19
Bonnie
Six-foot-two recruitment manager Christopher is not the distraction I was hoping for.
I’m on my first non-Max date in five years. We’re in a gorgeous Cuban bar in Knightsbridge with yummy cocktails and salsa dancers and I’m grinding my teeth into stumps with frustration.
We’ve had a one-way conversation for sixty minutes. He hasn’t asked me a single question.
Christopher describes himself as an entrepreneur. My view is it’s a tad dicky to call yourself that unless you’re confident you’re nailing the title.
He works in recruitment and left his job to start his own company, but it sounds like he’s trying to steal all his old company’s leads.
We’ve been chatting daily over Bumble, but the online Christopher seems much less obnoxious than the offline version.
His lips move. They have been for twenty minutes.
He’s talking about Jack. Why is he talking about Jack?
Oh no, he’s still talking about the gym, not Jack.
Gah. I’ve got a problem.
“Takes a lot of dedication,” Christopher drones on.
“ Especially now that I ’ m running my own business .
I’m in the gym religiously six days a week, 6 a.m. on the dot.
It’s worth it, though. My body fat percentage is down to fourteen.
” He folds his arms over his chest to showcase his biceps.
I’m not a fan. “Muscle mass hit forty percent last week. Pretty good, huh?”
Why’s he telling me this? Does he think I’m a doctor?
I stifle a yawn. My architect partner, Steve and I spent the entire day at the factory reviewing everything in detail.
I’m so tired I have the social skills of a slug.
“That’s great that you’re happy with your stats.
I wouldn’t want to keep you late this evening since you have to stick to your regime. Six tomorrow morning.”
“Don’t worry about me.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Tomorrow is strength training rather than cardio. I can afford to be a little tired.”
As he launches into details of his strength training regime, I realise that if I maintain eye contact and a slight smile, he thinks I’m listening.
When I narrow my eyes into slits, he looks vaguely like Jack.
Jack.
I wonder what he ’ s doing right now. Is he with Michelle Allard? The alpha-hole thing of making sure I got home safely last night was kind of sweet. I keep replaying our conversation in my head. Does it change anything that he apologised for what happened to my dad?
God, the way he looked at my lips last night . . .
I squeeze my thighs under the table.
Christopher looks mildly pissed off.
I blink. Did he ask me a question? “Can you repeat that?” I smile thinly.
“I asked if you go to the gym.”
“Oh. The office I’m working from has a swanky gym. I might go.” At this point, I couldn’t be arsed talking about myself. The date is a dead end.
“What did you say you do?”
I didn’t because he didn’t ask. “I’m an architect at Bradshaw Brown.” I sip my low-alcohol beer. I’m boring myself.
He nods. “I have a mate who worked on the Shard design.”
His eyebrows rise in expectation. It’s my turn to say something.
“That’s nice. I’m doing a project for Lexington.”
This hits the spot for him. His eyes light up. “Nice.” He sucks through his teeth. “They’ve a lot of open roles on their website. Do you know the head of HR?”
Fuck me. Is he using dates to find leads for his recruitment business?
“I met her once.”
He nods and flashes me a lopsided grin, which I think is intended to make me go weak at the knees. “Think you could swing me a meeting?”
“I don’t think so,” I say sharply. “Like I said, I met her once.”
He’s undeterred. The grin widens. “You could take me to your next work drinks for our second date.”
Right, that’s it. I’m not wasting any more time.
“Speaking of work, I have a big presentation tomorrow.” It’s not a lie. Having worked on this proposal for days, I thought taking a few hours off would help me relax. Instead, I feel tense. I should have stayed at home and masturbated. “Do you mind if we call it a night?”
It’s obvious he minds that I’m the one to decide when the date is over, but he nods chastely.
I beckon the waiter over for the bill.
“I had a great time, Bonnie.”
How? My first foray into the online dating scene has not been a roaring success. According to Nisha I’ll have to do another ninety-nine or so to hit a good date.
“We’ll do this again,” he informs me.
I look at him, startled, and take the chicken route. “Sure, sounds good.” Oh. I think this makes me one of those ghosters Nish and Becky talked about.
I ’ ve never left a restaurant so fast after paying the bill. Outside, Christopher confidently tries to finish the date with a kiss. He leans in and stares at me intently.
I move my head to the side just as lips touch mine, leaving a wet trail on my cheek from the corner of my lip.
Awkward.
I tell him I’m going to a different underground station, so I don’t have to walk with him. It’ll take me fifteen minutes out of my way but it’s worth it.
