Expecting

“I was just about to send you a text and you arrived. How strange is that? I thought, that’s a text I don’t need to send.” Frank spoke in a weird, stilted, over-eager way. Maybe he was just nervous like I was.

“Hi, how are you?” I said, slipping into ‘bright, professional’ mode. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long. I’m dying for a coffee. What about you?”

“Oh, I don’t drink coffee or tea. I’ll just have water. Tap water is fine.”

Bugger, he’s a Mormon, a cheapskate or a combination of both. I suggested he find a table while I ordered the drinks. I watched as he gave the table and chairs a light dusting with a paper napkin, giving it his full attention. I added possible OCD to the list, along with religious nut and miser.

I had thought that meeting at a café would be a low-risk way of checking him out, as recommended by ‘The Guardian’ Soul Mates page. We’d been put in touch with each other through mutual friends who thought we would be ‘great’ together. I don’t understand what drives couples to try to match-up their single friends and acquaintances. Probably so that we can all rot away in pairs together.

Frank stood up as I approached with the tray and then he tried to help me off with my coat, which was a bit creepy. The coffee was good and strong. It made my tongue curl in protest at the first mouthful. He was quite good looking really. His hair was dark and close-cropped with a hint of grey around the sides. His eyes were a rich, brown colour which made me think of Mars’ Minstrels. They crinkled at the corners when he smiled at me.

“Do you like films, Karen?”

“I love films. I sometimes go to the cinema a couple of times a week. Have you seen anything good lately?”

“I saw ‘The Iron Lady’. It’s so good I’ve been to see it three times. I’d go again if you haven’t seen it.’

Shit, he’s not a skinflint then, but even worse, he’s a Tory.

“It’s not my thing.” I said a bit too quickly. I thought I sounded a bit panicky. “I don’t like Meryl Streep you see.”

It was a huge lie. I love Meryl Streep despite her occasional poor choice in roles. He looked a bit crestfallen and I felt bad then.

“Do you read Frank?”

“I do. I recently read ‘The Millennium Trilogy’ in just over a week.”

That was an impressive five inches of reading matter. He obviously had staying power along with the OCD. And Stieg Larsson was quite left wing in his views, so maybe Frank wasn’t a Tory after all.

Deciding to give it a bit longer I said “I fancy another coffee. Do you want anything?”

“No, I’m fine thanks. But do you think you should be drinking coffee in your condition Karen?”

“What do you mean?” I said, feeling a bit puzzled.

“Well Tim and Gilly didn’t say anything about you being pregnant when they gave me your number. But that’s okay, I mean, I’m pretty open-minded.”

But by then he was realising that he had made a mistake and he began to look embarrassed.

“I’m just popping to the loo. I’ll be back in a minute.” I said, as the strap on my bag caught on the back of the chair, pulling it over. Everyone in the café looked over as I ran to the toilet. Once inside, I splashed cold water on my flushed face and dried it with a tissue. Then I looked at myself side-ways and then front-ways in the mirror. Despite the skinny jeans, my smocked blouse was doing me no favours at all. No wonder he thought I was pregnant. I would think I was pregnant. I took a few deep breaths, sucked my stomach in and strode back out into the café.

Frank was still there.