Part Three: Honeysuckle

    "Shouldn't you be preparing your presentation for that job interview?"
    "I am!"  I quickly defend, trying my best to cover the laptop screen with my hand as Mikey walks past and sits down on the sofa next to me.
    "You're on Facebook!"
    "Recent studies have shown that Facebook happens to be incredibly informative!"
    "Yes.  About people. Not about marketing,"
    "The presentation is almost done anyway.  I'm taking a break from it,"
    Mikey leans over to get a better look at the screen. I instinctively go to hide the screen again, but he's too quick.  So instead, I shut my eyes with a grimace and wait for him to shout at me.
    "ELLA!" I told you he would.  "Are you Facebook stalking Alex?"
    OK, so I've been found out.  But what's the big deal anyway?  Everyone does it nowadays!  Facebook is the one-stop-shop for checking someone out before you date them, and if you have the potential to do it, why not???
    Yes, it took a while to find the right Alex.  Yes, I've looked through all his photos.  Yes, I've checked out every girl he's photographed with to see if they're prettier than me.  And yes, I've read every single word on his profile over and over again, despite the fact that all I can see are his name, interests and activities.  His favourite TV show is Top Gear.  I'm going to have to change that!
    "I'm not Facebook stalking him!"  I lie.  "I'm simply reminding myself of what he looks like before I see him tonight,"
    "And what about your presentation?  Ella, this is serious!  You have the opportunity to get your dream job.  This interview is incredibly important-"  He's about to go on rambling but my phone has interrupted him.  "And who's that?"
    Honestly, he's just like my mother!
    "It's probably Alex!" I go over to my phone and smile at the text, which is strange because all it says is 'How's your day going?'
    "I can't let you see him tonight," Mikey rises from the sofa, crosses his arms and starts tapping his foot.  "He's clearly too much of a distraction and you have a very important interview tomorrow,"
    I feel like a young teenager all over again - like I'm wearing glittery lipgloss I got free in Bliss magazine and standing at the bottom of the stairs whilst my parents tell me I can't go to the party. 
    "That's highly unfair!" I snap.  "You can't tell me what to do!"
    "Fine!  You can only go if you finish that presentation and rehearse it once with me,"
    "Fine!" I respond through gritted teeth.  There's no point arguing otherwise he'll wrestle me to the floor until I've given in.  He's done it in the middle of Topshop to stop me from buying a dress two sizes too big - I'm pretty sure he'll do it in his own home.

I never thought I'd say this but the presentation is all done and rehearsed.  I'm still at Mikey's house getting ready, and for some strange, unknown reason I'm almost done.  I started getting ready 15 minutes ago.  Either I've abruptly become naturally beautiful, or I've stopped caring about my appearance. 

    I look in the mirror one last time.  For 15 minutes worth of a make over, I actually look rather good.  Impressed with myself, I reach for the perfume and spritz liberally all over my neck and wrists.
    And then I smell it.
    Oh bugger!  I've sprayed myself with Mikey's aftershave!  Quick, where's the Febreeze?!

After a small war in the bathroom trying to de-smell myself, I enter the living area where Mikey is watching TV.
    "You look amazing!"  he says.  "Loving the 'Tickle Me Pink' colour of your top.  Much better than the black,"
    I look down at the satin, pink top and smooth out a couple of creases before I argue back.
    "This isn't Tickle Me Pink.  This is Honeysuckle.  Tickle Me Pink is a Crayola colour,"
    "And how would you know?"
    "Oh, I know my crayons, Mikey.  I know my crayons,"  and with that, I leave.

