Virtually Perfect (2 page)

It wasn't the first time Eve had signed up to a dating site.  Since Dan left, she'd been on there three times. 

Ching. 
Eve looked around.  A glow was coming from her handbag.  She grabbed it, ditched the empty cup, and got back under the covers.

'Oh Amy, what do I...'

Gud mornin sexy :) So u wanna meet up l8r? xxx

'What the...'

It wasn't Amy.  Just a number.  It wasn't a number Eve knew.

'Oh, Christ!'

Eve dropped the phone in her bag and flung it down on the floor.  She threw out an arm, snapped the laptop shut, and slumped back, yanking the duvet over her head.

'I don't know why you're getting so upset,' Amy told her.  'It's
normal
.  Everyone's doing it these days.'

'You're not!' Eve blurted begrudgingly. 

Amy smiled patiently over her cup of latte.

'I have news for you, sis.' 

Their dark stares locked together.  Amy leaned in, lowering her voice. 

'Marriage?  Being a mum?  It's not all wine and roses.  In fact, they become more an annual event.'  Amy sighed, shaking her disheveled black bob.  'I had to have a child minder arranged a week in advance just to come down here today...  Look at me!  I've got baby puke on my top!  ...All the washing, all the cleaning...  Do you know, I can't even remember the last time we went out for dinner.  Just the two of us, I mean.  Everything's so
predictable
...  I miss dates.  I miss feeling sexy.  I miss having five minutes to myself!  ...Eve, you know I love Simon, I love the kids, but... there are some days I
really
wish
I was you.'

Eve couldn't remember her sister saying anything like that before.  She felt a bit uncomfortable.

'Why did you need a babysitter?' Eve asked.  'What's Simon doing today?'

'Golf tournament,' Amy said, smiling awkwardly, waving her hand. 

Amy looked tired, washed out in fact.  Eve gazed down at the froth in the bottom of her cup, the brown tidemark around the rim.  She chewed her lip, fighting a frown, biting her tongue, just like she always did. 

She'd always hated Simon, the hotshot property lawyer.  Not just for taking Amy away.  He was just such an arrogant prick.

They met in Allesandro's, the oldest coffee house in Brighton, Eve's favourite, by far.  It wasn't one of these bastardised American chains.  It wasn't Cafe Rouge: all fur coat and no knickers.  Allesandro's was tiny, with little round tables and high-back wooden chairs.  Not comfortable enough to make you want to stay there all day, but that was OK.  That wasn't what it was for.  It had weary russet wallpaper, dotted with black and white photos: collections of people and places from motherland.  There were no paninis on the menu.  No muffins.  No pain au chocolate.  You had a complimentary home-baked biscotti with your coffee, but it was the coffee you came here for.  The aroma wafted all the way around Norfolk Square.  It led you by the nose. 

Allessandro, the grey moustached fellow behind the counter, had been serving coffee here for 40 years.  No doubt they'd be carrying him out like Allesandro Senior before him; and, if he wasn't careful, Allesandro Junior afterwards.  The tall, dark-haired son was an apprentice in training, even after working there for five years.  His father was always chastising him: 'No, Allesandro!  You have to do it like this, see?'.  Allesandro Junior had the patience of a saint, the face of an angel, and the body of a god.

'So?  Are any of them dishy?' Amy asked, checking out the Italian barista's buns from across the room.

Eve grinned, crinkling her nose.

'
Dishy?
'

Amy grinned back.

'Well, I suppose...' Eve reflected. '...No!  Stop it!' she said, shaking herself.  'You're meant to be the sensible one!  ...Look, if it wasn't for this damned wedding, I wouldn't have been on there at all.  I
hate
turning up to those things on my own.'

'You haven't heard from Dan?' Amy ventured.

'No,' Eve said flatly.

'Good,' Amy nodded.  'He never was good enough for my little sis.'

Eve feigned a shrug, but her haunches locked tight.  She was defensive, even after all that.

