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It had been an exceptionally dull night, one I never wanted to spend at a pub after work. But my friend Emma’s call changed my plans; she wanted to introduce me to her new boyfriend. Emma was on her seventh relationship in just two years, a fact that always puzzled me. I couldn’t fathom how someone like her, with her consistent trust issues and a penchant for being cheated on, could jump into relationships so quickly. Perhaps it was her striking beauty, with her hazel eyes, pink lips, curly hair, and sun-kissed skin. Sometimes, I found myself admiring her looks, even feeling the urge to kiss her. I couldn’t shake off the envy I felt for her effortless lifestyle and natural beauty. Adding to my frustration was my own romantic misfortune; I couldn’t seem to find a decent boyfriend. Every man I dated treated me like a mere distraction, a temporary placeholder in their lives.
My dog Bruno’s barking pulled me from my thoughts. Glancing at my phone, I realised it was 9:00 AM; panic washed over me as I remembered my plan to meet Mark for breakfast. I stumbled out of bed, realising I wasn’t in my pyjamas. The events of last night were hazy in my memory; I vaguely recalled the excessive drinking and being escorted home by Bobby, Emma’s stepbrother. As I entered my flat, I rushed to the bathroom and vomited. The acrid smell lingered, and I recoiled a step. I remembered everything now. Bobby had dropped me home, and I had barely made it to my bedroom before vomiting again. Bruno followed me into the room, unable to resist the smell.
“Oh, crap!” I muttered, remembering my breakfast appointment with Mark at “The Wolseley” on Piccadilly. Breakfast was not my usual priority, especially as a doctor. I’m a pathologist, but my studies included general medicine. I texted Mark hastily, “Hey, I might be running late. I’ll be there around 11 AM. Sorry.” It was my first date in six months, and I was determined not to mess it up.
I spritzed on some perfume; I never bothered with room sprays, preferring the vibrant scent of my favourite perfumes. After cleaning the mess in my bedroom, I quickly brushed my teeth and took a shower, skipping shampooing to save time. Staring at my reflection in the fogged-up mirror, I felt a twinge of self-doubt. Despite my self-love, I couldn’t escape moments of insecurity. But perhaps, as humans, a bit of self-doubt was natural; it pushed us to improve ourselves. I tied up my hair, applied toner to my face, and noticed the faint dark circles under my eyes, likely a result of the previous night’s indulgence. I moisturised my skin and attempted to apply foundation when my phone rang.
It was Emma. I debated whether to answer; she rarely called in the mornings. I picked up hesitantly. “Hey,” I said.
“Hi, babe. Anything urgent?” I tried to keep the conversation brief; I was already running late for my date.
“I need your help, babe,” Emma’s voice was slow and dull. I wondered if she was still hungover.
“Tell me quickly,” I replied, trying not to sound irritated.
“Who’s trying to f**k you now babe? Why are you in such a hurry?” Emma’s tone was unexpected and disrespectful. I couldn’t contain my annoyance.
“Emma, if you need something, just tell me. Don’t waste my time. I have work to do!” I raised my voice; I felt a pang of disrespect.
“Hey, baby, I’m sorry if I upset you this morning, but I really need some money. Could you transfer 500 pounds, please?” The word ‘please’ lingered, heavy with urgency. Emma already owed me nearly 2000 pounds from the past year. I couldn’t fathom why she required such a substantial sum every month. She had recently lost her job, and I found myself footing her bills, rent, and other expenses without expecting anything in return. We had been friends since I was 12, spanning almost 16 years. Her parents’ divorce when she was 14 had marked a turning point in her life. Tragically, her father was killed in an accident, and her mother, refusing to shoulder any responsibility, had left for Italy with her boyfriend, abandoning Emma. From that point on, she refused to speak to her mother. Given her difficult past, she leaned heavily on me, and I willingly embraced the responsibility.
I couldn’t quite pinpoint why, but there was a profound connection between us. Perhaps it was the loss of my own sister at the tender age of 6 that made me empathise with Emma. The moment I met her, I felt an inexplicable bond.
All these memories flooded my mind in a mere moment. Emma’s voice interrupted my thoughts as she spoke on the phone, her tone drowsy. “Babe, are you there?” she murmured.
“Yeah, I’ll transfer the money within an hour. Is that okay?” I replied, my voice cautious. She said, “Love you, baby,” and hung up. I wasn’t sure why I agreed. If I truly cared for her, I should have asked why she needed the money so early in the morning and what she intended to do with it. But I refrained from asking, well aware of her hypersensitivity that could lead to her yelling at me. There had been numerous incidents in the past between us that I preferred not to dwell on. Revisiting those memories would only waste my time. Meanwhile, I received a response from Mark, “No worries, I’ll be having a coffee. Take your time.” “Oh, that sounds nice,” I thought, reflecting on Mark. Despite that, there was a nagging feeling, a residue of my past experiences with relationships that never lasted more than four months. Yet, with Mark, there was something different. I could sense his focus and genuine care for me. However, I reminded myself that appearances could be deceiving. Most men seemed sincere initially, until they got what they wanted. Still, not all men were the same, there were women out there who were equally deceptive.