I have more chemistry with the guy that delivers my Spicy Slice pizza.
At least now I have time to call Mum. I haven ’ t been able to get back to her in days. Every night, as soon as I get home from work, I face-plant onto the sofa from exhaustion.
En route to the underground station, I send a message to Nisha and Kate saying that Bonnifer is not happening and send a video request to Mum.
It takes a few rings for her to pick up. When she does, I see an ear.
“Hello, love! I haven’t heard from you in a few days. You have me worried!”
“Hi, Mum. Sorry, I know. I’ve been busy with work. This is a video call, by the way. I can see your ear.”
“Oh. Oh, let me see.” The screen fuzzes for thirty seconds as Mum works out how to turn the phone around. She comes into focus. “There we are. Where are you, love?”
“Just finished drinks with Kate. I’m walking to the tube.” If I tell her I was on a date, I’ll get interrogated.
She looks delighted and moves her head as if she’s going to somehow see around the corner who’s behind me. “Is she there? I wanted to tell her what a stunning bride she was.”
“Sorry, Mum, she’s gone home,” I lie again.
“That’s a pity. You’ll have to bring her over for Sunday lunch soon.”
I nod. “Sounds good. I’ll sort it out in a few weeks when work isn’t so busy. How are you, Mum?”
“I’m great, love, but missing you. I haven’t seen you in ages.” She pouts. “Aunt Leslie came over from dinner. She asked about you. I’m trying to convince her to join the bowling club. I really think she would love it.”
The contrast between Mum’s life and Dad’s kills me. She has private health insurance, doesn’t have to worry about working and is in lots of different women’s societies.
Mum met Phil, my stepdad, a few months after splitting from Dad. It was an East End rags-to-riches story. Phil was a dentist who owned his own practice in the city and fell in insta-lust with Mum. Having a dental practice near the Bank of England HQ means you’re doing okay for yourself.
Six months after she split from Dad, Phil had already bought a detached family home in a leafy suburb with a brag-worthy postal code and moved Mum in.
I kind of resented her for that. Just like Max, I suspect she mentally left the relationship with my dad long before the official split.
I was eighteen so I went away to university and at least that way, it didn’t feel as if I was picking sides.
A year later, Dad lost the house to the bank.
“I’m sure she would, Mum. I need to see Leslie. Sorry I haven’t come over in a while. I’ve been working late every night. I promise I will soon.”
A line forms between her brows. “Why are they making you work late? I don’t like the idea of you going home in the dark by yourself to that little flat.”
“It’s fine, no one forced me to stay late,” I say firmly. “I didn’t go back to my flat. I stayed at Dad’s last night.”
Her expression pinches. “That’s great you visited your father but don’t forget about me.”
“I won’t forget about you, Mum.” I sigh, mildly irritated. “But Dad’s by himself most of the time. And that flat of his isn’t the nicest. I need to check in on him.”
“Your father’s a grown man, Bonnie. You don’t need to feel guilty. By all means, visit your father but I’m not comfortable with you going alone late at night. Did you get a taxi?”
Now’s my chance to get answers.
“Actually, I got a lift with Jack Knight.”
Her face lights up as if I’ve informed her I’ve won the national lottery. “Jack Knight?” She squeals, her eyes gleaming. “How lovely! What a catch , darling. Oh, this really is fantastic—”
“Mum. He gave me a lift, that’s all. In his own words, if I’m in his office, he has a duty of care.”
“Uh-huh. He’s such a handsome chap, isn’t he?” she gushes. “Never mind how successful he is and everything he’s done for the area.”
“He’s a client my company is doing work for. That’s all.”
“I always knew he would go for a down-to-earth East End girl. I saw his mother and twin sisters the other day when Phil and I went to lunch. Snooty bunch. They’d pretend not to know you. Don’t ever think you’re not good enough for him just because he has cash, love.”
I exhale heavily. She’s not even listening to me anymore. She’s got me walking down the aisle and milking him for Knight grandbabies, all over a lift.
She’s still talking about the Knight family when I say, “Mum, stop . And how on earth can you think Jack is such a wonderful person when he fired Dad?”
She frowns, my question throwing her off-kilter. “There was a bit of drama, love, but that was a long time ago. Why are you asking about it now?”
“I want to know the facts,” I say lightly. “He went into a bit of a downward spiral after that. I’d like to understand all the details.”
“It’s nearly a decade ago, love. I’m not sure I remember everything. Maybe ask your father.”
“Just tell me what happened, Mum.”