Page 31 of Swiping Right (and other disasters)

They talked until Kiera began to yawn. She made her excuses and headed home to her flat, wondering what the next day would hold. At times she felt like she had slipped into a parallel universe.

Chapter Twenty

It was early on a Sunday morning, and Seymour’s was the only café open on Kings Heath High Street.

“Morning! Your usual?” asked Seymour, whose hair was tied up in a bun.

“Yes, please.” Kiera smiled. This was one of the favourite routines she had developed over the last year. Starting again was hard, and very sad at times, but creating new, independent routines was a joy. She put her newspaper on the bench which faced out of the front window and settled herself in.

Seymour brought her coffee over and sat on the stool beside her. She’d brought a drink for herself as well – a large mug of tea. “May I?” she asked. “I like sitting and watching the world go by, and you’re the only customer.”

“Of course. I like to do the same – but I guess you’ve probably noticed that about me by now.”

“I have, and I’ve also noticed the fact that if you’re meeting someone – a date perhaps – you tend to sit at a table further into the café.” Seymour took a sip of her tea.

“That does not look like a serious coffee-fanatic’s drink,” noted Kiera, nodding at the bright pink mug Seymour was clasping.

“Shhh, don’t tell anyone. To my mind, Sunday’s a day for big mugs of tea.”

Kiera smiled. “I won’t tell. What else is Sunday for?”

“Well,” said Seymour, considering the question. “If I’m not working, it’s for watching TV, maybe seeing Mum and Dad for a Sunday roast. Although that’s only occasional, because they spend a lot of their time touring with various productions. I love a good newspaper, too.” She pointed at Kiera’s reading material. “A bit of chore-free time is a really good thing.”

“Oh yes, I completely agree,” said Kiera. “What do you like watching on TV?”

“Well,” said Seymour, considering her answer more seriously than Kiera expected, “anything by the holy TV-writing trilogy that is Russell T Davis, Sally Wainwright or Sharon Horgan. They all write so brilliantly, but in very different ways.”

“You know your TV,” said Kiera. “I love all of them, especially RTD. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m a bit of a Whovian. I’ve always been a bit of a sucker for reality TV myself. Did you watch I Kissed a Boy?”

“Oh my God, yes,” replied Seymour with a huge smile. “I loved it. So good.”

“Love a dating show,” agreed Kiera.

“And what about you? Any good dates recently?” There was a twinkle in Seymour’s eyes as she spoke.

“Ha, no. I think that the combination of being over forty, gay, and too fussy for my own good is hindering me. My pool is small,” said Kiera before taking a sip of the steaming cortado in front of her.

Seymour nodded. “But then,” she said “you only need to meet the right person once. Perhaps the pool is small, but presumably you’re only catching one fish, and she’ll only need a tiny pond.”

“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” said Kiera. “It’s a nice way of looking at it. To be honest, though, I’m not sure I actually need to be with someone. But it would be nice.”

“Oh, I know that feeling,” said Seymour.

“But you’re so settled with Jack. It must have been years since you were in my position.” Kiera stopped. She was prying. She didn’t mean to, but there was something about Seymour that meant that if Seymour asked her a question, Kiera would give her the whole story, from coat to underwear.

“Jack?” Seymour laughed.

“What? What did I say?”

Seymour composed herself. “Jack’s my brother!”

“Oh, I see, silly me. I just thought… well I assumed. I should know better. Sorry.” Kiera felt her face warm at her own false assumption.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s not the first time it’s happened. We don’t look at all alike and we run this business together. I can see how it appears.” She took a generous slurp of her tea. “I’m just like you, really. On the hunt for the woman of my dreams.”

Kiera froze for a few seconds. She had got everything so wrong about Seymour. She was about to open her mouth when the door opened, and a frazzled mum entered with three children under five. Seymour rapidly excused herself to take the long and complicated order.

By the time she had finished her coffee, the café was full. She tried to catch Seymour’s eye before she left, but she was concentrating hard on some latte art.

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