When The Time Is Right

Fate can mess with the most carefully laid plans…

“Yes, under the signal board at the station,” I confirmed, cringing again at how clichéd it sounded.

“Well, I’ll call you at eight with a get-out clause. I’ll pretend I’m your neighbour and your pipes are leaking. If you’re truly having a terrible time, you can say you have to leave and sort out a plumber.”

Knowing there was a ripcord I could happily pull just sixty minutes into the date was the only thing that got me out of the front door and onto the train. But, as I disembarked with a copy of Time magazine tucked under my arm and wearing the bright red dress that was going to identify me, it still seemed like a very bad idea.

I was early, but then so was he. I surged through the barriers on a tide of commuters who quickly dispersed, leaving me feeling curiously vulnerable and exposed as I surveyed the station concourse. And then I spotted him standing there beneath the signal board, scoping the crowds for someone. For me.

Gavin had said that he was “tall-ish”, but that was an understatement. He stood a good head and shoulders above those around him.

He was turning in a slow, deliberate circle, and in the final seconds before we made eye contact I noticed that beneath the station’s fluorescent lights his hair was more chestnut than the plain “brown” Gavin had described.

Ted’s smile was warmly welcoming as his eyes swept over my bright red dress. He grinned at me across the crowd, looking surprisingly boyish as he held up a folded magazine. Even from this distance I could read the word Time on the front cover. In response I held up my own copy of the magazine. Snap. This had been our second means of identifying each other.

Ted’s long legs covered the gap between us in a few strides.

“Hello. You must be Sarah.”

“I am,” I replied, wondering why my chest suddenly felt tight. This would be a really bad time to have a panic attack.

“I didn’t think we’d find each other so easily,” he said happily. I reminded myself to smile as though this was a good thing.

“Are you OK going somewhere a little quieter?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over a tannoy announcement. “There’s a tapas place nearby.”

He took my elbow to guide me through the crowd, and again as we emerged and dashed across the busy road. It should have felt wrong and far too soon for that kind of contact, but weirdly it didn’t.

The restaurant was only five minutes away and yet he made me laugh three times as we walked through the rain-spattered streets.

Without missing a beat in the story he was telling, he unobtrusively dropped a folded note onto the blanket of a homeless man we passed. When the welcoming lights of the restaurant appeared before us, Ted held open the door, saying with a grin, “I picked somewhere close to the station in case you wanted to bolt.”

I laughed. “Or if you did.”

“Not even remotely likely,” he countered, which made me blush for the first time in years.

Somewhere between being shown to a cosy booth and ordering wine and olives I admitted to myself how glad I was that I’d come. It wasn’t just because I liked Ted; it was because I knew with unshakeable certainty that Ben would have done, too.

When the waitress brought our drinks, I moved Ted’s folded magazine to make space. In the flickering candlelight, he spotted my frown.

“Something wrong?”

“This is a copy of Time Out,” I said, turning the magazine towards him. “They I wondered why my chest suddenly felt tight. This would be a really bad time to have a panic attack

aren’t even printed any more.”

“I know,” Ted replied. “It was a real challenge to get hold of an old issue, I can tell you.”

I passed him my magazine. “You were meant to bring a copy of Time,” I explained.

The confusion in his eyes cleared away. “Well, that would have been easier. I thought it was some sort of test.”

“Well, you passed,” I said, pushing both magazines aside.

He poured us drinks from the bottle of red, but before we could clink glasses my phone vibrated on the tabletop. I glanced at Mel’s name on the screen and then at the time. It was seven-twenty, too early to accept the get-out clause I already knew I didn’t want. I declined the call.

“So, you work in finance?” I said, lifting the wine to my lips.

“Not really. I was in Financial Law, but I’ve kind of changed direction.” Intrigued, I leaned closer. “A friend of mine lost his wife in that dreadful train crash last year and it was a bit of a wake-up call. I realised that life was too short to waste it doing something you don’t enjoy. So I followed my heart and opened my own coffee shop.”

“Wow – that is a big change. So, how’s it all going?”

“Really well,” he said with quiet pride. “Although my mum was a bit confused. She was ecstatic when I said I was going to be a barista; said any chambers would be lucky to have me.”

I laughed so hard I almost choked on my wine. Ted was pouring me a glass of water when my phone rang once more. It was Mel again.

“Do you need to get that?”

I shook my head and declined the call. I was having too good a time with Ted.

Over patatas bravas he explained how setting up his business had left no time for a social life, which was why he’d let his friend set up our date. My own reasons were harder to share. There was genuine sympathy in his eyes when I admitted this was my first date since Ben had died.

“Well, I’m very glad you decided to come,” he said gently.

“Me too,” I said, and I meant it.

Mel had finally given up on calling and instead sent a WhatsApp written entirely in capitals. It definitely caught my attention. My eyes widened as I read it all the way to the bottom. I put down the phone and looked at Ted

In a voice not entirely steady, I said, “This might sound like a totally crazy question, but what is your name?” He looked confused.

“It’s Mark. You know that.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“Not Ted?”

“Er, no. I’m pretty sure it’s Mark. What’s this about?”

In reply I passed him my phone with Mel’s message. WHEREAREYOU? TED’SBEENDELAYEDANDDOESN’T HAVEYOURNUMBER.HE’LLBEAT THESTATIONASSOONASHECAN…

“Oh,” said the man opposite me. “But you said that you’re Sarah.”

“I am.”

“You work in a library, play the guitar, and have a labradoodle.”

“I’m not that Sarah.”

“We’re both on the wrong date!” we cried out in unison.