The Dating Game (7 page)

Once the news hit the grapevine, Gill’s trio of friends were
bursting to offer advice.  She had the weekend to make herself beautiful, as
Lisa put it, again answering Gill’s warning glare with ‘You know what I mean.’

By Friday evening, Gill was surprised not yet to have heard
from Charlie Prentice.  She felt slightly peeved that he wasn’t keener.  If
that was his
modus operandi
, she was singularly unimpressed. 
The
woman should keep the man waiting, not the other way around
, thought Gill,
not caring if that seemed old-fashioned.  Putting Charlie to the back of her
mind, she thought nervously about her upcoming date with Anton.  She really
hoped he matched up to his lovely name.

After yet another busy day, Gill closed up the office and
headed home.  The solicitor’s office had locked up long before and Janice had
also left Gill to it, a few hours earlier, to go to a murder mystery evening at
the Warlock Hotel in Drymen for a friend’s fiftieth.

Knowing that the evening ahead consisted solely of soaps on
in the background as she sifted through CVs, Gill headed to the nearest
supermarket.

A bottle of Chablis, moussaka, a chocolate pot dessert, and
a lottery ticket for the triple rollover, and Gill was suitably armed to cope
with the evening.

Saturday passed all too quickly.  At least Gill had more or
less achieved what she set out to do work-wise the night before.  Her day
consisted of mind numbing tasks; hoovering, dusting, laundry, changing the
bedding, washing and cleaning out the car, paying bills, washing the kitchen
floor.  Such a shame there was no one to share these mundane tasks with, she always
thought.

At least she had the evening free to pamper herself.  A long,
hot bath with the latest crime novel from her favourite Nordic novelist, some
Merlot left over from her last girls’ night in, a family bag of chocolate
raisins and she was sorted.

Gill felt a little stiff after all the housework.  She
really needed to make time to exercise and damn, she still needed to wash the
windows.  Thank goodness her window cleaner did the outside, or she wouldn’t be
able to see out.

Pouring some lavender oil into the bath she had run, Gill
picked up her paperback, fetched a towel from the laundry cupboard and lowered
herself gingerly into the steaming hot bath.  She did love a good, hot bath. 
If she didn’t exit the bath wrinkled like a prune and lobster red, she didn’t
glow with the same sense of satisfaction.

Sunday 1st September

‘Aunt Gill, Aunt Gill,’ shrieked Harry.  ‘Come and see me
play the Wii.  We’ve got a new wrestling game,’ Harry pulled at her hand,
dragging her towards his bedroom, where his brother was oblivious to their
imminent arrival, absorbed in WWE 2011.

As her nephew rattled off the names of the wrestlers who
played in the tournament, Gill wondered where her babies had gone.  George and
Harry both used to love nothing better than snuggling up on the sofa with Gill,
reading stories together, and acting out all the voices of the characters.  Now
she barely saw them when she went to visit, unless she entered their lair,
where they often hosted friends in Wii tournaments.  Since Gill hadn’t possessed
a computer until the age of thirteen, and it had been one which required
cartridges or tapes or typing in three hours worth of code herself, the
ready-made, gaming technology, which her young nephews embraced so easily,
bamboozled her.

Reluctantly Gill followed Harry into his bedroom, strewn
with toys, home to games without covers, and a floor covered in the detritus of
cast-off instruction booklets, plastic cases and nunchucks.  Was she alone in
feeling really dim as her six-year-old nephew talked her through the moves he
was making on his wrestling partner?  It astonished her to discover they had a
variety of names, much like the ballet terms of
arabesque, plié, demi-plié
and
pas de bras
.  Instead, here she encountered flying clothesline,
backhand chop, stinger splash and tilt-a-whirl crossbody.  She was out of her
depth and stared at her two beloved nephews blankly as they droned on in great
detail.  She sat down on the bed to watch George and Harry play each other and
felt a sharp pain.  Reaching under herself, she discovered a figurine which
turned out to be John Cena.

‘Aunt Gill, come and play me.  George is rubbish,’ said
Harry.

‘I am not rubbish,’ declared George indignantly. ‘You’re
rubbish.  Aunt Gill, tell him I’m not rubbish.  I’m going to beat him in the
next round, ‘cos I’m going to have Big Show as my wrestler,’ said George
seriously.