I had met Mark during a suicide case that had initially suspected as a murder. The victim’s body had arrived for autopsy, a routine part of my job as a pathologist. Most of my days were spent with the deceased, crafting reports detailing the final moments in their bodies during their deaths.
After finishing my makeup and hair spray, I wrestled with my choice of outfit. Dressing wasn’t my forte, and Emma usually assisted me. Her taste was impeccable, unlike mine, which tended to be more subdued. According to her, the key lay in the colour of the dress, the weather, and the occasion. I was hopeless with colours, but I settled for simplicity, opting for a body con dress suitable for the morning and evening, considering the hot afternoon. Dark blue complemented my light blue eyes. I chose the “Acqua Di Parma Blu Mediterraneo” perfume, reminiscent of sun and sea. Although I wasn’t sure if Mark would appreciate it, he had complimented the perfume when we first met.
Glancing at my phone, I realised it was already 10:20 AM. “Oh gosh!” I exclaimed, hastily putting on my high heels. There was no time to contemplate footwear. I had resisted going to the pub the previous night, but Emma’s persuasion had been impossible to resist. I knew this mess was the aftermath of that decision. I whispered a quick prayer to Buddha, kissed Bruno, and promised I’d be back soon. After putting out some dog food, I grabbed my car keys and locked the door.
Mark had offered to pick me up at 10, but I had declined. I feared this date would end like all the others if he did. I’d observed a pattern: whenever a man picked me up, things went south for some inexplicable reason. Perhaps it was childish of me, but I wanted to ensure this date went well. I sat in my car, took a deep breath, and muttered, “This will go well.” I checked my face in the rearview mirror and managed a smile.
London wasn’t a city that necessitated owning a car. The public transport was excellent, but having a car gave me a sense of financial stability. So, I had bought a “2.0 Cooper S Sport.” I wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about cars, and the purchase had been suggested by Harry, my colleague. I had a strong suspicion that he had a crush on me, but I never gave him a chance to prove it. He was good-looking and a genuinely nice person, but he wasn’t my type. Harry was my complete opposite. Once, he had tried to ask me out, but I had pretended not to notice his advances. I often wondered why women, including myself, didn’t appreciate clean, hardworking men like him. I had never wanted to date Harry, perhaps because men like him never seemed to hurt us, and we tended to gravitate toward men who wanted fun without any responsibility. It was merely an assumption on my part, but I stuck to my decision to avoid dating Harry.
Checking my phone, I saw it was 10:56 AM, and I estimated I would reach by around 11:15. Finally, I arrived at the restaurant, but finding a parking spot was a nightmare. “God,” I sighed. Urban cities always had this issue with parking, and it was a genuine pain. Eventually, I had to park my car on the other side of the road. I muttered another exasperated remark and started walking toward the restaurant. I glanced at myself in the restaurant’s glass door, catching the eye of a smiling child. I smiled back before looking up to see Mark seated inside, sipping his coffee. “He’s incredibly handsome,” I murmured to myself. He wore a light blue shirt with cream chinos, his long curly hair and thick dark beard giving him a rugged yet attractive look. The first time I saw him, he had been in a blue suit. I had never seen him in this casual attire, and he looked incredibly appealing. I raised my eyebrows slightly and continued walking toward the entrance. The man at the door asked, “How many, ma’am?” I glanced at him and said, “I’m meeting someone; he’s already inside.” He nodded and said, “Have a lovely morning.” I proceeded toward Mark’s table when I realised I had left my phone in the car. I closed my eyes and silently pleaded, “Please, don’t go back.” Forgetting something would usually consume my thoughts until I retrieved it. I didn’t want to mess up this date like I had with all my previous ones. Mark looked at me and stood up. As we approached each other, I couldn’t resist stealing a glance at him. He came closer and gave me a warm hug. “God damn,” I thought, and he smells amazing. He asked, “Are you alright?” I replied with a smile, “Yes.” He pulled out the chair for me to sit, and I said, “Thank you.” He settled into his own chair smoothly, and I admired the way he touched me. In my previous dates, men had hugged me, but there was always a sense of urgency in their touch. Mark’s touch, however, was simple, unhurried. He asked, “How was your morning?” I leaned back in my chair and said, “It wasn’t like yesterday,” a subtle smile playing on my lips. He chuckled and replied, “I get it, Sunday mornings aren’t exactly prime time for dates.” He finished the sentence with a laugh, and I couldn’t help but smile in return. He had a wonderful smile, and I had considered complimenting him on it, but my ego held me back. Being the first to compliment someone felt like a vulnerability I wasn’t ready to expose.