    "Wow!  You're actually on time," is how Alex greets me just before he buzzes me in through the intercom.  In a strange way I'm quite flattered that I've already exceeded his expectations without even properly starting our first date.  Even if it is about punctuality.
    The door to his flat is already open when I reach his floor, so cautiously I walk in, knocking once.
    He emerges in full view with a tea towel, and looks like he's been wrestling with a bear.  "I'll be two minutes.  Make yourself at home," and he disappears again.
    So I take the opportunity to snoop.  His flat is 'boy' - that's the only word to describe it.  He has all the furniture he needs to have with some ad-hoc ornaments displayed haphazardly around.  Clearly gifts from people and he's never known what to do with them.  His bookshelf contains only hardbacks; an array of non-fictions that are meant for perusing and not reading, and the second shelf displays one wooden photo frame, with a picture of him and his family on his graduation day.  I take it from the shelf and wipe off the thin layer of dust to get a better look at his face.  It was only taken a year ago but to me he immediately looks younger - as if these last few months of being a doctor and saving lives have been very difficult on him.  
    That was taken when I graduated from High School in the States," he says.
    Oh.  I guess he looks younger because he was photographed about 9 years ago.  Maybe being a doctor isn't as hard as I thought it was three seconds ago.
    "You all look really happy," I smile at the photograph before I place it back on the shelf.
    "Yeah, it was a proud moment for them.  I had only just found out I'd been accepted to college over here,"
    "University," I correct him without even thinking and immediately want to slap myself.
    "You're pedantic," he smiles.
    "I'm correct,"
    We stare at each other from across the room with guilty smiles.  I half expect him to charge towards me, take me into his arms and kiss me.
    But he doesn't.
    Wishful thinking,  I guess.
    "I tried to make you dinner but I burnt it.  You won't believe me now but I'm usually a very good cook.  Would you like some wine?"  he walks over to the coffee table and pours red wine into two glasses without waiting for my response.
    "Actually, I'd prefer some beer," I tell him as he hands over the glass.
    "You'll drink it and you'll like it," he starts walking towards the double doors that lead out into the balcony.  Once he opens the door, he turns around, "You're supposed to follow me.  It's so much less romantic if I'm out there admiring the evening view, and you're in here looking through my photos,"
    "It was only one photo!  You don't have any others,"
    "You argue about everything.  Just get out here,"
    I do as I'm told and look out at the familiar view of my hometown.  His flat is perfectly placed to overlook every important aspect of the town centre.  You can see goings-on in the Sainsbury's car park to the left.  You can overhear conversations happening down below, and you can even see into other peoples' windows.  If I lived in this flat, the balcony would be where I'd spend most of my time.  Either the balcony or the lift, because that too was pretty impressive.  Each button you pressed had a different jingle.
    "Are you cold?" he asks.
    "Nope, it's warm tonight.  It's been very hot weather for April, don't you think?"
    He chortles before he sips his wine.  "We're not going to stand here and talk about weather,"
    "What?  Why not?"
    "It's too British.  Too formal,"
    "Well, I am British.  And it's not too formal.  Everybody does it,"
    "Yes, but not us,"
    If I couldn't see his faint smile as he looks ahead, I'd think he was having a go at me.  But I can tell he's only playing.  It's strange, but this feels nothing like a first date.  Unlike the usual nerves that overpower any other emotion when you first go out with someone, tonight I'm completely calm and collected.  Absolutely relaxed.
    And this worries me.
    "Are you nervous?" I ask him.  "I mean, did you feel nervous about seeing me?"  I know.  It's the absolute wrong question to ask on a first date.  It's right up there with 'So, are we going on a second date?' and 'Do you want to meet my cat?'  But I don't feel wrong for asking it.
    "No," he responds straight away.  "You being here feels normal,"
    Without even realising, I'm smiling and edging closer.
    "Although your perfume is putting me off a little.  I'm sure I used to have something that smelt similar.  Smells masculine,"
    "Well, it's because I was with another man before I came to see you,"  OK, I clearly need to add that to my list of things not to say on a first date, because his face has gone completely serious.
    "I'm obviously joking.  I'm staying with my friend, Mikey, who by the way is incredibly gay, and I accidentally sprayed myself with his aftershave instead of mine.  But usually I smell absolutely divine,"
    He starts to laugh.  "Oh, divine?  Is that so?"
    "Yeah!" I say as if it's absolute gospel truth.  I've moved even closer now.  Our arms are touching and I know that if I turn my head to look at him, he'd kiss me.
    He takes the glass of wine off my hand, and along with his, puts them both down on the round, steel table.  His hands cup my face before moving down to my neck, and then taking my hands into his.  It's a teasing couple of seconds which feel like a couple of hours.  But then his lips touch mine, and I have no idea what to think.  Because nothing has ever felt like this before.
    He pulls his lips away and rests his forehead on mine before kissing me one last time.
    "Do you think we're better off as friends?"  I realise I'm saying.  I didn't even know my mouth had a mind of it's own because I certainly didn't order it to say this.  I wait in agony at his response, certain that I've ruined everything.
    "You know what," he begins.  I take in a deep breath to prepare for the disappointed look.  "I think we get on too well to be anything else.  Maybe we should hang out and see how things go,"
    He kisses me on the cheek and steps back into the flat, "I'll order a pizza.  I've recorded 24 if you want to stay and watch it,"
    "Yeah, that would be really good," I respond as he leaves me out in the warm darkness.
    I smile as I watch on.
    This is good.
    This is all really good.

