The Decoy Date

Chapter Five

Her heart was pounding as she waited for him to invite her in, he seemed as surprised to see her and she was to be standing on his doorstep. Right up until she'd rung the doorbell it was 50/50 whether she was going to actually go through with this, she was even more unsure now she'd seen the look of disbelief on Charlie's face. Nausea overwhelmed her and she was grateful she'd skipped breakfast, otherwise she'd have ruined the perfect privet hedges with something that resembled scrambled eggs but was a lot more disgusting.

Just standing there she felt out of place, everything was pristine, perfect and clean; there was no crisp packets or plastic bags swirling around in the wind, the gardens were all tidy, there were no unwashed vans with 'Clean Me' or rude pictures scrawled in the dirt. It was like walking onto the set of desperate housewives or the street where everybody in London who had OCD lived. The Georgian terrace house she was stood in front of was no exception, she didn't know where she expected Charlie to live, but it definitely wasn't anywhere like this. It reminded her of her parent's house, the one she'd lived in until moving into halls at university.

"Yeah, sorry . . . uh come in." He stood back and let her through into a clean, bright hallway. Through the door, she was hit with the smell of tomatoes and chicken and cheese making her stomach growl in complaint at her lack of breakfast. Charlie closed the front door behind her and ambled up next to her clearly still in shock at her appearance.

"I didn't think you would come." She followed him through a dining room with a large oak table set for six and into an open plan kitchen with dark worktops.

"I didn't think I would either, but I haven't really got any other options and I cannot face my mother alone. I would never live it down, so here I am. What smells so good? Was I disturbing your lunch?" She was really hoping he'd offer her some food otherwise she'd have to make this meeting quick and go and grab a cardboard sandwich from the supermarket.

"I was just about to put it out when you rang the doorbell. It's chicken parmesan, I've made loads if you want some? I was going to save it for lunch tomorrow but it's a lot better fresh." She nodded so glad he'd offered to share it, he grabbed a second plate and dished up the pasta then the hot, tomatoey chicken; her mouth was literally watering when he passed her the plate.

"What do you want to drink? I've got tea, coffee, fruit juice, beer, wine, spirits, water?"

"Beer's fine thanks." She said as she noticed his own bottle next his plate of food. She took the drink and walked to the dining table and began pulling out a chair, it was a lot heavier than she expected; the weight knocking her off balance, her food began slipping on her uneven plate and she could just visualize the red stain it would leave on the rug below her feet.

"I was going to eat in the living room upstairs actually, the match starts in about half an hour. We don't have to, it's up to you."

"Upstairs is fine, I was going to catch up with the footy on Match of the Day but watching it live is even better." She followed Charlie upstairs, careful to keep her plate straight and found herself in an enormous living room. It took up the whole of the floor of the house, completely open, there was an L-shaped sofa pointing towards a traditional metal fireplace that looked like it hadn't been used this century. Around the corner was another sofa pointed towards a huge flat screen television in one of those audio-visual units all men seemed to have in their living rooms. Along the back wall was a window seat with a view over a small back garden, the wooden floor echoed their footsteps as they crossed to the seats opposite the already switched on TV. Each wall had posters of classic films including some of her own favourites; The Princess Bride, Shaun of the Dead and A Fish Called Wanda.

"I don't think I've met a girl who's willing to eat Italian food in the living room in front of the football before, maybe my sisters but they'd be a bit miffed about the lack of table. Have you always like football then?" They sat down on the sofa, a couple of feet apart from each other and settled their plates on their knees and their bottles on the floor. She could get used to this, the television was at least twice as big as hers and the sofa was a lot more comfortable; her own was like sitting on stale cheese, hard around the edges, soft in the middle and smelt a little mouldy.