Dinner
Stephen.
Five years after his divorce, Stephen finally gathered the courage to look for a serious relationship again. By all accounts he should have had no trouble: a cosy flat in Manchester, a steady job at the engineering firm, a pleasant manner, a reputation for kindness and a warm heart. Yet the path proved far from smooth.
He was a favourite among the women at work, and the lonely neighbours kept glancing his way. They knew him as diligent, calm and free of nasty habits a solid bloke, not a rogue. He had a son, which only added to his appeal; every weekend he took the boy to the park, he got on well with his exwife Julie, and the whole picture painted him as a good father and a reliable man.
When the dates started, the evenings went well theatre, cinema, long walks in the rain. But the moment the conversation drifted toward commitment, Stephen fell silent, his eyes darting away, as if any hint of seriousness would shatter the fragile façade hed built.
Useless, love, muttered Claire, a friend from the office, I told him yesterday I cook well, earn a decent wage, wont be a burden, and he bolted home with some excuse about urgent work.
And I tried to catch his eye, added Megan, I have a flat, Im not unattractive, but the moment I suggested moving in together he vanished like a puff of wind.
A junior colleague, Tom, whod overheard, laughed and scoffed, Why bother? Hes already seen the downside of marriage; a single life suits him better. No one calls, no drama go to the pub, go fishing, thats all he wants.
Toms words held a grain of truth. For the first three years after the split, Stephen had indeed wondered why hed married so young, why hed dived into domestic worries at twentyfive. Hed drifted into nightclubs, random flings, bring strangers home. After a year the wild lifestyle grew tiresome; a string of bad experiences a robbery, a violent encounter outside his block finally forced him to curb his excesses. He began seeing only familiar faces, avoiding surprises, never staying longer than a couple of months.
He lived a halfgood, halfbad life, until a sudden flash of memory struck him like a hammer: Julie, his former wife, wasnt as terrible as hed made her seem. Hed once been angry at how shed reentered his life, dressing up, marrying again, boasting about her new uncle Colin. Yet she wasnt greedy; she simply wanted the best for herself, as many do in youth. Theyd both tried to change each other, and that was the result. Life went on a flat, enough money, a good son but hindsight, as they say, is cruel.
Now, at forty, Stephens silver temples gave him a distinguished air. He was still goodlooking, smilebent, but the emptiness in his chest grew heavier. He scanned his list of potential girlfriends, all attractive, all promising, yet none sparked any feeling. The familiar faced of strangers frightened him: jealous husbands, children, or worse could be waiting.
He wanted to build a proper family before age caught up with him, perhaps even have another child. Random flings wouldnt help. Then a chance presented itself, almost too convenient. At work, Tom casually mentioned his sister.
Imagine, shes just moved back from London, fancy car, stylish, but shes tired of the city buzz. Shes looking for something quieter, maybe even a proper bloke. Think you could meet her?
Stephen laughed, halfjoking, Ive tried to find a wife before, but the more I look, the messier it gets. But why not? Lets hear about your sister.
Tom replied, Shes not my type, but shes well, shes a bit wild. Shes into the latest diets, dresses like a university freshman, and lives by the mantra no man can handle me.
It sounds like a matchmaking nightmare, Stephen grimaced. But Im curious.
Tom, eager to help, gave Stephen his sisters number, warning him that she was particular and liked to keep things on her terms.
Emily answered his call after a couple of days, then postponed their meeting three times, citing work. When Stephen called a fourth time, she finally said, Alright, tomorrow evening at The Sprig. Dont book a table by the window; I dont like looking out at traffic.
Stephen arrived fifteen minutes early, shed his coat, ordered a coffee, and watched the doorway. The Sprig was a modestly priced venue a main course ran about £22 and most patrons were couples tucked into secluded booths.
Half an hour later he ordered two Caesar salads, just in case, and asked the waiter for a glass of white wine. He dialed Emily again; she hung up. He stared at the entrance, convinced shed stood him up. A fleeting glimpse of a girl in the window caught his eye; he waved, but she vanished down the street.
Better that she didnt show, he muttered. Wouldve just tangled me further.
He settled for a kebab, opened the music app, and sipped his wine when a chair scraped back. A woman slipped into the seat opposite him, rain droplets peppering her coat, hair slick, eyes flickering with something unreadable.
Stephen stood, gesturing to his coat. Please, take my coat.
She hesitated, then placed it on his lap, her hands trembling slightly. He tried to break the ice.
