The Decoy Date

Chapter Five

Her heart was pounding as she waited for him to invite her in, he seemed as surprised to see her and she was to be standing on his doorstep. Right up until she’d rung the doorbell it was 50/50 whether she was going to actually go through with this, she was even more unsure now she’d seen the look of disbelief on Charlie’s face. Nausea overwhelmed her and she was grateful she’d skipped breakfast, otherwise she’d have ruined the perfect privet hedges with something that resembled scrambled eggs but was a lot more disgusting.

Just standing there she felt out of place, everything was pristine, perfect and clean; there was no crisp packets or plastic bags swirling around in the wind, the gardens were all tidy, there were no unwashed vans with ‘Clean Me’ or rude pictures scrawled in the dirt. It was like walking onto the set of desperate housewives or the street where everybody in London who had OCD lived. The Georgian terrace house she was stood in front of was no exception, she didn’t know where she expected Charlie to live, but it definitely wasn’t anywhere like this. It reminded her of her parent’s house, the one she’d lived in until moving into halls at university.

“Yeah, sorry . . . uh come in.” He stood back and let her through into a clean, bright hallway. Through the door, she was hit with the smell of tomatoes and chicken and cheese making her stomach growl in complaint at her lack of breakfast. Charlie closed the front door behind her and ambled up next to her clearly still in shock at her appearance.

“I didn’t think you would come.” She followed him through a dining room with a large oak table set for six and into an open plan kitchen with dark worktops.

“I didn’t think I would either, but I haven’t really got any other options and I cannot face my mother alone. I would never live it down, so here I am. What smells so good? Was I disturbing your lunch?” She was really hoping he’d offer her some food otherwise she’d have to make this meeting quick and go and grab a cardboard sandwich from the supermarket.

“I was just about to put it out when you rang the doorbell. It’s chicken parmesan, I’ve made loads if you want some? I was going to save it for lunch tomorrow but it’s a lot better fresh.” She nodded so glad he’d offered to share it, he grabbed a second plate and dished up the pasta then the hot, tomatoey chicken; her mouth was literally watering when he passed her the plate.

“What do you want to drink? I’ve got tea, coffee, fruit juice, beer, wine, spirits, water?”

“Beer’s fine thanks.” She said as she noticed his own bottle next his plate of food. She took the drink and walked to the dining table and began pulling out a chair, it was a lot heavier than she expected; the weight knocking her off balance, her food began slipping on her uneven plate and she could just visualize the red stain it would leave on the rug below her feet.

“I was going to eat in the living room upstairs actually, the match starts in about half an hour. We don’t have to, it’s up to you.”

“Upstairs is fine, I was going to catch up with the footy on Match of the Day but watching it live is even better.” She followed Charlie upstairs, careful to keep her plate straight and found herself in an enormous living room. It took up the whole of the floor of the house, completely open, there was an L-shaped sofa pointing towards a traditional metal fireplace that looked like it hadn’t been used this century. Around the corner was another sofa pointed towards a huge flat screen television in one of those audio-visual units all men seemed to have in their living rooms. Along the back wall was a window seat with a view over a small back garden, the wooden floor echoed their footsteps as they crossed to the seats opposite the already switched on TV. Each wall had posters of classic films including some of her own favourites; The Princess Bride, Shaun of the Dead and A Fish Called Wanda.

“I don’t think I’ve met a girl who’s willing to eat Italian food in the living room in front of the football before, maybe my sisters but they’d be a bit miffed about the lack of table. Have you always like football then?” They sat down on the sofa, a couple of feet apart from each other and settled their plates on their knees and their bottles on the floor. She could get used to this, the television was at least twice as big as hers and the sofa was a lot more comfortable; her own was like sitting on stale cheese, hard around the edges, soft in the middle and smelt a little mouldy.

“For as long as I can remember, one of my earliest memories is my dad running around the house after Mickey Thomas’ goal at Anfield in ’89,then he took me out into the street to join in the celebrations.” Charlie stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth, not even looking down when the pasta fell back to his plate with a slop that sent splatters of red up his worn grey t-shirt.

“You support Arsenal? Ha, unbelievable, you surprise me every time I see you.” He put his fork in his mouth then looked confused when he didn’t get any food off of it. Imogen started eating her own plate of pasta and couldn’t believe how good it tasted, she could bake but savoury food was a no go area for her since she burnt a casserole to a dish a couple of years ago, she had to throw the dish away it was so charred.