King Leer

(Continuation of Anthony and Chloe-patra)

I must sort out my life.  As of today I shall be a completely different person with real goals and actual aspirations, because somehow I don't think starring in a Haribo TV advert will ever work out for me. 
    And this whole clumsy thing needs to stop.  I suppose it was quite cute when I was 17, but I'm 19 now.  People need to start taking me seriously.  I can't keep tripping up in the middle of the store, take down a whole clothes rail with me and then blame it on an earthquake.  It's getting embarrassing and frankly, no one believes me.
    Oh, and of course there's Anthony.  Well that obsession obviously needs to end, because
    a) I ruined the entire thing and he doesn't want me anymore, and
    2) he's with Chloe now who's very lovely and beautiful, and from my last encounter with her a little unhinged, so Anthony probably has enough on his plate.
    I put my pen down when I finish writing the list and rise from the bed, walking over to the mirror in the en suite.
    "Urgh, why can't I stop looking rough?" I say to myself as I scan my reflection.  My eyes have horrid dark circles underneath, and my skin is so pale at the moment it's practically transluscent.  I blame Mel for this.  She's put my name down on the work rota for every day this week and despite my protests, I haven't been able to get away from it.
    "But Clara's only just got back to work.  She's been very ill and can't cope on her own," was Mel's excuse.
    Oh please!!  I saw Clara doing shots at Purple Mustard last weekend.  She was so out of it a guy asked for her number and she took her top off.
    But what can you do.  And let's face it, it's not like I'll be revising anyway.  I opened up my Maths for Economics textbook, saw the word 'Derivatives' and shut it immediately.  I'm hoping in this instance ignorance really is bliss.

    "You look nice," Jo wolf whistles as I emerge in the kitchen.  She's sitting cross legged on the floor with a Tort Law book opened up in front of her.  I don't think she's doing much reading though because the Hollyoaks omnibus has started.  Which instantly makes me feel better about the fact that exams are looming ever so closer and I've barely read anything.  Except for this month's edition of Marie Claire.  Which doesn't count.
    "Your face looks nice.  That dress doesn't," she looks at my ancient work dress and throws me her best pity face.
    I choose to ignore her latter comment.
    "Well, I'm glad you've noticed," I say, pouting my lips to show that I'm wearing Syrup by Mac.  "It's the new me,"
    "The new you?  I'm very impressed," she says, rising from the floor and making her way to the sofa.  "And what does the 'new you' include?"
    "A few things, but to summarise, it includes expensive perfume and a new man,"
    "I'm liking the new you already.  Especially because your perfume has neutralised the stench of Rex's stir-fry,"
    I don't think that's a compliment, but I'm going to take it as one anyway.
    "I'm off to work," I say walking out of the kitchen.
    "But it's midday!"
    "Half day,"
    "Aren't you lucky!  Was Mel having a generous moment?"
    "No, I managed to convince her that we've already talked about me having a half day today, but she'd just forgotten,"
    "Clever girl,"
    "All part of the new me.  See you later," I say at the other end of the corridor.

