The Heart's Journey

Chapter 5

“So run this by me again,” I wave a buttered baguette in the air, “you’ve joined Tinder?”

My manager Steph passes me a large pot of tuna mayonnaise filling with an indignant huff.

“Of course I haven’t. Everyone knows Tinder is for young folk. The agency is actually called Frisky, Flirty and over Fifty dot com.”

I gulp back a yelp of laughter and slide a glance at my colleague Marvin who is trying his best to control his mirth.

Steph pulls the ties of her apron tighter, “you can mock all you want, but I’m getting a lot of attention on there I’ll have you know.”

“Let me look then.” I hold out my hand.

Reluctantly Steph fiddles with her phone, before passing it over.

I stare down at an unfamiliar face. “Steph… this isn’t you.”

“Well yes duh… I set up the account Lou.”

“But… but, isn’t that forgery? Who is this anyway?” I tip the screen towards Marvin, so he can cast his youthful eyes over it.

“Sandra Bullock,” he says confidently.

“Sandra who?”

“She starred in Speed and heaps of other films.”

I’m incredulous at my bosses subterfuge. “You’re mimicking a Hollywood star?”

Steph picks up a bread knife and gives me a sharp look, “It’s a bit of lighthearted fun. What with the stress of running this place and living my life alone and in a constant state of chastity. I need some attention from somewhere.”

I try not to purse my lips in disapproval. Steph after all is a brilliant boss and a good friend. I think compassion and empathy, but it’s still bugging me that she’s concocted a great big whopper on her dating profile.

“You don’t need to pretend to be someone you’re not. You’re gorgeous inside and out.” I’ve opted for flattery, sincere of course, to entreat her to see the error of her ways. Steph is a petite jolly looking woman with bright blue eyes and adorable ringlets. She reminds me of Bonnie Langford, with a different hair colour of course. I’ve often surmised that Steph should be a redhead though. Her temperament is fiery and her tongue can be acerbic. I’ve known her for a decade now and have learnt the signs when she is about to erupt. When this happens, invariably on a daily basis, we all run in the opposite direction. Today she seems quite affable, but it’s still early morning.

Marvin pulls a tray of sausage rolls out of the industrial size oven, nodding at my words.

“I had a friend once who pretended to be Keanu Reeves on Twitter. He had a whole load of abuse; women humiliating him, men wanting to fight him. He was banned in the end and threatened with the police.”

“There you go. You need to be careful,” I say with a gasp in my manager’s direction.

“Okay, okay,” Steph holds up her hands, “I’ll change it.” She picks up her phone and scrolls through her picture file, “will this one do?”

I smile at the photograph of her glammed up on a night out, “perfect.”

Steph wanders off to the front of the shop, where there is a long line of customers queuing.

I begin smearing the baguettes with filling, humming along to the music on the radio. Marvin fills up a tray of pasties and we work in companionable silence for the next hour. Finally the shop front is fully stocked and I take a moment to have a break.

“Fancy a cuppa?” I say to Marvin.

He flashes a grin my way, “thought you’d never ask.”

As I make the tea, Marvin tells me about his college course. He’s studying A levels, with the intention of progressing onto university. His goal is to become a high ranking detective. It all sounds very interesting to me. We move onto other topics; what we’re watching on T.V at the moment and what we’re doing with our leisure time. Marvin is also a reservist in the Territorial Army, as well as a gym fanatic. His social life is a million times more exciting than mine. To be honest I don’t know where he finds his energy from. He’s out every night, whereas I’m usually in bed reading by nine and unlike Marvin’s, my two main pastimes are extremely sedentary.

We’ve established that I love reading, and my other hobby is creative writing: short stories, poetry, children’s stories, I’ve even started a novel. Over the years I’ve amassed quite a collection of fictitious writings. They’re squirrelled away at home in a big box. Organised into lever arch folders, specific to the genre. Lovingly placed into plastic wallets to preserve them for posterity. My lifelong ambition is to be a published author, but to me, it seems an unreachable kind of status, sort of like becoming an astronaut or a brain surgeon. The career of the highly intelligent and super talented. I’m acutely aware how difficult it is to be traditionally published and securing a literary agent seems nigh on impossible. For me writing is an escape from the doldrums of reality and a chance to delve into my weird and wonderful imagination. It’s my one true passion and I love it.

