Zoe May - When Polly Met Olly

My relationship role models are my parents and they met when my mum was 30 and my dad was 33. My mum used to tell me when I was a kid that she was so glad she ‘got to know herself before getting to know someone else’. She was perpetually single until she met my dad, but she’d done a ton of stuff, like charity work, studying and travelling around the world. My dad had travelled a lot too and even though he’d had girlfriends, he’d never been able to stick at a relationship, until he found my mum and decided she was the one, leading him to settle down in Cornwall. I think part of the reason I’ve pretty much always been single is because I took my mum’s advice on board – I wanted to make sure I got to know myself before finding someone else. I’ve always thrown myself into non-love-related activities. I was a bit of a swot at school because back then I was focused on getting good grades so I could get into a US university. Then at university, I threw myself into my photography studies. I focused on having a good social life and I made the most of all the extra-curricular activities on offer. I knew I was paying way more in tuition than I’d be paying for university in the UK so I wanted to make sure I got the most out of it. With all that going on, I didn’t have much time for love. And then when I graduated and moved to New York, I became focused on trying to become a professional photographer and getting ahead. All my life, love has taken the back seat. It’s felt less important than achieving my goals and getting to know myself. Except, I feel like I know myself prettywell these days and annoyingly, I still can’t seem to find love. But I guess you can’t force these things.

‘I suppose I haven’t met anyone for a while who I have a genuine spark with, you know, where it just feels effortless. The kind of spark that you just can’t ignore, when you’re just drawn to someone and neither of you can stop thinking about each other,’ I tell him, looking into his eyes and feeling that fluttery feeling in my stomach again. ‘I suppose I just want that.’

Olly nods understandingly. Without realising it, I’ve somehow opened up to him more than I’ve opened up to anyone for weeks. I’ve been so focused on trying to be a photographer that I’ve barely admitted to myself that I want to fall in love, let alone to friends or family or anyone else close to me. Whenever I talk about my love life to Gabe, he just takes the piss. And I don’t really blame him, because my love life has always been a bit of a joke. It’s been awful dates and cringe-worthy encounters one after the other. Even I’ve been trying to see the funny side, but I suppose deep down, it’s sort of stopped being that funny. It would be nice to fall in love and be happy, rather than making snarky and sarcastic jokes about my rubbish dating history the whole time.

‘Real romance…’ Olly muses. His eyes have gone all misty and soft. ‘It can be rare these days.’

‘Yes.’ I glance down at my lap.

‘So, you’re looking for something serious then?’ He clears his throat, leans forward and reaches into a desk tidy for a form.

‘Yes,’ I reply.

‘Great.’ He plucks a pen from his stationery holder and ticks a box on the form. His soft, sensitive manner seems to have evaporated.

‘And what kind of man are you looking for? Let’s start with physical preferences.’ He glances up from the form.

‘Oh, right. Yes. Well, umm, tall, but not too tall. Maybe 180cm?’

Olly nods and makes a note.

‘Attractive,’ I add.

‘Of course,’ Olly says. ‘You’re an attractive girl so we’d naturally match you with someone equally attractive.’ He flashes me his dashing smile.

‘Sounds great!’ I comment, holding his gaze for what feels like a little too long. Is he always flirty with clients? I find myself wondering. Derek certainly can’t add flirting to his approach, I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t go down nearly as well.

‘So what kind of looks do you tend to go for?’ Olly asks.

‘Dark hair, brown eyes, strong features, a nice smile,’ I tell him, gazing into his eyes, until I realise that I’m pretty much describing what’s in front of me.

Shit! I look away, feeling my cheeks burn up. How utterly embarrassing! Olly smiles knowingly.

‘Younger, though,’ I blurt out, before mentally cursing myself. Nice one, Polly.

Olly raises an eyebrow. ‘Oh, you like younger men?’

Shit. I meant younger than him, except I only meant to think it, I didn’t mean to actually say it out loud.

‘Young,’ I mean. ‘Around my age.’

‘Gotcha.’ Olly makes a note on the form while my cheeks flare.

‘Anything else? What kind of body type?’

‘Erm… Slim, in good shape, but not too muscular. I don’t want someone who spends their life taking selfies at the gym,’ I tell him.

Olly laughs as he makes another note. I glance at his upper body. Good shape, but not too muscular. Damn it, I’ve done it again. I’ve simply described Olly.

Fortunately, his assistant comes in carrying a tray with two tall glasses of sparkling water, breaking the tension. She’s wearing skinny leather trousers with impossibly glamourous high heels – the kind of thing I wouldn’t even wear on a night out, let alone to work. She places the glasses elegantly on two slate black coasters on the desk.

‘Thanks.’ I look up and she smiles politely before leaving the room.

Olly thanks her before picking up his glass and taking a sip.

‘Right, so what about weight? Would you say he’s around 80-85kg?’ Olly asks.

I laugh, fully believing that he’s joking but he simply looks back at me with a perplexed expression. He’s actually serious! He wants me to specify my ideal partner’s precise weight.

‘Umm, yes, I guess so. 80-85kg would do fine,’ I reply, trying not to smirk.

‘Right. 180cm. 80 to 85kg.’ Olly makes a note.

I take a sip of my water, as I try to suppress how weird and clinical this feels.

‘So, what about his lifestyle? Would you be happy to date a smoker or a drinker?’ Olly continues, with a business-like, almost bored expression on his face.

‘A social drinker would be fine. I think a tee-totaller might be a little bit boring and obviously, I’d rather not date an alcoholic.’ I laugh, but Olly doesn’t join in, he just makes another jotting. It’s like the charged flirty vibe between us has been completely sucked from the room.

‘Smoker?’ Olly asks.

‘Umm, no thanks. Non-smoker.’

‘What about dietary preferences? Healthy? Meat-eater? Vegetarian? Vegan?’

‘Erm… healthy?’ I suggest. ‘I don’t really care what he eats, as long as he doesn’t expect me to cook for him!’

Olly allows himself a tiny smile. ‘Okay, shall I check the “no preferences” box?’ he asks.

‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘Right.’ Olly makes another dutiful note.

‘Income. What level of income would you prefer your partner to have?’ Olly asks.

‘Income?’ I echo.

‘Yes…?’ Olly regards me with a slightly impatient look. ‘What kind of income bracket would you prefer?’

‘Erm…’ I fidget with a loose thread on the hem of my skirt. All these questions are so formulaic and impersonal. It’s the same vibe as when my parents dragged me to a home and garden store one bank holiday weekend when I lived back home because they wanted to get a new kitchen. The sales assistant went though all kinds of boring questions about their kitchen design criteria, from the width and height of the kitchen units to the positioning of electrical sockets. I feel like I’m going through a similar process now. Next, Olly will be offering me a deal on appliances.

‘I don’t know. Anything really, I’m not that bothered about money.’