Etta James
A SUNDAY KIND OF LOVE
‘It won’t make her match with you any sooner.
’ David hovered in the living-room doorway, polishing a glass with a tea towel.
After another night of too much wine – what am I turning into?
– I had confided in him that I’d misguidedly matched with someone on the app.
Once his squealing and howling had abated, he’d told me there was nothing misguided about it.
But I thought the interim days of my pining might have made him reconsider his original enthusiasm.
‘Maybe she just hasn’t checked the app, did you think of that? ’
‘Mhm,’ I (dis)agreed.
‘Do you know, if you–’
‘Don’t say it.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t say, if I matched with more women on there, then my chances of a match back would increase. I’m not a computer system, and I’m not going in for a scattergun approach to meeting women either.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘I don’t like what you’re implying.’
‘I’m implying nothing. But it speaks volumes that you think I might be.’ I blew him a kiss and let my phone land on the table in front of me with a hard thunk. ‘What time is Adrian getting here?’
David checked his watch. ‘Half an hour or so.’
‘I should take Fred for a walk, burn off some of his energy.’
David glanced across at the fireplace where Fred was lying, despite the heat being turned off. ‘Mhm,’ he answered, turning to leave the room, ‘he looks positively brimming with energy. But, Patricia, so help me, if you leave me on my own with Adrian–’
‘Like I would.’
I stood and clicked for Fred to follow me, which he dutifully did. His loyalty was something else he got from David. In the hallway I slipped his lead over his head, shouted a goodbye to my husband, and we disappeared well out of the way of dinner preparations.
Adrian was an old university friend who David and I had been close to on and off over the years.
But since his wife had left him – a relatively recent development, so he said, but to the rest of us his grief had lasted for approximately two hundred years already – he’d changed so dramatically in character that it was almost like knowing a different person.
Married Adrian had been witty, intelligent, generous; single Adrian was quiet, pessimistic, and hard to get a conversation out of.
The change was so stark that I wondered why on earth his wife – who neither David nor I ever took the time to get to know, in truth – had left him in the first place!
He must have been a riot to spend so much time with – before he became miserable, that is.
Though we’d heard (from other friends) that apparently it was nothing to do with Adrian’s character and everything to do with Todd’s; the man who taught her menopause yoga class…
‘Because even women are entitled to their crises,’ I said quietly to Fred as he trotted alongside me.
Fred and I did what I referred to as our Round the Houses walk.
There was a neat two-kilometre circuit that ran from our block, round a cluster of others and back again, and Fred and I walked it so frequently that we could run the routine as though on automatic.
That day, however, it seemed all and bloody sundry had the same idea for a Sunday afternoon walk, because we bumped into not one but four of Fred’s pals on the journey.
And, of course, we had to stop and talk to each, exchange pleasantries about our weeks, answer to how the shop was doing – ‘Keeping me out of trouble,’ I joked for the fourth conversation running.
By the time we were actually nearing home, the walk that should have taken only twenty minutes had taken nearly forty.
Which also meant that by the time we were arriving back–
‘Adrian, you’re here ahead of us.’
–mine and David’s guest had already arrived.
David shot a narrowed look at me, over the head of Adrian who was already sitting at the kitchen table as though ready to forgo any idle chitchat in favour of being served his dinner immediately. Though I could understand his keenness to a degree: it smelt bloody fantastic.
‘Have you been here long?’ I asked, dropping Fred’s lead in its drawer.
‘Only a while. I was just telling David about the stock market.’
‘Oh?’ I looked from Adrian to David, who stood leaning against the kitchen counter with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. ‘What of it?’
‘Well, it’s in trouble, isn’t it?’
Adrian was a carpenter, in his youth. And the only investment he’d ever made, to my knowledge, was moving his current account from one bank to another for an improved interest rate.
‘Do you know, I’ve heard much the same,’ I agreed with a nod. ‘David, anything I can…’
‘No, no, dear. You sit, talk to Adrian.’
I more listened than talked to Adrian. I listened to him explain how the stock market worked, and why it wasn’t working, and why it mattered that it wasn’t working. I listened to him talk about traffic, and roadworks, and the way the city was being torn through by diggers and–
‘David, you’re sure there’s nothing I can help with?’
‘Not at all, not at all,’ he said, adding another tray of vegetables to the oven. ‘You sit, relax. Cooking is my love language, you know that.’ He winked at me from behind Adrian and held up a finger, in a “wait for it” gesture.
‘Don’t get me started on love…’
Oh, but Adrian was started. And David was all the more amused for it.
‘Adrian, can I pause you for a moment,’ I spoke softly, setting my hand over his as though to avoid either startling or offending the poor sod.
‘I’ve just remembered that my phone is in the other room and I’m actually waiting on a call, just give me a…
’ I trailed off as I excused myself from the table, then the room, meaning I only half-caught the beginnings of Adrian’s diatribe against his estranged wife.
It wasn’t a total lie; my phone was in the other room, having been long forgotten while Fred and I went on our walk.
I just wasn’t expecting a call from anyone.
So imagine the somersault turn of surprise when I hit the home screen and the light of it was interrupted by a banner, announcing: One new message.
There had been many, since David downloaded The App: younger women, older women, married women who wanted a third.
I rolled my eyes and thumbed in past the preview, expecting it to be one of the above.
But there she was: Sheila, 42, Hereford.
Patti! I’m so sorry, this app has been a bit unloved so it’s taken me until now to spot your lovely, lovely profile. Thank you for matching. How are you doing today? xo
Well, I thought, good Christ…
‘David! David, can you spare me a minute, please? I have a… I have an emergency.’