Love Offline Read online

  Whilst I was talking to Rob, I kept an eye on the staircase as I didn’t want Mr Burgundy Suit to miss me when he came back down. Shouldn’t look too keen, though. Better give it a few minutes before I turned around again…

  Ray, who we’d met earlier, was doing some enthusiastic dad-dancing to a 90s track with a very smiley twenty-something who was probably young enough to be his daughter. But no judgement here (well, given that I was dumped for a twenty-six-year-old, that’s probably not entirely true. I was trying my best, though). Ray and his new friend both looked like they were having fun, and unlike my situation with Eric, they were single, so good luck to them.

  Mr Burgundy Suit must have come back down by now, surely.

  As Rob and Will headed back to the bar, I subtly scanned the room for the umpteenth time.

  Then I clocked him. Mr Burgundy Suit. Under the stairs. Dancing very provocatively with a slim blonde. His hands were all over her. Literally. Skimming her thighs, stroking her bum and then—what the hell?

  Within seconds, he went in for the kill, firmly thrusting his tongue down her throat like a hungry lizard chasing its prey.

  Wow.

  So much for that drink and having that magical first dance.

  Looked like I was right all along. Mr Burgundy Suit did indeed have heartbreaker written all over him. Just proved what I was thinking earlier: men couldn’t be trusted.

  Jesus. We’d met less than twenty minutes ago and he’d already decided to trade me in for a better model.

  Was a guy ever going to think I was good enough?

  Chapter Eight

  ‘So all in all, not only did you survive your second solo outing, it sounds like you had a great night too,’ said Chloe smugly as I finished filling her in about the Happy Solos singles’ party.

  ‘Well, kind of,’ I admitted reluctantly, bracing myself for a told you so speech. ‘Let’s just say that, overall, it wasn’t quite as terrifying as I thought it would be. Then again, maybe it was just a fluke. I got lucky because Kat was so friendly and spoke to me first. Otherwise, who knows? I could have been sat on my own for the rest of the night, just watching Mr Burgundy Suit kissing a string of women on the dance floor.’ My stomach sank again as I thought about how easily he’d forgotten about me.

  ‘He sounds like a right little zounderkite,’ said Chloe, spouting another one of her old-fashioned sayings. Between being raised by her grandparents and working with the elderly and her fascination with history, she was often prone to using outdated words. I was used to them now. This one I recognised as meaning an idiot. Although I reckoned total prick might be a more accurate definition in his case.

  ‘You definitely dodged a bullet with that one!’ she added, taking a sip of tea and placing the mug on the table in front of our favourite sofa at Cuppa. ‘But there’s no way you would’ve been alone. You said yourself that the hosts introduced you to different people, so it would have been fine. Glad you made some new friends as well. Not too shabby at all. You did a sterling job, Ms Robinson,’ she cackled.

  ‘Ha ha – sterling as in the Sterling Bar. I see what you did there. Don’t give up your day job. Cracking jokes isn’t your thing.’

  ‘Cheek! Anyway, like I said, you did really well. So with that in mind, I think we can fast-track things a bit.’

  ‘Fast-track?’ My eyes widened. ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of this. What do you mean exactly?’

  ‘So, rather than briefing you on one activity, I thought I’d run through two instead.’

  ‘Two?’ I asked, my jaw dropping to the floor.

  ‘Yep. Two as in the number that comes after one.’

  ‘Oh joy.’ I rolled my eyes again. ‘Spill, please.’

  ‘Okay, so this Saturday, you’re going on a walking trip—’

  ‘Walking? Walking where? With who?’ I said.

  ‘If you stop interrupting, then I can explain,’ Chloe huffed. ‘It’s a walking group. They explore different parts of London every weekend, so it’s a good way to discover new places and meet new people.’

  Frankly, it sounded dull. Yes, it was almost April now, the weather was getting warmer, so it would be nice to get out and about, but seriously? A small concert would be more up my street and a lot more entertaining. Just think: I’d get to meet like-minded people, have a sing-along and a dance. Surely that was a better way of finding new friends than trekking around a field with a group of pensioners. I mean, no offence, but I didn’t know anyone under seventy who chose to spend their Saturday afternoon walking. Especially not if they were single.