'...Dad sends his love,' Amy said quietly.

Eve looked up.

'Oh...  Does he?  That's nice.'

'Eve—'

'Don't start, Amy.  Please,' Eve said curtly.

She glanced down at her watch. 

'We should get going,' she said, scraping her hair back behind her ears.  'I don't want you getting a ticket.'

Eve stood up, pulling her coat from the back of the chair.

'How much do I owe you for the coffee?' asked Amy.

'Don't be silly,' said Eve.

'Oh come on, please,' said Amy attempted, pulling her purse from her handbag.  'Tell me, how m—'

'Stop it, will you,'  Eve snapped.  'I'm not a charity case.'

She pushed her hands into the cold lining of her sleeves; caught the look on Amy's face and remembered herself.

'If I can't even get you a coffee when you've come all this way,'  said Eve, softening her voice,  'there really is no hope for me, is there?'

She freed her hair from the collar, buttoning up her coat.

'Have a nice afternoon, ladies.'

'Good, isn't it?' Eve said under her breath as the two of them grinned back at Allessandro Jnr.  '...The coffee, I mean.'

Amy flushed, eyes twinkling, raising her hand and gently waving with her fingers. 

'I'll say,' she murmured through a grin.  'That certainly hit the spot.'

Ben sat, face nestled in his palms, elbows perched on his smoked glass computer desk, gazing into the monitor.

Member last online 2 days ago. 
He took a big gulp of cold coffee.

This is exactly what happened with her last time.  And the time before that.  They'd merrily be chatting away, then 'poof'.  She'd just disappear.

There were some pretty messed up girls on the site.  He'd met a couple that seemed OK.  A couple of dates, a bit of fooling around, he'd realised there wasn't anything there.  He'd never even met her, but he felt a real connection with
Decogirl
.  As real as a connection as you can via a 24" Samsung, anyway. 

Her wit was acerbic, her responses considered.  She answered in paragraphs, not one-liners.  None of this smiley-face, wink !!!!!! XXX juvenile crap, this one was a grown up.  This one was a challenge.

They'd chatted about Art Deco on Friday night.  In terms of structural design, there was no knocking it.  From an architectural point of view, the Empire State Building was stunning.  But what was with all those gaudy colours?  Clarice Cliff made Ben gag.  He'd told
Decogirl
she must be colour-blind.

Her dark eyes danced out from the black and white photo.  She stood out a mile amongst all the pouters and posers; the slutty mirror shots.  The backdrop was some kind of party.  She was wearing a  black v-neck dress and high, pointy heels.   Great legs, tiny waist, perfect-sized tits.  Her cupid's bow lips were painted dark and parted wide.  She was laughing - nothing forced about it.  Her eyes were laughing too.  Her face was framed by a mass of long, dark, untamable curls.  There was something honest about her. 

She'd never even told him her name.

Ben's phone started vibrating against his thigh.

'How you doing, Charles?'

He swiveled around in his cream leather chair, gazing out across the ocean, chewing his index finger.

'Jeddah? ' Ben's eyebrows shot up.  The sinking sun glowed amber in his blue-green eyes.   'Well, when do they want to do it? ... Are you kidding me?  No, no that sounds great!  You'll email the brief?  ...Fantastic, mate.  OK... Excellent.  Take care.'

He snapped his phone shut and swiveled back around.  Ben's daft grin melted.

Member online now.

'I bet you say that to all the girls.  No really, I'll bet that you do.'

Eve almost choked on her gulp of Merlot.  It was Sunday evening and getting dark.  She'd reluctantly logged on to inspect the damage.  She sat cross-legged on her claret sofa, the laptop balancing in her lap.  She wore slouch socks, leggings and a fisherman's jumper two sizes too big.  Her hair tumbled from a messy top knot.  The light from the flame effect fire danced around the dark walls.  Mr Bojangles was sprawled on his back, toasting himself on the oriental hearth rug.

