The Two Lives of Lydia Bird(56)

‘Rule breaker,’ I whisper, and he laughs, glancing away. It’s self-conscious, bashful almost, and awareness thuds into me that he’s attractive. God. I find number seven attractive, and I don’t know what the hell that means. He doesn’t remind me of Freddie. He doesn’t remind me of anyone. If we could chat, I’d tell him I’m only here to make up the numbers, that I don’t have a sheet to tick and that I’m not looking for love, silent or otherwise. But I can’t, so instead I try to convey it all with my eyes. And then it’s over, our two minutes is done. Consternation flashes over his face and, just before I get up, he reaches out and covers my fingertips with his.

‘I’m Kris,’ he says, breaking the rules again.

No one notices amongst the scrape and shuffle of musical chairs. I swallow hard, and although I don’t intend to, I say, ‘Lydia.’

He gives my fingers the smallest squeeze as I rise to leave. ‘It was good to meet you, Lydia,’ he says.

I’m terrified, grateful it’s time to leave the table for number eight. Thank God, I think, sitting down in front of a stranger whose tight T-shirt and weightlifter’s body thankfully does absolutely nothing for my spluttery, sparky engine. I don’t do anything for his either, it would appear, given the way he’s throwing blatant meet-me-in-the-bar looks towards the girl who’s just vacated his table. She returns his gaze head-on and grins, leaving me feeling sorry for the guy sitting opposite her now. We’re halfway through our two minutes and I don’t think she’s looked his way once yet. I mentally check out, but unlike number eight, I have the good manners to feign interest. We’re both relieved when it’s over.

I could kiss number nine out of sheer relief, because we’re getting closer to the end, and because I don’t have to look at number eight looking at someone else any more, but most of all because it’s Ryan. I collapse into the chair at his table, and he does a ‘what the bloody hell are you doing here?’ double take then leans in across the table, half laughing and incredulous. I shrug, helpless, my hands upturned. For a second it’s weird, and then he swipes his hand slowly down his face and emerges with a serene expression firmly in place. I settle after a few seconds, ready to play the game, and I open my eyes wide and look straight into his, po-faced. Ryan does the same, but then his expression deepens and I can see he’s thinking about what it must have cost me to do this tonight. His brows lower with consternation; he’s hurting for me, sympathetic, and I can’t do anything but hold his hands tight on the table and stare at him, suddenly stricken because I’m at a dating night and I actually felt something for someone new. Ryan’s mouth tightens and I can see what’s on his mind as if he’s written it in the air with a lit sparkler. He’s proud of me. He didn’t think I had it in me to do something like this. He’s looking at me as if I’m a warrior princess, and as our second minute ebbs he squeezes my fingers extra hard to send me on my triumphant way. In that moment, I couldn’t love him more if he was my flesh-and-blood brother. I’m a breath away from tears, and he sees it and mouths ‘Piss off, loser’ at me to make me laugh. It does the trick; a residual ebb of my inner warrior princess carries me through the last six tables. They are all equally unmemorable, to me at least. There’s only one stranger I’ll be able to recollect from tonight. Number seven. Kris. Rule breaker. Viking.

Kate and her team have the event packed back into their transit just as quickly as they set it up, and Ryan and I stroll across the tiny car park after we’ve waved them off and locked up.

‘What did you think of it?’ he asks, unhooking his sunglasses from the neck of his T-shirt as he pulls his keys and phone from the back pocket of his jeans.

‘Yeah,’ I shrug. ‘It seemed to go well. The tick sheets looked pretty busy, anyway.’

Kate has taken the completed sheets away to put matched people in contact with each other. I managed a sneaky peep at some of them as they were gathered up. One was peppered with Day-Glo green highlighter ticks. What does that pen choice say about the user, I wonder? Outgoing, likes to be noticed? Needy and attention-seeking? Couldn’t-find-anything-else-at-the-bottom-of-my-bag disorganized?

‘They do silent discos too,’ Ryan says.

‘Kate told me,’ I say.

I open my car door and fling in a folder I’ve grabbed to catch up on some work at home.

‘I’m not so sure about the idea,’ I say, one arm resting on the open car door. ‘To me music is all about sharing the buzz, dancing to the same beat.’ Okay, so that sounds more hippy out loud than it did in my head. ‘Did you tick anyone?’ I ask, moving the conversation on.

Ryan gives me a does-day-follow-night eye-roll. ‘Er, yes. All except number four. She scared me. She took her glasses off to stare at me, reminded me of my mother right before she gives me a bollocking.’ He pauses. ‘And I didn’t tick you, of course.’

‘Of course,’ I say drily. Not that I wanted him to, it’s just that his tone makes me sound untickable.

‘I didn’t mean …’ he says, making it worse.

I laugh and let him off the hook. ‘I know what you meant. I was only there to make up the numbers.’

He opens his door too. ‘Were you?’

‘Was I what?’

‘Just making up the numbers?’ Colour flares in his cheeks.