And Joshua, whether it’s nerves, or his personality, or just that men really do think the best thing that can be happening at any given moment is a woman listening to him talk, happily fills the silence until we’ve finished our drinks and decided on sharing a bottle of red. ‘Oh, I work in computers. Why? I’ve just always loved them. I got into code before people even knew it was a thing. Why? Well there’s a real beauty to it, it’s its own language. Coding is so much more creative than anyone thinks. It’s problem-solving, it’s building worlds out of nothing … Oh, yes, the company I work for is great. It’s a Start Up offering office perks. Really chilled atmosphere. We all get to finish at four thirty on a Friday. I know, great, right? Especially in the summer …’
I listen and listen and listen and listen. I nod and nod and agree and agree. I occasionally make small witticisms, to show that I’m not completely bland, just totally interested in what he’s saying. It’s so relaxing not being me. I sip my red wine and listen some more. ‘That’s great about the Friday finish,’ I say. ‘Wow, I don’t know much about coding. How interesting.’
By the time the bottle of wine’s been finished, and the bar’s more crowded, I would estimate that it’s been roughly eighty per cent Joshua talking compared to twenty per cent me talking. And, by the way he’s blearily looking at me, with hope in his slightly-drunken eyes, it looks like, ladies and gentlemen, we’ve found the golden ratio.
‘You’re pretty,’ he states. Throwing it out there with the confidence of alcohol. ‘I like your eyes.’
I accept the compliment because that shows good levels of self-esteem. ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I grew them myself.’
‘BAHAHAHAHA.’ He laughs so hard he almost spits out his wine. ‘That’s funny,’ he states. ‘HAHAHAHAHA. Wow, a girl has never made me laugh like that before.’
I raise my eyebrows and absorb the micro-aggression because Gretel is chill about things like that. It’s almost ten and I’m starting to wane. It’s exhausting constantly listening to somebody talk at you and arranging your face into a neutral listening pose. Also, Gretel has been a bit too easy up until now. It’s time for the power switch. Sensing it, Joshua leans over and taps the empty wine bottle. ‘Fancy another?’ he asks. ‘I won’t tell if you won’t.’
I smile with warmth and nothing threatening. ‘I’d love to,’ I say. ‘But I probably shouldn’t. I’ve got a crazy early meeting tomorrow morning.’ Joshua’s face dims, rejection rippling through him. So I lean over, put my hand on his hand, and start the never-ending routine of using up my energy soothing his ego. ‘But I’ve had a really good time.’
He looks at our touching skin. He feels what I feel. Because, annoyingly, despite everything, the skin on skin contact is sending zings up my arm. Stirrings of electricity yawn through my body. ‘Me too,’ he says. ‘What’s the meeting about? It’s so cool that you work for a charity. That, like, makes you a proper good person.’
‘Yep. Worked off three years of purgatory already …’ Make sure you’re clever, but not too clever, don’t be intimidating. ‘It’s just a meeting about funding, but it will be all mathsy, so I need to have my wits about me.’ I remove my hand. ‘So I should probably go.’
Joshua stands as I stand. ‘OK, I’ll walk you to the Tube.’
I pick up my bag. A group of aggy businessmen push past us to claim our table before I’ve even wiggled out. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ they say, hands up, but not meaning it, because they’re doing it anyway. How many sorrys do I accept from men who are saying sorry but doing it anyway?
The sun’s yet to set as we emerge onto the lively streets. A trillion cyclists whirr past us, the pavements clogged with people spilling out of pubs. Heat from the cemented roads rises and mingles with the hissing exhausts of buses. The air smells like it has no oxygen in it. Joshua’s nerves have returned now we are out of the dimmed lights of the bar. We walk, side by side, but nowhere near touching. I act like the awkwardness isn’t bothering me at all, swinging my arms and humming under my breath. Silence has always been something I stumble into, desperate to fill. It’s where I give away so much of my power. But Gretel doesn’t ever feel awkward. She’s too busy planning out some tune to play on her ukulele when she gets home, or wondering if her new nose-piercing is accidental cultural appropriation.
‘Big day tomorrow?’ I ask, when enough time has passed for him to think I’ve been comfortable with the conversational lag. ‘Are you going to code the shit out of some stuff?’
He giggles again. ‘Oh yeah,’ he riffs off the energy I created. ‘Coding isn’t going to know what’s hit it. I’m going to code like there’s no tomorrow.’
‘You’ll have to teach me sometime.’
Josh takes his cue. He stops us on the pavement and turns towards me.
‘I’d like that,’ he says. He reaches out and takes both of my hands and looks right into my eyes. I’m a bit thrown because I wasn’t expecting this. I’m still not completely sure if Gretel kisses on a first date or not, but there is definitely the hint of a kiss on this muggy, polluted horizon. I look up at this strange man, who is holding both of my hands. I think about how I rarely touch the people I know, how, normally, skin on skin contact is something that comes with time. How friends build up to the ability to hug one another. And, yet, in a dating context, you allow random individuals the privilege and intimacy of touching you after, what, a few messages sent back and forth and a bottle of red? Men no longer have to earn the right to touch women. And, even if they do, they often lean over the counter and help themselves anyway. I feel prickles itch their way across my skin.
I look into Joshua’s green eyes, and then down at our hands, and try not to let April’s rage seep into Gretel. But it must’ve leaked out because Joshua gives me a cheeky smile and then lets go of my hands. ‘Right, come on then. Let’s get you home, Miss Important Meeting Tomorrow.’
‘So important,’ I counter, walking a tiny bit closer to him so he knows Gretel is still into this. ‘I mean, sometimes, when I think about how important I am, it overwhelms me and I can’t get out of my office chair.’
He laughs loudly again. I should be kinder about him to be fair. He may be a man, and I am pretty much certain that they’re all awful and deserve to be punished for existing, but he didn’t lean over the counter and help himself just now. He read my April vibes, and didn’t kiss Gretel. Credit where credit is due. Though so many of them seem nice at first …
We reach the steps that will take me down to the Tube. It’s still bustling with summer evening foot traffic, everyone ignoring the man with a mike and portable speaker who is yelling at us to accept God into our lives. Joshua manoeuvres us into an alcove next to Borough Market entrance so we can stop and awkwardly say goodbye to one another without the added awkwardness of people trying to walk past us and tutting.
‘So,’ he says, looking like he wants to kiss me again.
‘Thanks for the wine,’ I say. ‘And for not being a scary psychopath. You never know with dating apps.’