choo? Couldn’t I ask if they wear Nike or Puma?’

‘No, this is important stuff.’

‘So what should I ask?’

Just as I began the penguin buzzed into life again. ‘Too late.’ I grinned. ‘Now you’ll never know the perfect girl question.’

He got to his feet and I was gratified to see he looked regretful.

‘Ah well, it’s all over when the penguin sings. Maybe see you later.’ His eyes met mine and he grinned.

Should I circle a yes around number eight? He had potential. I wondered what Emily would make of him. She’d probably run screaming. She liked a certain level of sophistication in a man.

Making up my mind, I shoved the card out of sight as the next candidate appeared, hopping anxiously up and down in front of me. Boyishly good-looking but on the small side, he clutched his card to his chest. I could see his Adam’s apple bobbing furiously. I smiled, hoping to put him at his ease. Now I’d got the first two dates over with, I felt much more relaxed. In fact I was quite curious now to see what the evening would bring. The new guy didn’t say anything just stood rigidly in front of me, arms stiff down at his sides and his legs slightly apart, as if rooted to the spot.

‘Hi, I’m Olivia.’ I leant forward and put out my hand with another encouraging smile.

‘Peter.’ He straightened and pushed out his chest. I bit back a smile wondering if he had a slight Napoleon complex, he was a good few inches shorter than me.

‘Hi, Peter.’

He nodded and sat down, fussing to pull his chair neatly into the table, looking down underneath it as if to check the legs were square.

‘I have three questions,’ he announced formally, his eyes meeting mine with a candid stare.

‘I started like that but … I’ve given up on those already. I find it easier to try a bit of an ice-breaker.’ Still elated by my previous success with Ned, I launched in. ‘This is a good one … I promise.’

A flash of disapproval so brief I might have been mistaken crossed Peter’s face and for a moment I wondered if I’d been a bit presumptuous. ‘If you had to pick a superpower … what would it be? Flight or invisibility?’ I grinned at him in what I hoped was an engaging fashion, my eyes drawn to the hopelessly dated, knitted tank top he wore.

‘Flight or invisibility?’ he echoed deadpan, as if he’d never heard of either.

‘Yes.’

He stared at me, blue eyes behind thick lenses dissecting every feature of my face.

‘You know, like Superman or … the Invisible Man.’

‘They’re not real.’ He looked pained for a second and I felt a bit guilty. I guessed some people were taking this very seriously.

‘You’re supposed to ask proper questions. To find out if we’re compatible.’ He pulled a leaflet out of his pocket and I recognised some of Barney’s marketing blurb. ‘You’re supposed to find out what I like. What I’m looking for in a woman.’

I was tempted to remind him that it was a two-way deal, but I decided to let it go. It didn’t seem worth the effort.

‘So what do you look for in a woman?’ I asked, almost wincing as I said the words out loud.

‘Good manners. Smartly dressed. Ladylike.’ His mouth narrowed. ‘I don’t really like girls that wear trousers all the time. It’s not very feminine.’

That counted me out then. ‘And I don’t like too much make-up.’

Unable to resist, I sighed. ‘Me too. I hate it when men wear too much make-up.’

Something blazed briefly in his eyes but it didn’t stop me asking, ‘So what do you bring to the party?’

‘I’m loyal, steadfast and one hundred per cent reliable. I don’t mess people around or let them down.’

Admirable enough qualities, but not enough to make me ignore the rampant male chauvinism. I opted for discretion as the better part of valour and killed the remainder of the time with a string of questions about him.