Greater Expectations (7 page)

“Yes, such an obvious question in fact that if I had a pound for every time I have been asked that very question, I’d have an estate of my own.” It got the cheap laugh I was seeking. Her laugh was infectious and light with a disarming naïveté. For the first time since entering the room, I began to relax. As her laugh drifted off into the dimly lit corners, I yearned to hear it again. “I have been described as much like a lighthouse in the desert.”

“A lighthouse in the desert? How so?” She asked as I had hoped she would.

“Well it would seem that I am incredibly bright but of no real use to anybody.” As she laughed I finished my drink, savouring every last drop of them both. She was still chuckling away as she refreshed my glass. I was expecting an uncomfortable silence after her laughter ended but she surprised me with a question. “What does DNA stand for?”

It completely threw me and I racked my brain trying to remember. “It’s Deo-something nuclear acid? I really should know but it’s easier to blame the alcohol for killing those brain cells required at this moment.” I could only hope that my answer was convincing but why did she want to know?

“National Dyslexic Association!” She blurted out the punch line and I found myself laughing as much at her as with her, not that she knew the difference and nor did it really matter. I mentally noted her joke to tell my friends as it was both amusing and one that would always remind me of her and this unique night. Through my own laughter I saw her as the simply beautiful woman that she is. In that moment, I framed her image and mentally etched it forever into my mind. It was one I would never forget and wish I had captured for real, a photograph to be cherished and kept close to me for she was positively radiant.

Then she threw another question that blindsided me completely.

“So, from your understanding of the upper class stereotype, do you think we love in the same way that everyone else loves?” The laugh had gone and the fire was once again the object of her attention. Stupidly, it made me somewhat envious. It was obvious that she wanted to look anywhere else but at me and she suddenly seemed quite nervous and vulnerable. That look. What was it? So rarely had I seen this look before. She looked…forlorn? Yes, that was it. She looked forlorn.

It didn’t suit her.

“I’m afraid that I am the very last person to be able to speak of love with any kind of authority. I’m sorry.” Here was I taking to a stranger and yet, somehow, it felt instinctively right to be completely honest. She drew her eyes away from the fire and let them rest upon my chest. If I didn’t know better, I would have said she was looking for my heart.

“How so?” her voice nothing more than a whisper.

My life with Gem, told as an anecdote, came tumbling out. As Penny sat in silence, I soon became oblivious to her presence and spoke more to myself than to her. As my sorry tale came to a close, I apologetically explained about reading the email “it was wrong and I know I shouldn’t have done it, but…” and then proceeded to explain the crux of its contents whilst omitting the gory details, she could garner them for herself “…and so here I am, mending my broken heart with Richie.”

Many a true word said in jest as they say.

It was a few moments before she spoke. Not that I really noticed nor cared for, in my head, I was back staring at the computer monitor and reading that email for t
he first time–once again.

“So do you still believe in love?” Her question penetrated my thoughts although it took me a second to realise where I was.

“I was taught to believe in love, my mum is a bit of a romantic. My dad too, if truth be told although he would never readily admit to it. I thought I was in love but seeing now how easily I have walked away from it makes me realise that I truly wasn’t. It is all but impossible for me to determine whether it was the idea of love that I loved or if it was the person providing this possibility; that ‘someone to love’ as it were. It really is a rather complicated notion and one that generates more questions than answers for me.” The depth of my own answer had surprised me and I took a few seconds to consider what I had said.

“Actually, on reflection, forget all that. Yes, I believe in love but only in the way as described to me by my mother.”

“Which was?” Her sincerity was almost palpable as she shifted in her seat and crossed her legs underneath herself. Only now did I notice how big these chairs were, or maybe it is how small she is, it was certainly one or the other. Her glass had been abandoned on the table and she rested her head in her hands, supported by her elbows on her knees. It really was quite remarkable how completely at home she was in these stifling surroundings. She seduced me into believing that we were old friends simply discussing life; thus providing a comfort and confidence to speak my heart and mind without fear of judgment or ridicule.

It was a beautiful feeling.