    "You want to buy new uniform?"  Mel is looking at me like I've just shot her favourite puppy and then asked to borrow some sugar.
    "Yes.  I've had this same dress for a few months now.  We don't even have it on the shop floor anymore,"  but Mel's just tapping her foot with her arms crossed.
    This is just typical!  What's the point of working in a trendy, high-end High Street store when you're not allowed to wear any of the clothes?  I'm about to recite an entire monologue of how it says in our contract that we should buy new uniform with our 75% off as soon as the current one leaves the shop floor, but to my surprise Mel says, "OK, fine.  Go and pick something," and then walks away
    I'm left there in absolute awe, so much so, that I'm about to question it.  But the new me steps in before the old me spoils it.  And I go shopping at work.

    "Well, I suppose you look OK," Mel sticks her nose up at me after she's invited herself inside the fitting room.  She's lucky she stepped in 3 seconds after I stopped adusting my tights, otherwise I'd never have been able to look her in the eyes again.
    I turn back to the mirror after she's pulled the heavy fitting room door behind her.  She's wrong because I look more than just 'OK'.  I look fabulous!  The dress is a deep raspberry which really brings out my brown eyes, and my recently dyed medium brown hair, hangs perfectly against the sheer, short sleeves.  I'm swishing my dress in the mirror when I hear a voice from the other side of the door.
    "Is Ella working today?"  It's Anthony's voice.
    "Yes, she's here but she's very busy at the moment," Clara replies in her usual nonchalant style.
    There's a pause before Anthony answers.  "Just tell her I came by to see her, and I'll try to pop in later,"
    I undress as quickly as I can and put back the normal work dress in hope to catch him before he disappears out into the High Street, but as I emerge from the fitting rooms, I'm too late.  It's only Clara on the shop floor.  Her head is tilted to one side as she stares out of the windows.  Even with her back to me I can tell her face looks miserable. 
   "Did I hear someone ask for me?"  I say as I approach her.
    She turns to focus on me.  It's the same look I imagine a vampire would give their victim. "No," she manages.
    What???
    "Are you sure?  Because I thought I heard Anthony's voice,"  I probe.
    She huffs and looks at me again like she's already fed up of me pestering.  "OK, fine.  Yes, he came by and asked if you were working today.  He said he'd come by later.  There was another guy with him.  A rather dishy one,"  she smiles to herself and then moves away before I get to find out anything else.
    He was with a guy?  Why wasn't he with Chloe?  Have they broken up?  Did they break up because he's madly in love with me?
    Oh, stop it Ella!  The new you, remember?  The new you who doesn't care about Anthony.
    I turn around to help a customer but catch my reflection in the mirror.  The new you who has her dress tucked into her tights.