Looking back through her sent messages box, Eve realised what a busy girl she'd been on Friday night.  Fuelled by a bottle of Pinot Grigio, sheer frustration, and a smattering of panic. 

She'd located the phantom morning texter.  Thankfully he was the only one she'd given her number out to. 
Max_30. 
He wasn't.  Judging by his profile, he was 22. 
Dont judge a book by it's cover. 
He was like a younger, handsomer Robbie Williams - all bright blue eyes, thick hair and tanned skin.  His shirtless poses (and there were numerous) revealed a smooth chest and ridiculously ripped physique.  He was a personal trainer.  Yes, Eve realised that on Friday night, she'd definitely been judging the book by its cover, and from the litany of typos in his messages, she wasn't in it for the content, just the pretty pictures. 

She was twelve years older.  He typed like a kid.  Eve felt like some old perve hanging around the school gate with a bag of sherbet lemons. 
Delete conversation.  Block user.

Cheekychap76. 
He had dark eyes, like Dan.  A cute smile.  Plenty of hair.  Eve leant forward, balancing the laptop and wine with one hand, flipping off the lid of the chocolates with the other, gingerly plucking one out. 
Looking for: Intimate Encounter. 
The caramel whirl cracked loudly as she bit down. 
Delete conversation.  Block user.

KAzizo: Fun good looking guy. 
Modest too. 
Delete.  Block user.

Mattie_P: He who dares wins. 
Taken from the best Del Boy sketch ever.  Was he being ironic?  Doubtful. 
Delete. Block.

Goonsbar:  just window shopping may purchase. 
You'll be lucky. 
Delete.  Block.

Dan-i-e-l: Kind Hearted Prince Seeks Princess. 
Ah, the fat one. 
Delete.  Block. 

Kevin_78.  Delete.  Block. 
Just for being called Kevin.

'What am I doing?' Eve sighed.  She slung the laptop to one side.  Bo's sleepy eyes swivelled to her, his chin never leaving the rug.  The glass clunked down on the coffee table.  Eve got up and wandered out to the hall, grabbing her oversized hoodie.  She tugged it on, feeling in the pocket for her 10 pack and keys, before shuffling out of the front door, still in her socks.

Eve sat at the top of the metal steps.  It wasn't long before the cold filtered through the layers, gnawing at her bum.

She took out her penultimate cigarette and flicked the lighter.  As she exhaled, her gaze followed the smoke up to the sky, fixing on a solitary, dim star.

It isn't meant to be like this.  Why is everything so hard?

It was Valentine's Day - the day every singleton dreads, and this one had hit Eve hard.  She'd tried to bury it; push it to the back of her head, but it had been jabbing at her all weekend long. 

It had been months since she'd last emailed Dan.  He wasn't her first thought in the morning, or the last before she fell asleep anymore.  Some days, she realised, she didn't think of him at all.  But she dreamt of him last night. 

They were back in Waimea Bay, holding hands on the beach.  He was smiling at her.  Eve could feel the sand between her toes, soft and white as caster sugar; the sun beamed down from a sky that went on forever.  Everything was warm.  Everything was happy.  Everything was just how it was.  And then she woke up.  Felt the horror all over.  Felt the twist in her gut.

She stubbed out the cigarette on the brickwork, flicking the nub amongst the dead wood in her patio tub.

Eve stood up.  Her bottom was numb.  She blew on her hands and rubbed them together.  She looked down across Saint George's Road, lit by a flickering street lamp, all murky oranges and blacks.  Frost glittered on the pavement.  Jackson was just closing up the cafe.  He waved.  Eve waved back.  A couple walked by, huddled together.  It was no Waimea Bay for sure, but this place was definitely home. 

1 New Message

Shutterman:

Hey. Look, I know you've already shot me down (twice), but in the words of Derek Trotter: "He who dares wins!"

Eve's eyes widened.  She glanced around the room nervously before her gaze settled back on the screen.