Gill had no idea what they were talking about.  She listened
as her young nephews dumbfounded her with further wrestler-specific vocabulary,
completely bemused.

‘Lunch is ready,’ Sarah called.  Relieved, Gill wrested the
controls from a reluctant Harry and ushered both boys into the bathroom to wash
their hands before lunch.

As Sarah proffered the salad bowl to Gill, Christopher asked
his sister what she had been up to.

‘Working mainly, what about you two?’

‘No, don’t go changing the subject, sis.  I’m worried about
you.  You’re not relaxing enough.’

‘Well, I’ve been out for drinks with the girls a couple of
times this week.’

‘That’s a start,’ said Sarah, glancing briefly at her
husband.

‘Gill, don’t you think it’s about time you started seeing
someone again?’ asked her brother gently.

‘Don’t push her, Chris,’ his wife chided him.

‘No, it’s OK, Sarah.  He’s right.  Actually, I have kind of
been doing something about that.’

‘You’re seeing someone?’ Christopher’s eyes lit up.  His
attention was temporarily distracted as he retrieved the fortunately empty
juice cup, which George had sent crashing to the floor.

‘Not exactly.  I have a date tomorrow night.’

‘Really!’ her brother exclaimed and Gill didn’t know if he
was astonished or impressed. 

‘Who is he?  How did you meet him? What does he do?’ her
brother rat-a-tat-tatted the questions at her.

‘Chris, let her answer!’ Sarah said in exasperation, whilst
smiling affectionately at her husband.

Gill cast Sarah a grateful glance.

‘His name’s Anton and he’s a research scientist.’  She chose
to avoid answering how she met him, hoping Christopher wouldn’t press her on
it.

‘Anton.  That’s a lovely name.  Sounds sexy,’ grinned Sarah
wickedly.

‘Yes, that’s what I thought.  He’s Russian.’

‘Ooh, exotic,’ said Sarah.

‘So, how did you meet him?’ Christopher asked.

‘Daddy, I feel sick,’ interrupted George then promptly burst
into tears. 

‘Hey, little man, come here,’ Christopher told his son, then
felt his head when he sat on his lap.

‘He is a bit hot, Sarah,’ he said, after placing the palm of
his hand against his son’s forehead.

‘Let me see,’ Sarah intervened.  She then picked up her son
and carried him out of the room.

Although sorry that her little nephew was unwell, Gill
breathed a sigh of relief that she was no longer being quizzed on how she had
met Anton.

Sarah returned twenty minutes later.  ‘He’s OK now. 
Sleeping.  He was sick.’

‘Poor wee thing.  Hope it’s nothing serious,’ Gill said
anxiously.

‘I’m sure it’s just a twenty-four hour thing.  There’s a lot
of it going about at the moment.  So, Gill, tell us more about your hot date!’
Sarah said eagerly, settling herself back in her chair.

‘Well,’ began Gill, trying to offer something quickly,
before Christopher could jump in again asking how they met.  ‘He’s six feet
three and lives in Stirling.  He works at the university there and he’s
originally from Vladivostok.’

Sarah nodded her approval, keen to hear more.  Gill tried to
think what else she could tell them, given that she didn’t know much more than
that herself.  But of course they didn’t know that.  Racking her brain, trying
to remember what had been on the profile, she recalled a couple of his wacky
hobbies – Zorbing and potholing.  When she relayed this to her sibling, he
burst out laughing.

‘Oh Gill, I hope you really like this guy, ‘cos I know what
you’re like.  If he asks you to roll down a hill at breakneck speed in a large
transparent sphere, you’ll say, “
sure, no problem
.”’

‘Stop taking the piss, Chris,’ his sister booted him under
the table.

‘No, you’re right.  So, where is he taking you?’

Ignoring the opportunity to come clean and admit that he
wasn’t taking her anywhere per se, they were by mutual agreement meeting in a
bar in town, Gill replied,

‘We’re going to
Chez Molinières
.’

‘Oh, is that the restaurant just off Buchanan St?’ Sarah
asked.

‘That’s the one.’

‘We went there for our Christmas night out a few years ago. 
‘It’s very swish,’ added Sarah, ‘Full of city types.’

Gill gave a wry smile.  She wondered if her sister-in-law
considered her a city type, but she guessed she reserved that description for
the male of the species, in their pinstripe suits, cufflinks and designer
shirts.