“Love is when you can look into the eyes of another person and only see the reflection of your own soul. I rather like that idea and believe that it will happen for me one day.” In saying this, one of the unruly crowd hanging behind her caught my attention.

“It sounds like you believe in fate. I didn’t think that a man like you would.” She struck me as genuinely surprised.

“Another stereotype perhaps?” I said teasingly, my eyes too slow to catch hers as she looked back into the fire. The moment gone, I continued “I certainly do believe in fate, and why not? If I didn’t, why else would we be having this drink? I had never even heard of this estate until last week and now here I am enjoying myself with, quite literally, the Lady of the manor.” 

“So you are enjoying yourself? Good. Me too.” As Penny said this, she settled back into her chair and placed her hands, one over the other, in her lap. She still sat on her legs. It amazes me how she manages to make even this pose seem so effortless yet graceful. I have no idea how she does that.

“So what is next for you, love-wise?”

“Who knows?” Rather than feeling bitter and consumed with hurt and regret, I just feel relieved. Obviously she is intent on using her career to climb the social ladder and that doesn’t really interest me, being honest. I have always been more interested in being ‘content’ rather than ‘happy’. ‘Happiness’ seems to be such a fleeting emotion, whereas ‘contentment’ has a more enduring appeal.” Penny was nodding in agreement at my distinction between these two ideals. “It seems that I had five months to get used to being single but only now it’s official. To be totally honest, I am thinking to join a dating site and see what happens. I am not averse to the idea of giving fate a hand, you know? Although I have absolutely no idea why I am telling you that.” I really didn’t and laughed in embarrassment at the absurdity of
my need to admit this to her–a complete stranger.

Thankfully I caught myself before inadvertently telling her all about Supasexxx.com.

After a few seconds consideration, she surprised me with her reply. “Yes, I certainly understand the appeal and the logic in behind such websites. In truth, I have often thought of it and would have liked to have joined a dating site too. But the risk far outweighs the reward for me. If the press ever found out, the ridicule and shame would be unbearable.”

She found her glass and took a long drink.

It was easy to understand her predicament. However, this was about the only chance I was ever going to have at peeking behind the stereotype, behind that aristocratic veil, and there was no way that I was going to waste it. “So what do you think of love?”

It was my turn to take a drink.

Her answer vaulted me from surprised to stunned. She spoke slowly and deliberately, once again every word chosen with care and precision. “Well I can never expect to love, can I? Certainly not in the way you suggested. How would I ever know if they loved me as a person or as a package? As such, I would always be wondering. This is certainly not conducive to love as I understand it. Love is supposed to grow exponentially over time. How could I ever trust anyone enough to let that happen without the fear of losing everything I have and everything I am? Unless, of course, they are of a similar background to myself and that just isn’t possible as I know them all.” She smiled weakly at what was said in jest but rang true. “Do you understand?”

A shroud of sadness came to rest heavily upon her.

“Yes, I get that.” Her explanation made it impossible to
not
understand. Suddenly my own issues were far less than I had previously thought. Contrary to my stereotypical perception of her, it was I had every conceivable means of finding love available to me and Penny who did not. That preconceived notion of freedom that I had of her–and her ilk–had just been obliterated and now I actually felt sorry for her. Yet still I wanted to know more.

“However, it does still beg the question, do
you
actually believe in love?”

“I must admit that I have never heard it put in the way your mother describes although it makes perfect sense to me. So, yes, if that is what love is, then I certainly believe in it.”

For some inexplicable reason, it was wonderfully reassuring to me that she said this and I felt a sense of contentment and pride in my mother’s comforting assessment of love. Although I wasn’t at all certain that this is the love that my mum shared with my dad. However, that was a thought I would rather not explore, much akin to the idea of your parents having sex.

“Well Penny, if it is true that you believe in love and so in fate then you have no choice but to accept that love will find you when you least expect it. That is what I believe and what I have to believe. In actual fact, I have the perfect story that proves my belief. However, it takes a bit of time to tell.” I was holding my empty glass in both hands as I spoke, almost praying that a refill would be forthcoming as a trade for the story. I needn’t have worried.

