his owner to the home they shared further down the road. He was a friendly little thing, pure black apart from two white paws, always purring a welcome whenever I came home.
I stopped to stroke him, as he wound his way round and round my legs, his tail tickling the back of my knee. I could have done with cheering up, and if it weren’t for Emily I would have smuggled him in for a cuddle, but she said she was allergic to cats.
Although we were on the first floor above the shop, our front door was at street level, which meant you stepped into a long hallway that then led to a flight of stairs. Unfortunately the stairs rose straight into the lounge. There was no way of sneaking in without being seen.
Brazening it out was the only way. ‘Hi, Em, are you home?’ I yelled. With any luck she might not be in.
‘Didn’t you get my message?’ she said, appearing at the top of the steps, hands on hips in warrior stance.
‘Which one?’ I asked sarcastically, taking the stairs slowly. ‘I couldn’t phone you. The motorway was hell and I had a policeman up my bum nearly all the way back. Then my battery ran out.’ I might as well have been talking to myself.
‘God, what am I going to do?’ she wailed.
Reaching the top, I put my hand on her shoulder. ‘Whoa, slow down, Emily. What’s happened?’
Her mouth crumpled and she looked as if she was about to burst into tears. ‘Disaster. Damn speed-date business. I only bloody ticked the wrong frigging box. That saddo … you know, the one with the glasses, has emailed me.’
I sighed, slipping off my jacket, the tension easing out of my shoulders. No one had died then.
‘Which one?’ I cast my mind back.
‘The one with the knackered glasses.’
A few had worn glasses. I still couldn’t think which one. The guy with the red hair? The insurance one? And then I remembered.
‘You mean the glasses with the tape?’ I said, his image suddenly clicking into view as I perched on the edge of the armchair looking up at Emily. The metal frames had been held together with silver insulating tape.
‘Yes, him,’ she said vehemently, striding over to the magazine-laden coffee table. ‘He emailed me this morning. I can’t believe I ticked the wrong box. He’s weird!’
‘He seemed harmless enough. Have you replied to him?’
‘Duh, no!’ She slapped her forehead to make her point. ‘Look at this.’ Tipping a magazine off the table she pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and thrust it at me.
-----Original Message-----
From: Peter Cooper [mailto:[email protected]]
To: ‘Emily’
Subject: Dinner
Dear Emily
I knew when your email address was passed on to me that you must have felt that special connection between us. I was surprised at first. I have to admit your hair is not quite what I envisioned in my perfect mate. I normally prefer girls with shorter styles, but as you appear to have character enough to recognise my worth, I can overlook something that can, after all, be changed.
Let’s meet for dinner. Email me back with your preferred dates this week and a suggested venue. If it’s appropriate I will book a table for two. I look forward to hearing from you.
Peter
‘Blimey, he’s sure of himself.’ I handed the sheet of paper back to her. ‘Are you positive it was the little Tom Cruise lookalike? He was a bit wimpy. This guy sounds full on.’ Although the male chauvinism rang true.
‘Olivia, you’re not listening to me. I didn’t tick his box. He’s labouring under a delusion. Cheek, he doesn’t like my hair.’ She tossed her head. ‘I didn’t like anything about him. I was only humouring him.’
‘Really?’ I asked, wandering past her down to the kitchen. I needed a drink. Remembering Peter now, I was surprised. Knowing Emily and how rude she could be, how could he have possibly thought she might be interested? Had the kitten voice misled him?
‘What on earth did you talk to him about that night?’ I called from the kitchen back to
I stopped to stroke him, as he wound his way round and round my legs, his tail tickling the back of my knee. I could have done with cheering up, and if it weren’t for Emily I would have smuggled him in for a cuddle, but she said she was allergic to cats.
Although we were on the first floor above the shop, our front door was at street level, which meant you stepped into a long hallway that then led to a flight of stairs. Unfortunately the stairs rose straight into the lounge. There was no way of sneaking in without being seen.
Brazening it out was the only way. ‘Hi, Em, are you home?’ I yelled. With any luck she might not be in.
‘Didn’t you get my message?’ she said, appearing at the top of the steps, hands on hips in warrior stance.
‘Which one?’ I asked sarcastically, taking the stairs slowly. ‘I couldn’t phone you. The motorway was hell and I had a policeman up my bum nearly all the way back. Then my battery ran out.’ I might as well have been talking to myself.
‘God, what am I going to do?’ she wailed.
Reaching the top, I put my hand on her shoulder. ‘Whoa, slow down, Emily. What’s happened?’
Her mouth crumpled and she looked as if she was about to burst into tears. ‘Disaster. Damn speed-date business. I only bloody ticked the wrong frigging box. That saddo … you know, the one with the glasses, has emailed me.’
I sighed, slipping off my jacket, the tension easing out of my shoulders. No one had died then.
‘Which one?’ I cast my mind back.
‘The one with the knackered glasses.’
A few had worn glasses. I still couldn’t think which one. The guy with the red hair? The insurance one? And then I remembered.
‘You mean the glasses with the tape?’ I said, his image suddenly clicking into view as I perched on the edge of the armchair looking up at Emily. The metal frames had been held together with silver insulating tape.
‘Yes, him,’ she said vehemently, striding over to the magazine-laden coffee table. ‘He emailed me this morning. I can’t believe I ticked the wrong box. He’s weird!’
‘He seemed harmless enough. Have you replied to him?’
‘Duh, no!’ She slapped her forehead to make her point. ‘Look at this.’ Tipping a magazine off the table she pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and thrust it at me.
-----Original Message-----
From: Peter Cooper [mailto:[email protected]]
To: ‘Emily’
Subject: Dinner
Dear Emily
I knew when your email address was passed on to me that you must have felt that special connection between us. I was surprised at first. I have to admit your hair is not quite what I envisioned in my perfect mate. I normally prefer girls with shorter styles, but as you appear to have character enough to recognise my worth, I can overlook something that can, after all, be changed.
Let’s meet for dinner. Email me back with your preferred dates this week and a suggested venue. If it’s appropriate I will book a table for two. I look forward to hearing from you.
Peter
‘Blimey, he’s sure of himself.’ I handed the sheet of paper back to her. ‘Are you positive it was the little Tom Cruise lookalike? He was a bit wimpy. This guy sounds full on.’ Although the male chauvinism rang true.
‘Olivia, you’re not listening to me. I didn’t tick his box. He’s labouring under a delusion. Cheek, he doesn’t like my hair.’ She tossed her head. ‘I didn’t like anything about him. I was only humouring him.’
‘Really?’ I asked, wandering past her down to the kitchen. I needed a drink. Remembering Peter now, I was surprised. Knowing Emily and how rude she could be, how could he have possibly thought she might be interested? Had the kitten voice misled him?
‘What on earth did you talk to him about that night?’ I called from the kitchen back to
Similar Books
