Читать книгу A Brand New Me: The hilarious romantic comedy about one year of first dates - Shari Low - Страница 12

Bang!

Everyone in the room cowered in mortal fear as the killer paused on his lethal mission. We’d already watched him shoot three unarmed men, and countless others lay dead as a result of the grenade that he’d used to announce his arrival. Now he’d run out of bullets and had stopped to reload. One desperate man tried to take the opportunity to escape, but he was too slow. The maniac took aim and fired, sending another victim to the morgue. Silence again while he watched. Waited. Poised and ready to continue his manic spree.

‘Can you pass me my Diet Coke, Leni–can’t take my eyes off this cos the SAS will storm in any minute now.’

I reached over for his can, sitting on a nearby ledge next to mine. There was a sudden thunderous noise–nope, not a crack team of special forces making their entrance, just my stomach rumbling, reminding me that it was 11 p.m. and I still hadn’t eaten. The Twix from the vending machine hadn’t quite filled the meal-sized hole.

Three hours after I’d met Harry and what had I learned? I now knew that there was a giant amusement arcade in London’s West End. I realised that standing for long periods of time in high-heeled boots led to the kind of discomfort that required painkillers and a foot spa. I had been educated in the fields of mass murder, unarmed combat, battle strategies and simulated cage fighting. And I had a sneaking suspicion that there was a very good reason as to why Harry was still single.

Still, at least I wasn’t alone. I was sharing this special night with around one hundred teenage boys, several security guards and a large party of Japanese tourists.

I vaguely remembered a similar night somewhere in my dating past–but then I had been fourteen and had to be home before my ten o’clock curfew or my dad would confiscate my Boyzone DVDs.

Apparently, Harry’s post-pubescent self was still alive and well and intent on rivalling the death toll of a Third World despot before the night was out.

I blamed myself for not objecting to Harry’s plans.

Actually, I didn’t–I blamed Zara bloody Delta for landing me in this in the first place.

On the plus side: all feelings of anxiety had now been squashed by the realisation that Harry wasn’t going to judge me, scare me or drag me into a candle-lit basement and mutilate me in some kind of Satanic ritual. On the downside: I’d just wasted a whole night of my life that I could have spent engaged in educational, humanitarian pursuits–like watching Horatio in CSI Miami catch bad guys by putting his sunglasses on and taking them off in a brooding manner.

I hadn’t sat down, I hadn’t eaten, I hadn’t laughed, I hadn’t flirted and I hadn’t had a single conversation of note with my prospective suitor. Instead, I’d stood beside him and watched as he played arcade games for approximately–I checked my watch–195 minutes. Harry, on the other hand, had run the full gamut of emotions–he’d been joyful, sad, ecstatic, furious, determined, triumphant and homicidal.

‘Shit!’ he exclaimed, throwing down the life-size AK-47 and taking the cola from my hand, ‘outnumbered–sixteen SAS–didn’t stand a chance.’

Oh, I hate it when that happens.

‘Want to go for a burger? I’ve still got twenty quid left.’

What does it say about my life that right there, right then, that felt like the best offer I’d had in weeks?

We went off to the nearest junk-food emporium and he treated me to a double bacon cheeseburger.

Harry dumped the tray on the table. ‘You know, I’ve had a really good time tonight–you’re really easy to talk to,’ said the man who had been responsible for eradicating several thousand people from the face of the earth while barely saying two words to me.

‘Er, thanks.’

‘And it’s great the way that you got into the whole arcade thing. Most chicks don’t even give it a chance. They don’t know what they’re missing.’

Torture. Death. Blood. Gore. Guts. Armageddon.

‘So what’s all this about, then, this dating experiment?’

I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Not sure. I just work for Zara, and all I know is that she’s writing some kind of relationship book and I’m helping out with research.’

‘So you’re not actually single and looking for someone then?’

‘I am. I mean, I’m single…’ The senses that hadn’t been numbed forever by three hours of death and destruction were warning me that an awkward moment was imminent. I decided to round up a posse of excuses and head it off at the pass.

‘…but I’m not really dating. Just focusing on my career right now. I’m only doing this so that I can add a research element to my CV.’