“Yeah, why is that so unbelievable? We both grew up in Camden. This is really good by the way, where did you learn to cook like this?” She shoved another forkful into her mouth and turned to find Charlie staring at her and smiling. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s nice to see a girl who actually eats, every woman I’ve ever cooked for just picks at their food and pushes it round their plate. My grams taught me to cook, she tried to teach Molly and Catherine – my sisters – but they weren’t bothered.” Imogen found her opinion of Charlie softening with each new thing she found out about him, only slightly but it was definitely softening. What was happening to her?

“What’s in the bag?” Charlie pointed his fork at the shoulder satchel she’d brought with her, the power of food had overwhelmed her and made her completely forget why she’d even turned up on his doorstep. Putting her nearly empty plate reluctantly to the floor, she reached for her bag and pulled out a leather bound photo album.

“If we’re going to do this fake relationship we need to do it properly, if there are any inconsistencies in our stories, no matter how small or unimportant, my mother will sniff them a mile off. So I thought I’d bring some photos and we could start planning everything out, you know so we know every detail off by heart before next Saturday.” She flipped the thick front cover open and shifted closer to Charlie on the sofa, who had also put his empty plate on the floor and picked up his beer bottle.

Pushing the album further in between them so they could both see the pictures, Imogen tried not to flinch as their thighs touched each other and Charlie put his arm along the back of the sofa behind her shoulders. It was like one of those moves you saw teenagers performing to try and cop a feel of a girls breasts. Glancing round and seeing his hand firmly planted on the cushion she relaxed again and flicked to the first page of photos.

The album was filled with snaps of her family and friends so was a perfect start for getting to know her life, she reluctantly began to point out certain people and introduce them giving a few facts that might come in useful to Charlie. She was still a little unsure of how much she wanted him to know, she definitely didn’t trust him, not yet anyway; a part of her was still the teenage girl being called names and sniggered at by him. She was constantly on guard for him to turn around and laugh in her face, saying it was all a big joke at her expense.

“This is Daisy, my sister who’s getting married in seven weeks, as my mum likes to continually point out to me, she’s a PR events organiser like my mum; another reason they get on so well. The guy she’s with is her fiancé Sam, an accountant in the city; they live in Barking with their nihilistic cat Fluffy, who is constantly trying to commit suicide by jumping from second-floor windows.” He looked at the photo of the mousey-haired, skinny woman and she couldn’t help but feel he was comparing the two of them in his head.

Daisy had always been thin and beautiful, she could easily have been a model but had inherited her five foot four frame from their mother’s side. Instead she’d followed their mother’s lead and gone into events organising, which suited both of their bossy natures perfectly. If Imogen had had to choose a fiancé for her sister, Sam would have been the last man on Earth she would have chosen. He was quiet, shy and completely down-to-earth, the exact opposite of the high-strung Daisy; but they do say opposites attract and in this case, the pair were unequivocally in love with each other.

“This is my dad Ian Jones, he’s a retired book editor – hence my love of books and that is my mother Carole, like I said she organises events mainly for charities.” She noticed the change in her voice when talking about her mother and father and wouldn’t if Charlie had picked up on it, if he did he didn’t mention it. “They live in Kent now, which is where we’ll have to go on Saturday, but my dad comes into the city every so often to take me to an Arsenal game.” She smiled as she remembered some of the more recent ones, it was nice to see her father without her mother’s complaining tone coming from behind him.

“You’re closer to your dad aren’t you? My sisters were closer to my dad as well, it’s strange really.”

“What about you? Are you closer to your mum or your dad?” She watched as a wave of sadness washed over his face and a set of tears rimmed the bottom of his eyes threaten to spill over. Oh, what have I done? Her heart lurched at his sorrow, he tried to clear his throat but his voice was still thick with emotion as he answered her question.

“Well I was always closer to my mum, but we were all really close until three years ago when my dad died.” His voice broke on the last word and he got up and walked over to the window and looked over his garden. Imogen felt her heart sink, here she was boasting about how well all her family members were doing without even knowing the pain in his. She stood up and followed him to the window, placing a hand on top of the one he was gripping the windowsill with.

“I’m sorry, I . . . I didn’t know. Look the match’s kicking off, let’s give the family talk a rest and watch the footy.” He turned to her a single tear track down his right cheek, she took his hand and relished the warmth of it in her own, she’d missed that warmth of holding on to somebody without even realising it; it was nice to have someone there again.

                                              *

Charlie stared at his hand still intertwined with Imogen’s, she hadn’t let it go when they’d sat back down to watch the football and he was beginning to get accustomed to it being in his own hand. He hadn’t meant to get so upset at the mention of his father, but it had been a while since he’d talked about it with anyone and the grief was still raw, even three years on. They’d sat in near silence, only a few comments about the ref or a wayward shot had broken it, yet it didn’t feel awkward, there was something almost comforting about just being with someone and sharing a moment with no need to actually speak.

