Read Online How to Get a (Love) Life by Rosie Blake - Free Book Online
Authors: Rosie Blake
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right.
‘Smile!’ Caroline said, springing up by my desk. ‘It’s for your profile on the site.’
I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the bright light from where it had imprinted on my retinas. A few moments later Caroline said, ‘Sent!’
I slumped into my chair. So, Nicola Brown was now on the internet. On a dating website. This whole process was frightening. Was it weird to be so blatant about my quest to find a date? The fact that millions of other people did it every day didn’t really make me feel any better.
My email pinged as a new message popped up. ‘Welcome to Find Me A Mate! Nicola Brown.’
The two hippos were kissing. I put my head back in my hands. Oh God.
From James’ office, I heard the sound of a vase smashing.
Chapter Nine
Single girl WLTM real man in the flesh. Not internet weirdo who says he is athletic and 30 and is, in fact, 55 and medically obese.
Contact: Box No. 90002
I got home that evening feeling ready to tackle the task ahead: Find me a mate my way. Caroline’s efforts had prompted me into further action. I needed to continue with my plans, claw back some control. I settled myself onto my lovely squishy sofa and forced my mind back to past relationships. I reached into the shoebox of letters I’d retrieved earlier from the top shelf of my wardrobe. Squirreling through the pile of papers, I pulled out one particularly dog-eared photo from my last year of university. There we were. The two of us. Even without the photograph, I was able to recall every detail in my mind. I remembered the day it was taken. His arm was slung over my shoulders, his warm smile directed towards the camera. I was beside him, blissfully content, relaxed, my body melting into his. He’d just asked me to move in with him after graduation. Exactly a month later he’d left me. I was distraught. To make matters worse I’d only just scraped a third-class degree after three years of studying and having always been top in my year. It was then that I vowed not to ever let another man mess up my life. Of course I’d had the odd evening out, the odd date, but nothing that ever came to anything. I was completely closed off. Protecting myself from hurt had been my grand plan. And it had worked. It had worked so well that now, seven years later, I was sitting alone in my flat wondering where the girl in the picture had gone; the girl brimming with confidence, with a wide grin and glowing skin, shiny dark hair flowing over her shoulders, the girl completely at home amidst the buzz of university life, surrounded by friends. My throat felt thick as I traced her outline with my finger. She had been me. She was still me. I felt determined to find her again.
With renewed energy, I got up and rummaged through the drawer of my desk, pulled out my address book, practically blew the cobwebs from its surface and took a deep breath. This was it. The summary of past relationships, friendships, people that had fallen by the wayside. People I’d let go. I smoothed my hand over the cover. Right. I flipped to A, pen poised. There was Suzie Allen at the top, a friend from university who used to sleepwalk, then there was Bob Arkman, a handy electrician who’d moved away from the area and, oh, there was Jon Allen who I’d once gone out with for the weekend to learn clay pigeon shooting. Taking the highlighter I’d purchased for this exact job, I highlighted Jon Allen. The first possibility. Aside from the clay pigeon shooting I remembered little about Jon. I’d worked with him briefly in London and he had once sent me a Christmas card with penguins kissing. Now that I came to think of it – a promising start.
But I had 25 other letters of the alphabet to check through. I opened a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and got to work.
The entire bottle of wine, three raspberry yoghurts, and a peach later, I had my list.
NICOLA’S LIST
Jon Allen – Clay pigeon guy, 1 Christmas card (penguins kissing – suggestive?)
Fred
‘Smile!’ Caroline said, springing up by my desk. ‘It’s for your profile on the site.’
I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the bright light from where it had imprinted on my retinas. A few moments later Caroline said, ‘Sent!’
I slumped into my chair. So, Nicola Brown was now on the internet. On a dating website. This whole process was frightening. Was it weird to be so blatant about my quest to find a date? The fact that millions of other people did it every day didn’t really make me feel any better.
My email pinged as a new message popped up. ‘Welcome to Find Me A Mate! Nicola Brown.’
The two hippos were kissing. I put my head back in my hands. Oh God.
From James’ office, I heard the sound of a vase smashing.
Chapter Nine
Single girl WLTM real man in the flesh. Not internet weirdo who says he is athletic and 30 and is, in fact, 55 and medically obese.
Contact: Box No. 90002
I got home that evening feeling ready to tackle the task ahead: Find me a mate my way. Caroline’s efforts had prompted me into further action. I needed to continue with my plans, claw back some control. I settled myself onto my lovely squishy sofa and forced my mind back to past relationships. I reached into the shoebox of letters I’d retrieved earlier from the top shelf of my wardrobe. Squirreling through the pile of papers, I pulled out one particularly dog-eared photo from my last year of university. There we were. The two of us. Even without the photograph, I was able to recall every detail in my mind. I remembered the day it was taken. His arm was slung over my shoulders, his warm smile directed towards the camera. I was beside him, blissfully content, relaxed, my body melting into his. He’d just asked me to move in with him after graduation. Exactly a month later he’d left me. I was distraught. To make matters worse I’d only just scraped a third-class degree after three years of studying and having always been top in my year. It was then that I vowed not to ever let another man mess up my life. Of course I’d had the odd evening out, the odd date, but nothing that ever came to anything. I was completely closed off. Protecting myself from hurt had been my grand plan. And it had worked. It had worked so well that now, seven years later, I was sitting alone in my flat wondering where the girl in the picture had gone; the girl brimming with confidence, with a wide grin and glowing skin, shiny dark hair flowing over her shoulders, the girl completely at home amidst the buzz of university life, surrounded by friends. My throat felt thick as I traced her outline with my finger. She had been me. She was still me. I felt determined to find her again.
With renewed energy, I got up and rummaged through the drawer of my desk, pulled out my address book, practically blew the cobwebs from its surface and took a deep breath. This was it. The summary of past relationships, friendships, people that had fallen by the wayside. People I’d let go. I smoothed my hand over the cover. Right. I flipped to A, pen poised. There was Suzie Allen at the top, a friend from university who used to sleepwalk, then there was Bob Arkman, a handy electrician who’d moved away from the area and, oh, there was Jon Allen who I’d once gone out with for the weekend to learn clay pigeon shooting. Taking the highlighter I’d purchased for this exact job, I highlighted Jon Allen. The first possibility. Aside from the clay pigeon shooting I remembered little about Jon. I’d worked with him briefly in London and he had once sent me a Christmas card with penguins kissing. Now that I came to think of it – a promising start.
But I had 25 other letters of the alphabet to check through. I opened a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and got to work.
The entire bottle of wine, three raspberry yoghurts, and a peach later, I had my list.
NICOLA’S LIST
Jon Allen – Clay pigeon guy, 1 Christmas card (penguins kissing – suggestive?)
Fred
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