A Thousand Small Explosions (4 page)

CHAPTER 11

AMANDA

Amanda hovered outside the perimeter of the stone wall surrounding the building until everyone ahead escaped the drizzle and walked towards their shared destination.

Although she was generally a confident person in most social situations, when it came to large groups of unfamiliar faces, she was prone to shyly clamming up or becoming tongue-tied when she spoke. She already knew she’d have no idea what to say if anyone attempted a conversation with her once she was inside, so she decided to keep a low profile and be one of the last to enter. And it wouldn’t matter if she were a few minutes late as nobody knew her or expected her to be there.

She took a packet of mints from her handbag and popped a sugar-free Polo into her mouth, then removed a make-up mirror and angled it from her face to her feet to check that she still resembled something presentable after the hour-long car journey. She ruffled her hair hoping the damp wouldn’t make her curls frizzy.

Finally, when she heard music begin to play inside, she walked slowly up the path, approached the door and braced herself. Then with her hand on the doorknob, she paused.

“What are you doing here?” she asked herself. “What are you going to get out of going inside?”

If she were being brutally honest with herself, she didn’t know. She was only aware that she and her Match Richard were destined to share something together, no matter how complicated that might be. So she turned the handle, made her way inside and found an empty seat at the very back of the room.

She picked up one of the booklets that’d been left on each of the chairs and flicked through it as two guitarists played and sang a ballad she didn’t recognise. Upon finishing, a man wearing a sincere smile replaced them by the microphone stand at the front.

‘Thank you, Stuart and Derek,’ he began. ‘First of all, I’d like to thank you all for coming. And secondly, on behalf of his family, I’d like to welcome you all to St Peter And All Saints Church for a special ceremony in memory of our dear friend, Richard Taylor.’

CHAPTER 12

CHRISTOPHER

Christopher stared hard at her through the restaurant window, attempting to decipher her body language. She looked nervous, he thought.

Amy, his Match Your DNA date, was sitting at the table with folded arms and her legs crossed at the ankle. And according to one of the many instructional YouTube videos he’d viewed, it meant she was being either defensive or anxious. Either one worked for him as it put him at an advantage.

Amy glanced at the clock on her phone’s display at least once per minute. She frequently stroked or fiddled with her hair, or tapped her feet against the leg of her chair. She was an attractive woman, he conceded, and looked exactly like the picture she had emailed him, but had filtered first of course.

Her long, dark hair had a slight wave to it, fashionable black-rimmed glasses framed her eyes and her use of make-up on her pale skin was subtle. She was of a slim build but did little to advertise it, playing it safe with trousers, heels and a plain blue top and jacket.

Christopher was aware it was perceived to be bad social etiquette to arrive late for a date, especially with a person science decreed had been made for him. But he didn’t care; it was all part of the game. It was better to keep her waiting and a little on edge because then he’d be in control of the situation and maintain the upper hand from the off.

As he bided his time outside the busy restaurant, he caught sight of his own reflection in the window. He’d not been acquainted with a good night’s sleep for some weeks, so had bought a cover-up stick from Boots to dab the bags and shadows under his eyes. He’d also used a tinted moisturiser he’d removed from the bathroom cabinet of Number Four to disguise the fact his nocturnal project meant he’d sleep during the day, which affected his melatonin levels.

While he’d found time to shave, he hadn’t been able to book an appointment to get his hair trimmed, so he did the best he could with his side parting and a generous helping of a product that made it look much darker than its usual reddish brown colour. He smiled to himself, satisfied that how unlike many of his former schoolmates, his wrinkles were minimal, his teeth were as near to straight as could be and his features were angular rather than plumped by excess skin. He looked a decade younger than his thirty-three years.

Christopher straightened the lapels of his tailor-fitted jacket, held out a little longer until Amy looked like she was about to stand up and leave and then entered the restaurant.

His eyes scanned the generically furnished room as he pretended to search for his date. Her frustration at his tardiness dissipated the moment their eyes locked. To Christopher, it looked as if an invisible force had thrown her back into her chair as she stammered a nervous ‘hello.’

‘Amy, hi, I am so sorry I’m late,’ Christopher apologised, shaking her hand confidently and kissing her on both cheeks.

‘That’s okay, I only just got here myself a few minutes ago,’ she lied and swallowed hard.

‘I was held up at work on this new magazine I’ve been working on and then I got stuck in traffic.’

‘You said in your email you were a graphic designer?’ she asked, drinking him in and unconvincingly playing it cool.

‘Yes, I’m a freelance so I have a quite few projects on the go at any one time.’

‘Who do you design for?’

‘Mainly luxury trade magazines, you know, companies that build yachts or planes and brochures for holiday destinations that you won’t find at Thomas Cook,’ he boasted. ‘It’s very exclusive.’ She didn’t look as impressed as he had hoped.

‘Where are you based?’

‘I work from home in Holland Park which is convenient. Shall we order some drinks?’

