Victoria Cooke - The Secret to Falling in Love

His appearance was perfect, but as the night went on I realised it was in a way that didn’t attract me, like he’d tried too hard. I imagined having to fight him for the bathroom and wait hours for him to get ready. I knew I was being a hypocrite after spending hours of getting ready myself, but this coupled with his attitude made him seem somewhat obnoxious.

He had the triangular torso thing going on, pointing down to chunky thighs in skinny jeans. His fitted shirt and a blazer made him look smart, like he’d made an effort, which on anyone else I would find appealing. His hair was shaved closely to well above the ear, and the inch-long blonde hair on top was swept to one side, every strand angled exactly the same way.

As I studied him more closely I realised his eyes were slightly too small for his face. The more he spoke, the more intolerable he became. It was exit time. I excused myself and headed to the ladies’. Once hidden in the male-free sanctuary of the loos, I grabbed my phone and frantically keyed a text to Gemma:

I’m a celebrity!

She’d know what to do.

I headed back to the table. The food had arrived, and I wasn’t surprised to see Mark already tucking in. I even spotted him helping himself to a forkful of my moussaka, cheeky sod.

Before I’d even sat down, he started talking. ‘I was thinking we could have a few drinks in a bar and then we could go back to yours?’ he said confidently through a mouth full of food. I almost gagged. Before I had time to concoct a reply, my phone shrilled impatiently. Thank goodness . Saved by the bell, or in my case, Gemma.

‘Hello?’ I put on my best who-is-this-and-why-are-you-calling voice. ‘Oh hello, Mrs Monagan . . . Oh no! That’s terrible – not again? I’m so sorry. I’ll be over right away and we’ll get it sorted out.’ I hung up to see Mark looking at me expectantly. ‘I’m so sorry, I have to go. That was the old lady who lives in the flat beneath me. Apparently there’s been a flood in my apartment. The water has leaked into hers, and she’s beside herself with worry.’ I feigned concern by furrowing my brow as I gathered my bag and phone. ‘I’ve had a nice time though. What do I owe for dinner?’ I asked politely.

‘Erm, okay, I reckon an even twenty would cover it. I could come and help?’ he said hopefully.

‘Oh goodness, no, I don’t expect that. I’ll be ages with Mrs Monagan. Last time, I was there the whole night! Listen, we can get back in touch on Tinder and arrange to meet up again soon.’ I didn’t even wait for a response before throwing twenty quid down on the table and leaving. On my way out I texted Gemma:

Thanks, MRS MONAGAN ;) – disaster!

Whilst my phone was out, I deleted the Tinder app, and relief washed over me.

Chapter Six

‘Happy Friday!’ Simon perched on the edge of my desk, grinning.

‘Why are you so excitable this early in the morning? Are there not laws against that?’ His round beaming face reddened and he looked like he might burst if he didn’t spit out whatever it was he wanted to say.

‘Well, you know how your article went down pretty well?’ he said. I nodded, unable to stop a smile spreading across my face. It had attracted quite a bit of attention in the couple of days since it was published. I’d seen a few tweets about it and one of my favourite bloggers had written about technology and the demise of social interaction, inspired by my piece.

‘Yeah, so?’ I played it cool.

‘ Loose Women have it up for discussion on their show this afternoon. It’s like you’re a superstar,’ he said, beaming. ‘In fact, if you could sign this month’s cover for your best work friend, that would be great.’ He smirked and pushed a copy of NorthStyle in my face.

‘What? No way!’ I blushed, batting it away. I was in complete shock.

‘Well done, kid. I just hope you haven’t put too many people off technology or Dee will have my column cut.’ He winked and walked off, leaving me standing there in a daze. I couldn’t believe it. I hoped Dee would let me watch Loose Women later that morning. I was pretty sure that this would be the first time our magazine had featured on a TV show, which had to earn me a brownie point or two. Instinctively, I picked up my phone and opened WhatsApp: ‘Who can make after-work champers this eve? Need to celebrate.’

As I hit send, my office phone rang. ‘Hello, Melissa at NorthStyle magazine, how can I help?’ I chirped.

‘Melissa, come to my office now, please.’ Dee, disregarding the use of pleasantries, hung up without awaiting a reply.

It was the first time in a while, or ever in fact, that I’d felt excited about going into Dee’s office. I knocked firmly on the wooden door. ‘Come in,’ she shouted flatly. I walked in more surely than I ever had before. ‘Ah, Melissa, take a seat.’ Her tone became silvery as she gestured to the leather chair opposite, and I sat obediently. I looked up and met her gaze. ‘Well, I’m not sure if you heard, but did you know your article has been a bit of a hit?’ Her facial expression remained blank. I couldn’t tell if it was because of her Botox or because she was really forcing herself to offer me a compliment.

‘Oh, er . . .’ I stumbled, unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of Dee’s praise.

‘I’m talking nationwide discussions, global even, if you take into account social media,’ she continued before I could string together a response. Dee had a knack of asking rhetorical questions that really did come across as genuine enquiries. It didn’t matter; I was sensing excitement and I wanted to revel in that. ‘. . . and even Loose Women

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