Blind-Date Baby

Come on, Grace! Stop wallowing!

She looked again at the letter in her hands. Daisy didn’t have to thank her for everything she’d done. It had been her job and her joy. Being a widow at twenty-two had been hard, yes, but every time she looked into those beautiful brown eyes she’d known a big piece of Rob had lived on.

But I know you, Mum. I know you’ll talkabout moving on or getting a hobby, or finallybuying your own coffee shop so you can bosseveryone else around instead of beingbossed…I also know you’ll do absolutelynothing about it. So I’ve taken the liberty ofgiving you a little nudge and I make no apologiesfor what I’ve done. You need this, Mum.Don’t you dare try and wriggle out of it!

Grace’s colourful language as she read the rest of the letter shattered the greyness of the predawn kitchen once and for all.

‘She did what?’

She stared in disbelief at the pink sheets clutched in her hands. ‘You did what?’ she yelled in the direction of Daisy’s bedroom, even though her daughter had had the good sense to put a few hundred miles and a large body of water between them before she’d dropped the bombshell. Very good thinking. Because, right at this moment, Daisy would have been lucky to see another sunrise if she’d been within strangling distance.

Grace stared at the letter once again, then threw it down on the kitchen table. Despite what Daisy said, there had to be some way to get out of this.

Noah padded across the cream rug in his study, absent-mindedly rubbing his damp spiky hair with a towel. Even though he had already had his morning run it was still dark outside. And quiet. But he didn’t mind quiet. This was his favourite time of day. The time where ideas could brew and grow and take shape.

He turned his computer on. While he’d been running he’d worked out how to make the villain of his current novel even more dastardly. His editor would be pleased. The latest in his series of psychological spy thrillers was doing so well, the publishers were pushing to have the next one in as soon as possible.

He carefully folded the towel and hung it over the back of a chair before sitting at his desk and checking his emails. His inbox rapidly filled but, instead of clicking on the top message, he took a little detour, clicking an email link and arriving at a web page he was very careful not to visit when his PA was around. He logged into the site and opened up a page he had marked as a ‘favourite’ last Monday.

Grace hit the switch in Daisy’s room and blinked and squinted in the harsh yellow light. Maybe purple hadn’t been the way to go with the colour scheme. It was giving her a headache.

Daisy’s baby-pink laptop was on the desk and Grace picked it up and sat on the bed, one foot hooked underneath the other thigh, and settled the machine in the triangle of her legs. The ancient laptop chugged and whirred when she pressed the power button. While she waited for it to boot up, Grace inspected her fingernails and resisted the temptation to pick off some of the electric blue polish. Finally, she opened the web browser and typed in the address Daisy had printed carefully in the PS of her letter.

Blinddatebrides.com! What had her daughter been thinking? The thought of going on a date, blind or otherwise, was bad enough—but marriage? Been there, done that, worn the black veil…

A companionable coffee or dinner would be okay. She could probably live through that. While the page loaded, Grace’s mind wandered. Blind-date brides? How did that work? You turned up at the restaurant and…what?

Random images stampeded through her mind—wedding dresses made out of co-ordinating tablecloth linen…gold rings as napkin holders…waiters who were really undercover ministers, waiting to pounce at any hint of an ‘I do’…

Goose pimples broke out on her legs and worked their way up her body until the fine hairs on her arms raised. She shook her head. Okay, Daisy had undeniably inherited her impulsive genes, but even she wouldn’t subject her own mother to that kind of humiliation. Not unless she was present and in the possession of a video camera.

She winced as she typed in the username Daisy had invented to create an account. Frankly, it just added insult to injury. Englishcrumpet? Classy. Hadn’t Daisy seen enough old Carry On… films to know that crumpet would attract all the wrong sorts of guys? The sort who always seemed slightly sweaty and tried to peer down your cleavage when they thought you weren’t looking. Grace practically had to force her fingers to punch it out on the keyboard.

She logged on to the site and headed straight for the customer service section, bypassing minimalist cartoons of hearts, confetti and kissing stick figures. There had to be a number she could call and yell at someone about identity theft and being made to go on dates you really didn’t want to go on. It all looked deceptively easy. She clicked on a friendly-looking button that said ‘Contact us’.