  ‘And young people—I mean, people our age—go walking? Really?’

  ‘Yep! I do my research before I suggest these things, you know. That first event was just a blip. When I looked into this one, there was a broad range of age groups, from early twenties upwards. You’d be surprised. I’ve checked the guest list and some cool-looking people have already signed up. You’ll be fine.’

  ‘So you keep saying,’ I scoffed.

  ‘And was I right about Saturday or was I right?’ said Chloe.

  ‘Enough gloating already!’

  I wanted to try and keep an open mind, but a walking group? I supposed it would be more intimate. And maybe now I’d conquered going to a singles’ party with hundreds of people, everything else should be easier from here on in. Then again, that all depended on what else Chloe had up her sleeve…

  ‘So what’s the second thing?’ I winced, dreading what other nightmare activity might fall from her mouth.

  ‘Speed dating,’ said Chloe casually.

  ‘Speed dating?’ Sweet Jesus. Forget what I said about things getting easier. This was much worse than I thought. ‘Is this the 1990s? Who goes bloody speed dating these days?’

  ‘Lots of single people, and now you’ll be joining them too.’ She grinned. ‘Think of it like a live version of a dating app.’

  ‘What are you doing to me, Chloe?’ I felt my face getting hotter. ‘You honestly want me to sit in front of a room full of men I probably won’t like and chat to them one by one?’

  ‘Yep! At least there’s no swiping, waiting for them to reply, sending millions of messages to arrange meeting for a drink, then getting there only to find they don’t look like their photo or that there’s no connection. With speed dating, you get to cut straight to the chase and meet multiple men under one roof in one evening, which will save you so much time and hassle. It’s perfect for you.’

  ‘Chloe.’ I rested my head in my hands. ‘You’re killing me.’

  ‘I’m helping you.’

  ‘No. You’re killing me. At least with online dating, you get to vet and screen in advance. Pick the guys that you’re most interested in, so that when you meet for a date, it’s kind of just a chemistry check, because you’re already confident that you fancy them and have something in common.’

  ‘Poppycock!’ she scoffed. ‘Like I said, that’s not necessarily the case. What if they don’t look like their photo? Eh? What then?’

  ‘Well, yes, that is possible, but at least if you date twenty guys you’ve spoken to online first, you know that you already like something about them. That’s why you’ve agreed to meet in the first place.’

  ‘And how exactly would you know when you’ve never actually bothered to meet anyone?’ Chloe raised her eyebrows.

  Touché.

  ‘Okay, okay. Guilty as charged, but theoretically speaking. I’m saying that with this speed dating thing, it’s a free-for-all. Yeah, you meet twenty guys in one night, which saves time, but what’s the point if all twenty of them aren’t your type?’

  ‘You’re looking at this all wrong, Em. Don’t think about what will happen if twenty of them are not your type. Think about what will happen if ten of them are. In fact, you don’t even need ten or five or two to be your type. It only takes one magic connection to find love. And isn’t it worth investing a few hours of your evening for the chance to find love and happiness that could last a lifetime?’ she said
, fluttering her eyelashes.

  God, she’s good. How could I argue when she put it like that?

  ‘Okay, Mrs Cupid,’ I conceded. ‘Point taken. So when’s this punishment happening?’

  ‘Speed dating is all booked for a week on Tuesday. Be there for seven p.m. I’ll write down all the details for you.’

  ‘Or you could just email or text me?’

  ‘I’m trying to get you away from your computer and mobile devices, not keep you on them.’

  Chloe really was born in the wrong era. You wouldn’t think she was only a few years older than me. Whilst she had a youthful face, she looked like she’d stepped straight out of the 1950s. Apart from her name—which she hated because she thought it was too modern—everything about her was vintage. She could generally be found wearing retro full skirts and structured blouses, or dresses that were cinched at the waist to accentuate her silhouette. Chloe typically styled her hair in vintage waves or victory rolls and always slept in rollers overnight rather than just using curling tongs or straightening irons in the morning.

