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‘Shut up, Sandra. As I was saying, tonight is the night when you could meet the love of your life. In years to come, you’ll look back and say, “If it wasn’t for Davina and speedy dating night at the Prancing Horse, we’d never have found each other.” Just remember to invite me to your weddings, okay? Now, in a moment, we’ll go through to the function room, where the chairs have been laid out. Ladies, you’ll sit in the inner circle, facing outwards. Gentlemen, you’ll sit in the outer circle, facing inwards. You will have five minutes to get to know each other before the bell goes. When the bell rings, the gentlemen will move one chair to the left and the ladies will stay put. Do you all understand?’
‘Yes,’ the group calls out wearily.
‘If you meet someone you’d like to get to know better, then write their name down on your card. Also, make sure you’ve put your name at the top of the card. I can’t match you up if I don’t know who you are, Bernard! If the person whose name you have written down has also written down your name, then I’ll tell you afterwards and you can arrange to meet up. If you write someone’s name down and they haven’t written yours, then you must respect that decision and not pester them for a date anyway, Bernard. Has anyone got any questions before we begin?’
I glance at Elliott, but I can’t read his expression. I have to admit that this probably doesn’t rank as one of my best ideas. Quite a few of the speed daters are a lot older than us and, like Davina, some of the women are clearly sizing him up and liking what they see. They’re almost predatory, and I begin to wonder whether we should make our excuses and leave before one of them pounces on him. However, before I get the chance to say anything, Davina throws open the doors to the function room and ushers us inside.
The kindest way to describe the function room is ‘optimistically named’. It’s more of a storage area, with boxes stacked here and there and random bits of lighting equipment lying around, probably from the last time this pub staged a live event sometime in the eighties. Two circles of grubby-looking chairs have been laid out in the centre of the room, and I realise my white jeans were a mistake. I make my way to the least disgusting-looking chair I can find and perch carefully. I notice that Davina has guided Elliott over to a station far away from me. The woman she sits him opposite has her eyes out on stalks. I only hope he keeps his sense of humour, otherwise it’s going to be a very strained taxi journey home. I’m definitely going to need to eat plenty of humble pie whatever happens.
My first date is Bernard the stalker, as I’ve nicknamed him after Davina’s opening remarks. He’s probably nearly old enough to be my father, but still makes no bones about eyeing me up appreciatively as he talks. I learn that he works in one of the local supermarkets on the checkout, and he takes pride in remembering customers and what they buy. He regales me with a list of people and their regular purchases, asks absolutely nothing about me, and I’m mightily relieved when the bell goes and he moves on.
Al, who follows him, is short and wiry. Again, he makes no bones about sizing me up, and he obviously likes what he sees as his eyes light up. I can’t say I feel the same, and I fear it’s going to be another long five minutes.
‘Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?’ I begin. ‘What do you do for a living?’
‘Yeah, it’s a little bit unconventional, as it goes. I’m what you’d call a professional gambler,’ he replies and sits back, waiting for me to be impressed.
‘That does sound interesting,’ I lie. ‘I don’t know anything about gambling. What’s the difference between a professional and an amateur?’
‘Well, your amateur, he doesn’t study the form like I do, see? I’ve got spreadsheets at home with all the horses I follow, cross-referenced against the racecourse, the going and their final position. So, although I don’t actually place a bet as often as some other gamblers, my chance of success is much higher because I’ve factored everything in.’
I’m a little intrigued, despite myself. ‘And does it work?’
He leans forward, conspiratorially. ‘Of course it does. Last month alone, I made over five grand. And do you know the best bit?’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s all tax-free. Her Majesty’s revenue bastards don’t get a single penny.’ He settles back in his chair and puts his hands behind his head, incredibly pleased with himself.
‘So you must live the real high life then. Swanky apartment, maybe a yacht?’
I’ve obviously hit a nerve, because he suddenly doesn’t look so confident. ‘It’s complex,’ he replies.
‘How so?’
‘Well, before I knew what I was doing, I made a few mistakes and ran up a few debts. Nothing serious, but you know what these credit people are like. I told them I only needed a little bit more time, but they sent the bailiffs round anyway and cleaned me out. So then I didn’t have the money for my rent, and so I’m currently in, ah, family accommodation, just while I sort it all out.’
‘I see.’
Luckily the bell goes before I have to say any more.
As the evening wears on and a succession of completely unattractive men pass me by, I realise that Davina is being very flexible with her definition of five minutes. I’m stuck talking to Keith about his views on immigration for nearly ten minutes at one point, and I realise that Davina is doing more than just hosting – there’s some active matchmaking going on. Given that most of the people here are regulars, that must mean she’s got her eye on either Elliott or me. Keith is still droning on, so I take the opportunity to glance over to where Elliott is sitting, in front of a woman displaying a large amount of cleavage. She’s leaning forward resting her chin in her hand, giving him puppy-dog eyes. He looks terrified, as if she’s about to eat him alive.
After what seems like an age, it finally ends. When Elliott got to my station, we barely had time to say hello before the bell rang, which just convinced me further of Davina’s plan. The others all hand in their papers, and I notice her glancing down them as they do.
‘You two have been very popular,’ she drawls as we hand in our slips. ‘Practically everyone wrote you down. Let’s see who the lucky winners are, shall we?’
I notice that Elliott’s slip is as blank as mine, and Davina wrinkles her nose with displeasure. ‘What, nobody at all?’ she asks. ‘I think you’re being a little over-choosy. If you don’t want to spend the rest of your lives alone, you might need to learn to see people for who they are inside, rather than just looking at the surface. Keith and Barbara were particularly smitten. Are you sure you don’t want to change your minds?’
‘It’s our first time,’ I tell her, to try to defuse the situation. ‘Maybe next time we’ll be more…’
‘Prepared,’ Elliott interjects, saving me as my words dry up.
* * *
‘Promise me you will never make me do anything like that again,’ he says, once we’re safely in the taxi on our way home.
‘I promise. It was an experience, though, wasn’t it?’