Great. ‘Customer service teams are available to help you from nine a.m. to six p. m., Monday to Friday,’ she read aloud. ‘What good is that at—’ she checked the display on Daisy’s alarm clock ‘—six twenty-five on a Saturday morning? Most normal people go on dates at the weekend! Fat lot of good you are!’ she said to the smiley-face cartoon on the web page, obviously designed to calm and reassure distressed customers. All it made Grace want to do was frisbee the stupid laptop across the room.

Then she spotted another button: ‘Email us’.

She stopped scowling and rubbed her finger across the mouse pad to click on the link. Email would work. Not as direct as yelling, but she could use lots of capitals instead. A new window popped up: ‘Thank you for spending time letting us know how we can make Blinddatebrides.com better. A customer service representative will respond to your message within twenty-four hours…’

But the date was in less than fourteen hours! Grace was sorely tempted to revisit the whole ‘frisbee’ idea.

It was far too early in the day to start reading any kind of small print they might have stashed away in the deep recesses of this website. She needed help. Now. She dragged the mouse pointer to a sidebar button that read: ‘Chatrooms,’ spied a chat headed up ‘New to Blinddatebrides.com’ and typed, ‘HELP!’ Might as well not beat about the bush.

For an instant, her little plea for salvation blinked alone on the page. It was six-thirty in the morning, for goodness’ sake! Who in their right mind was going to be trawling for dates at this time of day? Only the utterly desperate—which summed her up quite nicely at the moment, actually.

Then a miracle happened.

Sanfrandani: What’s up?

Grace looked around the room. Was this person talking—erm, typing—to her? There was only one thing for it. Grace flexed her fingers and began to type.

Englishcrumpet: I’m new to this.Kangagirl: Hi, Englishcrumpet! Don’tworry, we’re all new in this chatroom! Howcan we help?Englishcrumpet: Oh! There’s two of you! Areyou up at the crack of dawn panicking abouta date too?Sanfrandani: LOL! It’s almost my bedtime!The ‘Sanfran’ in Sanfrandani stands forSan Francisco.Kangagirl: And I’m just about to head homefrom work here in Sydney.Englishcrumpet: Australia?!Kangagirl: That’s right! Didn’t you knowthis was a global site when you signed up?Englishcrumpet: I didn’t know anything aboutthis site until fifteen minutes ago! That’s theproblem. Someone else joined on my behalf.Sanfrandani: How are you finding the site sofar?Englishcrumpet: Well, I found two kindsouls willing to help a sister in need, so itcan’t be all bad.

Grace scratched the tip of her chin with a fingernail. She’d jumped to one conclusion already. Might as well make sure she had her facts straight before she carried on.

Englishcrumpet: You are a girl, right,Sanfrandani?Sanfrandani: Yes! Believe me, if you saw me,you’d know I was a girl.

In through the nose, out through the mouth… Grace took a deep breath and dived right in.

Englishcrumpet: I just found out I have adate with someone from this site tonight!Kangagirl: Good on you, girl!Englishcrumpet: But I don’t want to go on adate! I want to know how to get out of it!Sanfrandani: Do you have his email address?Englishcrumpet: No.Kangagirl: What about his username? Thenyou could contact him through his profile page.Englishcrumpet: I don’t know that either!Sanfrandani: Okay, Crumpet, what do youknow?

Grace didn’t need the pink page from Daisy’s letter to relay the next bit of information. Every time she closed her eyes, the words floated in front of her face. She dropped her lids right then and—hey presto!

Englishcrumpet: The note says: Barruci’s,Vinehurst High Street. 8 o’clock.Kangagirl: Nice place?Englishcrumpet: Erm…I think so. A bit outof my league. I tend to prefer the Hong Kong Garden takeaway if I’m spoiling myself.Kangagirl: LOL!Sanfrandani: Why don’t you want to go on adate with this guy? The matching system atthis site is supposed to be really good. Hemight just be your type.Englishcrumpet: Have your dates beenperfect matches so far?Kangagirl: Not bad. On paper they shouldhave been perfect, but just no…you know…Sanfrandani: So why not go?

Grace’s shoulders sagged. There were a million and five reasons why she should stay in, watch bad Saturday night TV and treat herself to a takeaway—especially now she’d mentioned it and was craving roast pork chow mein. What she wouldn’t do for a leftover tub of it cold from the fridge right now.