  Then there was her job. She worked as a project manager at a local charity which provided support to the elderly, so her client base was also vintage. Her car was an old Ford Fiesta, and even the methods of communication she used were from another time. For example, she regularly used a house phone. In fact, she had three of them. And whilst the ones in the kitchen and bedroom were marginally up-to-date (by Chloe’s standards anyway, which meant they were from the year 2000), the one in the hallway was a bright yellow rotary phone. You actually had to place your finger inside the hole of the number and rotate the dial. Jesus.

  Outside of working hours, the landline was the best way to reach her. Yes, she had a mobile phone for ‘emergencies’, but it was one of those bricks from years ago, which only allowed you to make calls and send basic texts. No camera, no internet and forget about apps or social media. Frankly, it would have been better off in a museum than in her handbag (which, of course, was also vintage).

  In many ways, it was strange that we’d been best friends for so long when on paper we were so different. She was into classic things and was very analogue, and I was a lover of new things and everything digital. But somehow we just clicked. I loved her. She had a heart of gold. And as frustrating as her old-fashioned ways were, sometimes I liked the fact that she was so unique. It kept things interesting and made me adore her more. I wouldn’t tell her that, though, obviously…

  ‘One of these days, Chloe, I’m going to get you wearing an Apple watch, ordering your shopping online like the rest of the world, driving an electric car and using a digital calendar. That would mean getting you a phone from this decade first, though…’

  ‘Never going to happen. Nothing wrong with a normal watch, walking to Sainsbury’s and writing appointments in a proper diary with a pen.’

  ‘Yes, if you’re living in the nineteenth century or are ninety years old.’

  ‘Stop teasing, Robinson, or next week you’ll have three activities.’

  Shoes. Sometimes you can tell a lot from someone’s footwear. Glamorous. Professional. Sensible. Right now, mine were saying novice amongst a group of seasoned ramblers.

  When I read Chloe’s instructions to wear suitable shoes for this walking group, I thought I’d be okay with my white Converse as they were comfy. But a quick survey of the seventy or so people who were already at the meeting point for this organised walk showed that sturdy hiking boots were in order. Still, at least I was doing slightly better than the woman opposite me, who was in a pair of sparkly thong sandals. It was probably her first time too.

  Today’s walk was in Sydenham Hill Woods, where we’d explore the ancient forest and some old railway paths, then head to Dulwich Park. Chloe claimed she’d been kind by choosing a walk in South London so I wouldn’t have to venture too far out. It was handy, as it hadn’t taken long to get here from my flat in Kennington. Just a couple tube stops and then a few more on the train from Victoria station. Plus, the start time of 2 p.m. meant I was still able to have a lie-in. Bonus.

  When Chloe had first mentioned this activity, I hadn’t entirely seen the point of it all. But I’d since done some more research online, and apparently walking groups were all the rage right now. Great for improving fitness (and let’s face it, I needed all the help I could on that front), good for getting out into the fresh air (although I’m not sure London air can technically be classified as ‘fresh’, even if we were visiting a park) and good for meeting people. It was a nice day too. Dry, mild and sunny. Could have been much worse.

  I’d promised Chloe I would give it my all, so I made sure I arrived nice and early and tried to bring a positive mental attitude. It’s a shame my nerves and shyness decided they wanted to come along too…

  It was now approaching 2.09 and there were close to a hundred people. It was like a giant school trip. Looked like Chloe and those websites were right. So much for being an intimate activity. When I’d read about them being popular, I was thinking a crowd of thirty people. Fifty tops. I hadn’t realised it would be on this scale.

  Doing a quick scan of the group, I could tell that many were regulars. Unlike me, they were wearing appropriate footwear and confidently walked up to other members or groups and struck up a conversation. Then there were the people on their own, shielding themselves by burying their heads in their mobile phones to avoid eye contact.