“Z, we have all night and more than half a bottle. Does that answer your question?”

It certainly did.

“Let me tell you about Douglas McElroy…” I said as she took my glass.

The elation of concluding my story very quickly gave way to exhaustion. Draining the last of the golden nectar, I gently placed the glass back on the table. Whilst Penny had sat silently throughout, engrossed in my tale, her expressions and mannerisms had spoken volumes.

She understood.

Now it was the fire that had her full attention and consumed her thoughts. It was the right time to take my leave yet I didn’t want to disturb her. In barely a whisper and with the utmost sincerity, I said “Thank you so much for the invite and rarely have I ever so thoroughly enjoyed myself. I hope that you enjoyed hearing about Douglas and that you find his story as comforting and inspiring as I do. Goodnight.”

She was still staring into the fire as she mumbled “goodnight”. As I stood to leave, I saw a tear slowly meander down her cheek.

It sparkled like a diamond in the firelight and I le
ft her alone with her thoughts.

11

Blindsided

Friday 23rd January

It had been just over a week since we had returned from the tranquillity of Scotland to the madness that is London. In that time, Richie had ensured that I had enjoyed one of my more profitable weeks with placements in the agency’s better paying clients. There also hadn’t been any sight nor sound from Gemma and so al
l was happy in my little world.

That all changed with a phone call.

“Hi Z, it’s Richie. Do you have a minute? I have a couple of things to discuss with you.” He was not his usual self and sounded somewhat sterner than normal. It could have been mistaken for “professionalism” but I knew him better than that, although I naively thought this would be all work related.

Oh, how wrong was I?

“Firstly, I have your start time for tomorrow.” There was nothing unusual in this, as it was a daily occurrence to be phoned with your start time. Actually, there was nothing irregular in being called numerous times with a variety of start times. We all knew it was the nature of the beast but that didn’t make it any less irritating. It certainly generated a perpetual angst amongst us drivers, with the expression “that office couldn’t run a piss up in a brewery” being most commonly attributed to their organisational skills. However, at 6am, my allocated start time was earlier than usual. I readily agreed as an earlier start ensures an early finish, and it was the beginning of the weekend after all. I could enjoy a nice dinner and a few drinks with some of the guys as there was always someone up for that on a Saturday night. Yet I could tell from his tone that there was a reason behind this unusually early start time and his pregnant pause indicated that I should enquire further.

Foolishly, I did.

“Well, I have been talking with a few of the lads about your “situation” regarding Gemma. We are all concerned and agree that the best way for you to move forward is to get back dating again.”

Spoken with as much authority and confidence as he dare muster.

Naturally, this piqued my defences. I was actually quite taken aback and a little hurt to hear they had been talking about me behind my back. Although it really should not have been a surprise at all, gossip is stock in trade for truck drivers and obviously it was my turn for their attentions. My initial shock quickly gave way to anger. “Richard” I said slowly and deliberately, this was no time to call him “Richie”, it was way too serious for that. “Whilst I understand you think you are doing me a favour, I really do not appreciate being the topic of idle conversation. Especially with other drivers that I have to work with and face on a daily basis. Who have you been talking…”

He cut me off mid sentence.

“Z, it’s really not like that. Seriously, I have had a couple of drivers, guys I know that you regard as friends, asking me how our trip away was and how you are coping. They, sorry, I should say
we
only have your best interests at heart. We all know that Gemma was bad news,
is
bad news and so for you to move on then you need to be dating again. To that end, I have a date set up for you tomorrow night…”

He said this and let it hang, waiting for my response.

“A blind date? You seriously want me to go on a fucking blind date Richie?” The incredulity in my voice was unmistakable, much like my own shock.

“Well that’s a good sign Z. Your first reaction isn’t a straight ‘no’, nor have you even asked about her.” I could hear the relief in his voice and his word pronunciation changed as he had spoke. It was obvious that this was due to his growing smirk.

