Zoe May - Perfect Match

She pushes the plate towards me, seemingly more concerned about filling my stomach than playing Cupid.

‘Nah.’ I ignore the biscuits and glance at my watch. ‘I’d better go, Lyn. Gotta get to work.’

‘Oh, all right, love, you get on,’ Lyn relents.

She gives me a kiss on the cheek, thanks me again for doing the shopping and I head off. As I sit on the DLR, I reply to Tom, suggesting coffee on Saturday afternoon at The Muffin House in Lewisham, before logging on to Dream Dates. Five new messages! I flick through them. There’s one from Bigboy17, another from Mysteriousluva; ManCandy4u and Hoplessromantic, bloody hell. I’m just about to log off when I spot the final message, which must have come through while I was walking to the station from Lyn’s, from Daniel_86. It’s him. I open the message.

Daniel_86:

Hi Sophia,

I’d love to chat about all things cats, volunteering and RPatz-related, but unfortunately, I’m off to Paris today for work. I’ll be back on Saturday if you fancy meeting in the evening?

x Daniel

P.S. I see you removed the penis measurements from your profile…? ;)

I break into a massive grin. He’s so cool! He travels for work, he calls Robert Pattinson, ‘RPatz’ (which clearly means that he doesn’t take life too seriously), he’s cheeky enough to tease me, and he even added a flirty wink! I bet his penis measures up perfectly.

‘Can I see your ticket please?’ the train conductor says, for what I suspect is the second time, judging by his impatient tone. I must have been too wrapped up in my message from Daniel to have noticed him.

‘Oh!’ I rummage around in my bag and retrieve my wallet, holding it out for him to scan.

‘Thank you,’ he says in a clipped voice before moving on to the next passenger.

I reread the message. How is it possible that by creating the world’s most obnoxious dating profile, I’ve somehow managed to find someone who seems like such a catch?! I really want to look at his photos while the train hurtles along but he’ll be able to see that I’ve viewed his profile again and I don’t want to look obsessive. I should have taken screenshots so I could have had something nice to look at on the way to work. Never mind. I flick through Metro instead, half reading an article about a freak shark attack in Hawaii while daydreaming about my potential date with Daniel on Saturday night. My phone buzzes. A text from Tom.

The Muffin House at 4 p.m. is perfect. See you there. x

By the time I arrive at work, Sandra is already sitting at her desk, no doubt getting a head start on her latest fungal assignment.

‘Morning!’ I chirp.

‘Morning,’ she replies, her eyes following me as I cross the office and sit down at my desk.

‘Sooo? Did you message him?’ she asks.

She was nagging me to message Daniel all afternoon yesterday, but I refused. I wanted to get Kate’s advice first, although that turned out to be a downer. I look at Sandra’s eager open face. She certainly doesn’t look like she’s catfishing me.

‘Yes, I did!’ I admit.

Sandra grins and lets out a little squeal. ‘Oh my gosh! Can I be maid of honour? Can I?’

‘Ummm… Maybe!’

‘What did you say?’ Sandra asks, her eyes wide.

‘I just asked him if he fancied meeting up for a drink tonight. Kept it casual, not too keen,’ I tell her as I turn on my computer.

‘And? What did he say?’

‘He’s going to Paris for work so he can’t meet until Saturday.’

Sandra looks momentarily glum.

‘Well, Saturday’s not that far off,’ she reasons.

‘Yeah, exactly.’

‘It’s so exciting!’

‘I know!’ I grin, unable to stop myself and then Kate’s words come back to me, about how I always expect too much and then I’m always let down.

‘There must be a catch though,’ I think aloud. ‘He can’t really be as great as he seems. He’s just too good to be true.’

‘Trust me, he’s gorgeous,’ Sandra insists.

‘Kate reckons he’s just using photos of Robert Pattinson he found online,’ I tell her.

‘He’s not,’ Sandra scoffs.

‘Well, he could be,’ I reply, not so sure. Much as I want to believe Daniel’s for real, I’ve got to admit that it’s not exactly likely.

