Chapter 8
JAKE
As I bite into a perfectly cooked rare steak, I admit to myself that I’m actually quite grateful to Freya for choosing this restaurant for my date with Charlotte.
Firstly, it’s a fascinating experience. It’s absolutely true that when it’s pitch-dark all your other senses are heightened. All of them. And that is interesting.
It does make a difference to how you enjoy the food.
The restaurant asked about allergies and intolerances in advance, and they haven’t told us what we’re getting; they just place it in front of us and guide our hands to our cutlery.
The food’s in bowls, rather than on plates, which makes it a lot easier to find with our knives and forks.
The first thing that hits you is the smell of the food, and then there’s a texture clue from how your cutlery goes into it, and then of course the taste. Eating in the dark like this demonstrates how heavily you’re influenced by visuals when you have them.
I thought it would also be very instructive not being able to see my companion at all while talking to her, but realised quickly that, once you’re opposite each other at a small table, it isn’t particularly different from talking to someone over the phone, when you also can’t see the other person’s facial expressions or body language.
(I will be interested to see what Charlotte looks like, whenever I get to see her – I trust that I will – because I have of course – as one does – formed a vague idea.)
It also hasn’t taken very long to get used to the fact that there are ‘helpers’ walking around checking that everyone’s managing their food properly.
‘What are the vegetables?’ I ask Charlotte. We established quite quickly that she is better than I am at identifying meal constituents in the dark.
‘I think the sweetish, softish chunks are sweet potato, and I think there’s some salsify in there. Also some broad beans and some diced tomato.’
I nod even though she can’t see me do so. ‘Sounds right.’
I like Charlotte. Yes, she’s a friend of Freya’s, and, yes, she’s a romance author, but she’s very pleasant company.
She has a very pleasant voice, too. She’s very pleasant full stop.
I’m not feeling any strong attraction, but I wasn’t expecting to.
Plus the presence of the helpers (whose breathing you can definitely hear at times) would inhibit intimate conversation if one were inclined to engage in it.
‘That was delicious,’ Charlotte says some time later, after we’ve finished an excellent dessert that we agree – well, Charlotte told me, and I thought she was right – was plum and almond cake with yoghurt sorbet and prunes. ‘Should we…?’
‘Yep.’
A helper immediately materialises and asks us if we arrived together and if we’d like to leave together or separately.
‘Together?’ Charlotte says. ‘I feel as though I know exactly what you look like from the TV, and I’d really like to know whether you look the same in real life.’
‘Absolutely. I’d like to know whether you look like the idea I’ve formed of you.’
‘A flattering one I trust?’ Charlotte’s smiling (I think) – you can hear it in her voice – and I laugh.
The helper leads us out of the pitch-dark room and into a dimly lit area, where we blink a lot.
‘From what I can see, you do look like you.’ Charlotte’s peering at me.
Charlotte seems to be medium height, blonde and beautiful.
‘And you look pretty much as I imagined,’ I say.
‘Let’s both take that as compliments.’
‘Good idea.’ I grin at her, thinking that I’d like to see her again, but only as friends; she’s lovely but I haven’t felt a romantic connection. Plus I just don’t think I have space in my life for romance right now. It’s something for the future.
We then go into a slightly less dimly lit room and so on until we’re in regular light. And, yes, Charlotte is indeed blonde, beautiful and medium height.
‘Good to meet you,’ I say.
‘Lovely to meet you too.’ She smiles at me. ‘Guessing this evening made absolutely no difference whatsoever to your views on happily-ever-afters.’
‘None,’ I agree.
She laughs. ‘I’ll let Freya know. I don’t think she’ll be surprised.’ We’ve already established that she and Freya are very good friends. ‘I’m sure she can still win,’ she adds loyally. ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day.’
I shake my head. ‘She won’t be winning.’
And that’s the end of our dinner. It was a perfectly pleasant evening having an interesting experience with a very nice woman and I have not changed my mind about anything.
In the morning, I pick up my phone to message a friend, and see that Freya is typing a message to me. The typing stops, restarts, and then stops again. I have to say, I do enjoy imagining her being tempted to send me a snarky message and then feeling that she has to restrain herself.
