Closer To You

Chapter 2

2 Monday 18 November

I love my job, but it definitely has its stressful moments. Today has been full of them. I’ve been working on a launch event for a new art gallery in town — the sort of thing which should be fairly straightforward. Unfortunately for me, the client loves changing her mind every five minutes, which makes the whole exercise a thousand times more tedious than it needs to be.

At one point, she even wanted to change the location of the event. The official opening of an art gallery, held somewhere that isn’t the art gallery. How do you square that one? Thankfully, I managed to talk her out of it, but that came at the expense of having to give in to other, almost equally ridiculous, demands.

She was determined she wanted some form of celebrity to do the opening, but there was nothing else attached to that particular instruction. She claimed to know plenty of celebrities, but they’d all be attending as friends and couldn’t possibly be the ones to cut the ribbon. She didn’t tell me if she wanted a musician, actor, politician, artist, reality show star, sportsperson or what constituted a suitable level of celebrity for her precious gallery.

In the end I phoned up a couple of agents I knew, asking if they had anyone in town on that date who might be willing to turn up for a couple of hours for a reasonable fee and some bubbly. Ultimately, we settled on a TV personality who presents a daytime antiques programme and was willing to take five hundred quid for popping in to cut the ribbon.

It infuriates me to have to do it, but we need to try and keep her sweet. Work’s been slow for us this year, particularly after a rival company set up in the area.

Pelham-Saunders has been trying to aim itself at the same high-end clients as we’ve traditionally chased, and for some reason they’ve been winning them. We’ve been losing pitches to them left, right and centre, and there’ve been rumours that we might have to let some people go. I’m fortunate enough to be well-liked by the bosses, and the buzz in the office is always positive and friendly, so I’m pretty sure we can pull through it. We’ve got through worse.

I’m working on updating the budget spreadsheet and trying to figure out where we might be able to lose a zero so I don’t have to make that awkward call to her to let her know she’s going to need to lower her demands or increase her budget. Just as I’m doing so, an email alert pops up on my computer screen.

It’s from her.

I sigh inwardly, my heart dropping a little as I know exactly what sort of thing it will be. She’s either changed her mind about the celebrity, had a brilliant idea to make the party dragon-themed or has decided to turn the art gallery into a shoe shop.

I open the email and read what it says. All of a sudden, my previous thoughts don’t seem all that funny or outrageous anymore.

Hi Grace,

I’ve been having another think about the launch event and I think we might be going down the wrong road with the colour theme.

I was reading an article in Cosmo which talked about the implications of colours and the psychological effects they can induce. I know we talked about purple being quite a regal and upmarket colour, but the article said it’s also seen as pompous and conveys emotions of loneliness and desperation — NOT things we want to be associated with, as I’m sure you agree!

I think instead we should go for classy neutrals, with a base colour of white. Apparently that is pure, clean and conveys brightness of spirit. Definitely the sort of feelings we want to communicate.

I trust all is in hand and you’ll be able to make the necessary changes.

Yours,

Matilda

I can feel the blood rising in my face as I read the email again, sure I must have misunderstood. We’ve got a week left until the event. One week. And she wants to change the bloody colour scheme?

I go to compose a reply, but decide against it. If I send something back to her now, we’ll end up losing the contract. No doubt about that. Over the years I’ve become pretty good at biting my tongue, but every now and again I need to take some space.

In any case, there’s not long to go now until Christmas. The office shuts down completely over the festive period and everyone goes pretty much incommunicado, with Sue, the director, having decreed a couple of years earlier that email access should be banned over the break. It’s a modern approach, but one which is definitely appreciated.

I stand up from my desk, grab my bag and head for the loos. I need to calm down.

When I get there, I dump my bag on the side, lean back against the cold tiled wall and exhale. I take my phone out of my bag and look at the screen. There’s a Tinder message from Tom, sent an hour or so earlier.

Hope you’re having a good day. Speak soon x

I smile, realising that he’s been thinking of me, even though his day has doubtless been as busy as mine. I’d be lying if I said I’d spent the morning thinking about him, but I have a funny feeling the afternoon might be different.

I unlock my phone and tap out a reply.

Not brilliant, to be honest. But I guess that’s what makes the evenings all the sweeter x

Within a minute or so, he’s sent me another message.

Oh no. Hope all’s OK…? x

Yeah, all fine, I reply. Just the usual work stuff! Hope your day is going better x

I don’t like to jump the gun, but he’s doing all the right things. He’s kind, attentive, communicative — all without being creepy or going overboard.

I take the opportunity to touch up my makeup. I don’t wear a lot, but the act of applying it somehow tends to make me feel better.

As I do so, I hear my phone buzz.

Would it make you feel better if you had something to look forward to? x

I think I know what he’s getting at, but I decide to play dumb.

Such as? x

His reply comes barely ten seconds later.

Would you like to grab a drink somewhere tonight? x

I look at the words on the screen in front of me, unsure how to reply. Would I like to? Yes. Obviously. Do I think I should? I’m less sure. I’m not in the habit of meeting people I’ve only been speaking to on an app for a couple of days, but at the same time he does seem like a genuinely nice person. And anyway, what harm can come of a quick drink in a local — public — bar? I’m in no more danger than I would be if I just happened to bump into him while out. He’s an actual person, after all. I’m not some sort of supernatural proxy which is going to enable his crossing over from The Internet to The Real World.

Why the hell not, I tell myself. I’ve had enough of the mundanity of the day — the week — and he’s right: it will give me something to look forward to. What harm has a little spontaneity ever done anyone?

Sure. Where were you thinking? x

As far as I’m concerned, this is the real test of a man. I like someone who can take control, make decisions. If he comes back asking me where I’d like to go, he loses a point. If he makes a suggestion or takes some sort of positive action, it’s game on.

His reply arrives.

Brownlow Arms, 8pm? x

A place and a time. And it’s local to me — to both of us, I assume. His Tinder profile said we were 4km away from each other. At least I can be pretty sure there won’t be two Brownlow Armses around there.

Perfect. See you then x

I smile. I can already feel my day getting better.