Blind-Date Baby. Fiona Harper
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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’t worry, we’re all new in this chatroom! How can we help? Englishcrumpet: Oh! There’s two of you! Are you up at the crack of dawn panicking about a date too? Sanfrandani: LOL! It’s almost my bedtime! The ‘Sanfran’ in Sanfrandani stands for San Francisco. Kangagirl: And I’m just about to head home from work here in Sydney. Englishcrumpet: Australia?! Kangagirl: That’s right! Didn’t you know this was a global site when you signed up? Englishcrumpet: I didn’t know anything about this site until fifteen minutes ago! That’s the problem. Someone else joined on my behalf. Sanfrandani: How are you finding the site so far? Englishcrumpet: Well, I found two kind souls willing to help a sister in need, so it can’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 a date with someone from this site tonight! Kangagirl: Good on you, girl! Englishcrumpet: But I don’t want to go on a date! I want to know how to get out of it! Sanfrandani: Do you have his email address? Englishcrumpet: No. Kangagirl: What about his username? Then you could contact him through his profile page. Englishcrumpet: I don’t know that either! Sanfrandani: Okay, Crumpet, what do you know?
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 out of 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 a date with this guy? The matching system at this site is supposed to be really good. He might just be your type. Englishcrumpet: Have your dates been perfect matches so far? Kangagirl: Not bad. On paper they should have 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 all the gossip with us! Englishcrumpet: I don’t really want to go out with 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 on the 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 died quite some time ago. But what I said is true. I don’t really want to go on a date, but I can’t leave the poor man sitting there on his own—that would be too cruel. Oh, I’m going to kill my daughter for this when she returns from backpacking! Kangagirl: Your daughter set you up?! Sanfrandani: LOL! What’s her taste in men like? Englishcrumpet: Her taste in men is fine—for a nineteen-year-old. I’m just not sure what sort of man she’d choose for her mother! Kangagirl: I think you should go. He could be cute! Sanfrandani: What’s the worst that could happen? You have a nice meal, chat a little. In a couple of hours it’ll all be over and you never have to see him again if you don’t want to. At least you’d have got back out there. Next time you could pick someone for yourself. 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,