Page 25 of Love at First Sight

‘You didn’t strike me as a knickers man,’ I say. ‘I thought you’d be more of a boxer-briefs dude.’

‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’

I shake my head, light-heartedly. ‘Did he give you the details?’ I ask, changing the subject slightly as a way of admitting flirtatious defeat.

‘He did,’ Leo confirms. ‘So if you really are fine with me coming …?’

‘I am,’ I say, but he can hear my hesitancy.

‘But …?’

‘Just so you have all the information, I don’t get on with Simone, his child bride-to-be. Like, literally, she’s only a couple of years older than me. So I’m going to stayfor two hours, max, and my leaving early will have absolutely nothing to do with you.’

‘For what it’s worth, I am an excellent bitch once I’ve got a drink in me,’ Leo counters. ‘If you want to sit in a corner with a couple of gin martinis and slag her off for a hundred and twenty minutes, then I’m your guy.’

‘Okay then.’ I smile. ‘Sold. See you there.’

Leo nods. ‘It’s a date.’

As I meander through the residential streets of Stoke Newington, my phone beeps, and I lift it up to see it’s an unknown number. There’s a photo attached, so I stand still to open it, and am suddenly plunged into a fit of fury. It’s Cal, selfie-style, pulling a funny face and pointing to a piece of paper behind him. It’s one of India’s posters. Underneath he’s written,Is this you?

Oh my god. We must have missed one. Cal has actually seen that I cared enough to look for him, and now hedaresto take the piss out of me for it? Well, no. No thank you, sir, not today.

I spin on my heel before I can even think this through, and march at the speed of light to the Whole Foods, all the while plotting witty and cutting things to say to a man who, honestly, I find repulsive. Anyone can be a dream date for an afternoon, but in time their real colours show themselves, always, and I know exactly what kind of a man Cal is now.

I see him from a distance, sat at one of the small metal tables on the pavement, a paper bag of groceries on the chair beside him, reusable coffee cup in hand. He must feelmy ire from metres away, because he looks up, and I swear, despite my red mist it really does look like he’s pleased to see me. And then he realises I am furious, because he frowns, concerned.

‘You!’ I spit, when I reach him.

‘Me?’ he says.

I make some sort ofhumphnoise, shaking my head to let him know that texting me was absolutely the wrong thing to do. He waits for me to say something else, but no words form in my mouth. I cannot speak. I am mute with anger. All I can do is stand there, hands on my hips, shaking my head, trying to breathe fire.

I decide to sashay into the store, looking for any stray posters we missed. I find one by the skincare, and another one on the noticeboard – how did we miss those? I intend to stuff them in the bin on the corner and not address Cal again, mostly because I’m worried I might cry and he’ll get the wrong idea. They’d be tears of anger, not sadness. But as I strut past him and press the button for the crossing, he comes over.

‘Go away,’ I say, pressing the button again, like I have any control over when the green man will show up. I look left and right, determine there’s no traffic, and trot across the road without waiting.

‘Jessie, please,’ Cal says, chasing after me. ‘Can I just explain? Please. I owe you that, at least.’

I walk as quick as I can, trying to decide if I want to listen to anything he has to say. Cal keeps in step and adds: ‘I know you need to calm down. I shouldn’t have textedyou that poster. I was trying to be funny but I see now I wasn’t. I just wanted the chance to talk to you.’

I’m speeding along so fast, rage blurring my vision, that I don’t see the man coming out of the newsagent’s and practically take him out.

‘Whoa there, horsie,’ comes a familiar voice. I look up. Leo.

‘Shit!’ I say. ‘Leo! I am so sorry. Are you okay?’

Leo rubs at his arm. ‘I mean, no,’ he says. ‘But I’m sure I will be. Where are you going in such a hurry?’

‘Work. Don’t want to be late!’

Leo nods, his gaze flicking beside me to Cal, who gives a small wave and says, ‘Hullo. I’m Cal.’

The men do the men thing of shaking hands and calling one anothermate, and then Leo says, ‘I’m pleased I’ve seen you again, anyway. What’s the dress code for this thing tomorrow? Should I be wearing a suit?’

I feel Cal look between us.

‘Less formal than a suit,’ I reply. ‘But more formal than, say, flip-flops. I’m going for a strappy dress and flat sandals. But then, I was never going to bust out my ballgown for this one, was I?’

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