Mark opened the menu and asked, “What would you like to have?” I typically skipped breakfast, so choosing wasn’t my strong suit. I didn’t bother looking at the menu and simply said, “Order something you think I’ll like.” He raised his left eyebrow, accepting the challenge. As he perused the menu, I absentmindedly played with my hair, stealing glances at him without him noticing. I wanted this moment to linger, and I couldn’t quite grasp why. Despite being 29, I had never been in a serious relationship. I longed for this to be different, yet fear gripped me. What if I ended up like Emma? Mark seemed different, but one could never be too sure. Handsome men often had the reputation of playing around, given the array of choices they had. I glanced around the restaurant and noticed other women subtly eyeing Mark. We Women are skilled at this, we could look at men without anyone noticing except fellow women. I found myself smiling at this observation.
Mark caught my smile and asked, “What?” I looked at him and said, “Nothing. Just remembered a joke.” He nodded, checking his watch. It was 11:25 AM, and I flagged down the waiter. Mark ordered, “Grilled kipper with mustard butter and two Wolseley fishcakes with poached egg and hollandaise.” The waiter thanked us and mentioned it would take 20 minutes. I remarked, “That’s quite a heavy breakfast!” He smiled and replied, “Well, we’re not in a rush.” I smiled back and asked, “Why did you check the time before ordering?” He explained, “The last order for breakfast is at 11:30 AM. After that, they don’t take any more breakfast orders.” I bit my lip and inquired, “Are you a regular here?” He gave me a sarcastic look and replied, “I do my part here,” chuckling. I found his humour delightful and laughed, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, hoping to impress him. I noticed the expression on his face, indicating he thought I might be overreacting, but as a pathologist, humour was a rare gem in my day-to-day life, often overshadowed by blood and the scent of bodies.
Leaning towards the table, Mark asked, “So, what’s a typical Sunday like for you?” This was the start of a real conversation, and I was eager to make it engaging. “Sundays are different, I intentionally get up late. It’s the only day I permit myself that luxury,” I said, carefully observing his reactions. “I spend time playing with my dog,” I continued, and he interrupted, his eyes lighting up, “You have a dog? I love dogs.” I smiled, thrilled to discover this common ground. “Yes, I adore my Bruno. He’s an amazing boy!” I exclaimed. Mark’s face softened, and he said, “I had a dog…” His voice trailed off, a mixture of grief and sadness shadowing his eyes. Intrigued, I asked, “What happened?” He sighed, his expression heavy with sorrow. “He had cancer and passed away,” he said. Losing a pet was always heartbreaking, their actions and care for you, even without words, haunted your memories. Mark continued, “Since then, I’ve been too scared to get another dog. I can’t shake the thought of Jackie.” Jackie must have been his dog’s name, and I asked, “Jackie was your dog?” He nodded silently. Not wanting the conversation to take a melancholic turn, I interjected, “Maybe they leave us to remind us that nothing is permanent, and everyone needs to say goodbye.” I wasn’t sure where those words came from, but they seemed to work. He looked at me and smiled, saying, “That’s true, actually.” I felt relieved that my attempt at steering the conversation away from sadness had succeeded. I could sense the aroma of butter wafting through the air, announcing the arrival of our breakfast. The temptation to take the first bite was irresistible, especially since I hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon. The remnants of gin, rum, and vodka, combined with a pizza, had forcefully exited my stomach in a fit of vomiting yesterday. Despite my hunger, I tried not to appear overly eager in front of Mark. I attempted to smile at him, but my insatiable appetite betrayed my attempts at composure.
The waiter expertly arranged the dishes on the table, and I sat there like a hungry child, eager to take the first bite. I exhaled, stealing a glance at Mark. “So, how does it look?” he inquired. I couldn’t bring myself to give an honest answer, my mood simply wasn’t conducive to it. “It looks incredibly tempting,” I replied, playing it safe. Mark smiled and asked, “Are you hungry?” His perceptiveness caught me off guard. “How did you know?” I asked, momentarily forgetting he was a detective, skilled at reading people’s faces and interpreting their emotions. I needed to tread carefully, a man who could decipher a woman’s expressions posed a challenge. Not that I had anything to hide or intended to deceive him, but privacy was essential. “Why do you overthink things?” Mark questioned. I met his gaze as he wiped his hands with a napkin, replying, “I’m not thinking about anything.” He smiled and teased, “Then taste it and let me know if I’ve chosen a good breakfast.”
I returned his smile, picking up the fork and knife, and took a quick bite of the kipper. As the flavours exploded on my taste buds, I closed my eyes and was transported back a decade to a rainy day in Manchester when Emma and I had a similar meal. I couldn’t recall the restaurant’s name, but the memory was vivid. Mark’s question brought me back to the present, and I opened my eyes, exclaiming, “This is the best breakfast I’ve had in years.” It was true, I often skipped breakfast, making this moment exceptionally delightful. Mark smiled, and his eyes expressed his satisfaction at not disappointing me.