Christopher moved his glass so it sat next to Amy’s then opened the wine menu as the waitress arrived, and ordered the most expensive bottle on the list. ‘Will you be eating tonight?’ the waitress asked.

He looked up and into the server’s eyes as she spoke, wondering what noises she’d make if his trusty garrote penetrated her throat and severed her thyroid cartilage. It fascinated him how each one of his sitting ducks had, so far, offered a different squawk from the last.

Christopher looked at Amy and raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you have time for something to eat?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I’d like that,’ she replied, trying - but failing - not to appear too eager.

As they both read their menus in silence, Christopher felt Amy’s eyes lift from the page to his face. He glanced at her and she offered an embarrassed smile, her cheeks flushed and her irises widened. He’d read enough about human behaviour to know that meant she was attracted to him.

‘I’m sorry, do you mind if I just quickly use the bathroom?’ she asked. ‘You can order for me if you like. See it as your first test to see how much of a Match we really are.’

              ‘Of course,’ he replied and rose to his feet as she left the table.

Impersonating a gentleman came easy to Christopher but other behaviours like reading facial expressions and being mindful of people’s emotions he’d learned from books and online. He rehearsed several different smiles as he waited for Amy to return, and checked his mobile phone to see where Number Eight was. He hoped she’d have returned home by the time he and Amy had finished their desserts because it was only a ten-minute car journey from the restaurant to the girl’s flat.

              He spotted Amy slipping her phone back into her purse as she left the bathroom and wondered if she’d called a friend to inform them her first date with her Match was going well. It was clear she was one of the ninety-two per cent who felt an instant attraction to their pairing.

Then, as she sat down, there was something about the way her tongue ran over her lips that gave Christopher a mild rush of blood to his head, like the first puff from a cigarette or when he jumped out of bed too quickly. He dismissed it as tiredness making its presence known and shook it off as quickly as it had arrived.

              ‘Is everything all right?’ he asked his still visibly flushed date.

              ‘Yes, I just had to make a call to work,’ she replied. ‘It’s been a chaotic few weeks.’

‘I don’t think I asked you what you did for a living?’

              ‘Oh, I thought I’d mentioned it?’ Amy replied and took a sip of her drink, ‘I’m a police officer.’

CHAPTER 13

BETHANY

Bethany slept for around three fitful hours of her thirty-hour journey.

Much of the flight from Heathrow to Bangkok, Thailand and then to Melbourne, Australia, was spent with her fingernails embedded in the armrests of her seat, terrified that each jolt of turbulence was going to bring her plane down. She read one of several romance novels downloaded to her Kindle, then watched six movies back-to-back to take her mind off her maiden flight. She eventually drifted off to sleep shortly before landing.

Bethany had just enough time to freshen up and regain her composure before she picked up a pre-booked sedan-style hire car. She was relieved to discover Australians drove on the same side of the road as the British. She programmed the vehicle’s satellite navigation system with the address she’d be travelling some 250km to in Echuka, Murray Basin and began the next phase of the most important adventure of her life. And as she drove along the Northern Highway, she sang along to Ed Sheeran and Sam Smith albums she’d Bluetoothed from her phone to the car’s stereo and tried to keep her nerves at bay.

Bethany recalled her conversation just ten days earlier with work colleagues Lucy and Shawna. She’d stared at them across the table in the canteen, growing ever conscious that she didn’t have to be like them with their over-made-up faces, fake hair extensions and an obsession to stay skinny just to remain viable in an ever-shrinking dating pool. But she was grateful for their home truths as they helped her to understand why she had no excuse not to travel to Australia to meet Kevin, her DNA Match. The only reason preventing her was fear of the unknown.

By the end of that week, Bethany had plundered her savings to purchase an open-ended return flight to Australia, and her understanding parents had volunteered to continue paying rent on her flat while she was away. And as her cat settled into his new life at her grandmother’s flat, Bethany was making herself comfortable in an aisle seat on a Megabus travelling to Heathrow Airport, beside herself with nervous excitement over what the next few weeks might hold. As she took another glance at the picture of Kevin she used as her phone’s screensaver, one thing she was sure of was that she wasn’t going to be disappointed.

After a three-hour car journey, including pit stops for drinks, snacks and toilet breaks, the sat nav informed Bethany she was soon to arrive at her destination. She was on edge as she pulled the car over to the side of the road, stepped outside and stretched her tired legs. She was immediately struck by the searing heat and was glad she had lathered herself in factor fifty sunscreen before setting off.

She glanced over at a sign reading “Williamson’s Farm” that was attached to waist-high wire fencing, running the length of a dirt track road framed by tall, scrawny trees with trunks buried deep in arid soil. In the distance, she could make out a large, white house and the roofs of outbuildings and barns that she recognised from Kevin’s texted photos.

Bethany felt her stomach begin to churn like it would whenever she had daydreamed of what it might feel like to meet Kevin in person. Now the moment was almost upon her and she was terrified, particularly as he had no idea she was about to appear at his home without warning.

