I give her a withering look. “It’s not a wound. It’s a dry patch,” I reply defensively. “I went on a date with that chef a few months back. And the sexy cyclist before that.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t get past first base with either,” Megan points out.
“I have no solution. I want Mr. Fuck-me Kane but I can’t sleep with him. And I can’t sleep with anyone else because I want him.” I sigh. “Any word from Damo?” Damo had gone silent on Megan the past few days.
“No.” She tuts. “A week ago, his responses were real time. Now? Tumbleweed. I’ve got texting anxiety. I’m doing irrational things like restarting my phone and Wi-Fi. Just in case it’s the phone. I stalk when he is last online. Then when he is online, I start typing in case he sees that I’m online and thinks that I’m stalking him. Which I am.”
“Forget him, Megan,” I say firmly.
Her eyes go wide. “But I need to know why. Why, why, why? Ghosting is a form of torture they should use on inmates.”
I bite my lip. “You’ll never know why. Let’s look at some new profiles tonight. You once told me to get back in the saddle, remember? The stud farm in London is huge.”
She giggles. “Enough bucking bronco innuendos. I get the point.”
“Let’s focus on your exhibition,” I say excitedly. “This is amazing. I’m so proud of you.”
Tooting council is putting on an exhibition for local artists and Megan has managed to get a small stand at it.
“It’s in a library,” she scoffs. “It’s not exactly the Tate Modern or MoMA.”
“So? It’s still your first ever exhibition!” She can’t contain a smile. “Yeah, it’s cool.” Downstairs the fire alarm goes off.
She looks at me in the mirror. “Takeaway again?”
“I think we’ll have to eat it in our bedrooms.” I groan. “Let’s order something then look at some house porn of where we could be eating dinner.”
***
Tristan doesn’t talk to me for the rest of the week, even during the second meeting with Maria Garcia. The woman still makes me uneasy. What with Maria Garcia giving me the chills and Tristan Kane giving me hot flushes, I’m starting to wonder if this is what menopause will be like.
In fact, he was so professional on the second trip that I suspected the previous car journey was a dirty dream I had mistaken for reality. Instead, I’m treated with the polite detachment that a junior lawyer would receive from a partner.
Perhaps he realised he had made a mistake. Did he regret propositioning me? Or had he already moved on to the next conquest, like Megan said? Has the cat found a new mouse?
The guy is a mind-fuck.
So tonight, in an attempt to revive my dire love life, I have joined millions of lonely and/or horny Londoners in the online dating minefield. Megan said that there was no need to spread myself across all the dating apps; eighty percent of entries are the same.
This evening is a date with Chris, twenty-eight, from Yorkshire. According to his profile he spent two years teaching English in China before moving into coding and is now a senior developer at Nexus.
Yes, the same Nexus Group that Tristan Kane’s friend Danny Walker owns, but that’s irrelevant.
We’ve arranged to meet in the top bar at the Regency Hotel, an exclusive restaurant in London Bridge near the Nexus HQ. Apparently, the Nexus staff get discounts. It better be ninety per cent off. I checked the drink prices before I came out, and they are freaking hideous.
London Bridge is bustling with Thursday night drinkers already in weekend mode. I wrestle my way through the crowds until I’m inside the hotel.
Fortunately, Chris resembles his profile picture. I meet him at the entrance, and we travel up in the elevator, exchanging nervous niceties.
In the mirror, I catch him checking out my butt. I’m wearing a blue top that Megan says makes my eyes pop. It cuts too low at the back, and I’m starting to feel self-conscious.
“Thanks for meeting me here, Elly,” he says as we are seated at a table by the host. Chris seems nice but I already have zero sexual interest. “My work project means I’m leaving the office really late these days. But you’ll like it. It’s got great cocktails.”
“It’s lovely.” I look around the plush bar. Oh, there’s a button Press for Champagne on the table! “That’s cool that you get a discount.”
He nods. “It’s because the Nexus CEO Danny Walker is friends with the owner of the Lexington
Group. They own this place.”
I flinch. Jack Mathews, another guy who witnessed #linenclosetgate.
Chris runs a hand through his hair. “I have to admit, Elly, I’m rusty at this. I split up with someone, and this is my first online date.”
A sense of relief floods me. “Me too!”
He nods. “Have you just been through a break-up?”
“Uh, no.” I falter, feeling stupid. “I’m just…rusty.”
We order cocktails, discussing in unnecessary depth the ingredients of each in an attempt to drum up chat. The conversation is pleasant, if a little stilted. I find myself subtly looking at my phone to check the time.
Chris tells me he is into cricket. I tell him I watched it once and gave up when I realised it would be going for another five hours.
He laughs. “That’s what my ex-girlfriend used to say. She couldn’t stand it when I sat indoors until a cricket game was over.” It’s the only time his eyes light up.
We both look down at our drinks as the conversation dries again.
“Your profile said you work for Madison Legal?” he asks.
I nod proudly. “I just started about a month ago at their headquarters on Fleet Street. I’m on their two-year trainee contract.”
“Fleet Street,” he repeats like it’s the only thing he heard in the sentence. “I used to go out around there after work. My ex worked there.”
“Really?” I ask, my smile faltering. That’s a few times he has mentioned his ex-girlfriend.
“Do you know Fleet Street gets its name from an underground river-the River Fleet?” he explains. “She told me that.”
“Who did?” I ask, confused.
“My ex-girlfriend, Mai,” he replies.
Ah, we are still on the subject of the ex. “Were you together long?”
He looks distant for a moment. “Six years.”
“Quite a while.” I gulp. “When did you split up?”
He looks pained. “Three months ago.”
“Oh, that’s a pity,” I reply, wondering where I’m going with this. Where are these cocktails?
He shrugs. “These things happen. In the end, we found we just weren’t compatible. She wanted to get married, and I didn’t. Don’t get me wrong-she was lovely. I’m just not ready for the next step.”
“Plenty of time for all that,” I offer, wondering how I managed to turn my first date in ages into a counselling session.