  I stood in the corner of the train station exit, not quite knowing what to do next. I’d checked social media on the way down here, and the station car park was hardly Instagram-worthy, so creating my own post was out of the question.

  The knots in my stomach intensified. There was no friendly Kat to come and rescue me this time. Whilst refreshing my Twitter feed was the most appealing option, if I wanted to meet people, I had to make the effort myself. I would have to bite the bullet. Go and speak to someone. But who?

  Let’s start by trying someone easy. Break myself in gently. I walked up to the organiser, who was holding a branded ‘Discover London’ flag. It was his job to be friendly so that we felt comfortable, right? After all, the more relaxed we were, the more likely we’d be to come again and the more money he’d make. Maybe he would introduce me to some people too?

  ‘Hi, I’m Emily,’ I said as I handed over the five-pound event fee. ‘It’s my first time.’

  ‘Welcome, Emily,’ he said in his soft Irish accent, scribbling my name on a crumpled sheet of A4 paper. Typing them directly into a spreadsheet on an iPad would have been so much easier. He must share Chloe’s technology aversion. ‘I’m Kevin. Thanks for joining us.’ Just as he was about to ask me something else, he was interrupted by a guy who looked like he was part of his team, as he was also holding a branded flag.

  I looked behind me and a queue of people was building. Nope. Kevin wouldn’t have time for chit-chat or introductions. He still had a hundred other names to write down and fees to collect. I’d have to find my own people to talk to.

  I scanned the group again for someone who looked like they wouldn’t blank me if I approached them.

  My heart was pounding. I can do this. I survived last Saturday night and I will get through this activity too.

  Deep breath.

  She looked friendly. Come on, Em.

  ‘Hi!’ I said as enthusiastically as I could, approaching a smiley lady with striking silver hair. Just because she was older than me didn’t mean we wouldn’t have things in common. That’s right. Think positively. ‘I’m Emily. Do you mind if I join you? It’s my first time here and I’m a bit nervous.’

  ‘Of course, my love,’ she said warmly. ‘Welcome! I’m Margaret. I’ve been coming on these walks for about seven years now, so stick with me, kid, and you’ll be fine.’

  It had been a while since I’d been called a kid, but I suppose I was young enough to be her daughter.

  Phew. Someone to talk to. My shoulders loosened and I felt ready to give this walking thing my best shot.

&n
bsp; After Kevin had made a note of everyone’s names and collected the money, we set off towards the woods. I reached into my rucksack for some snacks.

  ‘So what brings you here, then, Emily?’ asked Margaret as we weaved through the trees, trying to avoid the puddles and muddy areas. ‘A love of nature? Want to see more of London? Keep fit? Or just looking for a hook-up?’ She winked.

  I almost choked on my Brazil nuts.

  ‘Sorry, did you just ask if I’d come walking for a hook-up?’

  ‘Yes, dear. That’s what you youngsters call one-night stands these days, isn’t it?’ said Margaret matter-of-factly.

  ‘It is, but—’

  ‘It’s okay, sweetheart.’ She grinned. ‘Your secret is safe with me. It’s quite common.’

  ‘Really?’ My mouth dropped open. ‘Not that I’m saying that’s what I’m here for. In fact, I’m definitely not here for that. I mean, my friend Chloe recommended it. She’s the one that suggested this—’

  Margaret smirked, clearly amused and taking my stuttering as an admission of guilt.

  ‘We’ve had lots of couples meet here. They get chatting on the walk, go to the pub, because we always finish the walk with a few drinks, then one thing leads to another and off they go into the night. Others start dating and have long-term relationships. It all depends what you’re looking for.’

  Who knew?

  ‘Oh. That’s interesting,’ I said, not quite knowing how to respond.

  ‘I’m not immune to it either, darling. I’ve been known to make a gentleman friend or two on these walks as well. Good for keeping the machine well oiled and all that.’ Margaret smirked. ‘I do of course enjoy discovering new parts of London and getting out of the house. The sex is just a nice bonus.’ She winked again.