Page 16 of Swiping Right (and other disasters)

“I’ve not been,” said Kiera, relieved to be talking about something else, “but I’d love to know. The city – and obviously the country itself – has such a complex history.”

“Totally. Maya and I loved it. There’s so much to see, and so much has happened and changed there since the end of the Second World War. We always planned to go back. But we never got the chance.” Natasha’s eyes filled once more, and she looked away.

Chapter Twelve

Charlie and Kiera were sat in the café attached to All Saints Church in Kings Heath. They had an information desk set up and tablets ready for community members to share their views on. It was early, so it was still quiet.

“Tell me the damage then,” said Charlie. “All I got from you last night was a text saying ‘don’t ask’.”

Kiera sighed. She’d sent the same text to Lou when her friend had asked her how the date had gone.

“Definitely not over her ex, is all I’ll say. I felt like an agony aunt, rather than her date. In the end I put her in a taxi home, while she sobbed into a tissue. I mean, I felt for her. She’s clearly a nice woman. But really not ready to date.”

“Was she hot, though?” asked Charlie.

“Did you hear anything I just said?” said Kiera, taking a bite from a custard cream.

“I just want the full picture, darling.”

“Hmm. Ok. She was pretty, sure. But I prefer my dates to be happy to be in my company,” said Kiera.

“Fair. Ooh, look smart, we’ve got customers.”

An elderly couple approached their desk, wanting to know what the hospital was doing about their car parking charges. Kiera found she spent an inordinate amount of her time with patients talking about the bus routes to the hospital and the car parking arrangements. In fairness, it had a real impact on their experiences, so she always took it seriously.

As the couple walked away, a familiar face appeared. “Fancy seeing you here,” said Lou, a linen shopping bag in her hand.

“Hello, how are you?” said Kiera.

“Oh, you know, I’ve got the afternoon off so I’m doing all the mundane chores. Treating myself to a cuppa and a Tunnocks Teacake here. So, spill, tell me about yesterday. Your text was very vague.”

Charlie laughed into his custard cream. Kiera sighed again. “Lou, meet Charlie. He’s just had the same story.”

Lou held out her hand to shake Charlie’s. “Enchanted,” he said, “and the TLDR of this one is that Kiera’s date was a snotty weeping mess who wasn’t over her ex.”

“Charlie, I’m not sure that is particularly charitable,” said Kiera.

“Is it not accurate?” said Charlie.

Lou laughed. “I like him,” she said to Kiera. “So, it’s onwards and upwards, then?”

“It sure is,” said Kiera. “Fancy telling me about how dreadful the new pay and display parking system in the hospital car park is?”

Chapter Thirteen

Seymour was polishing glasses while Kiera sipped her cortado the evening of her next date. Spring was really beginning to make itself felt. Outside Kiera’s flat, the air smelled different. The sun was warmer than it had been, it was still light and the tulips in the front gardens along Station Road gave her a sense of new life. She was heartened to see the café owner working that evening.

“Who can we expect today, then?” Seymour asked, nonchalantly.

“Well, she’s a bit younger than me, actually. Not really sure whether that would work. But we seem to have enough in common to keep text conversation interesting.”

“Oh, I see, the younger woman. Sounds intriguing.”

Kiera felt momentarily flustered. “I mean, she’s not that young, she’s thirty-two, but I’m forty-one, so it feels a bit of a gap,” she said, wringing her hands together. She’d been surprised when she’d matched with the pretty woman who ‘worked with people’ on the app. Her pictures had raised Kiera’s eyebrows in a very good way, so she’d swiped, but more in hope than expectation: she’d been surprised when she realised Clodagh had swiped right, too.

“Sounds ideal to me,” said Seymour, with a smile. “Shall we keep the affogato rule?”

Kiera nodded, grateful for the moral support. Her watch told her it was one minute past seven. Clodagh was late. She hoped she wasn’t about to be stood up. She couldn’t bear the humiliation, and not even the affogato rule would be able to save her then. She tried to avoid looking at her watch, and instead brought up a book she’d been reading on her phone. She pretended to read it for a while. She looked at her watch again. Ten past. How long was one supposed to wait before leaving? She obsessed over this until it was a quarter past.

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