Page 74 of The Middle-Aged Virgin (The Middle-Aged Virgin 1)

‘You rammed my car,’ I said, irritated by his lack of reaction.

‘Without wishing to be rude,youwere behaving rather erratically. Stopping, then starting, switching your indicator on, then off, speeding up, then slowing down, indicating right and then steering the car to the left,’ he said, smiling and running his hands through his floppy Hugh Grant–pre–Love Actuallyhair.

‘Well…’ I muttered, trying and failing to think of something sensible to say in my defence.

‘I tried to keep a safe distance as I wasn’t sure whether there was somebody under the influence at the wheel, but then before I knew it, I was in the back of you. Anyhow,’ he added, ‘let’s not make a big deal out of it. Like I said, it looks like it’ll be easily fixed, so if we just exchange details, then we can both be on our way.’

He had a point. I had been driving badly. I had been sure I had known where I was going. I should’ve just used the bloody sat nav. So embarrassing.

‘Okay,’ I muttered, recognising that it was indeed my fault.

‘I’m Charlie, by the way,’ he said, smiling again. ‘I would say it’s nice to meet you, although that feels slightly wrong under the circumstances.’ His smile widened to reveal a perfect set of pearly whites. ‘I’ll just get my phone so I can take down your details.’

‘I’ll get mine too,’ I said, walking around to the driver’s seat to get my phone out of my bag.

Shit. My phone. Where is my phone?

It’s on my fucking beside table charging, that’s where it is. I forgot to put it in my bag. Aaaarrrgghhh!

My phone was my life. It hadeverythingon it, including Anoushka’s number and her full address. I thought I knew the name of the road, but after what had just happened, I needed to double-check and I definitely hadn’t memorised what number she was based at.What’s the time?Hadn’t worn a watch either as I always used my phone.

‘Excuse me…Charles.’

‘It’s Charlie,’ he corrected me.

‘Sorry,Charlie,’ I said. ‘Do you have the time, please?’

‘Sure,’ he said, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a giant watch which looked distinctly like a Patek Phillipe. ‘It’s eleven twenty-nine,’ he replied.

Why didn’t I just check the time on the dashboard?It was the whiplash. Clearly I wasn’t thinking straight.

‘Fuck!’ I said, initially regretting my decision to swear in front of a stranger, but then reasoning that given the circumstances, it was justified. ‘My appointment is in half an hour and I have no idea where I’m going. Well, IthoughtI did, but now I’m not so sure.’ Cringe. Now I was really sounding like the stereotypical ditsy driver. Feminists across the world must be hanging their heads in shame…

‘Can I help?’ he said, sounding genuinely concerned.

‘I’ve just realised I’ve left my mobile at home, and the location of where I need to be is on my phone, as is the phone number of the person I’m seeing, and I don’t want to be late.’

‘Where is the address stored in your phone? On a text? An email?’

‘Yes, an email.’

‘Well, can you access your emails remotely?’

‘Icould, but I’d need to remember the passwords. Harrison!’ I said, having a mini brainwave. ‘My brother Harrison will have access to my emails on his phone. But I’d need to call him…’

‘Here,’ he said, handing me his phone. ‘Take mine and ring him.’

‘Really?’ I said, taking his iPhone. ‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’

‘Yes, of course,’ he said, flashing those pearly whites again. Definitely whitened. It wasn’t natural for teeth to be that white. Unless of course he existed on a coffee-, wine- and basically food-free diet. ‘He doesn’t live in Australia, though, does he?’ Charlie asked.

I frowned, confused. Oh! He was worried about me making an international call.

‘No, no, no. Don’t worry. He’s based in London,’ I replied.

‘It’s okay, I was only joking. I’m sure a quick call to Australia won’t bankrupt me. Go on. Make your call.’

I racked my brain, trying to remember Harrison’s number. I dialled it a million times a day, but that didn’t involve typing in any numbers. I just clicked on his name and the phone took care of the rest. Apart from my parents’ home number, which I’d obviously had to learn years ago, before mobiles were invented, I don’t think I knew anyone’s number off by heart.

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