Ding Dong!

The doorbell made them both jump and they looked at each other startled before breaking into nervous laughter. “s**t, that scared the living daylights out of me!” Grudgingly he let go of her hand and immediately felt the cold air there, he stood up and walked downstairs hoping he could get rid of whoever was at the door and return to Imogen. Opening the door, disappointment flooded through his whole body as he saw his Sister Molly clinging to the hand of his best friend Adam, both of them smiling. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see them, he just wanted more time alone with Imogen, he felt like they’d broken through a barrier there this afternoon.

“Hey, we thought we’d come and keep you company and watch the second half of the match while Toby and Liam are at work.” There was a definite undertone in his sister’s voice, she wanted something and almost certainly Toby had told her about him meeting a woman and she wanted to pump him for information.

“You just missed the most amazing goal by Jack Wilshere . . . oh sorry!” Imogen appeared at the top of stairs looking incredibly excited. Great! He had no chance of getting rid of the visitors now.

“Come in.” He stood back and let them through the doorway, trudging up the stairs behind them. He saw the questioning look on his sister’s face and obliged with the introductions that would inevitably have to take place. “Imogen, this is my sister Molly and her boyfriend, my best friend Adam. Molly, Adam, this is Imogen, we all actually went to school together and we ran into each other the other day.” He stood back watching uncomfortably as everyone shook hands, waiting for the unavoidable comments about what, if anything was going on between the two of them.

That was the thing he hated most about his friends and family, they were all committed gossips; everybody knew everything about each other, hence his sister’s unannounced trip to his house. “Do you want a drink?” he asked the room in general, but kept his eyes on Imogen’s trying to convey some sort of unspoken, silent apology at the intrusion.

“A beer would be great mate.” Adam said, his eyes concentrating on the match as he sat on the sofa.

“Can I get a coffee please?” He smiled at Imogen as she seemed to accept his earlier apology and sat next to Adam, engaging in a conversation about the goal they’d all missed that had just been replayed on the screen.

“I’ll help you.” Molly followed him down the stairs, obviously intent on finding out more about the woman she’d just been introduced to. He flicked on the coffee machine and waited for the third-degree to begin.

“So is that the woman you ran into on Friday? The one who kissed you.” She made the question sound so innocent, one of the qualities he really hated about her; she could get out of anything, everybody believed her innocence. I am going to kill Toby, that boy cannot keep his mouth shut can he.

“Yes, it is. Before you ask, it’s early days, so I don’t know what’s going to happen. I was a bastard to her in school, so it’s nice that she’s even talking to me okay.” He looked at his sister who was struggling to keep her mouth shut tight, he knew there were so many questions bubbling away in that mouth of hers, but for the moment she was managing to hold them in. They made the drinks in silence and headed back to the living room where it was now half time.

“Charlie, your girlfriend here thinks Rosicky should start every game ahead of Arteta, can you believe that?” His heart literally stopped as he felt his cheeks turn a crimson red to match the football shirts of his favourite team, he glanced at Imogen and found her face flushed and her staring at her feet avoiding looking at their company. Molly slugged her boyfriend on the arm and whispered something along the lines of its early days, they haven’t called themselves that yet, into his ear.

“Well I’d probably have to agree, he’s a lot more creative, he can dribble, he can pass and he scores some great goals; remember those two against Liverpool in the FA cup eight years ago.” He took a long sup from his fresh beer bottle trying to hide his own embarrassment and prevent anymore. Imogen looked gratefully at him over the top of her coffee cup, he inclined his head in acknowledgement.

The four of them watched the second half of the match without making any more comments about the status of the relationships in the room. When the final whistle blew, Imogen stood to leave and he had to fight hard to mask his discontent at the wrong person leaving first. He walked her to the front door apologising properly for the intrusion and leaned in for a hug with a little trepidation, happy when she returned the squeeze without hesitation.

Over her shoulder he saw his other two guests watching them from the top of the stairs, what was their problem, why could he get no privacy? He moved his mouth to Imogen’s ear, hidden beneath her soft brown hair that smelled of almond and coconut and whispered barely moving his mouth.

“Is it okay if I kiss you? We’ve got an audience and they won’t leave unless we give them some sort of show.” He took the slight nod of her head as an affirmative, moving his head back slowly he looked her in the eye and saw a trace of nerves there that mirrored his own feelings. Leaning towards her, head tilting to the right, his heart began to flutter in his chest and he was sure she could feel it against her own.

Once again her lips were soft and yielding, welcoming him in. This woman is an amazing kisser. Before too long Imogen pulled back and looked at him biting her lip, he fought the urge to pull her into him again and let her go; sighing as he watched her walk down the road and wave back at him.