She wasn’t going to go. No matter how perfect on paper her mystery date might be. It had been years since she’d been on a first date. Of course, after Rob had died, she hadn’t even been able to conceive loving anyone else for quite a few years—and she’d had Daisy to bring up. Looking after a toddler on your own was pretty time-consuming.

And later, when she’d thought about dating again…well, a widow just had too much baggage for men her age. It had been a relief when she’d decided to give up trying. None of them had even started to measure up to Rob, anyway. Love like that only happened once in a lifetime.

There was an insistent ping from the laptop.

Kangagirl: Crumpet? Are you still there?Englishcrumpet: Yes. I’m here.Sanfrandani: So why not give this guy a try?You can come back tomorrow and share allthe gossip with us!Englishcrumpet: I don’t really want to go outwith anyone at the moment. I’m a widow.

There was a pause for a few seconds. The usual reaction. People didn’t know how to handle it when she told them. Grace sat back, propping herself against the pillows, and waited for the inevitable hasty retreat. These girls would politely excuse themselves and find someone more fun to chat with.

Kangagirl: I’m so sorry, Crumpet. Hugs.Sanfrandani: Me too. Even if you don’t go onthe date, come back tomorrow and chat,okay? It’s going to take time.

Okay. Now she felt like a real heel. These were perfectly nice women and she was making it sound as if it was all recent history. Had she really been alone that long? She looked round the purple room. Last time she’d been on a first date, there had been teddies on the bed and pony posters on the walls. Now there were shaggy cushions and one of the walls was covered in wallpaper that boasted stylised purple flowers on a silver background.

Englishcrumpet: Actually, my husband diedquite some time ago. But what I said is true.I don’t really want to go on a date, but I can’tleave the poor man sitting there on his own—that would be too cruel. Oh, I’m going to killmy daughter for this when she returns frombackpacking!Kangagirl: Your daughter set you up?!Sanfrandani: LOL! What’s her taste in menlike?Englishcrumpet: Her taste in men is fine—fora nineteen-year-old. I’m just not sure whatsort of man she’d choose for her mother!Kangagirl: I think you should go. He couldbe cute! Sanfrandani: What’s the worst that couldhappen? You have a nice meal, chat a little.In a couple of hours it’ll all be over and younever have to see him again if you don’t wantto. At least you’d have got back out there.Next time you could pick someone foryourself. Think about it.

Grace slid the laptop off her legs and left it on the duvet. Her right foot was all tingly from having been sat on for so long and she gave it a shake and stood up to get the blood moving again. Daisy’s dressing table stood a few feet away and she walked over to skim her fingertips over the curled edges of one of the photographs tucked into the rim of the mirror.

Daisy smiled back at her, her long dark hair ruffled by the wind, her eyes bright with mischief and easy confidence. Her gaze left the photograph and wandered until she met her own eyes in the mirror and she started. People said that she and Daisy looked more like sisters, rather than mother and daughter, but Grace could always see so much of Rob in her daughter. Just for a moment she was stunned by the similarity between her own reflection and the photograph. Apart from the eye colour, it was as if she were looking at herself in a time warp.

Yes, there were fine lines and wrinkles round her eyes now, and her once slender build had more curves, but she still looked closer to thirty than forty. What a pity that inside her head she was closer to being twenty-one. Being Daisy’s buddy had kept her thinking and feeling like that.

What would happen now Daisy was gone—only due to pop in and out of her life in between travels and university courses? Would she turn grey overnight? And it wasn’t just her hair she was worried about. She could imagine her skin taking on a dull grey pallor, her eyes becoming glassy. Would she wake up one day and discover an overwhelming urge to wear baggy home-knitted cardigans?

Come on, Grace! Snap out of it.

She twisted to check out her rear end and fluffed her hair with her fingers. She smiled. Even through the striped cotton of her pyjama bottoms, she could tell her derrière could stop traffic in the right pair of jeans. She was way too young to hide it beneath baggy cardigans. She did a little wiggle, just to prove herself right. Her reflection enjoyed the joke and laughed along with her.

See? She was still the same old game-for-anything Grace.