I don’t reply, instead taking a sip of my coffee. I often get told I’m beautiful, striking even, and I never know how to respond to the compliment. The way he delivers it this time is too soon. We’ve just met. Winking should be reserved for month two of a relationship.
‘Okay, music I like…’ he says, filling the awkward silence. ‘I’ve always enjoyed Blur and Gorillaz even though they’re old hat these days. I guess it was my era and I haven’t grown out of enjoying listening to them. What about you? What’s your favourite music?’
‘The rhythm of my own heart.’
‘Is that a song title or a band? I’ve not heard of them. Let me look them up on Spotify.’ Phil grabs his phone from his pocket and spends an unacceptable length of time searching for something he won’t find.
I brush my fingers over the ink heart on my wrist. The temptation to take a reading is high. The need to feel the music that Phil will never discover is compulsive and resisting its pull is nigh on impossible. He brushes his goatee again, pausing in between the movement to wrangle his finger up his nose before slipping it to his glasses. He glances at me, hoping I haven’t seen.
I have.
‘I’m going to use the ladies.’ I’m not sure why I feel the need to tell him when I imagine it is often the reaction his nose explorations cause.
He seems to have lost all communicative abilities since his phone has come out. I note he’s made it onto the Facebook app in his search for a band that doesn’t exist.
‘Ah, yeah, sure,’ he comments, flinching at being caught doing much more than looking up a band. It makes me wonder if he has gone as far as creating a status to document this disastrous date. At least it isn’t all on me today.
Tess is waiting in the alcove of the kitchen as she always does on these occasions. She has one thumb pointing up and the other down awaiting the verdict. Even her apron has unicorns on it in her quest to cheer the world.
I press a finger on the thumb that is pointing downwards and Tess makes a faint uh-huh noise. ‘Knew it,’ she whispers.
‘Is it open?’ I glance towards the exit that’s behind the industrial kitchen space.
‘Of course. Debrief tomorrow. Usual time.’
I know this isn’t the adult way to go about things. But this set-up has saved me many hours of anguishing conversations that simply weren’t going to go anywhere. I check that Phil isn’t looking this way, but he’s so preoccupied with his phone that he’s unable to pay any attention to his actual surroundings or the company he was briefly in.
It helps alleviate the guilt I feel as I slip past the cookers and preparation benches to get to my secret exit. Tess is crossing through number thirty-nine on our whiteboard grid. Thirty-nine red crosses on a chart of one hundred.
Tess thinks that love can be found everywhere. That it is not a case of sitting around and waiting for the one. She reckons that if you date enough people, eventually you’ll find someone compatible. She is the driving force behind these dates.
My theory is that I’ll feel it. That my body will respond. That my heart will jump in acknowledgement. I don’t believe it’s possible for it to be forced.
As I pass the bin area and head out the back gate, I linger in the short alleyway and place my index and middle finger over their source of comfort. I don’t locate my pulse straight away but as soon as I do I feel my breathing ease.
I do a thirty-second reading. I want to be quick. I need to get on my way before my thirty-ninth first date realises I’m not coming back.
Resting heart rate: 74 bpm.
That’s far too high. I’m clearly not cut out for this. I’ve been dating, not exercising.
I jot the information down in a small ring-bound notepad every time – if not immediately, as soon as I get the chance. I’ve never been without twenty-eight recordings per day. I pop the book of information back into my pocket – the one that is closest to my heart.
Walking away, I wonder if I’ll ever know. Will I ever find out how the heart responds when it falls in love? Because a heart that walks away from every single date doesn’t seem to be one that’s cut out for love. Anyone