‘Well let’s see then, shall we? Log on to the site,’ Sandra says, as she scoots her office chair over to my desk.

‘Why?’

‘Just do it,’ Sandra tuts. She can be quite authoritative sometimes. All she needs is a cane and a chalkboard to go with her grey cardigan and pencil skirt and she’d be just like a headmistress.

‘Okay.’ I open a browser and log on to Dream Dates.

‘Now go on to his profile,’ Sandra orders. I do as she says.

‘Right.’ She nudges me aside and right clicks on one of his photos, saves the image to my desktop and goes onto Google.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

‘Google Image search,’ she tells me, as if it should be obvious.

‘Ah, okay.’

Sometimes I forget that Sandra’s actually quite good with computers. Probably because I automatically tune out whenever she starts eulogising about how Linux is the best operating system, far better than Windows and blah blah blah.

Sandra uploads the image to Google and clicks ‘search’. ‘Image not found’, it says. I scan the ‘visually similar images’ that Google has generated: pictures of men in a similar pose with stubble and dark hair, none of whom look particularly similar to Daniel.

‘So he’s legit…?’ I question.

‘He’s legit!’ Sandra claps her hands together. ‘So, what are you going to wear for your date?’ she asks as Ted walks into the office, frowning at us.

‘Morning, ladies,’ he says sternly, placing his briefcase on his desk.

‘Morning, Ted! Morning!’ Sandra quickly returns to her desk.

‘Morning,’ I mutter as I open the catheter document and start reading where I left off.

Specimens of urine can be removed from the catheter by using a syringe and an alcohol-soaked sponge… I keep reading, expecting the paper to ruin my mood, but surprisingly, it doesn’t. An email comes through, from Sandra.

From: sandra.jenkins@shadwellmedicalresearch.org

To: sophia.jones@shadwellmedicalresearch.org

Have you replied to him?

I hit reply.

From: sophia.jones@shadwellmedicalresearch.org

To: sandra.jenkins@shadwellmedicalresearch.org

No. Waiting ’til this afternoon.

Sandra coughs and I glance over. She crouches behind her computer, making sure that Ted can’t see her and angrily mouths, ‘WHAT?!’ I roll my eyes and draft another message.

From: sophia.jones@shadwellmedicalresearch.org

To: sandra.jenkins@shadwellmedicalresearch.org

Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen. (please delete this message in case Ted sees)

From: sandra.jenkins@shadwellmedicalresearch.org

To: sophia.jones@shadwellmedicalresearch.org

Ok then *sighs* (deleted – and please delete this).

I hit delete and get on with the document. The morning flies by. I feel like I’ve got something to look forward to – even if it is only writing a message to Daniel this afternoon. I know if Kate were here, she’d give me a slap for getting so carried away, but it’s so hard not to. I keep thinking about that photo: Daniel’s wry smile, his dishevelled hair, his gold stud.

‘Are you coming for lunch, Sandra?’ I ask as the clock strikes 1 p.m.

Sandra glances up from her screen. ‘Not today, brought a packed lunch. Just going to plough on with this paper. Bit of a tricky one,’ she says, making a face.

‘Okay, good luck.’

‘Thanks.’ Sandra smiles optimistically.

I slip a notebook from my desk into my handbag, before leaving work and heading to the café down the road. It’s good that Sandra’s not coming in a way as it gives me a chance to work on my novel. I walk in, grab a sandwich from one of the display fridges and join the queue, before scanning the tables for a quiet place to sit. A stunning long-haired girl laughs loudly, tossing her thick wavy hair over her shoulder as she beams at the man opposite her – a blond guy with his back to me. He scratches his neck, turning his head as he does so. Oh my God! It’s ho fun guy! Chris. That boring noodle nerd from the other night. Bugger! I turn around and look down at the floor, praying he doesn’t see me. I’d forgotten that he worked in Shadwell too. He thought that was so interesting. Straight before he launched into his lecture on noodles, he’d been going on and on about what a bizarre coincidence it was that our offices were just down the road from each other. Damn, I thought I’d never have to see him again. I didn’t even bother replying to his text.