If Russian roulette is dangerous, tossing a coin to decide who to match with on Tinder is deadly. I’m only one flip of the coin away from being tied up in someone’s basement and used as a sex slave. Given it is Jake’s idea for me to get back into the dating game, I decide it is all his fault if I end up in a dungeon.
There are only about seven women under the age of sixty living in a five-mile radius of our house, so the coin doesn’t have a wide pool to choose from. One describes herself as a “learner of witchcraft and lover of Satan.” Fortunately, the coin rejects her.
Instead, at exactly 7.28 p.m., I’m standing in the village precinct waiting to meet the coin’s choice: Emma, dark hair, 24 years old, 5 ft 9, hairdresser. Loves Taylor Swift, prosecco, and pineapple on pizza.
I scroll through our chat on Tinder as I wait for her. All of our correspondence has been perfunctory—“How was your weekend?” “Sorry for the slow response.” “Are you doing much this week?” I’m hoping in real life the conversation springs into life.
The precinct is empty, with the chemist and newsagent already closed. I look around to see if Emma is approaching, but I only spot a couple of solitary dog-walkers on this cold evening. I shiver due to both the cold and the nerves. I haven’t had a date for years, and I’ve spent the last few hours worrying about what to wear, what to say, what to do.
“Hey, is it Josh?” She says, appearing out of nowhere.
“Yes, it must be Emma? How are you?”
She reaches her arms out to give me a hug, and I almost headbutt her in the process.
Don’t do that for a start, Josh.
“Actually everyone just calls me Em for short.” She smiles as we let go.
“Better than ‘ugh,’” I joke.
“What do you mean?”
“You know, your name. Em-ugh. Better to be called Em than ‘ugh.’”
She stares back at me.
“Don’t worry, it was just a bad joke.”
Can I start again?
“Oh, I get it now.”
As she laughs belatedly, which sounds more like snorting, I check her out. She is almost as tall as me. Her hair is long and layered, and darker than in her photos. She is good-looking, and seems sweet. But it is clear there is no immediate spark.
Give it a chance, Josh.
“So anyway, pub or chippy, then? I’ll let you choose!” I say, beginning to freeze in the cold.
“What a choice. That’s the problem with Cadbury, right? It’s always one of the two.” As well as a lack of suitable dates, there are even fewer date options in the village: the pub, which will be full of nosy villagers, or the less-than-romantic chip shop.
“I know, sorry. Maybe next time we could go into Bristol instead.”
“Do you know what, I’m actually pretty hungry, so I don’t mind going for fish and chips, if you’re happy?” she suggests, saving me from having to pull out my coin.
“Sounds good to me. . . . I should have made a reservation.”
“I don’t think you can reserve a table.”
“No, I know. Just another joke. I’ll stop now.”
Fuck. I forgot how awkward dating is.
I slide open the glass door to the chip shop and let Emma in first.
There are only two tables, and one is occupied by two men who are wearing paint-splattered overalls and discussing horse racing.
“What would you like? I’ll get it,” I say to Emma as we stare up at the menu.
“Thank you. Can I get a fishcake and chips, and a Coke?”
I order while Emma takes a seat at the vacant table.
“We’re all out of Coke, I’m afraid, love. We have Sprite or Tango?” the woman behind the counter says to me in a thick West Country accent.
I act as an intermediary, relaying the message to Emma and back again.
“Sprite, please,” Emma tells me.
“Sprite, please,” I tell the woman.
“Salt and vinegar on them, love?”
“Do you want salt and vinegar, Em?”
“Just salt.”
“Salt and vinegar on one, and just salt on the other, thanks.”
“Taking away, love?”
“Umm, no, we’re sitting in.” I look around at the lackluster setting, not the best place to create sparks on a first date.
“OK, there you go. Enjoy, love.”
I pick us up a couple of miniature wooden forks, and embarrassingly struggle to open the sauce sachets as I join Emma on the metallic chairs. The table is decorated with graffiti and ketchup stains.
Well, this is romantic.
The draft from outside blows in through the gap in the door. It’s freezing.
“Would you like to take it away, actually? I’m not trying to be forward here, but we could eat it at mine. Might be a bit warmer,” I say hesitantly, unsure if that’s a good idea. I haven’t told her yet I’m still living with my parents.
She looks equally hesitant.
“It’s OK, don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you or anything.” I try to reassure her.
Josh, just shut up.