Harry had the decency to look sad. For a gun-wielding maniac he was obviously well in touch with his sensitive side.

‘So, if you don’t mind me asking, what made you apply for this?’

‘Blokes at work. Last month I dared my mates Jammy and Kegsy to flash their tackle at the CCTV cameras in the High Street. The month before, Dudsy had to buy ten boxes of Tampax in Boots the chemist. Daft tossers thought they were stitching me right up making me do this. Wait till I tell them I had a bloody brilliant time. Ha!’

I felt utterly blessed and flattered that I appeared to be rating above indecent exposure and the bulk buying of feminine hygiene products.

‘So do you need more photographs of me or anything like that?’

I shook my head. ‘Nope, I don’t think so–apparently all the case studies in the book will be anonymous.’

His face fell.

‘Something wrong?’ I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Nope, it’s just that I was kind of hoping that this would be an ongoing thing. A hundred pounds, a night on the town, a hot bird–I could get used to this.’

Sadly for Harry and the balance sheet of the Coin Slot Amusement Centre, I knew that I couldn’t.

‘So, anything else about you that I should know?’ I prompted, mindful that I was under orders to get as much background info as possible. ‘You said on your application that you were into sports?’

He put down his large double whopper and fries, took a slug of his full-fat coke and then burped.

‘Darts. I play for the pub darts team.’

And there was me thinking that he’d done a quick four-hundred-metre hurdles before he came to collect me.

‘And I’m a total god on the PlayStation–nobody, and I mean nobody, can touch me on Grand Theft Auto IV. My firepower is awesome.’

I realised that somewhere out there was the perfect woman for this man…I just hoped that she got parole soon so they could get together.

‘And reading?’

‘The usual stuff…’ he chomped, giving me a full view of the mastication process.

The usual stuff? Thrillers? The odd John Grisham? The occasional Harlan Coben?

‘…you know, Nuts, Zoo, stuff like that. Do you want an ice-cream? I’ve still got a fiver left.’

‘Go on, spoil me!’ I replied with a smile. Romance might be out of the question, love and lust were a definite non-starter, but after hours of hunger, if I could at least get my blood-sugar back up to a level that ruled out the possibility of fainting, I figured that would be a bonus.

He sauntered off to the counter, checking his cash the whole way. When he returned, he threw down a little surprise. ‘Had enough left for a donut as well.’

I was getting luckier by the minute. ‘Do you mind if we go outside now–my lift will be here in a minute.’

‘One of your mates?’ I asked.

‘Nah, my mum. She didn’t want me travelling on the tube at night–said she’d drive down after her line-dancing. She gets jittery if I’m out late at night. Called the police once, but I’d just had a few too many and my mates had left me in a wheelie bin outside the front door.’

Outside, I shook his hand as a taxi pulled up.

‘Thanks, Harry, I had a really, er, interesting time.’

Well, there was no point in being rude. Besides, my mortal fear of confrontation was up there with the tendency to plod on my prevalent characteristics scale.

‘So I can’t get your telephone number or anything then?’

Aw, bless, he was swinging from foot to foot in some kind of nervous shuffle–I knew that feeling all too well.

‘It’s just that there’s this really cool arcade in Milton Ke—’

I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry, Harry, it’s more than my job’s worth. But thanks.’ I jumped into the taxi, but before it drove off he stuck his head in the window.

‘Okay, but if your brother ever fancies a pint, get him to call me. Wouldn’t mind picking his brain…you know, about the whole arms possession thing.’

I leaned towards the driver. ‘There’s a twenty-quid tip if you get me out of here before I start to hyperventilate.’

My head thudded back onto the upholstery as the car screeched off.

I took a deep breath. Okay, let’s not overreact–morbid fascination with violence aside, he was fairly polite. And I hadn’t needed to use my pepper spray once.

However–cue depressing music and feeling of doom–he was only number one, so I still had eleven more dates to go.

Little did I know that I’d one day look back on Harry as being one of the more normal ones.

PROGRESS SUMMARY: IT’S IN THE STARS DATING PROJECT

CONCLUDED
LEO	Harry Henshall	Morbid fascination for simulated violence