Nearest and Dearest

A small, not-so-smart restaurant confronted Effie: her first rendezvous. It was the result of an arduous journey by bus, tube and a nine minute walk to a suburb on the other side of town. Her mind was whirring with calculations of how much time she would be spending on the extra travel involved in dating over the next few months, assuming she stuck at it. The resulting total was not reassuring, and to waste any time at this stage of life was a sin. On the other hand the process of calculating had a calming effect despite the speed at which her brain was working. She like the control and certainty of it faced with the uncertainty ahead. Feeling chilled by a cold March wind that had buffeted her during the course of her nine-minute walk from the tube she greeted the Bistro d’Oro with a sigh of relief although she couldn’t see much about it’s dull brown quasi -tyrollean facade that looked the least bit ‘d’oro’. She had allowed masses of time to reach the place. She dreaded being second to arrive and not having time to go immediately to the ladies room to put herself straight before being seen. After all that wind she was sure her face was red and her hair wild. The first embarrassing thing had been to say she was from Arcadia, the euphemistically named introduction agency. Did the waiter express a barely suppressed smirk as he ushered her over to a table? ‘Here we are. This is the Arcadian table.’ Resisting the temptation to tread on his foot, she sat down and attempted to take stock. The other diners were solidly in couples, not even foursomes, and she felt she stood out like a sore thumb as a single woman. Or could they all be happily joined up protégés of Arcadia? A middle-aged couple next to her were laughing together, sharing a joke. Her own mood was something between adolescent excitement and old age cynicism: ‘now’s your chance’ or ‘don’t kid yourself – I mean just look at you!’ She was clearly nervous and needed to seek refuge in the ladies room, check her face and hair, re do her lippy. There was still plenty of time, fifteen minutes to go. Her bladder was taking the strain of her nerves. She had already been three times at home in the course of getting herself ready, a process which had taken several hours of indecision, of changing four or five outfits, settling on a sixth and then taking everything off again because she had a suddenly panicked that her underwear ought to be clean, just in case her bra straps showed from underneath the black top she had chosen. It only struck her now as she stared in the mirror in the ladies room that a black bra was hardly likely to show the dirt. In fact even the black top which was decently high necked was covered by a grey fitted jacket. Simple but smart and definitely not too sexy had been the mantra agreed on after discussion with Susie who turned out to have strong views on such matters. The outfit was completed with a pair of slim line matching trousers, black patent leather shoes with not too high a heel - don’t want to look small but not too tall either - and some silver jewellery that jangled to complete the ensemble. Looking at herself in the mirror, she thought the image was OK if a little sombre, all that grey and black, even silvery hair, but nothing for it now. She needed to get back to the table so that she would be able to view Simon as he came in. Much better to be the one already there, sitting down, though she hoped he wouldn’t be late. She was dying for a drink to calm her nerves but thought she had better wait, not wanting to look too keen about the joys of alcohol. What if he was TT? That was quite a sobering thought, and something that had not been mentioned in his profile. She could at least order a bottle of fizzy water. The waiter, however, was studiously ignoring her despite Effie’s best efforts to catch his eye. She became convinced that he was deliberately taking no notice with the result that she was both frowning and waving her arms wildly to attract attention when a man suddenly appeared at her side. ‘Effie?’ ‘Goodness, you must be Simon’