The Blind Date

‘He has tattoos’ my friend Sharon announces. Without looking up I continue to crease statutory notices. ‘I think either he has been to ibiza or he’s about to go, anyway he likes to go out, he’s always out’. I pretend to ignore her, scoring hard folds, before slotting into white C5 envelopes with a window. ‘Do you want to hear the best bit?’ I reach for another letter and nod without stopping. ‘He had a fish dinner!’ Sharon taps me on the arm ‘You love fish, don’t you?’ Eyes wide and twinkling Sharon nods and gushes about the new Portuguese restaurant at the bottom of Tomswood Hill. ‘Fabulous place, food was amazing, mine was absolutely delicious and his dinner looked lovely, a stuffed salmony thing.’ I stare up at her slightly confused and thinking Ive somehow missed the start of the conversation. ‘Who ate a fish dinner?’ I ask slowly. Sharon stops typing, purses her crimson lips together and closes her eyes. ‘Do you know, I cannot think of his name -‘ Sharon gently puts a hand on my arm, I stop folding. ‘Say you’ll go on a date with him.’  ‘What? With who? Ah Sharon you weren’t talking about me at dinner were you? Sharon carries on typing and talking ‘-Great restaurant. Really great, you’ll love it there. This is his phone number, here you go.’ 

I turn the black business card over in my hand as the phone rings wondering who will answer the call. Tattoos, Raves, Fish Dinner; that’s all I know. The table is booked for seven thirty tomorrow evening, I presumably will find out then. 

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