Chapter Nine
Not having time to go home and change, Olivia buttoned her long jacket and adjusted her soft navy blouse as she walked down the dirtied cream steps and into the underground station.
She had briefly stopped in front of a high street store window and stole a glance at her dishevelled figure.
With a sharp tug at the scrunchie in her hair, she shook out her blonde locks and bit her bottom lip, praying some blood would rush in and make them look slightly plumper and pinker than when they were pursed in thought all afternoon.
It was cold outside, the May sun still not making itself known, much to everyone’s disappointment.
For Olivia, last year’s spring had been colder than this, just not in the Celsius.
Walking through the barrier and trying desperately to rush through the murky scent of oil and underground, she couldn’t believe it. She was doing it. Dating.
Please forgive me, she thought, remembering him sitting on the worn sofa of her apartment, his hands clasped over his face just how he had done whenever he was in deep consideration of something. It’s for my writing, nothing more. You knew — know how important my writing is to me.
Olivia trudged along the station platform, making her way into the small carriage and settled on to a spare blue seat.
In theory, while the train screeched to a halt at each stop before hers, she could have taken her notebook out and tried to make her word limit a reality.
Instead, she sat crammed on the train carriage trying to calm her racing heart.
Who knew you could still carry such guilt for something you hadn’t even done yet?
All in worry of hurting someone’s feelings who wasn’t even there. For someone in your past.
Instead, she sat there and mentally prepared herself to see the man Theo had set her up with. Phase one of finding her leading man had ended with her meeting Theo, and now with his promise to help her, phase two was well underway.
Olivia got to the pub first. It was always her worst nightmare to arrive at a date or meeting late.
She had no idea what Taylor looked like, and at 6:30p.m. on a Thursday in a London pub, there were plenty of men between the ages of twenty and seventy to choose from.
On the overhead screens, a rugby game played, showing burly men in tight shorts tackle each other with the same determination Olivia had for finding her leading man.
Robbie’s sat on the corner of a cobbled street, directly diagonal to an old stone bridge that led into town.
With rose-flushed cheeks, Olivia pushed open the stained-glass door, stepping out of the chilly evening and into the building.
The pub was sturdy, with thick brick walls and solid wood floors that creaked with every step you took.
The rumble of people talking, glasses clinking and the sound of laughter, young and old, reinforced the fact that pubs were places for all generations.
Growing up, Olivia had loved visiting the local pub with family.
The lingering smell of cigarettes, beer and dust mites somehow felt like a warm hug.
Alongside her mother and father, back when they were still married and happy, the three of them would take shelter in one of the mahogany booths and eat their weekly Sunday roast.
Taking a deep breath in, Olivia felt her shoulders relax as she took in the familiar smell. This nostalgia might be just what she needed to get through the evening with success.
She could picture it now. Her dad in the corner playing darts, her mother sitting by her side, colouring in the page printed on the back of the menu while they awaited their meal.
“Olivia?” A deep voice severed her from her thoughts.
Olivia turned around to see a tall man with slick, dirty blond hair standing behind. His hair was wet from the rain and pushed back as if he had raked his fingers through the ends too many times.
“Hi, I’m Taylor, it’s nice to meet you.” He let out a small, unsure laugh.
“Of course, sorry. Hi. It’s been a long day.” Olivia shuffled her feet before turning around and scanning the thrumming pub filled with activity.
Taylor tugged his red cashmere scarf off from around his neck. “Shall we get a booth?”
Nodding absent-mindedly, Olivia turned and headed towards a small booth on the far side of the pub, the scuffed fabric seats facing two small poker tables to their left.
The pub was quaint, with low-lying green and red chandeliers filled with small warm lightbulbs.
A fake fireplace crackled in the far wall that had mismatched portraits and eclectic art decorating the peeling wallpaper.
It looked like it hadn’t been renovated in well over twenty years, but then again, what good pub did?
The worn-in atmosphere of the space made it feel as if the new high-rise buildings around it had been constructed to make the unique establishment stand out like a rare gem alongside the walls of grey and glass.
“Would you like something to eat?” Taylor asked. His posh accent came out in a smooth and unscathed drawl. Folding his grey trench coat neatly and placing it down on the matted fabric of the booth, he sent a polite smile Olivia’s way.
Olivia was starving, after all she had been living off large lattes and the odd muffin all day at the café.
However, she always made sure to remember Danielle’s dating advice: “Don’t commit to food, otherwise you’ll be three hours in and listening to how his mother irons his trousers.
” Small talk was supposed to be the only conversation on a first date.
Refined and elusive small talk. She wanted to give enough about herself, so he would be interested to know more, but not too much that he decided to chug his drink and make a runner.
“I’ll just have an Apple Martini please,” Olivia responded curtly.
She would eat later. He took note of her order, and she watched as he approached the bar, politely waving over the bartender and paying for their drinks.
Taylor seemed nice and proper. He exuded an Oxford-educated air, his accent one that was not common in this area of London, rolled and refined like a fine chocolate.
Placing one questionable-looking drink on the table, as well as her nuclear green Apple Martini, Taylor spoke.
