Page 21 of The Mismatch

Magnus was there when she arrived, sitting in one of the booths looking at his phone. Something about seeing him there – dressed all in black, which suited him a lot more than the green top he wore at the party – sent her anxiety into overdrive. There was a reason why she always liked a certain type, and why Magnus was not included in it. He made her nervous, and not in a good way. He reminded her of the boys at school who had made fun of her.

What was she doing?And why had she let herself be egged on by her friends? She was beginning to think this was a very bad idea. It didn’t help that she’d been out the night before, her comedown well and truly sparking the negative feelings she had about herself and how this date would go.

As she edged closer he looked up and said, ‘Hey,’ before leaning in to hug her. She hugged him back, raising herself onto her tiptoes. He smelt very good, like cinnamon and citrus fruit combined. When she let go, they slowly disentangled themselves. Wanting to create some immediate distance, she quickly sat opposite him in the booth.

The red and black walls gave the bar a boudoir feel. The waiters wore waistcoats and bow ties, and the host had a fancy moustache. Slow contemporary music played in the background, jarring with the retro decor.

It was a hipster bar through and through.

Ordinarily, Soraya would have felt right at home, though she’d probably deny that to him, but something about the kind of people around them made her feel out of place. Made her feel immensely stupid for being the one to suggest coming here. She hadn’t known it would be like this.

She grabbed a menu; it was an old hardback novel with a menu insert stuck inside. Her book wasTo Kill a Mockingbird. Magnus’s wasThe Catcher in the Rye. The whole concept was completely unnecessary.

‘So,’ he began. ‘What you having?’

She looked over at the bar, finding the thought of alcohol nauseating at that moment.

Oliver had broken up with Charlie a couple of days before because he had caught him messaging other guys on Grindr. In order to be a supportive friend Soraya feigned enthusiasm for his suggestion of a night out in Elephant and Castle the night before. They’d ended up in a club until 4 a.m. She hadn’t taken a great deal of MD, but enough that her first meal of theday had been at 5 p.m. Her insides still felt hollow. ‘I kind of had a big night out last night,’ she said slowly. She didn’t want to mention casual drug taking because his stance on it was clear from their first conversation. ‘I think maybe just a Diet Coke.’

Magnus laughed and scratched his head. ‘To be honest, I have a big game tomorrow morning so wasn’t planning on drinking either.’

‘Why did we go for a drink then?’ she said, laughing.

‘I don’t know, you’re the one who suggested it.’ He let out a quick laugh. ‘No problem, two soft drinks it is.’

He left to go to the bar, which gave her the opportunity to wipe her now sweaty palms against her skirt. In fact, she felt as though her entire body was perspiring profusely.

When he returned with the drinks she asked him about his week. It wasn’t as though they could go straight into kissing. Or could they? She imagined leaning in, grabbing his face and mashing her mouth to his. But then what would she do? The thought made her inwardly cringe. She sat on her hands.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

Or maybe she was outwardly cringing.

‘Yep, yep. Fine. Sorry, what were you saying?’

He’d been at work – he tutored children in GCSE English in Lewisham – and then showed her his bandaged hand. His pinkie and ring finger were bound together.

‘I spent some time in A&E too,’ he said. ‘I had a rugby match on Tuesday.’

‘Oh, shit,’ she said. ‘Did you win at least?’

He looked down at her, a smug and competitive glint to his eyes. ‘Yeah, obviously.’ He winked.

She remembered what he’d told her when they were messaging, about how he was a writer, had even written a draft of a novel. Though he wouldn’t tell her what it was about.

It was difficult to correlate the different versions of Magnus: the one she had known in their classes, the boy who was often quiet but clearly smart and studious, the person she had been texting and who was sat in front of her, and the boy she saw online. He posted so many pictures, mainly selfies pouting in the mirror with his pecs out. This person ticked the stereotype of a university rugby player, alad. This was who she had assumed he was for the past three years. And yet, through their texting he’d presented a very different version of himself, and she couldn’t work out which one was the façade. Though she wasn’t sure why she cared. She had one task for this evening and need not make it more complicated for herself.

And yet she couldn’t help but ask, ‘How’s the writing going, then?’

He was leaning his elbows on the table. His arms strained against the fabric of his shirt.

He frowned. ‘OK, I guess.’ He took a long sip of his drink. His hands were large and callused. She watched as he lifted his glass, trying to imagine that hand cupping her face as he kissed her, but every time she tried, she would nervously block the image from her mind. ‘Do you write?’

Soraya chuckled nervously. ‘No, I can’t write.’

‘Have you ever tried?’ His eyes were wide, encouraging, and she had to remind herself that this was the way he spoke to everyone with a vagina, not just her specifically.

‘Beyond writing in my diary, not really. Me and my friends have been talking about creating our own literary journal though.’ It was an idea Priya, Oliver and Soraya had been floating around for a while, but so far they’d failed to put it into action.