Finding Mr Perfectly Fine

I’m so engrossed in my work that I hadn’t realised that it’s already nearly five. I look up from my computer to see that she’s put on cherry-red lipstick and lots of mascara since I last looked at her – not that she needs the extra support. Francesca is your classic English beauty, with masses of glossy golden hair, really thick eyebrows and super-long limbs. Everyone in the building from Tom in Social Services to Rakesh in Finance fancies her. I know this because at least twice an hour, some stray male winds up in our little corner and makes up an excuse to talk to her. She does a good job pretending she doesn’t know that she’s the office beauty queen, making her all the more desirable.

I stare blankly at her, still lost in my world of confirmation emails, itineraries and down-payments.

‘Drinks at the Duke? A few people from Housing, Education, and Social are going to be there.’ She starts gathering up her things and I see that Adam is also shutting his computer down. Early, I might add, but today isn’t the day to bring that up.

‘Thanks,’ I finally respond with a smile. ‘I’ve got plans tonight. Have a good time, though.’ Adam stops shoving his things into his messenger bag and turns to look at me.

‘Aw, you don’t have to pretend you have plans on a Monday, Z. You don’t want to go to the pub with me, I get it.’ His tone is jokey but there’s a mocking undertone that I don’t like.

‘Well, there’s that, but I also have a date,’ I retort.

‘Oh, really? Who’s the lucky guy then?’ I can tell by the sceptical look on his face that he doesn’t believe me and I stare blankly back at him, refusing to react. Francesca looks at the two of us, confused by the tension. She opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again – and closes it. I would laugh if I wasn’t so annoyed.

‘Hamza. And judging by our texting last night, I think he does consider himself quite lucky.’

‘Poor bloke doesn’t know what’s in store for him,’ he says eventually, putting on his jacket.

‘Well, let’s let him be the judge of that, why don’t we?’ I mimic his line from earlier. ‘He seems to like what he’s seen so far.’

We glare at each other. I honestly don’t know what his problem is. One minute he’s a nice guy that I consider a friend, and the next he’s this awful teenager that relishes bringing me down.

‘The Duke’s only around the corner from here,’ Francesca finally interrupts. ‘Why don’t you come for a bit?’

‘She doesn’t drink like us,’ Adam interrupts, grabbing his helmet and I can’t tell if it’s another jibe or he’s merely stating the obvious. Is it really an ‘us’ and ‘them’ situation? I’m already sensitive because of my traumatic weekend, followed by the blow from the Tower Hamlets guy, and Adam’s stinky attitude makes me feel worse. A lump forms in my throat.

‘Don’t listen to him, Frannie. I really do have a date. Tell me all about it tomorrow, yeah?’ I give her a small smile and quickly turn away before either of them can see the droplet of water that’s gathered in the corner of my eye.

*

Hamza has decided he wants to come all the way to North London for our coffee to check out my ends. I know it’s going to turn into dinner so I text him that we should go for a meal instead, my treat.

North London is home to the best Turkish food in the whole of the UK. And maybe even the world. No joke. Wood Green has a fair few restaurants but the real action is further down the road on Green Lanes where there are countless Turkish restaurants, cafés, bakeries and grocery shops, all selling the most delicious grilled meats, soft breads and flaky pastries.

As I wait for Hamza on the High Road, the intoxicating fragrance of charcoaled lamb wafts out of the restaurant and starts tickling my nostrils and I feel better because of it. I breathe in the scent and close my eyes, trying not to think about what Jordan would say if he knew I decided to follow up my morning workout with an evening feast.

‘Salaam ‘Alaykom!’ I turn to see Hamza striding towards me, grinning from ear to ear, looking like a big cuddly teddy bear. It’s been a while since I last saw him and a lot has happened between our first ‘date’ and today, but still there’s an air of familiarity about him that feels comforting.

‘Is it Casual Monday at work today?’ he says, checking out my look with amusement as we wait for the waiter to show us to our table. I’m wearing an oversized hoody, boyfriend jeans and high-top Jordans, topped with an unzipped bomber jacket because it’s still a little chilly in the evenings.

‘It’s Casual Monday every day in my office,’ I reply with a grin. ‘Not what you’re used to in the City, eh?’ His cheerfulness is intoxicating, and I feel the dark cloud hovering over me begin to pass.

‘I never knew sneakers could be so sexy,’ he says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

‘You mean trainers,’ I correct him playfully. ‘A sneaker is someone that sneaks.’

‘Are you planning on sneaking around with me, Zara Choudhury?’

‘Do I look like the sneaky type?’ I gasp, mock offended. The waiter arrives and takes us upstairs. My thighs are still aching from my torture session but I don’t want Hamza to know about my new gym obsession, so I keep my mouth shut and soldier on.

Hamza gives up looking at the menu and lets me order for us both. I choose a shared mixed platter of tender lamb chops, juicy ribs, crispy chicken wings, charcoaled lamb and chicken chunks, buttery rice and Turkish couscous. We are given complimentary bread, three types of salad, humous and yoghurt dip, so when the main course gets here, I’m already stuffed but Hamza is delighted by how generous the portions are. He packs away more than half the dish and there’s no way I can even try and keep up. He urges me to ditch the cutlery and dig into the ribs with my hands. Laughing at his enthusiasm, I oblige. God knows what I look like with bits of charcoal stuck between my teeth but I get the feeling that I could walk around with my front tooth missing and Hamza would still make me feel like the most beautiful girl in Wood Green.

‘Come on, Zara, you can do better than that,’ he teases when after one rib, one chop and two wings, I declare myself as incapacitated.

‘I honestly can’t eat another morsel,’ I moan, rubbing my bloated tummy. ‘How are you managing to eat all that?’

‘Well, I have a manly appetite, being the alpha male that I am.’ He says this with a completely serious expression and I burst out laughing.

The remainder of the night flows as smoothly as the first time we met and so much better than our awkward phone conversation. I realise that he’s the type of guy who’s better in person. Technology seems to dull his energy.