‘And the food’s fantastic.’

Gill excused herself to go to the bathroom, escaping the
possibility of Christopher asking her something she might not want to answer.

‘Thanks for lunch, guys,’ Gill said as she was leaving.

As she drove off from their three-bed detached townhouse on
a new estate in the outskirts of Balloch, Gill beeped the horn and waved
goodbye.

Monday 5th September

Gill appraised herself in the mirror.  She hadn’t looked this
good since her brother’s wedding and, of course, then she had been
professionally made over, too.  Lisa had tamed Gill’s unruly locks, making them
fuller, curlier and shinier.  Her naturally wavy hair now looked effortlessly
curly and tousled.  Lisa had actually approved of Gill’s choice of clothing,
and had given her some jewellery to set off her outfit.  Chocolate moleskin
trousers, paired with a cream square necked slinky top, which fell to below her
hips. She wore a gold watch, a gift from her parents and gold earrings. 
Slipping on chocolate and gold coloured sandals, with just the hint of a heel,
she was ready.

It had been agreed that Lisa would drop Gill off, and then
join the girls in the pub next door, in case Gill needed rescuing.

As Gill walked up the steps into
Chez Molinières
, the
noise of laughter and the sound of several voices greeted her.  It was Monday
night.  She’d picked this venue as she thought it would be quieter.  It was
five past seven.  She’d tried to be on time, but Lisa wouldn’t allow it.

‘You have to make him wait.  You can’t arrive before him,’
she said firmly, grabbing Gill by the wrist, as Gill once again tried to get
out of the car.  It simply wasn’t in her DNA to turn up late for anything. 
Finally giving in, she waited a few minutes before sliding out of the car. She
had been watching the entrance to see if he arrived whilst she waited.  But she
hadn’t seen anyone go in who resembled him and he certainly wasn’t hanging
around in the entrance vestibule.

Bracing herself, Gill opened the door, holding it open to
let an elderly gentleman pass her and then she stepped inside.  It
was
quite busy for a Monday, but as she entered she saw that most of the noise
emanated from a group of about six men at the bar.  Just then the waiter came
to tell them their table was ready and she waited as they filed past her
towards the restaurant, before she approached the bar.  Gill glanced around as
subtly as she could.  Then she saw him.  He was watching her. Smiling, he stood
up and came towards her.

‘Gill.  Nice to meet you.  Anton,’ and he kissed her on both
cheeks.  It was customary in Russia to kiss on the lips, but Anton thought Gill
might not be familiar with this custom; after all, he was in Scotland.

Flushing slightly, Gill murmured hello and at his
invitation, sat down.

‘What would you like to drink?’ he asked her.

‘A vodka and coke, please.’

Anton smiled at her, ‘One moment.’

She noticed he wasn’t drinking vodka, but had some form of
cocktail.  Perhaps she would have one next.

Gill smothered a snort. 
Next.  What am I like?  We’ve
barely said hello and here’s me thinking about a second drink.

As he stood at the bar, she made the most of her chance to
appraise him.  He was tall, very tall.  She thought perhaps he had
underestimated his height.  Often Europeans did when converting from metric to
imperial.  She reckoned him to be nearer six feet five.  Short hair, blond, not
a trace of grey, although she supposed he was only thirty-eight.  Not quite as
thin as his photo had suggested.  It suited him.  He was slim and wore beige
trousers and a white open-necked shirt - very smart.  She couldn’t see any
jewellery, only a watch.  She liked that.  Gill wasn’t big on men who wore
necklaces, chains or bracelets.  He turned suddenly, smiling at her.  Too late
to avert her gaze, she returned his smile.

Placing their drinks on the table, Anton sat down opposite
her, moving the cocktail menu out of the way, so it no longer blocked their
view of each other.

‘So,’ he said.

‘So,’ she emulated him.

‘Feel strange?’

‘A little.’

‘Relax.  Is this your first date with the agency?’

‘Yes.  Can you tell?’

‘Can I be honest?’

Gill nodded.

‘You seem a little terrified.’

Gill laughed.  ‘I probably am.  I’m sure without cause.’

‘We’re just two people having a drink, getting to know each
other,’ he said softly.

She liked his voice, which was both soothing and sexy.  It
had to be said, foreign accents did add a certain
je ne sais quoi
to a
potential date.

