Daisy – by Catriona Hedderwick
ISLAND | ONLINE ONLY
‘So, you work with Melody?’
Melody had seen her out of work with two thumbs up and a reassurance that she had a good feeling about this.
‘Yeah, I do. And you’re her cousin?’
‘She’s hella cool.’
‘Yeah, she’s good quality.’
‘So, people still use travel agents?’ He raised an eyebrow, but his grin softened the scepticism.
‘I guess. Older people mostly. And you do stuff with insurance, Melody said?’
‘Makes sense. Yeah, guilty as charged.’
Soph gambled a laugh, the same way she would to appease a client. To her relief, he joined her.
Across the cafe, she spotted herself in an age-tarnished mirror, surrounded by artificial grape leaves. Her nose was oily again already.
Their eyes met via the reflection and she startled.
‘You look really nice, hey. I was like, no way that’s her.’
Soph had crouched low at her desk to touch up her makeup a little before she left the office, then regretted it when Melody noticed the effort and gave her shit about it.
‘Thanks,’ she said, but pulled at her cardigan to better cover her company polo. It was a yellow that made her sallow, made of slippery polyester that stank each morning before she’d even had a chance to sweat into it.
He was leaning forward attentively. Oh god, was she meant to compliment him back?
‘Well, you were on time. Always a good start,’ she joked.
‘I’m actually pretty punctual, contrary to popular belief.’
‘You have a reputation for being late?’
It sounded like there was a story there, but perhaps she’d come off accusatory.
‘No. It’s just self-deprecation, a form of humour.’
‘Ah, okay,’ she said and forced another laugh. His gaze was very direct, though he was still smiling and Soph spun a jar of dried statice on the table in aimless circles. ‘Get up to much today?’ she asked.
But it was right as he said, ‘So, what are you having?’ and got his wallet out unambiguously.
‘No, I can get it.’
‘I’d like to.’
‘You go up, then I will.’
‘Can’t I order for you?’ he insisted, nearly charmingly.
With a hand on the menu, she told him, ‘I’m still deciding.’
‘I’ll wait.’
Soph chewed her top lip, an ugly habit, according to her mother: her ‘piranha face’.
He took a pair of glasses with thick black rims from his front pocket. ‘Sorry about these.’
‘They’re fine,’ she said as he put them on. ‘They suit you actually.’
‘That’s a relief,’ he said, flashing her a gratified smile. ‘Did you say something before?’
‘No?’
‘I thought you asked me something.’
‘I don’t think so,’ she said, then corrected herself. ‘I don’t remember sorry.’
‘All good. Got any ideas? The hot chocolates sound crazy, but I’m like, trying not to with the sugar.’
‘Yeah. I’ll have the orange pekoe for one please.’
He flipped to the back of the menu and said, ‘Holy shit,’ under his breath. ‘It’s like, six bucks for hot water and a tea bag.’
‘Sorry. I can get it myself.’
‘Nah, it’s not you. It’s like, the economy and stuff. You into that sort of thing?’
‘The economy? Um, not super into it, no.’
‘I do a bit of investing. Doing pretty good at the moment.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah,’ he went on, opening an app on his phone. ‘Only way to actually do it now. People get intimidated but it’s super intuitive.’ A caricature of a man with a martini filled the screen, like a Temu Bond.
‘I’m actually ... My throat is a bit dry. I’m sorry,’ she said and gestured first at her neck, then to the menu demonstratively.
He put his phone face down on the table. ‘Yeah, I’ll order: good call.’
Back from the counter, he opened with, ‘So, tell me about yourself?’
Soph laughed. ‘Hard to know where to start, hey?’ Loose hair kept brushing against her neck and she twisted it, trying loop it through her scrunchie.
‘What do you do outside of work?’
‘Just hang out with my dog, and do some yoga. And watch shows mostly. Super boring.’
‘No, that’s cool. I love dogs: I want to get one, but renting, you know? What type?’
‘She’s a Maltese Shih Tzu, or something like that.’
He scrunched up his face and explained before Soph had finished, ‘Not a fan of them ones.’
Soph shrugged. ‘She was my Nan’s dog, but I took her when Nan had to go into a home. She’s pretty old.’
‘Your Nan or the dog?’ he teased.
‘The dog,’ Soph replied with an answering smile. Nan had passed nearly a year ago now. ‘Yeah, she’s not what I’d pick, but I like her.’