As we continued our meal, Mark shared stories about his work and various topics. I listened attentively, I didn’t have any extraordinary stories to share, allowing him to lead the conversation. Eventually, we finished our breakfast, and Mark’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, contemplating whether to answer it or not. It was likely related to work or perhaps a call from a friend like Emma. He smiled and said, “I need to take this.” He answered the call, saying, “Hello, Dave!” The name Dave sparked a memory, he was Mark’s colleague, someone I had met when he came to collect a report on Mark’s behalf. Dave was tall with hazel eyes, much like Emma, and although he was good-looking, he had a serious demeanour and rarely smiled. The case we had worked on involved a man whose death had initially appeared to be a murder but was later determined to be a suicide. The man had suffered from schizophrenia for many years, and he was a alcoholic. The case involved a man whose death was initially suspected to be a murder, but it was ultimately determined to be a suicide. He had tragically jumped from the fourth floor due to his battle with schizophrenia. This particular case captivated my interest, prompting me to immerse myself in its intricacies. It was during this investigation that Mark and I began to know each other better.
The man in question had been grappling with schizophrenia for many years, a fact misunderstood by his friends and siblings who mistakenly believed his erratic behaviour was a result of alcoholism. In reality, he had been struggling with this severe mental health condition. Over the course of eight years, he had steadily deteriorated, succumbing to daily alcohol consumption that had ravaged his liver. His descent into alcoholism had been triggered by a series of heart-wrenching events: his wife’s betrayal, his estranged children forbidden from seeing him, and the shattering of his dream to become an actor. Failing in various aspects of his life, he found solace in imitating characters from movies and drowning his sorrows in alcohol. Tragically, his coping mechanism only exacerbated his schizophrenia. It’s disheartening to consider that society often extends opportunities for redemption only after individuals have endured the ravages of addiction and despair, rather than when they are striving to overcome their challenges and make positive changes.
It was a sad story, but the man’s unfortunate end indirectly led to my meeting with Mark. In Buddhism, it’s often said that whoever you meet is a result of karma, and every encounter serves a purpose. I wasn’t sure what that purpose might be, but meeting someone like Mark was certainly a positive outcome. Mark’s phone conversation ended, and he signalled the waiter. I shot him a questioning glance. He explained, “I’m sorry, but it’s a bit urgent. There’s a suspect I need to meet, and Dave can’t do it as he’s not feeling well since this morning.” My heart sank. I had hoped for a pleasant Sunday, but Dave’s health had disrupted those plans. I didn’t voice my disappointment, I understood the situation. “No worries,” I replied. “It was a really enjoyable breakfast, and I appreciated the morning.” He smiled back, and I sensed his regret at having to leave abruptly. He apologised and settled the bill. As we walked out, he asked, “Where did you park your car?” I pointed to the lane. “I couldn’t find parking here,” he sighed. “Yeah, that’s the challenge in London,” he acknowledged. “Let me walk you to your car,” he offered. I appreciated his gesture, despite his hurried departure, he wanted to ensure I wasn’t left alone outside the restaurant, feeling like a nobody.
While we walked, he inquired, “What’s the plan for the evening?” I hesitated for a moment, wanting to appear composed and not overly eager to go out. “Need to figure it out, honestly,” I replied, keeping it vague, with the expectation that he might finish his work and invite me out later. As anticipated, he suggested, “How about a compensation?” I pretended to be perplexed. “A dinner, if you’re okay with it,” he clarified. Inside, I was ecstatic at the thought of meeting him again. “I’ll let you know by the afternoon,” I said, masking my enthusiasm. I desperately wanted to say yes immediately, but I didn’t want to reveal how interested I was. He smiled and said, “Sure, let me know,” before we arrived at my car. He gave me a warm, gentle hug, and I could smell the lingering scent of his perfume, reminds me of the beach. He opened my car door and said, “Hope we can meet tonight again. I’ll be waiting for your reply.” I smiled back, replying, “Sure, you’ll hear from me. It was great meeting you! Take care,” even though inside, I was eagerly anticipating saying yes to the dinner invitation. He closed the door and walked back to his car. As I drove away, I noticed Dave waiting in the car, smoking a cigarette. I slowed my car and parked discreetly, out of his sight. Questions swirled in my mind. Why did he lie about Dave being ill? Was he trying to extract information from me? But then I reminded myself that there was no reason for him to spy on me. However, Mark was clearly hiding something. Lost in my thoughts, I saw Mark there and get into Dave’s car. They both drove off. While I contemplated Mark’s odd behaviour, my phone rang, and it was Emma once again.
Cont….(Chapter-2)
