The Cupid Effect (38 page)

‘No,' I raised my hands, ‘do not put any of this on me. Good or bad, do not put it on me.'

‘Have it your way. But when you breeze into a place, so openly following your heart by leaving your comfortable life, going back to living like a student and being happy with what you're doing and who you are, please don't be surprised if people copy you. Especially people like me who thought they were stuck as they were for ever.

‘When you show people it's possible to live their dreams, don't be surprised if they,' she took my hands, squeezed them, ‘thank you.'

Didn't I say not to put it on me?

‘I'll email you from wherever I end up,' Gwen called over her shoulder as she headed off towards the bank of check-in desks.

‘OK,' I replied, then spun away before I saw which desk she was heading for. It was Gwen's big adventure. I didn't want to impose on it by knowing which place the third flight out of there went to.

To be honest, I had always thought of Gwen as a bit of a cow. A deranged cow who didn't know what made students tick. I thought she was one of those people who would love teaching if it wasn't for the students.

When, really, I had no right to judge her. I had no idea what went on in her life beyond the faculty. Her dress sense shouldn't have mattered. I thought I'd left all that vacuous nonsense in London. Not that I thought I was into it. I used to put down people who found dress sense and labels and looks important. But I noticed when Gwen didn't ‘fit in'. I noticed the thick black tights, I scorned her because of her thick black tights. Never knowing that they hid the horrors of her life.

I walked around people, heading out of the airport. The pains in my legs had gone now I wasn't near Gwen. As I moved, I felt something odd about my face. I reached up to check what was wrong, found my fingers resting on my teeth.

All right, despite everything, this kind of thing did make me happy. I did find myself enjoying it. Other people's joy was heartening. The Cupid Effect meant I'd be alone, without long-term sex and love for the rest of my natural life but, sometimes, other people needed it more than me.

epilogue

Just In Case You
Were Wondering . . .

‘All right, that's it,' I mumble, slap my hands on the table. ‘I'm sorting this out once and for all.'

Jess reaches out to me, but no, nothing is going to stop me. Jess and I had dropped in to college so I could get some stuff done, we could have some cheap lunch and then we'd head off to Otley for the day. But, as I sat eating with my best mate, I'd glanced up to see
him
again. Staring at me.

‘Leave it, Ceri,' Jess says.

‘No, he can't go around glaring at people and expect them to put up with it.'

Jess makes one more futile grab for me as I pass her. I storm around tables and chairs and the odd diner and head for his table.

‘Excuse me,' I say, standing opposite Staring Man at his table.

He glares up at me, his bronze eyes fixed on my face.

‘Why do you keep glaring at me?' I demand. ‘What have I done to you?'

He frowns slightly, but manages to keep the glare going.

I fold my arms, rest my weight on one leg and continue in my sternest, non-shouting voice. ‘I've hardly spoken to you, but in the past six months you've done nothing but give me evils, why?'

‘I haven't,' he replies, and his rich voice weakens my knees as usual.

I pull out a chair and sit down. ‘You have.'

‘I, er . . .'

‘You. Have.'

‘I admit I've been staring at you. But not giving you evils.'

‘All right, the jury's still out on if you were giving me evils or simply staring, but why? Have I got some sort of growth on my face that only you can see? Do I remind you of someone? Do you hate black people? What?'

Staring Man blushes, searches my face for a moment, blushes some more. ‘Well, I like you, don't I?'

‘Eh?'

‘I think you're beautiful and I'm too shy to just come over and start talking to you, so I stare at you instead.'

‘Ah.'

‘Besides, I thought you had a thing going with Mel. You left that party together and you were together quite often. Even in the supermarket car park when I thought we'd made a connection over
Star Trek
, you brought up Mel. But I still had hope cos I know Mel hates
Star Trek
. Then, like a moment from my worst nightmare, I hit you in the face with that door and, after that, well . . . it became academic if you were with Mel or not; no matter how charming or funny you try to be, no matter how much you bond over
Star Trek
, no woman's going to go out with you once you've knocked her halfway across a shop floor. So I gave up and went back to staring at you. I didn't mean owt by it. I just like you. A lot.'

‘Oh.'

He smiles, and again, the grin softens his chiselled features. He runs a hand through his short, spiked-up black hair. He's about my age, maybe a fraction older, but his face looks like he's lived, like he'd have a story or two to tell. And he likes me.

I relax into the chair, I can't help but smile back. He's very attractive. When I first saw him in the pub, he reminded me of an artistic stroke on a page, didn't he?

‘I really didn't mean to glare at you,' he says.

‘Hmmm,' I reply with a raised eyebrow.

‘How about I apologise by buying you a drink in a public place, lots of people around so you know I'm not some mad staring stalker. Oh, and without any doors to hit you with.'

‘It
was
six months of glaring. Really hard glares.'

He laughs. ‘How about dinner then? Dinner in a public place, I'm afraid, though, there might be doors involved in a restaurant.'

‘I'm willing to risk it if you are,' I laugh and steal a chip from his plate. ‘I'll be in college tomorrow afternoon, you can call me to arrange it. We could go down to Town Street or New Roadside.'

‘Tomorrow?' he asks.

‘Unless you're busy.'

‘No, no I'm not. Tomorrow would be great. Fantastic, even.'

‘Tomorrow it is then.'

Staring Man grins, really wide. So wide, I have to look away. I haven't had this in a while, someone who thinks I'm beautiful and looks so pleased at the thought of having dinner with me. I'd actually forgotten how it felt to have someone fancy me, not just want to unload onto me. I'm not feeling anything problem-like from him – no need to share; no ulterior motive. He's just looking forward to dinner with me. Wow.

‘Your friend's trying to get your attention,' he says, indicating behind me.

‘Friend?' I glance over my shoulder. Jess is staring at us, open-mouthed. She thought I was coming over to start a fight, which I was, and now we're grinning at each other and I'm stealing his chips. She's going to faint when I tell her about dinner. Oh, Jess, Otley.

I get up, ‘I've got a prior engagement, I'd better be going,' I say. Then I remember. ‘Oh, my name's Ceri. Ceri D'Altroy, I'm finally in the college phone book. What's your name? I can't keep calling you Staring Man. Which I only called you in my head and to my friend, over there. But not to anyone . . .'
Ceri, shut up. Now. NOW!
‘Anyway, what's your name?'

He rolls his eyes and sighs silently. ‘I've got a bloody stupid name. Blame it on my parents. They wanted a girl, so when they got me, they kept the name but didn't even consider that it'd humiliate me for the rest of my life.'

Ah ha! Someone else who understands the torture of being callously named. Ceresis, indeed. ‘Go on . . .'

‘It's all rather embarrassing, really. That's why everyone at college calls me Bosley.'

‘It can't be that bad,' I say.

‘You'd be surprised.'

I frown. ‘Oh come on, just tell me what your name is.'

His bronze eyes meet mine as he says: ‘Angel.'