Emily, would you like some salad? Ive ordered wine, feel free to look at the menu.
Ive been standing outside, watching through the window. Could I have some chips, please?
Certainly, he replied, scanning the menu. We dont have chips, but theres a roast with potatoes and mushrooms. Ill hang your coat for you, excuse me.
Before he could walk away, Emily dug into her salad with a ferocity that suggested she hadnt eaten in days, washing it down with wine as if it were nectar. When Stephen returned, her plate was empty.
Right, Stephen. Shes oddly charming, isnt she? he thought, noticing her plain, natural look no makeup, hair its own colour, a figure that was neither gaunt nor overly curvy, just honest.
Emily spoke with childlike enthusiasm. God, this is delicious! People work hard just to eat well. You dont need a fancy car, just a chance to have a proper meal once a week. Its worth the grind of six days a week, you know?
Her naive honesty made Stephen smile. He hadnt expected such candour on a first date.
What do you think? she asked, eyes bright. Do you ever just want to be home after work? Sometimes a simple dumpling feels like a feast.
She laughed, Thats because youre rich. If you were poor, youd think differently. Look at this tuna two hundred pounds! How do people afford that?
Stephen, feeling a surge of pride, straightened his back, I dont go out to restaurants often; Im here because I wanted to see you.
Emilys smile widened. Thank you, truly. Im grateful, you know?
She rose abruptly, placing a hand over her heart, I must be going now, thank you for everything.
Emily wait, Stephen called after her, his voice cracking slightly. Could we meet again tomorrow? Id love to call you.
My phones lost, she replied, halfsmiling. Why would you call?
I I liked you, more than I expected. Ive been waiting since yesterday, nervous all night.
Emilys cheeks flushed. Well, perhaps well cross paths again.
She stepped out into the rain, disappearing into the night. Stephen watched her go, his heart thudding.
Emily had arrived in the city almost by accident. Friends had coaxed her from her small hometown, promising a life of glamour. Theyll pay you more than your twentythousand pounds a month here, youll meet a rich man, live like a fairytale! they said. She had left a steady job at the local hospital, believing a shared flat with a few girls would ease the rent.
Her mother had long nagged her to marry, to move to London, to join her brother. Her brother, however, had never been keen on taking on responsibility, and they were halfsiblings from different fathers.
Shed once married, only for her husband to flee after a year, citing a work posting. He quickly remarried, divorced her, called her dull and grey, and asked her to vacate his house. Returning to her mother, she was told to find a new dad, which only added to the pressure. She took a night shift at a hospital, sleeping in a staff room to spare her mother the worry.
The first year was bright a decent job at a bakery, a new phone, a tiny flat with a proper bathroom, and a modest salary. Then the other girls drifted away one married, another moved to another city, leaving Emily alone with a hefty rent and utility bills. She scraped together savings, then tried to bring in a few more flatmates. They proved disastrous: a flood, a brawl with teenage boys, the landlord evicted everyone, demanding payment for repairs. She sold her phone, cleared debts, and ended up in a shabby dormitory with only two weeks left until payday. She boiled water with jam, her stomach growling louder than the neighbours complaints.
Hunger gnawed at her until the smell of fried chips wafted through the hallway, making her eyes water. She recalled her friends promises of wealth and luxury, The oligarchs live on every corner, theyll make you happy. She sighed, If only someone would feed me.
She decided to walk, bundling herself up against the chill, and drifted to the restaurant across the street, peering through the windows at the sumptuous dishes ordered by the affluent. Her empty pockets reminded her shed survive on bread and water for the rest of the month.
A striking woman with platinum hair and high heels stepped out of a sleek car, glared at the restaurant and muttered, What a loony. She slammed the door, revving her engine, and drove away, leaving Emily to wonder if shed ever be seen as anything but a pauper.
She lingered a moment longer, then, gathering courage, walked toward a lone gentleman at a corner table who seemed ready to offer a kind word.
When the night ended, Stephen, feeling oddly protective, bought her a bag of groceries, escorted her back to her dorm, and vanished into the rainslicked streets. Emily watched him disappear, her heart heavy. She felt foolish, naive, yet grateful for the brief spark of kindness.
Later, back in her cramped room, she unpacked the groceries and found, tucked in a crumpled paper, a neat handwritten note in a masculine script: Meet me tomorrow for dinner, same place, 7pm. Stephen.
