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“What’re you having?” he asks, rubbing his chin. I catch sight of his square silver, blingy-edged cufflinks glimmering under the spotlight.
“Nice cufflinks,” I say, playing for time.
“Oh, these old things,” he laughs, and I laugh too. “Seriously, though, they were a father’s day gift from Connie last year.” It’s sure nice of Aliki to buy him such expensive looking gifts on behalf of their daughter, another sign that she hasn’t let go.
“So?” He fixes me with a close-range stare. “What’ll it be?”
He unnerves me. I glance quickly at the menu, anything to avoid eye contact. Flirting isn’t on my agenda tonight. He’s just a client, that’s all. A client. I smooth down my hair, my phone bleeps on the table, lighting up with a new message. Daniel looks at it briefly then back at me.
“I’ll just have a Margherita pizza, I think.” I glance at my handset flashing with another message. But given that I’ll need to hold the phone at least two feet away to read the texts there’s really no point in retrieving them now. Daniel frowns as he stretches his arm behind him, all the time regarding me dubiously.
“Are you sure?” he asks carefully, “I fancy something a bit hot and spicy myself. Let’s have a look.” And with this, he whips out a pair of spectacles from his jacket pocket and slides them on. “Can’t see a damn thing without these,” he groans. Damn, I could’ve worn mine. But it’s too late to admit to being long sighted now. “You young people don’t know how lucky you are.” My limbs jolt into action and I sit upright in my chair. He must think I’m younger than him, which is rather lovely. Perhaps Daniel Taylor should come with a health slogan emblazoned along his forehead - “Great for your ego.” I’ve only been in his company for thirty-five minutes and already he’s boosted my self-esteem.
We talk “shop” as we sip our wine, not a bad red actually, quite smooth and fruity. I give him an update on the development of his website and describe what plans we have for it. I explain the basics of setting up a site and the importance of search engine optimisation, which will be expertly implemented by Raymond and Callum. I assure him that his project is in good hands and that we’ll get him placement on page one of Google for his chosen keywords and phrases in no time at all, and with this assurance, he’s happy to move onto another topic of conversation. Me.
He quizzes me about my role at Blue Media and seems genuinely interested in what I do, which is a bit of a first really as most people find my occupation complicated and boring. We then get into a heated discussion about politics and Brexit and my parents’ plans to move to Cyprus. Fuelled by alcohol, I make no secret of my objections. “I really think they’re making a big mistake,” I explain. “A holiday is one thing but emigrating?” I shake my head. “They’ll regret it. I don’t want them to go.”
He throws his head back and laughs loudly, “What are you, five?” he says. His flippancy annoys me. What’s so funny about wanting my parents to live in England? But eventually, he convinces me they’re doing the right thing – I’ve got to let go and leave them to it. I’m lucky to have my brother, nephews and sister-in-law close by. “I wish I had family who thought that highly of me,” he says, straightening the cutlery on his napkin, and I’m sure I detect a touch of sourness in his voice, but I don’t say anything.
Half an hour later as we tuck into our pizzas we move onto the subject of failed relationships. I knew we’d get here eventually. I’m not usually intrusive but the red wine has loosened my conscience and revved up my curiosity, so I ask him about Aliki and why they split up. He goes quiet at first and a bit red, seems edgy, cagey even, then quickly explains that they grew apart, wanted different things. Their marriage died years ago but, like many couples with children, it was Connie that had kept them together.
“And what about you?” He pours sparkling water into my glass. I watch as the bubbles fizz and whirl around in a frenzy. Shall I tell him the truth? Tell him that the man I adored for eight years crushed my heart beyond repair and trampled all over my dignity? That I still lie in bed at night trying to work out what I did wrong, why I wasn’t enough for him? That I still sometimes cry myself to sleep? That, despite everything, I still miss him.
“Same as.” I take a sip of wine, he’s not the only one who can fob people off with clichés. “We wanted different things.” This isn’t a lie. I wanted marriage, he didn’t.
“Oh, I see.” He shovels pizza into his mouth. “So you weren’t that close then?” He chews his food, “Towards the end, I mean.” Close? I want to laugh. I’ve never felt closer to anyone else in my entire life. It was as if Nick passed through me and our souls touched.
I cut into my pizza heavily, my eyes sting, “Why are these knives so damned blunt?” I tug at it hard with my duff cutlery. A piece breaks away, flies off my plate and lands in the middle of the table, just missing the little vase holding a single yellow Gerbera. Shit.
“I’m sorry.” His hand closes over my fist, it’s warm, soft. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He mops up the mess and gestures at a waiter for more napkins. “I know it’s still very raw for you. It takes time to get over a relationship, especially if you’ve been together for a long time.”
I drop my cutlery by my plate and suck my lips in, kerbing in my fury. I want to tell him to shut-the-hell-up. I want to say that my private life is none of his damned business. I’m only here because Raymond insisted. I don’t need his bloody sympathy. I’m fine, and I’d cope a lot better if people stopped reminding me every five fucking minutes. But Raymond would fire me if I mess up this meeting.
“It’s okay.” I continue attacking my pizza, all the time complaining about the blunt knife. I can see him gearing up to apologise again but I’m saved by my phone chiming on the table with a call. Can’t Louise or Tina wait until I get home before giving me the third degree? It stops ringing then starts again almost immediately.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” he asks, as a faceless waiter places several napkins on our table. “It’s been going off with messages all night.” Is he always this condescending?
I snatch my handset off the table, slide the ringer onto silent, then slip it smoothly into my handbag, telling him I’ll deal with them later, that I get dozens of text messages and voicemails from clients all the time.
After dessert, which I must point out was forced upon me because I am supposed to be on a diet, his mobile phone starts chiming with a string of texts messages followed by an incoming call.
“Sorry,” he says abruptly, glancing at the screen, “I’ve got to get this.” And to my surprise, he leaves the table and nips outside.
“Your cappuccino, Madam.” The waitress’s voice averts my attention away from Daniel on the street. I look up at her quickly with a small reflex smile, still a bit dazzled by his abrupt departure.
The hum of voices and clatter of plates fill my ears as I watch him curiously through the French doors. He’s pacing up and down the pavement like an expectant father, frowning and talking hurriedly into his handset. He doesn’t seem happy. I wonder if he’s talking to Aliki, if she’s checking up on him. I bet he’ll be snuggled up in bed with her by the end of the evening. I smile and shake my head, elbows resting on the round grey marbled table, cup in hand. Why should I even care? I blow onto my coffee. This is just business. I take a sip from my huge, white cup. The hot liquid burns my lips and I wince.
“Sorry, about that.” Daniel’s back looking flustered and on edge. There’s a bit of rain on his shirt and hair. “Is it okay if we get the bill?” he asks quickly, and before I can answer he’s pushing his arm into the sleeve of his jacket and signalling to the waitress for the bill. I look at my full cup of coffee.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, yeah, well, kind of. It’s…it’s Connie…she’s just…Thanks,” The waitress places the bill onto the table and he throws three twenty pounds notes onto the plate, tells her to keep the change.
“Oh God, is she okay?” I get to my feet quickly. I hope nothing has happened to her.
“She’s just really upset, Audrey, she’s crying, I really…”
“No, no…” I grab my mac from behind my chair urgently, “you don’t have to explain, your daughter comes first. I completely understand.” I shoulder my bag as we head for the door. “We’re done here, anyway.”
