Page 21 of A Lot to Unpack
‘No, sorry,’ she replies. ‘But that’s why we decided he should wear a striped shirt, so you can spot him.’
I wrap an arm around my gran and give her a squeeze. No, I don’t want to go on a date with Marlena’s grandson Tom, but I love Gran so much for thinking of me. I know how lucky I am, to still have both my grandparents around, given their age. Hey – here’s hoping I get my genes from them.
‘Okay, well, I’ll get ready and I’ll head out,’ I tell her. ‘Tell Hannah to help carry the drinks – I’ll slink off, if that’s okay? Save me having to tell everyone my business.’
‘Got you,’ Gran says, tapping her nose. ‘Go, have fun. Marlena says he’s a lovely young man.’
‘Fab, thanks,’ I reply.
Okay, so how do I manage this? I go to the bar, I meet Woody, and then what? What do I do about Tom? I don’t exactly want to meet up with Marlena’s random grandson, but I don’t want to leave him standing there, waiting for me, if I’m not going to turn up. That’s straight up mean.
I fire up the map on my phone and look at where the bar and the pub are. Okay, okay, I can work with this. Thank you, tiny island, because amazingly the map says it only takes less than two minutes to walk between them so, when it’s time to meet Tom, I’ll say I’m going to the loos, or to make a call, or something, and I’ll duck out, leg it to the pub, tell Tomsomething has come up, make my apologies, then leg it back to the bar. I’m sure it will be fine, right?
I get ready as quickly as I can, throwing on a pair of jeans, a nice top and a leather jacket, pull on my favourite thigh-high boots, and slink out through the side door, lest I have to explain to anyone where I’m going.
I don’t have to walk for long before I’m in the small area where all the bars, restaurants and shops are. There aren’t many here really and I can’t tell if I love it or I hate it. Being cut off from the rest of the country has its pros and cons, but if I had to choose right now, I would say I kind of like that everything is close together. Whether you want to pop to the shop, go out for dinner, or walk home – it’s all so easy to do on foot. I like the convenience. Unlike in London, where sometimes you have to catch a train from A to B for the simplest thing.
And there he is, Woody, waiting outside the bar for me. It’s a relief that he looks like his profile picture, because I’ve watched enough documentaries on Netflix to realise how often they don’t. We all take a liberty here and there, with a flattering angle or a light filter, but it sounds like some people on this app would only be identifiable by their dental records, if they went missing, because the missing posters would be no use with the photos they had. I guess, for this reason, if I’m ever in a life-threatening situation, I need to make sure that I pout, so that when they find my body, and check it against my photos, they’ll know it’s me.
‘Woody?’ I check.
‘Liberty?’ he replies. ‘Why, hello there.’
‘Hi,’ I say with a smile. It amuses me that he shakes my hand. Oh-so formal considering we met on an app most people use for hook-ups.
Woody isn’t much taller than me – which some shorter guys hate, but I didn’t notice his face fall when he clapped eyes on me, so that’s a good sign. He has wild curly brown hair that doesn’tlook like he does much to it beyond washing it, but he looks like he’s dressed well, in dark trousers with a smart long black coat buttoned up to the top to keep the chill out.
He gestures towards the bar with his dark brown eyes.
‘Shall we?’ he suggests.
‘Let’s do it,’ I reply with what I would call an encouraging level of enthusiasm, my way of letting him know that I’m happy to be here.
We’ve no sooner stepped inside DeepBlue when Woody leads me back outside, through a different door, onto some decking.
‘I thought we could have our drinks out here,’ he suggests. ‘It’s heated, peaceful and you can see the stars.’
Oh, boy, you really can. There’s something about being out of the city, away from the lights, and looking up at the sky. You know there aren’t more stars here, obviously, but the way they reveal themselves is something really special.
‘Do you like space?’ he asks me.
‘The stars are beautiful,’ I reply.
‘Yeah, but do you like space?’ he says again.
A waitress arrives to take our drinks order so I leave his question hanging in the air. When it’s just the two of us again, he looks at me expectantly. Do I like space? I mean, yes? I suppose? I like looking at the stars but I’m not sure my passion stretches beyond that. Maybe I’m being a little overcritical of the man but, to me, asking a question like ‘do you like space?’ is a little bit like asking ‘do you like dinosaurs?’ We’re not seven. And yeah, okay, maybe I am being a bit harsh. I need to relax a little, to give Woody a chance, even if it is just for tonight.
‘Space? Yes,’ I reply. ‘You?’
‘Oh, big time,’ he replies. ‘I have all these apps on my phone, for tracking ISS – and Starlink, of course.’
‘Oh, yeah, of course,’ I reply, despite having no idea what he’s talking about. I’ll be honest with you, I think it’s the strongYorkshire accent, but initially, I thought he said ‘ISIS’, and I was so confused.
The small talk doesn’t last long before Woody takes things up a gear.
‘Shall we get our dealbreakers out of the way then?’ he suggests, cutting to the chase. ‘Worst thing about dating is all the time-wasting, when you were never really compatible, right?’
I’m sure ‘time-wasting’, as he puts it, isn’t great, but I don’t know, for me, when I think of the worst things about dating, ultimately sending intimate pictures to other girls, and men pretending to be French because they think you’ll shag them, is up there too, although I suppose you could file both under time-wasting.
