Harry had the decency to look sad. For a gun-wielding maniac he was obviously well in touch with his sensitive side.
‘So, if you don’t mind me asking, what made you apply for this?’
‘Blokes at work. Last month I dared my mates Jammy and Kegsy to flash their tackle at the CCTV cameras in the High Street. The month before, Dudsy had to buy ten boxes of Tampax in Boots the chemist. Daft tossers thought they were stitching me right up making me do this. Wait till I tell them I had a bloody brilliant time. Ha!’
I felt utterly blessed and flattered that I appeared to be rating above indecent exposure and the bulk buying of feminine hygiene products.
‘So do you need more photographs of me or anything like that?’
I shook my head. ‘Nope, I don’t think so–apparently all the case studies in the book will be anonymous.’
His face fell.
‘Something wrong?’ I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Nope, it’s just that I was kind of hoping that this would be an ongoing thing. A hundred pounds, a night on the town, a hot bird–I could get used to this.’
Sadly for Harry and the balance sheet of the Coin Slot Amusement Centre, I knew that I couldn’t.
‘So, anything else about you that I should know?’ I prompted, mindful that I was under orders to get as much background info as possible. ‘You said on your application that you were into sports?’
He put down his large double whopper and fries, took a slug of his full-fat coke and then burped.
‘Darts. I play for the pub darts team.’
And there was me thinking that he’d done a quick four-hundred-metre hurdles before he came to collect me.
‘And I’m a total god on the PlayStation–nobody, and I mean nobody, can touch me on Grand Theft Auto IV. My firepower is awesome.’
I realised that somewhere out there was the perfect woman for this man…I just hoped that she got parole soon so they could get together.
‘And reading?’
‘The usual stuff…’ he chomped, giving me a full view of the mastication process.
The usual stuff? Thrillers? The odd John Grisham? The occasional Harlan Coben?
‘…you know, Nuts, Zoo, stuff like that. Do you want an ice-cream? I’ve still got a fiver left.’
‘Go on, spoil me!’ I replied with a smile. Romance might be out of the question, love and lust were a definite non-starter, but after hours of hunger, if I could at least get my blood-sugar back up to a level that ruled out the possibility of fainting, I figured that would be a bonus.
He sauntered off to the counter, checking his cash the whole way. When he returned, he threw down a little surprise. ‘Had enough left for a donut as well.’
I was getting luckier by the minute. ‘Do you mind if we go outside now–my lift will be here in a minute.’
‘One of your mates?’ I asked.
‘Nah, my mum. She didn’t want me travelling on the tube at night–said she’d drive down after her line-dancing. She gets jittery if I’m out late at night. Called the police once, but I’d just had a few too many and my mates had left me in a wheelie bin outside the front door.’
Outside, I shook his hand as a taxi pulled up.
‘Thanks, Harry, I had a really, er, interesting time.’
Well, there was no point in being rude. Besides, my mortal fear of confrontation was up there with the tendency to plod on my prevalent characteristics scale.
‘So I can’t get your telephone number or anything then?’
Aw, bless, he was swinging from foot to foot in some kind of nervous shuffle–I knew that feeling all too well.
‘It’s just that there’s this really cool arcade in Milton Ke—’
I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry, Harry, it’s more than my job’s worth. But thanks.’ I jumped into the taxi, but before it drove off he stuck his head in the window.
‘Okay, but if your brother ever fancies a pint, get him to call me. Wouldn’t mind picking his brain…you know, about the whole arms possession thing.’
I leaned towards the driver. ‘There’s a twenty-quid tip if you get me out of here before I start to hyperventilate.’
My head thudded back onto the upholstery as the car screeched off.
I took a deep breath. Okay, let’s not overreact–morbid fascination with violence aside, he was fairly polite. And I hadn’t needed to use my pepper spray once.
However–cue depressing music and feeling of doom–he was only number one, so I still had eleven more dates to go.
Little did I know that I’d one day look back on Harry as being one of the more normal ones.
PROGRESS SUMMARY: IT’S IN THE STARS DATING PROJECT
| CONCLUDED | ||
| LEO | Harry Henshall | Morbid fascination for simulated violence |
EMAIL To: Trisha; Stu From: Leni Lomond Re: If last night’s date had a personal ad, it would read like…
Male, 28 (maturity age 13–16), Leo, cuddly, seeks like-minded female with endless supply of pound coins for fun-filled nights wiping out entire civilisations with big plastic fake guns. Must be technologically skilled: proficient on PSP, Xbox, PlayStation, Wii and Nintendo DS (please note that I am the ‘God of Milton Keynes’ on all of these systems), and have interest in weapons of mass destruction. GSOH, likes fun dares and practical jokes–can supply own wheelie bin. Very sociable, has many friends with adolescent nicknames and can’t wait to add girlfriend called ‘Knockers’ to the list. Ideal partner will therefore have knockers of substantial size. Must be good cook with wide range of specialities: burgers, chilli, fish and chips, donuts, pizza, and should be able to drink until they fall down or vomit, both of which will be captured on mobile phone and posted on YouTube. Family values important–expect to live with parents until middle age.
Most romantic gesture: sharing bargain bucket of KFC while playing two-player game of Ninja Warriors 3.
Ideal holiday: Blackpool, Las Vegas, terrorist training camp.
‘I don’t know what you’re complaining about, at least he bought you a donut,’ Millie spluttered through tears of laughter. ‘I mean, that’s true devotion for you.’
‘Listen, don’t mock,’ I replied with faux seriousness. ‘At least now if I ever want to annihilate a small country I know the very person to call.’
We were off again, giggling away under the starry evening sky–at nine o’clock on a February morning.
My nose began to twitch and I suddenly realised that we weren’t alone. Conn. Or, rather, Conn’s gorgeous, sexy scent–I believe it’s called Hubba Hubba for Men.
‘So, how’d it go last night, Leni–did you have a good time?’ With those deep, undulating tones he could get a job in TV doing the announcements between