Date Night

Henry hardly recognised himself as he looked in the mirror. He was a confirmed bachelor of course. Everybody said so. He said so himself on frequent occasions. It was the easiest way to avoid going on blind dates suggested by well-meaning busybodies. “Confirmed bachelor” was apparently an accepted way to be, a line in the sand that people were reluctant to overstep, leastways no-one seemed to argue with it. No-one that is except Brenda.

He supposed he was lucky to have met her. A year ago now, and so much in his life had changed – thanks to Brenda. But what on earth had got into her?  He frowned at his reflection. What did she think she was doing meddling in his personal life, arranging a blind date for him? Still, his reflection softened, he couldn’t really argue, she meant well and he owed her a lot.

Brenda was a real do-gooder, always poking her nose in where it didn’t belong, always thinking she knew best, always trying to put people on the straight and narrow. Typical librarian! The library used to be Henry’s regular haunt back then; he always went in there first thing to read the paper and keep warm. It was quiet at that time of day, a few old-age pensioners, a scruffy student. But later the place would start to fill up, there were disapproving glances from mums with their toddlers and Mrs. Brown, Brenda’s predecessor, soon had to shoo him outside.

Things changed when Brenda started working there. He had got used to Mrs. Brown glaring at him over the top of her glasses, but Brenda always smiled when he came in. It was most disconcerting – if there was one thing he hated more than filthy looks it was sympathetic smiles. So he did his best to ignore her. Then one morning she came right over to him.

“It’s Henry isn’t it?” The question had thrown him somewhat. “Last time I looked,” he replied grumpily. It had been a difficult night. After being turned away from the homeless shelter the previous evening, he had slept on a park bench. All he wanted now was to be left alone. “I suppose you want me to leave.” And he began folding up the newspaper. “No, of course not. I just thought you might want to take that wet coat off. I can hang it up out back – be dry in no time – and you are dripping all over the floor!” What could he say? He certainly didn’t want to go back out into the wind and rain. Looking back now he felt ashamed of how he had just handed her his coat without a word of thanks or even meeting her eye.

Soon after, he started to notice that leaflets had begun to appear on the library table next to the newspapers. As much as he tried to ignore them, slogans like “Homeless not hopeless!” and “A box is not a home!” jumped out at him. At first, it didn’t occur to him that these might be directed at him. Anybody could see that he was no tramp or down-and-out, he wasn’t really homeless, just between homes, so to speak. He would soon get himself back on track. He had been a successful businessman, he didn’t need any librarian to start meddling in his life.

Henry smiled ruefully at himself in the mirror, trying to get his tie just right. He remembered the hours spent sitting in the launderette, the never-ending drone of the washing machines reverberating around his head. He remembered his surreptitious visits to the swimming pool, not to swim since he had no swimming trunks, but simply to take a shower. But as hard as he had tried to keep respectable, he just didn’t seem to be able to get a foothold on that slippery slope. He would stand outside the job centre, staring at the adverts in the window, imagining the applications he would write, what he would say at an interview. But then he would catch sight of his reflection in the glass and scurry away in embarrassment, head down. He had somehow fallen between the cracks into a parallel universe with no way to connect with normality.

With his tie in place, Henry stared at his reflection. Maybe he didn’t have to be a confirmed bachelor after all. He was still the right side of fifty and who knew, maybe Brenda was right, maybe he really was a good catch for somebody. Brenda was right about most things. She had been right that day when he ran into her by chance outside the job centre and she had pointed out the advert for a warehouse manager. She had been right about putting a notice up in the library about looking for a flat share. And she had even washed some clothes for him to wear to the job interview.

He knew he owed her a lot; Brenda had given him a way back from the brink. And she had been delighted when he came into the library to thank her with a bunch of flowers, purchased with his first month’s wages. That was when she said: “Henry, have you ever thought of going on a date? I could fix you up with my friend Sheila. She’s a lovely girl.” Despite the twinge of annoyance it was hard to refuse. So here he was all togged up, the requisite pink carnation in his lapel – corny but all he could think of when Brenda had asked him how Sheila would recognise him.

The bar of the Red Lion was full and the sound of chatting and laughter spilled out into the street as Henry pushed open the door. He squeezed his way through the crowd. No-one stared, or turned their nose up or looked at him in disgust. No-one seemed to notice him; just an ordinary person on a blind date.

The restaurant was quieter. Henry looked carefully around in the dim light for a matching pink carnation. Someone was waving from the far corner. Henry stopped in surprise “Brenda! What are you doing here?”

“So sorry to disappoint you, Henry, but Sheila couldn’t make it, I think she got cold feet at the last minute. I couldn’t bear to think of you waiting here for her on your own so I came instead.”

Henry stared at Brenda for a second as if thunderstruck. Then a feeling of relief washed over him and the realisation that he was anything but disappointed.