I had been looking forward to the date. She looked good in her pictures and we had seemed to hit it off on the ‘phone. In fact it was the ‘phone chat that had done it. Killed the apprehension I had about internet dating. At the end of it I asked her out. For a date. In effect a blind date. Nothing overly complicated. Just a simple drink at the Dog and Sausage. So as I sat in the back of the taxi, speeding my way through the driving rain to our rendezvous, I had made my mind up to impress. I glanced at my watch. Five to six. Our date was at 6.30pm. I wanted to be early.
It was at that point that I caught sight of the florist sign through the cab’s rain spattered windows. If I hurried I would just catch it before it shut.
'Stop...just here. I need to pop into that shop,' I said to the driver as I pointed across the street. ‘I won’t be a second.’
I pulled open the door thinking that my date was bound to appreciate the effort. Outside the rain was coming in horizontal sheets, lashing the street in a flurry of wind-whipped spray. I pulled the lapels of my jacket tight around me and raced across the road.
Perhaps I should have been paying more attention but my thoughts were elsewhere. I just didn't see it. The vacuum cleaner wire was drawn tight across the floor as the assistant cleaned up before close. My foot caught the hazard and pitched me forward like a human missile. My impetus was arrested by a free standing display of pot plants and vases of flowers. As I hit the bottom of the rack, several pots and vases pitched forward straight at me. What felt like an avalanche of soil and water tipped straight over my now prone body, covering me in a glutinous muddy mix. The assistant screamed. I sat there on the floor, surrounded by splintered ceramic, in a pool of water, dazed, trying to gain some composure.
'Err...do you have any...err...roses,' I asked, as I spat a mouthful of soil and petals onto the floor.
There was no discernible, coherent response from the assistant. Well none that I could translate into a recognised world language. Her reaction was bordering on hysteria, a mix of sobs, screams and wails. She even did what appeared to be a mini two step dance, an involuntary movement born out of some sort of helpless frustration. I looked around me. Sure there was a mess. Yes, there were a lot of broken pots but I considered her response something of an overreaction. I, on the other hand had plenty to get upset about. My jacket was soaked, soil trailed down the front of my new white Paul Smith shirt, and when I glanced down at my trousers I spotted a six inch rip straight along the seam of the right leg.
I began to rise to my feet, still blowing soil out of my mouth. The assistant stopped the wailing noise she was making and began to step backwards, almost in fear of my approach.
I held out my hand in a placatory gesture.
‘It’s ok,’ I said, ‘no need to be upset. It’s only a spillage. Nobody’s died-’
‘Not yet they haven’t,’ she said.
I was taken aback by her sudden ability to speak English. My next thought was to wonder whether what she had said was a threat or a prediction.
‘Yet?’
‘Yes. My mum will go mental,’ she said as she wiped a tear from her face.
‘Mental? Err...your mum will? Why? What’s it got to do with your mum? It’s just an accident. Accidents happen.’
‘It’s her shop and it’s just my second day. She asked me tidy up and lock up at six. She has an important client coming in tomorrow. Some big contract....for a function or something. God...she will kill me.’
‘Well, can’t you call her? Tell her what’s happened. I mean, she is your mum. I’m sure she’ll understand?’
‘I can’t call her. She’s out. That’s why she left early and asked me to take care of everything.’
I wiped the soil from my hands and looked at my watch. Ten past six. I was in danger of being late for my date if I didn’t get out of the shop soon. Across the street I could just make out the flashing hazard lights of the waiting taxi through the driving rain.
‘Look, I’m really sorry about what’s happened. I just didn’t see the...the wire thing. I tripped.’ I reached into my pocket and pulled out a business card. ‘Here take this. If you need me to speak to your mum about what happened, so she won’t think it’s your fault, I am happy to do so. But you need to call her and get her to give you a hand to clear up. I’m sure she’d want that.’
She took my card, stared at it and then looked up. ‘I can’t call her. She told me not to...not to disturb her.'
‘Why? It’s an emergency.’
‘She’s on a date.’
The word focussed me on my own necessity to get out of the shop and get to my date. And then the word took on another meaning. The hairs on my neck began to prickle.
‘A date? Did you say a date?’
‘I did. Why?’
‘Err...what sort of date?’
She ran a hand through her hair and shot me a curious look. ‘A date. You know, with a bloke. She was looking forward to it. Said he seemed nice, not like the idiots that she normally ran into. So, that’s why she doesn’t want me to bother her.’
Coincidence. It had to be. ‘Erm...where is the date...,’ I asked.
‘Why do you want to know that?’
‘Err...well just out of curiosity...you know, in case I ever...well, wanted to go on one myself...erm...you know, sometime. Wondered if there are any good places.’
‘I dunno...some bar or pub...the sausage dog or something.’
As she said it I just caught sight of the taxi driver walking across the road to the shop. I bent down and picked up a piece of broken plant pot. Time to impress.
‘I’ll give you a hand to clear up.’
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