She began to relax as he asked her questions about herself. 
She wondered if it were his first date arranged by the agency.  She thought
not.  He was too at ease, confident, but not arrogant, not smooth.  His manners
were impeccable.  Before long, and after Gill had chosen from the cocktail
menu, he unfolded his long legs from the chair he was sitting in and went to
fetch them more drinks.

Once she relaxed, Gill made a joke about
her
drinking
vodka and him being the Russian.  He laughed and explained the reason he didn’t
drink vodka was because the vodka found in Scotland was nowhere near as good as
that which they really drank in Russia.  She opted for a Cosmopolitan whilst
Anton ordered another Poinsettia.  He offered Gill a taste and it had seemed
over-cautious to refuse.  It was lovely – a mix of champagne, Cointreau and
cranberry juice.  She found it a strange choice for a man, but she liked that
he didn’t conform.

The date was going well, Gill thought.  She wondered if
Anton thought so, too.  She had heard horror stories, of girls on blind dates
who thought it was going swimmingly, only to discover that their date had not
actually gone to the toilet but instead legged it to the car park, leaving them
stranded.  She really hoped that wasn’t the case with Anton.

Gill asked him about his work.  He still travelled back and
forth to Vladivostok, as well as St Petersburg, Minsk and Nizhniy Novgorod,
liaising with other institutes involved in the research programme of which he
was a part.  It sounded very interesting, although he couldn’t go into detail,
as a lot of the research was cutting edge and thus top secret.  She told him
she worked in Recruitment, but made a point of not giving him the name of her
company, and he didn’t press her.  Nowadays though she realised, most
information could be found on the internet anyway.

Gill studied his body language and tried equally to be
conscious of her own. 

Anton watched Gill as she bent over to pick up her bag, as
Greensleeves blasted from it.  At least she didn’t have one of those designer
bags, he thought.  Anton disliked women who were overly interested in labels,
perhaps because he wasn’t remotely interested in fashion.

As Anton surveyed Gill, he concluded she was pretty, not
gorgeous, but very attractive; tall for a woman, which helped, given his own
height.  He’d put six feet three on his profile.  Some women liked tall men,
but few liked really tall men.  It wouldn’t be the first time he had been more
than a foot taller than his date.  At least that wasn’t the case with Gill.  He
found her friendly, interesting and interested.  Anton was far from a
chatterbox, but could chat happily with someone when they had something
interesting to say, and which held his attention.  His low boredom threshold
meant he was averse to small-talk, so he was glad that Gill was intelligent
enough to understand about his work.  Surprisingly, it turned out she had studied
Engineering.  Not many women did that, he thought.  Not in the UK.  In Russia
of course, it was much more common, along with many women becoming scientists.

Anton liked how Gill’s hair fell in waves over her
shoulders.  He had a thing for women with long hair. 
Don’t all men?
he
wondered.  It was so feminine.

‘I’m really sorry about that,’ Gill apologised. ‘I thought
I’d put it on silent.  I thought I was switching it off, but I must have hit
Answer, when I was trying to take it out of my bag.  It was a client,’ Gill
looked embarrassed.  Not good form to take calls during a date.  She hoped he
didn’t hold it against her.

‘Don’t worry about it, really,’ Anton waved his hand in a
gesture indicating it was already forgotten.  ‘Would you like another drink?’
he asked, eyeing Gill’s empty glass.

Gill looked at his half-full glass and was ready to say no,
afraid he might think her a lush, when Anton suddenly picked up his glass and
drained the remainder of its contents.  Smiling at her, he said, ‘So what would
you like?’

For a moment she didn’t know whether he was subtly referring
to something else or if he was simply asking her again if she wanted another
drink.  Cute if he was going for the double entendre, and a little sexy.  She
blushed at the thought.  They were on their third drink; surely a good sign.

Bravely she said, ‘Whatever you’re having.’

Surprised, but pleased she thought, Anton said, ‘OK, leave
it to me.  I know just the thing.’

When he returned, he declared, ‘Mango Siberian Sunrise,’ and
urged Gill to take a sip.

‘Mmm.  That’s lovely.  What’s in it?’

‘Russian Standard Original Vodka, lime juice, sugar and
mango,’ Anton rattled off.

‘It’s very refreshing,’ Gill said.

Just like you
, thought Anton, hoping he would have
the opportunity to see her again.

