Meet Me In Manhattan. Claudia Carroll

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      Oh Jesus I thought, looking away from my latop and trying not to panic. Did I really lay it on thick with all that shite about reporting live on a criminal investigation in the Four Courts?

      Suppose Andy decides to Google Afternoon Delight? What exactly are you going to tell him then, my subconscious nagged at me.

      But then I just sat back, took a look at his photo and thought feck it anyway. All the, ahem, tweaking of the truth and risk taking was totally justifiable in this case. And oh dear God, but you should have seen this latest pic. Because Andy wasn’t just gorgeous in it, he was beautiful. Classically broad-framed, light brown-ish hair with blue eyes and a shy, reserved sort of look to him. Kind of like Tim Robbins in The Shawshank Redemption, minus the prison buzz cut and the murder charge.

      He was in full uniform in the photo too, looking so, so sexy that for a worrying minute I found myself thinking, what exactly was a guy like this doing on a dating website? After all, here was a gorgeous, single man who obviously has plenty of dosh. Surely someone like this could land any women he wanted?

      I had a sudden, disquieting vision of tall, leggy airhostesses with exotic suntans stinking of duty free perfume, all hurling themselves at him, when next thing there was a mad pounding on my bedroom door and Joy burst in, dressed head to toe in her customary black, right down to the black Converse trainers she rarely takes off. But then Joy is one of the few women I know who’s absolutely comfortable to head out for a date night in flats and not give a shite either way.

      ‘Hi love, just wanted to ask you … Mother of God, what’s going on in here?’ she asked, taking in the boxes of old photos I’d just unearthed from on top of my wardrobe, so I could start sifting the wheat from the chaff, i.e. the ones where I wasn’t wearing my jeans way too high and more importantly, where my eyeliner didn’t make me look like a complete goth.

      ‘Ehh, long story, but basically if you could help me root out a photo where I don’t have a glass of wine clamped to my hand, I’d be eternally grateful.’

      ‘Why, exactly?’ she asked suspiciously.

      I didn’t say anything, just threw a guilty little glance towards my laptop sitting innocently on my desk, then waited the two-second delay while the truth dawned on her.

      ‘Ah for feck’s sake, Holly,’ she groaned, ‘don’t tell me this is all in aid of Captain Fantastic?’

      ‘Well … ermm … possibly.’

      ‘Now you just listen to me love,’ she said, plonking herself down on the edge of the bed. ‘Because I’ve a far better suggestion for you. Instead of just sitting on your arse in front of a computer screen for the night, why not come out with myself and Krzysztof? We’re heading out to the movies and we were wondering if you’d join us? A few of Krzysztof’s mates from work are coming along too, so it’s bound to be a bit of fun. Well,’ she added, peeling one of the photos she’s sitting on off the bum of her jeans. ‘Certainly more fun than trawling through a bunch of photos from a decade ago, just so you can impress some virtual stranger.’

      Joy herself by the way, is in a full-on relationship with this Krzysztof, who’s from Poland and who she met in our local Tesco’s about a year ago. He works in security there, all six feet four of him. So of course now, like most happily coupled-off women, she’s on a quest to get me matched up and as quickly as possible. Except given my recent history, on dates that don’t sail into my life courtesy of Plentymorefish.com, EliteSingles.ie, Guardiandating.com or else anotherfriend.ie. And don’t even get me started on dating apps like Tinder, Grouper and OKCupid. There just isn’t time.

      ‘Come on, what do you say?’ she insisted. ‘You know, Krzysztof has this lovely pal called Conrad who’s coming with us and I was hoping you two might hit it off.’

      A pause while I chanced giving her a tiny shake of my head.

      ‘Would you kill me if I didn’t go out with you tonight?’

      ‘Oh God,’ she said, folding her arms and rolling her eyes to Heaven. ‘So you can just stay home emailing some complete stranger a whole continent away?’

      Which of course only sent me on the defensive.

      ‘Ah come on, Joy, I’m just enjoying all the attention and flirtation so much! Who wouldn’t? Plus Christmas is only a few weeks off and you of all people know it can only be a good thing for me to have this great distraction on the go.’

      Her whole expression changes, the way everyone’s does around me whenever the subject of Christmas comes up.

      ‘Oh hon,’ she says gently. ‘I know it’s a rough time for you, but …’

      ‘I mean, it’s not like I have a big family to go home to at Christmas, like you do …’

      ‘You’re welcome to stay with my family anytime,’ she said firmly. Same she does every year, bless her. ‘You know that goes without saying.’

      ‘Of course I do and I couldn’t be more grateful. But you’ve got to stop giving me a hard time just because I’m chasing after a bit of romance, this time of year. You know the reason why – you know everything there is to know – so come on now, would you really blame me?’

      ‘Well … when you put it like that … then I suppose not, no …’ she said, a bit doubtfully.

      ‘Plus, when it comes to men, the Olympics is more regular in my life than a proper boyfriend is, and then all of this love bombardment? Who wouldn’t cave, just like I have?’

      ‘I know,’ she said, ‘but still.’

      ‘And would you just have a read of some of his messages?’ I said, plonking her down into a desk chair in front of my laptop so I could scroll up all his emails.

      And believe me, there were dozens of them by then; as though neither of us was able to put the brakes on this hypnotic little spell that had been woven between the pair of us. Emails from him just to say good morning, how are you today? Little short, snappy one-liners sent from this airport or that, telling me funny stories about grumpy passengers or flight delays.

      And then my favourite emails of all: the ones where he chats all about Logan. The play dates Andy regularly takes him on, the fun they have on their father-son days out together and the lovely stories about how supportive Andy’s mother has been towards Logan ever since Andy was widowed, and how he couldn’t ever manage without her.

      Melt-your-heart emails. Almost-know-them-off-by-heart-at-this-stage emails.

      There’s silence as I watch Joy’s face while she scrolls down through them, one after another, waiting on her reaction. Because I challenge anyone without a heart of stone to read Andy’s own words and not just … melt.

      A long, long, pause and eventually she leant back, arms folded and threw me that look.

      ‘OK,’ she eventually said. ‘Well I’ll give him this much at least. He sounds … likeable.’

      ‘That’s the best you can say? Likeable?’

      ‘Although I will add this small caveat. He does lay on the Southern accent a bit thick for my taste. All this, “write back real soon now!” And “gotta fly!” Don’t know why he СКАЧАТЬ