“So,” he began. “Theo tells me you’re a writer.”
Theo.
Theo had told this man things about her. Oh, God. Suddenly dread filled her lungs, and she felt her breath shorten. What had he told him?
Taylor must have seen the panicked look splayed across her face as he leaned over and placed a hand over hers. “Don’t worry, everything he told me was good. Promise.”
It better be, she thought. Or that wedding date to Ireland in June? Yeah, that promise can be flushed right down the loo.
“Good. I’m glad.” Olivia gave a small smile. “I’m sorry, he didn’t tell me about you at all.”
Taylor laughed, taking a sip of his drink. His eyes drifted behind her for a brief moment, before flicking back to hers. “Well, I’m an HR manager working on Bond Street. It sounds boring, but it’s more interesting than you’d think.”
“I’m sure it is.” Olivia took a tentative sip of her beverage, her shoulders slumping as the tangy apple hit the tip of her tongue.
There were a few things in the world that made Olivia completely melt with pleasure. And sadly, it wasn’t men anymore. Not since him. It was a Robbie’s Bar Apple Martini.
“Wow.” Taylor coughed, watching Olivia moan in pleasure at the taste of the drink. “You, uh, you sure like that drink.”
“God, nothing tastes better than an Apple Martini after a long day at work,” Olivia moaned.
“So, what do you do exactly?”
Olivia straightened in her chair. She found the question unexpected, but warranted.
“What do you mean?” There was plenty that a writer did other than sit at a laptop and type all day.
They researched, conducted experiments, interviewed.
Authors were essentially the journalists of the literary world.
Books were laced with personal and fictional happenings; to Olivia they held the author’s soul, gave her little nuggets of various perspectives of life.
They were so much more than just ink stamped words on paper.
“When you’re not writing, I mean. Theo told me you were going through some bouts of writer’s block.” Taylor clicked his tongue and reached forward to grab some of the peanuts that sat in a small blue ceramic bowl in between them.
“Uh, well. When I’m not writing I try to find inspiration to write.” She gave him an awkward smile.
A few beats of silence were shared between them.
Behind them, the television roared with the crowd’s joy at the game’s first try.
The door had not closed since they had arrived, a steady stream of office and construction workers and elderly men had been trooping through the door with their sights solely on a cool glass of beer.
Happy hour was certainly popular here in London.
Especially when the drinks were on a two-for-one deal.
Theo had bought her coffee the other day at the café, no option of her even considering doing it. She took a mental note that Taylor had done a similar thing.
Tugging on the sleeves of her jumper, she covered her palms and curled the soft fabric into her fists. “So, how long have you known Theo?”
Taylor was staring over her shoulder. “Uh, Theo. Yes. Sorry.”
Olivia turned her head. She was aware there was a league game on but come on.
“Well, uh, not long. We’re more acquaintances really.”
“Ah, alright then.” Another sip of apple goodness.
Another look over the shoulder. Another lapse of silence.
The conversation was completely standard, but this felt awkward, even for a first date.
Sure, first dates were supposed to be awkward and messy.
But was it her who was making this as awkward as it was?
Not counting the other night, she hadn’t done this for years.
Maybe that was why her high school boyfriend, Jack, had told her to ‘lighten up’ and to let her hair down every once in a while, and go to a party every now and then instead of curling up in her room with a book. She wasn’t boring, was she?
For the third time he glanced over her shoulder, a glazed look in his eye. Three strikes, and you’re out.
“What is so interesting over my shoulder?” Olivia turned her body, hair flipping as she glanced behind her.
It took all but two seconds for her stomach to plummet and an acidic taste to fill her mouth.
Standing directly behind her, and leaning over one of the wooden booth tables, was a waitress wearing a short, incredibly tight work skirt. “Are you serious?” Olivia blanched.
“Pardon?” Taylor’s eyes flickered back to hers for a second, the glazed look refocusing as if he had just realised he was still in her company.
“Have you seriously been staring at that waitress’s ass the whole time we’ve been sat here?”
Taylor leaned back and took a long sip of his drink, his shoulders shrugging as the tips of his lips pulled up slightly. Olivia knew that move. Her exes had done it all the time.
Were you really out of town that weekend?
Are you sleeping with her?
Are you lying to me?
She would always get the same response.
“You’re crazy.” Taylor laughed. “Of course I haven’t.”
Olivia licked her lips before picking up the Martini and sculling it. If this date was over, she was getting her evening’s worth of alcohol. Stuff being polite when he was basically groping the woman behind them with his eyes. His beady, blue eyes.
Slinging her jacket over her arm, she got out of the booth.
“Little word of advice, Taylor.” She leaned down slightly, rolling her eyes as his flickered towards her cleavage.
“Next time you tell a lady you’re on a date with that you’re not staring at another woman’s ass, try not to look directly at it as you do so. ”
Placing her phone against her ear in a huff, she took out her trusty notebook and struck out Taylor from the list of names Theo had added to the bottom after his.
Strike. The sound of the pen scraping against paper was music to her ears.
Taylor was most definitely not her leading man.