Back at Heathrow Airport, she’d texted him a white lie, informing him she was changing mobile phone network suppliers so she’d be out of contact for a day or two, He’d sounded agitated by the news but she reassured him it wasn’t her subtle way of trying to break up with him.

She picked up her phone and switched it to camera mode, then took a selfie of herself with Kevin’s parents’ farm in the background.

‘Hey babe, you okay?’ she typed; her fingers trembling so much so that she was grateful for predictive text.

‘Hey!’ he replied, almost immediately. ‘I’ve really missed you! You got your new phone sorted out?’

‘Yes thanks.’

‘I’m with the cows in the shed, the place reeks, man!’

“Aww, poor you! Guess where I am?’

‘In bed?’

‘Try again.’

‘Still at work?’

‘No,’ she replied and then sent him the photo she’d taken.

Bethany’s heart raced at a speed of knots as she awaited Kevin’s text. Instead, the phone rang.

‘Surprise!’ she squealed.

‘You shouldn’t have come, I’m sorry,’ Kevin replied curtly and then hung up.

CHAPTER 14

NICK

‘Don’t open it!’ Sally had yelled down the phone to Nick. 

She sounded anxious. ‘Wait until you get home and we’ll do it together.’

Sally admitted to Nick that from the moment her smart watch had indicated an email had arrived from Match Your DNA, her stomach had felt like it was trapped in a lift and had dropped twenty flights. She’d called him immediately and after checking his inbox while she remained glued to the other end of the line, he revealed he too had received a notification.

The rest of her day at work in the press office of the homeless charity had dragged on longer than she ever thought possible as she became increasingly preoccupied with Nick’s results. When the clock reached 6pm, Sally made an excuse to avoid Billie’s birthday drinks in the Malmaison Hotel. Instead, she hurried to the bus station to make her way home.

Meanwhile at the media agency where Nick worked, he’d given his results equal amount of attention. While he was supposed to be thinking of snappy, original ways to promote a new brand of intimate wipes for women, he was instead wondering what the contents of the email might reveal.

But it was Sally’s insistence on taking the test in the first place that really concerned him. He’d assumed they were content and in agreement that their future was together, but her need for scientific confirmation tapped into a recurring worry that he wasn’t good enough for his wife-to-be; that their five-year age gap was too big and that he was, and always would be, too immature for her.

When Nick finally made it home thirty minutes after her, Sally was already clutching her second glass of red wine and sitting on the kitchen island with her legs dangling over the side.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ he began, ‘I got held up in a meeting…’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Sally interrupted and took an anxious swig of her drink. ‘Can we get this over with?’

‘May I say one thing first?’ Nick asked, and perched on the island next to her. ‘I don’t care what these results say. I could be Matched with Jennifer Lawrence as far as I’m concerned and it wouldn’t make the blindest bit of difference. You are the one I’m destined to be with, no matter what these emails tell us.’

Sally smiled and felt her eyes well. Then she picked up her phone and pressed the email icon, scrolling down and opening the message. She began to read it out loud. ‘“Sally Brooks: Ref 4156745246BAW. No designated Match”.’

A foreboding silence filled the room as neither knew what to say to one another. Eventually, Nick wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

‘We’re going to make it work, I know we are,’ he offered. ‘Millions of couples have and we’ll be no exception. Just because we aren’t biologically matched doesn’t mean we aren’t meant to be together. You still love me right? After reading that, you still love me?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Then who cares what a bit of chemistry or biology says. Nothing is going to change that.’

Sally swallowed hard and began to weep. ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised. ‘I just wanted to make sure we stood a chance … that we were pre-destined to be together.’

‘Fuck that, let’s take a punt instead.’

Sally smiled and ran her fingers through his thick, dark hair, and drew his lips towards hers before they rested their foreheads against each other’s.

‘Let’s go out and get an early dinner,’ he continued. ‘That new Turkish restaurant has opened on the high street. My treat.’

Sally nodded as Nick hopped off the island and made his way towards the coat hook on the back of the door to grab his denim jacket.

‘What about yours?’ she asked.

‘My what?’

‘Your results.’

‘I don’t really care,’ he shrugged. ‘I know what I need to know.’

‘But what if…’

‘What if nothing.’

‘Well I’d like to know who my competition is.’

‘You have no competition.’

‘Nevertheless…’

‘Here, catch,’ he said as he threw his phone towards her. She caught it and as he put his arms through his coat sleeves, she opened his inbox and began to read.

‘Oh. My. God.’ She laughed loudly. She put her hand over her mouth and looked at him with wide-open eyes.

‘What? Have I got a Match?’

‘You certainly have.’

‘Oh Christ, please don’t tell me I’m Matched with your mum.’

‘No, don’t worry, it’s not my mum,’ Sally replied. ‘Your Match is actually a man called Alexander.’