It's already 4pm and he still hasn't turned up.  I've purposely changed the rota so that I'm on front cover all day, guarding the door in the hope that he'll turn up and I won't miss him.
    And whilst being here I've learnt that there is such a thing as being overly keen at work.  I'm showing such interest with every customer who comes in, that they're engaging in a full conversation with me.  The trouble is that I don't think any of them want a conversation.  A man had to literally pull his wife away from me and say, "Come on dear, our dog's very sick,"
    I almost want to say, "I don't actually find you interesting.  I'm only talking to you so that my boss sees I'm good with customers and keeps me by the door for the rest of the day!"
    I peer out of the shop to look at the clock towering over the street.  It's two minutes past four.  And Anthony's still not here.  I cross my arms in agitation and avert my eyes inside the store.  I notice Clara marching towards me like she's on a mission.  Oh no, she's found out I accidentally ate her chocolate bar!
    "That's the guy," she says when she comes near me, but instead of looking at a particular person, she's looking at the floor.
    "What guy?"
    "DON'T look around and make it look obvious!" she shouts.
    "Make what look obvious?  I have no idea what you're talking about,"
    She rolls her eyes at me, "There's a guy standing next to the new burnt sienna suit.  See him?"  I nod when I notice him.  His eyes are glued to me.  "He's the guy who was with Adam earlier,"
    "Anthony,"
    "I don't actually care.  Anyway, he's been staring at you for the last ten minutes.  Do you know him?"
    I glance at him again trying to see if I've met him.  "No," I say with utter confusion.  "Is Anthony here?"
    "Nope," and Clara disappears into the sea of customers.
    My eyes flick towards the stranger and I see him coming over.  I'm instantly tense and for some reason start looking at my nails like there's something wrong with them.
    "Hi," he says awkwardly.
    "Hello," I smile.  "Do you need my help with choosing anything?"
    He coughs and starts adjusting his jacket as if he's nervous.  "Umm...no.  I came here to see you," his brown eyes intensify as he looks at me.  "I'm friends with Ant," he clarifies.
    "Oh, ok..."
    "We came by to see if you were here but he had to go and meet up with his girlfriend,"
    My stomach loops into a tight ball and I feel like I'm in severe pain.  Looks like they're still together.
    "Anyway, he came by to invite you to a party we're having tonight.  He explained that the two of you are good friends?"
    "Umm, yes, we're good friends,"  only a half lie I suppose.
    "It's a joint birthday party," he smiles.  Clara was right.  He really is dishy!  "I'd love you to be there.  I mean, Anthony would love you to be there"
    "I will try my best then," I smile at him, accept the crisp white invitation and fidget with it as it remains in my hands.  He should really leave now, but he hasn't and it's getting difficult to know what to talk about.
    "So, I shall be there tonight at 8," I say, trying to get him out of the door.
    "See you later.  Oh, I'm Jens by the way" he says, and backs himself outside, still looking at me until he's a good distance away.
    "I think he likes you.  He's been leering like a right perv," Clara has somehow appeared out of nowhere.  I jump in fright at the sound of her voice.
    I look down at the invitation.  My thumb starts to gently move across Anthony's name.  Clara notices and snatches it from my hand.  "Are we going to a party?"
    "No!"  I snap, taking it away from her paws again.  "I'm going to a party.  I don't know where you're going,"
    "You're no fun sometimes,"  and she goes away again in a strop.
    I gaze out into the High Street somehow thinking that Anthony will appear out of nowhere, but then remind my brain of the new me.
    A woman approaches me with one of our coats in her hand.  I'd say she's in her mid-fifties with a blonde perm, and bad make-up.  She's about to ask if we sell that coat in a larger size, but before she even gets the chance to speak, I announce,
    "I do not like Anthony,"
    "OK, dear," she replies, puts the coat down and probably tells herself that this store isn't for her on the way out.

Float Like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Bee

    "I like you,"
    I'm in line at the restaurant queue.  It's lunchtime and I only popped out because today's menu had roast dinner.  And I have a thing for Yorkshire puddings.  But here I am unexpectedly hearing words I never thought I'd hear. 
    "A lot," he continues whilst pouring gravy on his plate.
    I don't know how to respond.
    "Yorkshire pudding, madam?"
    "No," I whisper without thinking.
    I mean yes.  YES!!  I want a Yorkshire pudding!  Oh, too late.  We've already moved on to the sprouts.  And no one wants those.
    Should I play dumb and pretend that I haven't understood what he actually means?
    "One date?" he asks holding his tray like at trophy.  "Just one date, and if you don't like what you see, I'll stop bothering you like I have been,"
    What?  He's been bothering me?  I hadn't even noticed.
    I really should be saying something.   'No' springs to mind.  But 'yes' pops out of my mouth.