“OK, yes, why not?” She stands up, and we ask for a bag to take our order away with us, leaving the two men to continue discussing the afternoon’s races.
Mum and Dad are away for the week on a cheap getaway that Dad found in the papers. I wouldn’t consider inviting Emma over otherwise. Mum would be horrified to think that I’ve met someone on Tinder. She is still concerned about pedophiles grooming me. I think I’m past my sell-by date as far as they are concerned.
As we walk back across the small village precinct, I realize that, if this evening goes well, I am going to have to invent some extensive and elaborate backstory to explain how we met just so that Mum never finds out. We will then have to maintain this pretense for the remainder of our lives, tell the fictitious tale at our wedding, and take it to our graves with us. It almost seems more work than it is worth.
“HERE WE ARE!” I say as we approach home and I unlock the door. Even if it’s as innocent as eating fish and chips, I feel a strange sensation bringing a girl back home with me. It almost feels like I’m cheating on Jade, which is ironic.
“This looks a lovely house.” Emma beams enthusiastically as we enter.
She takes her high heels off and leaves them by the door as she walks into the hallway, revealing her red-painted toenails.
“Is it OK just to leave my coat here?” she asks politely, revealing the tight leather trousers and gray T-shirt she was hiding underneath.
“Yep, of course, just hang it up there.” I point to the banister. “Can I get you any other sauces?”
“Some more ketchup, please.”
“Cool, I’ll just get us some plates too. Do you want to take the food into there and have a seat?” I direct her into the lounge and I head into the kitchen.
I try to dig the ketchup out from the back of the fridge. We had a food delivery a few days ago, although with three of us now living here, Dad has decided to cut costs and switch from Waitrose to Tesco. Not wanting to lose face, Mum asked the Tesco delivery van to park around the corner, where she met him armed with Waitrose bags in her pockets.
“You have lots of photos of yourself,” she shouts out to me, as I carefully balance the bottle of ketchup, two plates, and some cutlery in my hands.
Shit. I forgot Mum decided to leave them up on the mantelpiece.
“I know. Most of them are very embarrassing too,” I say, as I rejoin Emma, who is standing inspecting each of the photos.
“No, you were a cute kid.” She thanks me as she takes one of the plates and starts to empty the chips out of the paper wrapping. The chips overflow off the plate.
“I think we could have probably gone for small portions. That’s ridiculous.”
“I know, so many.”
“I hope they’re not too cold now?”
“No, they’re all good, thanks,” she says, tucking into them.
The conversation might still be stilted, but at least it’s more comfortable here than in the chip shop.
“You must have done well to be able to afford to buy already,” she says, looking up.
“What do you mean?”
“Buying a house. I’m still trying to save up.”
Fuck.
I realize she thinks that this is my house, not my parents’. And worse, that I have decorated my house with photos of just me. She must think I’m an egomaniac.
“Oh no, it’s—”
I’m interrupted by the doorbell.
“Give me a minute, I’ll just see who that is.” I put my glass down on the table and head to the door. It’s too dark outside to make out who it is through the glass panels.
No. No. No.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper in disbelief and panic, as I unlock the door and open it slightly, blocking them from entering.
“What do you mean, what are we doing here? We live here, Josh. Are you going to let us in?” Dad says as he and Mum barge past me into the hallway, dropping their suitcases down by the phone cabinet. I try and kick Emma’s shoes out of sight.
“But I didn’t think you were coming back until Sunday.”
“Why are you whispering? Your mum had a bad premonition about our hotel and needed a therapy appointment with Graham to discuss it, so we had to cut the trip short.” He rolls his eyes.
“What’s that smell? Have you had fish and chips?” Mum asks.
“Yes, I got a takeaway earlier. How about you take your bags upstairs and unpack? You will probably want to get straight to bed after your journey. I can bring you some food up, if you’d like?” I say, panicking.
“It’s only eight o’clock, Josh. I know we’re getting on but we don’t need to go to bed just yet.” Mum edges farther and farther down the hall, despite my protestations.
How do I get out of this one?
“So actually . . .” I go to explain the situation.
“Oh, sorry, we didn’t realize you’ve got company.” Mum spots Emma, who has wandered into the hall to see what all the commotion is about.
“Hello, is it Jessie?” Mum asks as she greets her.
“No, I’m Emma.” She looks confused.
“Hello, Emma, I’m Josh’s mum.”