I’d quite like to send her a message, pointing out that she cannot possibly win this, because she cannot change my mind. You can’t ever prove to someone that something they think might be out there doesn’t exist.
Whereas I could win. You can prove to someone that something they don’t believe in is there.
I just need to find someone she falls in love with, and who will from their side fall in love with her to provide that happily-ever-after.
Yeah, the latter part might be tricky. Even in the dark Freya was annoying.
Plus she’s going to be trying not to fall in love. Plus I only have three months.
The whole thing is a complete farce. Neither of us is going to win.
I send Sonja two videos from last night, one of me outside the restaurant saying I’m going in, and one afterwards walking along the street saying I had a great time with a lovely woman but that I don’t think I’ve necessarily found true love; but one blind date has not changed my views on the likelihood of me finding love in the future.
(I asked the restaurant if they were happy for me to video inside, and, happily, they weren’t.
Thankfully, Charlotte also declined to be videoed.)
Yep, such a farce.
After spending far too much time trying to come up with something better than meeting in a regular restaurant for Freya’s date, I decide that my best approach is to steal her idea and hope that she doesn’t feel any sense of victory as a result.
Okay, I think she will feel smug about it and that annoys me, but I’m just far too busy to waste any more time on this.
So I ask Sonja if the production company can book the same restaurant for next Tuesday, and message Freya to ask her to meet my friend Minuk there.
Minuk and I met in our first term at uni and have been very good friends ever since (half a lifetime now).
He’s had the odd serious (ish) relationship but basically goes from short-term fling to short-term fling, always monogamously.
He has no trouble attracting very attractive women – understandably, because he’s great company and objectively good-looking and in good physical shape – and has always said that the reason he never stays with anyone for long is just that he hasn’t met the right person yet.
He’s definitely not averse to longer-term relationships.
He could be the perfect person for Freya. She probably just hasn’t met the right person yet either.
I mean, no, who am I kidding? What are the odds? You never know, though. Worth a shot.
Freya does of course gloat about my inability to think of a different meeting place. Her first message in response to my question is Ha ha ha. Her second is Okay. I’ll be there.
And there we go. I can now put the whole challenge out of my mind for a few days.
Well, not entirely, because I’m unable to prevent myself watching the Wake Up Britain montage of my date.
(I’m pleased to see that they only managed to cobble together thirty seconds of footage.) I’m also recognised twice in one morning in the street, which I do not enjoy.
And I can’t help thinking of Freya and how incredibly annoying she is at least several times a day. But apart from that, all good.
Minuk messages me at around ten on Tuesday evening to say he and Freya have finished their evening and do I want to meet at our local (we live ten minutes apart on foot and there’s a pub exactly equidistant between our houses) for a one-pint debrief.
I did offer to meet him before their dinner but he said with great scorn that he’s been on a lot of first dates before now and he really doesn’t need anyone to hold his hand, which was good news for me; I don’t want to see Freya more than I have to and I wanted to squeeze a gym visit in this evening.
I set off immediately and as I arrive at the pub I can see him walking down the road towards me. I wave and go inside to order us both a pint.
‘So how was it?’ I ask as soon as we’ve slapped each other’s shoulders and sat down at a corner table.
‘Well, she’s lovely. Very nice.’
I nod, make a huge effort and do not correct him by saying no she bloody isn’t.
Each to their own, after all.
And, obviously, if they did hit it off, great. As long as they don’t hit it off so much that I lose one of my best friends to her. Fuck. That would be terrible. What was I thinking? I do not want Freya in my life as Minuk’s plus-one.
‘You going to see each other again?’ I ask, panicking.
‘Yeah, no, maybe. I liked her a lot.’ Minuk likes a lot of women a lot, so that isn’t too worrying.
‘And I think she liked me. We agreed to leave by the same exit, and had a nice chat in the light out of earshot of those helpers. And by the way, that was such a weird experience. I’m glad to have been but I don’t think I’d go back. ’
‘Same,’ I agree. ‘I liked the way that it made you really focus on everything about the food and your companion except the way they looked, but having the helpers there was just weird. The way you could hear their breathing from time to time.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Soooo… what are you thinking about Freya?’
‘Ha. You have an extreme one-track mind this evening.’