carried
less substance than a sickly-sweet giant lollipop. It had become increasingly compulsive to log on and see if anyone interesting had contacted me. Although from now on, I would be more careful
about baring my inner thoughts. I had learnt my lesson.
After entering my password, the site highlighted that I had five emails in my inbox. I opened the first one to find “ Iwanttofly” now telling me I looked like a flower and
asking if I would meet him for coffee. I really didn’t see that as a runner.
The next few were all inane small talk. I opened the final one: “How about you and I meet to explore the hidden world beneath the sheets?” I flushed hotly. Who did this man
think he was to address me as though I was a hooker for hire? A look at his profile told me he was a hypnotist from Bulgaria living in Dublin. With a curly moustache, he looked like a circus
ringmaster – a right control freak with glinty eyes under thick dark brows. I was in the middle of blocking him when a new email popped up. To my utter astonishment it was a reply from “Serotonin”, aka the doctor Ella and I had spotted on the first night.
Inbox:
Hi Kate,
Delighted to hear from you. I would love to take you out to dinner the next time you are in Dublin. Just let me know. I attach my contact details. Maybe you could text me yours and we can
arrange to meet up.
Eddie
Reply:
Hi Eddie,
Great to hear from you. I will be in Dublin next Friday night if that suits. What part of Dublin do you live in? Maybe we could chat on the phone beforehand? I will text you my
number.
Kate
Since Ella had warned me about men not being who they said they were, I decided to conduct an internet search for the doctor. Up came three pages on a cosmetic surgeon in
Dublin. My initial reaction was to think this could not possibly be him, as nobody in that position would ever go on a dating site. Then Ella’s voice rang in my head, telling me to stop being
so prejudicial.
I checked his details and clicked on his clinic’s website, cosmosclinic.com . Scrolling down their list of specialists, I found him listed with a photograph – undeniably the
same person with whom I was in correspondence. A press release issued by the clinic cited it as one of the top centres for cosmetic surgery in Ireland, with Dr Commins’s speciality being
facial reconstruction after accidents. How noble , I thought, but it probably means he’s totally out of my league . I was sure he must have an endless supply of young women
running after him. But there was no harm in trying. At least I could find out if I could possibly be a contender at my age.
Late Friday afternoon, I arrived at my parents’ house in Dublin with my hair freshly blow-dried in loose curls. I’d done my make-up before leaving and was wearing a
deceptively simple silk dress with an overall print in subtle shades of smokey brown and tan. With leggings underneath it looked quite casual teamed with brown ballerina pumps. It would be easy to
swap the flats for higher heels before heading out on my date. The fabric made me feel feminine and flirty and it felt good to make an effort to dress up. I would get my mojo back and prove to
myself that Trevor had been wrong to turf me out.
It was oddly consoling to be back among the familiar walls of my parents’ simple four-storey house, with the comforting scent of lavender, geranium and lemon pervading every room –
my mother had a penchant for making her own pot-pourri.
“Kate, you’re looking very glamorous,” my mother said, taking me in from head to toe before kissing me on the cheek. She looked well after her holiday. The sun had faded her
auburn highlights somewhat and her skin was turning from sunburned to lightly tanned. Judging by the fit of her floral blouse, she had recently gained a little weight around her once-slim
waist.
“This is the new me, Mam,” I said, twirling. “I’ve changed my style since the break-
less substance than a sickly-sweet giant lollipop. It had become increasingly compulsive to log on and see if anyone interesting had contacted me. Although from now on, I would be more careful
about baring my inner thoughts. I had learnt my lesson.
After entering my password, the site highlighted that I had five emails in my inbox. I opened the first one to find “ Iwanttofly” now telling me I looked like a flower and
asking if I would meet him for coffee. I really didn’t see that as a runner.
The next few were all inane small talk. I opened the final one: “How about you and I meet to explore the hidden world beneath the sheets?” I flushed hotly. Who did this man
think he was to address me as though I was a hooker for hire? A look at his profile told me he was a hypnotist from Bulgaria living in Dublin. With a curly moustache, he looked like a circus
ringmaster – a right control freak with glinty eyes under thick dark brows. I was in the middle of blocking him when a new email popped up. To my utter astonishment it was a reply from “Serotonin”, aka the doctor Ella and I had spotted on the first night.
Inbox:
Hi Kate,
Delighted to hear from you. I would love to take you out to dinner the next time you are in Dublin. Just let me know. I attach my contact details. Maybe you could text me yours and we can
arrange to meet up.
Eddie
Reply:
Hi Eddie,
Great to hear from you. I will be in Dublin next Friday night if that suits. What part of Dublin do you live in? Maybe we could chat on the phone beforehand? I will text you my
number.
Kate
Since Ella had warned me about men not being who they said they were, I decided to conduct an internet search for the doctor. Up came three pages on a cosmetic surgeon in
Dublin. My initial reaction was to think this could not possibly be him, as nobody in that position would ever go on a dating site. Then Ella’s voice rang in my head, telling me to stop being
so prejudicial.
I checked his details and clicked on his clinic’s website, cosmosclinic.com . Scrolling down their list of specialists, I found him listed with a photograph – undeniably the
same person with whom I was in correspondence. A press release issued by the clinic cited it as one of the top centres for cosmetic surgery in Ireland, with Dr Commins’s speciality being
facial reconstruction after accidents. How noble , I thought, but it probably means he’s totally out of my league . I was sure he must have an endless supply of young women
running after him. But there was no harm in trying. At least I could find out if I could possibly be a contender at my age.
Late Friday afternoon, I arrived at my parents’ house in Dublin with my hair freshly blow-dried in loose curls. I’d done my make-up before leaving and was wearing a
deceptively simple silk dress with an overall print in subtle shades of smokey brown and tan. With leggings underneath it looked quite casual teamed with brown ballerina pumps. It would be easy to
swap the flats for higher heels before heading out on my date. The fabric made me feel feminine and flirty and it felt good to make an effort to dress up. I would get my mojo back and prove to
myself that Trevor had been wrong to turf me out.
It was oddly consoling to be back among the familiar walls of my parents’ simple four-storey house, with the comforting scent of lavender, geranium and lemon pervading every room –
my mother had a penchant for making her own pot-pourri.
“Kate, you’re looking very glamorous,” my mother said, taking me in from head to toe before kissing me on the cheek. She looked well after her holiday. The sun had faded her
auburn highlights somewhat and her skin was turning from sunburned to lightly tanned. Judging by the fit of her floral blouse, she had recently gained a little weight around her once-slim
waist.
“This is the new me, Mam,” I said, twirling. “I’ve changed my style since the break-
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