As they sat talking companionably, both a little on edge, as
neither was exactly sure of how the other felt, they discussed a multitude of
topics.  They were amazed at how much they had in common; including both being
workaholics and chocoholics.

‘Snickers for me,’ laughed Anton.

‘Flake,’ said Gill.  ‘Can you excuse me a second?  I’m just
going to go to the Ladies’.’

‘Of course,’ Anton said.  It would give him a few minutes to
work on what to say and do at the end of the evening.  He liked her, but he
knew not to move things ahead too quickly.  He didn’t want to scare her off. 
He sensed she liked him, too.  But this was only her first date through the
agency.  She was bound to have many more.  His instincts were divided.  Try to
secure a second date, let her know just how much he liked her, before anyone
else muscled in, or take it slowly?  He debated this whilst he awaited her
return.

‘Debbie, it’s me,’ said Gill.  She had washed her hands and
was standing to one side of the washbasins.  Luckily there was no one else in
the toilets at the time, so she was able to chat freely.

‘How’s it going?  Need rescuing?’

‘No, not at all.  He’s lovely, gorgeous too.’

‘Excellent,’ said Debbie, who then conveyed this to the
others.  ‘Lisa and Angela have given the thumbs up to that,’ she said.

‘What’s that, Lisa?’ Debbie asked.

‘Oh, Lisa says it’s about time too,’ Debbie relayed down the
phone.

‘Tell her
ha bloody ha
.’

‘So, are you going somewhere else after here?’

‘I don’t know.  What should I do if he suggests it?’

‘Well, what do you want to do?  What do you want to happen?’
Debbie asked her.

‘Well, I’m not going to sleep with him, if that’s what
you’re asking.’

‘I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t do that on a
first date, for various reasons, not least that I would kill you.  I don’t care
how much you might be gagging for it, ahem, sorry, I mean, I don’t care how
long a drought you’ve had, you can wait beyond the first date. Or it will be
the last date.’

‘I know, I know and to be honest, although I really like
him, I haven’t jumped ahead to that part in my head yet, anyway.’

‘Well, just do what you feel like.  But make sure if you go
on anywhere afterwards, that you let me know where it is.  Personally, I
wouldn’t, and would wait to see if he asks for another date.’

‘OK,’ said Gill, trying to take in everything Debbie was
saying, simultaneously trying to work out what to do, should the matter arise.

‘Good luck, love.’

‘Thanks.  Call you tomorrow,’ and she hung up.  After
checking her face and hair briefly, Gill sped back upstairs, aware she had been
gone a little longer than she’d intended and hoping he was still there.

He was, and a broad smile broke out across his face as he
saw her return.

‘Will we finish these then go?’ Anton asked.  Gill’s face
must have fallen a little, before she recovered herself enough to shield her
feelings.

‘I need to get the train back to Stirling.  I couldn’t drive
here, as I wanted to be able to have a few drinks and relax.’  Showing her his
watch, he said, ‘It’s ten twenty already.’

‘Is it?’ Gill could scarcely believe it.  She didn’t realise
they’d been yakking away for more than three hours.

‘Yes, “time flies when you’re enjoying yourself,” I believe
the saying goes.’ 

He smiled directly at her and she noticed that he had very
white teeth, one of which was a little crooked.  It added even more to his
charm.

‘How are you getting home?’ he wanted to know.

‘Oh, I’ll grab a taxi.’

‘Then I’ll walk with you to the taxi rank, before I get my
train.’

Gill almost said he didn’t need to do that, but thought
better of it, as it was a nice gesture on his part, and she needed to learn to
accept behaviour like this graciously.

They finished their drinks and Anton helped Gill put on her
jacket.  Chivalrous - tick.  She could get used to this.  She hoped it wasn’t
all an act.  But no, she pushed those thoughts from her mind.  He seemed
genuine enough.  As they walked the few hundred metres towards Queen St
Station, Anton stopped suddenly and said, ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course,’ Gill said, wondering if he was going to ask if
he could kiss her.

‘Can we see each other again?’

Gill’s heart leapt, then plummeted, then leapt again.  ‘I’d
like that,’ she said, smiling warmly at him.

‘Excellent.  I have one more question.’

Gill looked at him quizzically.  Perhaps he would ask her to
go to Stirling next time, as he had made the effort to come to Glasgow on this
occasion.