“Oh, hi, ummm . . . how are you? I didn’t realize . . . Josh didn’t tell me that his parents would be joining us this evening.” She looks at me, puzzled.
“I didn’t know that they would be joining us either,” I try to explain.
“Do you live nearby?”
“No, darling, we live here.”
“Oh, I thought this was Josh’s house?”
“Yes, Josh lives here with us.”
“It’s certainly not his house, though. He doesn’t even pay any rent,” Dad unhelpfully chips in.
I can feel Emma looking at me, but I keep my head down, avoiding her gaze.
“Ah, you do have fish and chips. Have you got any left over for us? We’re starving.” Dad breaks past me and heads straight into the lounge.
I chase after him.
“Could you go into the dining room, perhaps? You can take the rest of the chips with you.” I try to shepherd him back out.
“The more the merrier, right? I’m sure Emma doesn’t mind me and your dad joining you,” Mum calls out.
Emma stands rooted to the spot, still baffled by what is happening.
Mum and Dad head into the kitchen, and I think they’ve finally got the idea that we’d like to be left alone, until they return with plates, cutlery, and glasses of their own.
Before I can stop it, the four of us are all in the lounge sharing the remaining chips, Mum and Emma squashed next to each other on one sofa, Dad and me on the other.
“So how do you two know each other?” Mum asks.
“We met on . . .” Emma begins
“Emma lives in Cadbury too,” I interrupt.
“You’ve never mentioned an Emma before. So is this a date, then? You didn’t tell us you were seeing anyone,” she excitedly whispers across the room.
“You know everyone can hear you, Mum.” I want the world to swallow me up.
“You’re so secretive now, not like when you were at school and you’d happily tell us about your day. I remember when you would come home and tell us about who you spoke to at break times—”
“I’m not seeing anyone.” I can feel my face blushing.
“Well, I for one think it’s great you’re moving on from Jade.”
Emma is now wondering who both Jessie and Jade are.
“Mum, can you stop?”
“Sorry about him, Emma, I’m not sure why he’s in such a bad mood tonight. Tell us about yourself. What do you do?”
“I’m a hairdresser, or a trainee one. I work on the high street,” she says, looking completely bewildered by what is happening.
At least I’m learning something about my date, even if I’m not the one asking the questions. Dad, meanwhile, is oblivious to everything, scoffing down half my fish, which he’s stolen.
“And where do you live?”
“Just the other side of the village. Do you know the houses behind the church?”
“Yes, I know where you mean. I actually go to yoga with a woman who lives near there—Susan?”
“Yes, that’s my mum.”
“How funny! What a small world. So you’re not embarrassed to be living with your parents, then, unlike somebody?” She points her fork and winks at me.
“No, we get on really well.”
The fact that we are both twenty-somethings still living with our parents seems to be the only thing we have in common.
“Can I ask what star sign you are?”
Oh God, she’s not going to start giving her a horoscope.
“Mum, I think that’s enough questions now.”
“Emma doesn’t mind, do you?”
Emma smiles back helplessly.
“Actually, just wait there. I’ll go and get my tarot cards and I can do a reading for you. . . .”
Surely not?
“Oh, that’s very kind of you . . . But I have to . . . I have to start work early tomorrow, so I should probably be going,” Emma timidly says.
“Do you not want to finish your dinner first?” Mum pats her on the lap. Emma has barely touched any of her chips since Mum and Dad joined us.
“No, I’m not really hungry. Thank you, though.” She springs to her feet and heads out into the corridor to reclaim her coat.
“We do have a spare room you can stay in, if you don’t want to walk back in the dark,” Mum, following behind her, offers, without any consultation.
“It’s only forty-nine pounds a night for a room,” Dad butts in, with his mouth full. I’m not sure he’s joking. Next, he will be giving her a price list for towel hire and late checkout.
“Oh, Gary, don’t be rude. You can give Emma a lift back actually.” She turns to Emma. “I don’t want you walking back by yourself.”
“I’m honestly OK—”
“I’m not going to take no for an answer. Hurry up, Gary.”
Dad disappointedly puts his plate of chips down and grabs the car keys again, having only just driven back.
“Hopefully we will see you again,” Mum says as she gives Emma a hug goodbye.
Emma, already halfway out the door, decides against giving me a hug.
Mum and I stand in the porch waving my Tinder date off as Dad drives her home. She sits in the front seat looking petrified.
I didn’t need to worry about Emma being the weirdo. That was me. Poor girl.