Page 9 of Swiping Right (and other disasters)

“I have. Ok, well, her name is Hannah and we’re going for coffee. She’s an English teacher at a secondary school in Moseley. She looks, um, hot in her picture, I suppose.” Kiera checked over her shoulder, lowered her voice, and added, “On the tits, I don’t yet know.”

“And this is where Grindr is so much more reliable. I know what a chap’s ‘chief characteristics’ are by the time we’ve exchanged two messages,” said Charlie, speaking quietly.

“And that, Charlie my dear, is why camera phones are a scourge,” said Kiera.

“Hmm. Well, I beg to differ. And I want a full rundown tomorrow when you’re back in work, please.”

Chapter Seven

Kiera was wearing a towel when the doorbell rang. It was Lou. “Um, hello?” said Kiera. “Did we have plans?”

“No, but I predicted you’d need help choosing something to wear,” replied Lou, taking off her coat and putting her keys down. “And here you are in a towel, so I was correct.”

“It’s only coffee, so it can’t be too much,” said Kiera, not ready to admit that she’d been agonising all afternoon about what to wear, especially since her chat with Charlie.

“But it’s the first time she’s meeting you, so you need to look like you’ve made a bit of an effort.”

“But not so much that I look like I’m trying too hard. When did this get so tricky?” asked Kiera, addressing the ceiling.

Upstairs, Lou rifled through Kiera’s wardrobe with the confidence of a TV makeover presenter. “God, there’s stuff in here that seriously needs to go, hun,” she said, wrinkling up her nose at the high number of plaid shirts. “I mean, are these actually all the same?”

“Now that’s not fair,” said Kiera, sitting on the bed. “For a lesbian, it’s rite of passage to acquire many, many plaid shirts, differing only slightly in colour and design.”

“Ah, I see,” said Lou, adopting a serious expression and lowering her voice. “It’s a cultural thing.”

Kiera nodded and laughed. “Exactly. You need to file them alongside Sandi Toksvig, Gentleman Jack and comfortable shoes.”

“Noted. But you cannot wear one of these today. Now, how about this?” Lou held up a pair of black jeans, paired with a dark red top that skimmed the wearer’s hips.

“A bit dressy for coffee?”

“Nope, it says you’re making an effort. Come on, put it on.”

Lou was right, it did look good, and Kiera realised she was smiling at herself in the mirror.

“You are going to wear makeup, right?” said Lou, fixing Kiera with a hard stare.

“Yes, of course. How else can I hide these bags under my eyes?”

“Well, thank goodness we don’t have to have that argument today.”

Mr Chips, who had been watching from the landing, meowed his agreement.

Chapter Eight

Kiera arrived at the Jam Pot half an hour early. She hadn’t planned to, but somehow her nerves had propelled her out of the house far sooner than necessary. She sat at the table, with a cortado made for her by the blonde woman who ran the café. She sat still, clutching her hands together so hard her knuckles went white. Her stomach did not feel good, and she eyed her cortado suspiciously. The coffee was unlikely to help matters. She pondered the physiological impact anxiety and stress had on the body as sweat gathered on her forehead, while her fingers remained ice cold. She drank the coffee too quickly.

“Another?” came a voice from the bar.

“Oh, um, no, I don’t think I should,” said Kiera, realising the caffeine had made her even jumpier.

“I don’t normally see you here of an evening,” the barista told her, smiling.

“No, I don’t often come here later on in the day, but I’m meeting someone.”

“Someone?”

“I, er, I actually have a date.” Kiera wasn’t sure why she’d shared this fact with a relative stranger.

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