‘You said you go to the gym?’
‘Just the studio near me. Not big on gyms.’
‘Fair but it’s an investment, you know? In yourself.’ He took his glasses off and pocketed them. ‘I go a few times a week. Saw a PT for a while but reckon he didn’t know what he was on about in the end.’
‘Physical therapist?’
‘Personal trainer.’ He tapped twice on the table, once for each word.
‘Oh.’ To change the subject, Soph asked, ‘What else do you do in your free time?’
‘Not much. I work a lot to be honest.’
Soph nodded, grateful the drinks arrived at that moment. ‘Double shot espresso?’ The waiter asked, and her date raised a hand in acknowledgment. ‘And the orange and cinnamon tea?’
Soph hesitated for a beat then said, ‘Thank you,’ flatly, accepting the tea and changing the subject, just in case he’d noticed her face falling.
‘The coffee this late doesn’t keep you awake?’ Soph asked.
‘Nah, I’m totally immune to caffeine.’
‘I just have one in the morning, or I get sort of jittery.’
‘You have to build up a tolerance in my line of work. Crucial, or you’d never keep up. It’s so full on.’
‘Makes sense,’ she said uncertainly.
‘Yeah, you wouldn’t survive. People don’t get it but it’s like, constant.’
‘Probably not, no. Wow, intense.’ Soph lifted the lid on the teapot to find water that looked dark and syrupy, with twigs and berries and goodness knew what else floating. Steam rose between them and she replaced the lid to let it brew a little longer.
‘God, don’t know how you drink that stuff. Smells like cough mixture,’ he said, feigning choking in a goofy sort of way.
‘Sorry, it does sort of,’ she agreed, then without thinking added, ‘I actually said “orange pekoe”.’
‘What?’
Already regretting it, she clarified, ‘I was going to get the orange pekoe tea.’
‘Is that not it?’
‘No. Orange pekoe is a black tea: this is herbal,’ He frowned, but in an amused way, like he was certain she must be telling a joke and any second now, he’d get the punchline. ‘But it’s still nice,’ she added.
‘I’m pretty sure you didn’t say that before.’
‘Orange pekoe?’
‘Yeah, you said whatever this one is.’
‘I probably did. Sorry.’
A broad, strained smile had fixed itself across his face. ‘Nah, I’ll take it up and get you the other one.’
‘No. It’s fine; this is good too.’
He stood and she saw a dark drip of coffee had landed low on his shirt, right beside one of the buttons. She nearly said something but stopped herself when she noticed the new crease between his brows.
‘You’re clearly not happy, right?’ She shook her head to mean she was happy, then nodded confusedly to mean, it wasn’t right. ‘Nah. So I’ll take it.’
He yanked the teapot handle at the same time she placed her hand over the top, like one might refuse more wine. It jerked forcefully, tea spilling onto the table from the spout and splattering up around the lid.
Soph wrenched her hand back with a cry, more of surprise than pain, cradling it against her chest on instinct.
‘Now look what you’ve done! Jesus,’ he said, and Soph felt a suffocating mortification as people turned to look.
He moved his phone away from the puddle of tea then became aware that the attention of the room was on them. Meeting the gaze of those nearest, he gave them all an easy, confident, ‘What’s she like, eh?’ smile as Soph’s hand smarted dully.
People turned away as if dismissed: conversations rising, followed by the scream of the milk steamer.
‘Here,’ he said, much more softly, and tried to give her a napkin, moving in, looming over her. ‘Put that around it. She’ll be right.’
‘I think I need to go to the loo and run water on it.’
‘Running loo water over it doesn’t seem like a good idea,’ he joked, then when she didn’t smile, went on, ‘It’s not that bad, surely. Let me look at it.’
She rose, slipping out of the booth while sucking in her stomach as if it might create more space between them.
He seemed to realise he was caging her in and stepped back, hands raised in surrender; the napkin a limp, white flag. ‘You all good?’
‘It’s fine: it was an accident.’
‘Well yeah: obviously it was,’ he said tersely and her jaw clenched.
Though he’d moved, she still had to squeeze past him. ‘I’m gonna run cold water on it anyway.’
‘And you need your bag for that, do you?’
‘Yep,’ she said, unable to meet his eye as she looped the strap of her purse over her head and walked out, a brass bell above the exit ringing loud. ▼
Image: Tina Okovit - Pexels
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