We're at The Natural History Museum in London.  Now, normally this is a happy place for me - fond memories of a school trip in Year 5 spring to mind - but today it's as if all possible fun has been sucked out. 
    Because we've been staring at dried out insects for an hour.
    "Am I allowed to tell you that you look as beautiful as this butterfly?" he drawls.
    No, you're not.  Because a) my make-up is completely ruined after that woman got startled by the moving dinosaur and threw her water all over me, and b) because this butterfly is all dried out!  I've seen slugs more appealing to the eye than this!
    I smile and sway my yellow summer dress to imply that I'm flattered. 
    "Butterflies are probably the most interesting insects out there.  Apart from bees, obviously,"
    Obviously!
    "They taste with their feet to find out whether the leaf they're on is good enough for laying eggs,"
    "Wow," my enthusiasm lacking slightly.
    "They're strong too.  Like all insects they can carry about 50 times their own body weight.  It would be like me carrying two heavy cars full of people,"  he laughs aloud at his own words.  I don't even bother to pretend to find him funny.
    "And caterpillars are wondrous creatures too.  You know, an old wives tale states that when the black bands of a Woolybear caterpillar are wide, a cold Winter is coming,"
    "Do the black bands tend to be wide around November time, say just when the weather's getting really cold?"
    He's in a fit of laughter again, "You're hilarious!"
    Yes.  And you're not.
    "Butterflies need the warmth of the sun to help them fly.  Oh, and here's another interesting fact,"  he really needs to re-learn the meaning of the word 'interesting', "none have been found in Antarctica,"   
    "Well, I suppose that does make sense if they need the warmth of the sun to fly," I say.  He looks at me full of wonder.  I feel like I've said something horribly wrong, but to my surprise, his face creases into a broad smile.  "You really are a butterfly, aren't you,"
    What does that even mean?
    "You always look so graceful," he continues.
    "Then looks are incredibly deceiving,"
    He laughs again.  It's getting highly annoying. 
    "Do you like butterflies?"

    "I like the Butterfly Ball lipstick collection by Lipstick Queen,"  

    And he's laughing yet again.  What was so funny about that???

    "It comes in five colours," I continue, not understanding why he isn't taking me seriously.  "Today I'm wearing 'Trance',"

    He finally stops and looks at me with intense eyes, "Butterflies are rare," his expression begins to soften as his eyes burn into me.  I half expect him to burst into song declaring his undying love for me.  Or butterflies.  "Habitats are changing, so there are fewer numbers than before,"
    "Really?  I saw about 15 on the way here,"
    But he's stopped listening to me.  "We desperately need them as they're the second largest group of pollinators.  Bees being the first," he sighs as he continues to look at the dried out insects behind the glass.  "And bees are disappearing too,"
    "Like in Doctor Who,"
    "What?"
    "Never mind,"
    "Bees can recognise individual human faces,"
    "I knew it!" I declare, "I told Tia that the same bee was buzzing around me that entire week!"  and I'm really not joking.  It followed me to two bars!
    "They have nasty stings,"
    I nod my head trying to remember a time I've been stung.  It's only happened once when I was very little.  I was out buying a watermelon with my grandad and a bee sat on my thumb. 
    "Bees are just a form of specially adapted wasps.  So they may look beautiful and friendly, but deep down they can really hurt you,"
    I begin to walk ahead, trying to entrance him towards the gemstone section.  Hopefully he'll have less to say over there.  He follows weakly, his hands gracing my waist when he catches up with me.  In an instant, he's pulled me towards him, his arms cocooned around me so there's no escape.
    "Can we do this again?" he asks me with an whisper, his eyes longingly scanning every contour of my face.
    I was really hoping to avoid this situation.  I was hoping he'd realise I'm not the girl for him, we'd go our separate ways and revert to occasionally bumping into each other at the restaurant queue.  Him drowning his plate with gravy, and me stealing all the Yorkshire puds. 
    "Umm, I should really head home now," I tell him, pushing his arms away from me. 
    "Oh," he says deflated and hurt.  And there it was.  I'd stung him, then floated away.