Because of my love of writing, I decided a year ago to set up a writing group at my local library. It’s an informal gathering, we meet once a month to share what we’re working on and for a general chit chat. There are only six of us, a small group, but it’s cosy and everyone is lovely. Tomorrow is November’s meeting. I’m eager to share a couple of new children’s stories I’ve written and to listen to my friends sharing their work. Marvin has been coming to the group for the past couple of months. He’s working on a detective novel, purely for fun, he keeps repeating.

“Will you be coming to the creative writing group?” I ask him, as I sip my tea.

“Jeez,” he dunks a biscuit in his drink, “is it that time already?”

“Sure is.”

“I’ll be there.” He says, “although I haven’t had much time to work on my novel, have you?”

I tell him briefly about the contemporary romance I’m working on and the new children’s stories.

“I’m jealous,” he says with a pout, “you’re so prolific Lou.”

“It’s only because I’m not doing anything else with my life. My social life is dire. Although,” I lean forward and whisper, “I do have a date the weekend.”

“You have a date?” Steph sticks her head round the opening.

“Were you eavesdropping?” I laugh at my manager’s wide eyes.

“Tell us all about it,” she wipes her hands on her pinafore.

“It’s no biggy,” I fidget uneasily, “just a Chinese and a few drinks.”

“Who is it with?” Steph asks.

“Don’t you have customers to serve?” I’m feeling a little irked at her prying.

She stands still and looks directly at me, “the girls can manage.”

I let out a resigned sigh, “it’s just an old school friend. I doubt you know him.”

Now Marvin is staring at me too. “Darren Walker,” I say quietly.

Steph coughs, “the milkman?”

“How do you…” I tail off. Of course she’d know him, Steph is a local girl too and Darren is well known in the area.

“He’s bad news Lou,” her mouth is set in a firm line and her natural joviality has vanished.

“He’s alright,” I laugh nervously, “don’t worry I’m not going to let him take advantage of me.”

“I should hope not!” Steph stomps over to the kettle and flicks it on. “Don’t waste your time is my advice. Max from the charity shop is single and he’s a nice lad.”

I glare her way, “Don’t you dare try to fix me up with Max!”

“What’s wrong with Max?” Marvin leans against the wall and chews his biscuit with a thoughtful look on his face. “Sure he’s a bit of a nerd, but he’s a decent guy.”

“I agree Max is lovely,” I swallow, “I just don’t like him that way…”

“Huh?” Marvin c***s his head in puzzlement, “what does that way mean?”

that wayI roll my eyes and open my mouth to try to explain, but Steph beats me to it.

“She means there’s no chemistry between them,” when Marvin still looks confused she carries on, “sexually I mean. You know that feeling you get when you want to rip another person’s clothes off.”

“Ah,” a grin spreads over Marvin’s enlightened face, “so you don’t fancy him?”

“No!” I almost add a hallelujah.

“But you fancy Darren Walker?”

Heat rushes into my cheeks, “erm… maybe, possibly…”

Steph snorts, “of course she does. He’s the fanciable type, with those big muscles and ripped jeans. He looks like one of the Diet Coke ad blokes.”

“Really?” Marvin’s eyes light up. Did I mention that Marv is gay?

I drain the last of my drink, roll up my sleeves and walk over to my work station, subtly hinting that the conversation is now closed, but Steph seems unaware of my discomfort.

“I know exactly what your problem is Louise Henry,” she waves a teabag at me theatrically. “You’ve got the bad boy fixation.”

Now it’s my turn to snort, “I have not!”

Marvin is nodding his agreement, “you so have.”

“I’m going back to work now,” I tut, “some of us are busy around here.” I duck my head into the fridge, hoping it will dispel the heat of my embarrassment, painfully aware that my work colleagues are tittering away. Bad boy fixation indeed!