“I was getting to the former and so no need to explore the latter.” I said, being deliberately smart and antagonistic. He ignored me.

“Well I have already set it up for tomorrow night. Her name is Sian and she is 28. I think you two will get along just fine. I have given her your number and told her to text you tomorrow to finalise the plans but, provisionally, you are to meet in The Crooked Beggar in St. Albans at 7.30pm. You should be well finished your shift by then. Now, I’m really sorry but I have keep this short and sweet as the work is coming out my ears and need to get back to it. Talk soon mate.” He hung up on me, giving me no chance to respond. I knew better than to try calling back and, being honest, I must admit to being rather curious and somewhat excited.

I decided to wait and see if she would text.

Saturday 24th January

Sian had obviously decided to play it cool and nonchalant as it wasn’t until after 3pm that she texted. Until then, I had simply chosen to believe that she thought the blind date was as much of a wind up as I did. Although, admittedly, I had been frantically checking my phone throughout the day whilst trying to appear completely blasé. As Richie had given me my start time phone call less than a half hour before her text, I was all but certain that she had taken some further prompting. Having slept on it I still could not escape the thought that no good could come from this. It is a harsh reality but, in being honest with myself, I know I am nowhere near ready to offer anything in a relationship.

In fact, the very mention of the word “relationship” has me looking for a spine to run a shiver down.

“Hi Z, am Sian. Richie give me ur number and told me 2 text u. He says we r 2 meet tonight at 730 in the crooked buggar. U up 4 it? xx”

I reread the text and caught myself cringing. It may well be
academic snobbery on my part–I am, after all, a fully paid up member of the Grammar Police–but I really do hate text speak. There really is no excuse for bad spelling, especially considering every mobile phone has predictive text.
It actually spells it correctly for you!
The offence was further compounded by the fact that she couldn’t even get the name of the pub right.

Maybe she was being funny?

I had my doubts but it was definitely off-putting. Another one for me is horrible teeth. A girl could be perfect in every single way but I would never give her the chance to prove it if she has bad teeth. It is truly amazing how we each have those small idiosyncrasies that can ruin a perfectly good relationship, even before they start.

Well I would certainly hope that this isn’t just me?

Actually, I know it just isn’t me as a girl friend of mine told me once that she finished with a really nice guy after sleeping with him for the first time. The reason? He had worn green “Y” fronts and there was
no way
that was ever acceptable to her. Still, given the circumstances, I decided that Sian deserved the benefit of the doubt and so I blamed her grammatical errors on her being as nervous about this blind date as I was.

Already overruling my own instincts? This has “disaster” written all over it.

Anyway, basic manners dictate that it is simply way too late for me to cancel now. For all I know, she could very well be going through exactly the same as me, and so suffering a similar crisis of confidence. After all, I have absolutely no idea of her personal circumstances. In point of fact, other than her name and age, I know
nothing
else about her. Also, it would be completely ignorant to not recognise that the mere act of sending the text took courage, even if she did have to be gently persuaded by Richie. It was not for me to hurt this poor girl any more than she may have already been. It would be kinder to just meet up, in the full knowledge that nothing romantic can come from it, enjoy our night and make a new friend. Who knows, maybe she has a friend who is more suitable for me somewhere further down the line?

I would be an idiot not to meet such a nice girl.

I took the opportunity to surreptitiously correct her text in my reply, it was the least I could do. Hopefully she would take my subtle hint.

“Hi Sian, this is Z right enough
:) Sure, 7.30 at The Crooked Beggar sounds great. Really looking forward to it, see you then!”

I thought that was it and everything set. Not for the first time in my life, I was proved wrong and her reply came through within minutes.

“Perfict. I shall pic u up @ urs @ 715. I alredy got ur addy frm Richie. Lookn forward 2 it 2 xx”

Evidently my efforts of correction were in vain. I shall try and not let this get to me as it can only be surmised that all such future attempts will be similarly doomed to failure. I was going to text her back that we should just meet there as Hatfield is only a few miles from St Albans, but thought better of it. If the “date” is the predicted disaster I envisage, at least this allows me to have a few beers with a free taxi home.

It was late in the afternoon when I eventually made it home from work. After a shower and bite to eat, I got myself ready–although only in body for not in mind. More by default than design, my couch has pride of place beside my living room window and doubles as an excellent vantage point for the car park. Nervously, I started checking out the window a full hour before she was expected. The television was on but more as a distraction for me, and it was just after 7pm when she drew in. I knew it was her as the only parking space available was under a streetlamp and so it was easy to distinguish the single female occupant. Also, she turned the car lights off but never got out and I could see the exhaust fumes that told me that the engine was still running. Actually, while I was sure it was her, I wasn’t
that
sure and there was no way I was going down to play my hunch, so I just stayed where I was. It was at exactly 7.15pm that her single word text came through.

“Outside.”

It was at this point that the reality of the situation hit home and I suddenly started questioning myself. In the full awareness that I want nothing from this date and that there will be no others to follow, I am now wondering why the fuck I agreed to this charade at all. This makes me even more nervous. Then I realise that I am checking myself to see if my breath is fresh and if I am wearing too much cologne. Is this my best shirt? Am I overdressed? Should I have worn a T-shirt? Is my hair okay? What am I talking about–I’m fucking bald. It has been years since I have had a first date but I had hair then so it’s little wonder that I associate one with the other. I duly berated myself for my uncharacteristic dandyism as I trudged all the way to the passenger door of her car. Opening it, I said “hi” in as confident a voice as I could muster. This resulted in a surprisingly high-pitched screech that, as a noise, I have never heard myself make before. I certainly hope to never hear it again.

I slumped into the passenger seat, deflated and defeated already.

“Hi” she replied with the very confidence that I had been searching for, followed with a disarming smile. Sian was undeniably pretty and, bizarrely, I found that I was instantly thanking Richie in my head. She was wearing a nice loose blouse with flowing dark hair that encapsulated her face and settled gently on her shoulders. There then followed the predictably awkward conversation that everyone has when first meeting and trying to establish common ground. In our case, it was Richie. I have a tendency to talk incessantly when nervous so it was perhaps unsurprising that it had been me who had been hogging the conversation en route to the pub. It wasn’t until we were actually leaving the car that it occurred to me that this could be the mother of all wind-ups.

Had Richie and my “friends” bought me a hooker for the night?

The whole scenario played out rapidly in my head as I walked to the pub door. Each step coinciding with the countdown in my head. There they could all be, my so called “friends” standing at the bar when “Sian” and I walk in, and only
me
thinking this is a genuine date. I mean, what kind of name is “Sian” anyway? Is it not perfect for a hooker? I would never live this down. To be fair, I was deserving of such a prank and, being completely honest, they have played this one perfectly. How could I have been so blind? I opened the bar door and stood back to let “Sian” enter first. If I am going down, I shall go down as a gentleman and take this on the chin.

Revenge, however, shall be sweet.

I followed “Sian” into the bar fully expecting the eruption of laughter and to see the delighted faces of my many “friends”.

Nothing.

Sian turned and asked what I would like to drink.
Wait…? What…?
I was completely confused.
Where is everyone?
I mumbled “Sorry?” while still scanning the bar.

“I was just asking what you wanted to drink? Are you okay?” She was looking at me with genuine concern. It took me a minute to realise that this was an actual date and she was completely serious. Having waited alone in a car park for over ten minutes on a cold winters night just to pick me up, here she now was offering to buy the first round of drinks. With the benefit of a well lit bar, it was evident that this was no prank for her and that she had went to a great deal of effort in getting ready. She was simply immaculate and not what I was expecting.

Not at all.

When did I get this paranoid?

Trying to clear my confusion, I feebly endeavoured to take stock of the situation. “No, don’t be daft. You drove. Besides, what sort of gentleman would that make me? Now, what can I get you?” After asking for a diet coke, Sian excused herself and disappeared to the bathroom. I took the opportunity to down a quick double scotch to ease my frazzled nerves and try to relax, then took our drinks and found a booth for more privacy.