Man Of Few Words

Chapter 37

Just now, I read through some of what I've written so far. The first time I've done that since I started. I'd kinda resolved not to, mainly because time is of the essence, but also because I think this book ought to have a rough, unedited feel. But curiosity got the better of me, and I scanned through it, dipping in and reading a few passages here and there.

I can see what they mean. I am a natural. But I noticed something else too. It's very rare that the real me shows himself in my writing. He's always there, but he rarely dares to expose himself. A lot of this reads like the jolly, cosy, light-hearted bullshit I write... that I used to write on food packaging. It's all very casual and informal and chatty. It is my writing style, no doubt. But it's not really me.

But I'm not going to go back and change it. There's no time for that, and I'm not sure I'd know how anyway. It was just an observation. And I guess it comes back to what I wrote earlier, about holding back. I think I should start opening up some old wounds; see what happens. And I've got one in mind.

Her name's Tuulikki.

I laughed when she first told me her name. "Too Licky!?" I repeated again and again. She smiled and rolled her eyes. She'd been living in the UK for a while by then, and had probably heard it more than a few times before.

This must have been about ten years ago. I could probably figure it out exactly, but I can't be bothered. I'd not long left the scam letter company and had something resembling a respectable job for the first time, that much I remember.

Tuulikki was working for what I always referred to as an online retailer but what was, as she always corrected me, actually an "e-commerce platform". It was an online shopping site, but it didn't actually sell anything except advertising. I could never really figure out how the whole system worked, but the company seemed to make quite a lot of money somehow. Tuulikki had been hired to "extend the brand's reach" into Scandinavia. She was based at the London office, but was in constant contact with clients all over Scandinavia. She wasn't really the sales type, but she was fluent in Swedish, Norwegian and Danish, as well as her native Finnish, which made her a rare find in London. Plus, she had bundles of natural charm, which no doubt compensated somewhat for her lack of greed and ruthlessness.

She didn't tell me until much later, but the real reason she was living in London was that she had aspirations to be a big-time movie actress, and felt that living among the natives would be the best way to perfect her English. Personally, I found her soft Finnish accent a real turn-on, and was saddened to notice it slowly dilute over the few years we were together. I don't think her plan worked either. Despite her eventually perfect English, her aforementioned charisma, and her not-yet-mentioned movie-star good looks, I haven't seen her name in lights anywhere. She probably still works in online retail. Sorry... e-commerce.

We met in a bar. One of those wannabe upmarket, but not particularly exclusive or particularly pleasant bars you get all over London. I'd gone there with some new colleagues. She was there with some girl friends for a "girly cocktail night".

I noticed her sitting at a table with her three friends, all much drunker and louder than her, and at first I actually thought she was someone else – someone I knew. That's why I was staring at her. When she looked back and held my gaze, I thought maybe she was who I thought she was – one of my course-mates that I hadn't seen since uni, by the way – and had recognised me. But then she smiled at me. It was not a smile I knew. But I liked it.

My throat went dry and I looked away. Then I sort of looked around the whole bar a bit, then fixed on nothing in particular, adopting (I hoped) the expression of someone who very much is looking at something in particular. Then I decided it was safe to look back at her again and was gutted, just for a moment, that she was no longer sat at the same table.

Then I almost jumped when I realised she was just a few feet away, and about to walk right past me on her way to the toilets. She glanced at me as she passed and, without even thinking about it (if I had, I probably wouldn't have done it) I reached out, placed my hand gently but firmly on her arm and said,

"Hey."

She stopped, looked me dead in the eye and smiled. She didn't seem at all surprised.

"Hey," she said.

"What's your name?"

And that's when the laughter started.

Up to that point, I remember the encounter very clearly. I've replayed it so many times in my mind. I don't remember the rest of that evening in as much detail, or with as much clarity. But I am pretty sure she didn't actually end up going to the toilet until at least an hour later. Our conversation progressed very easily, with a lot of smiling and laughing.

After the bar closed, we walked together to the nearest taxi rank. She stood facing me, with her back to the road – her phone in one hand, and her shoes in the other.

"Give me your number," she said. And I did.

Then I leaned forward and tried to kiss her on the lips. She casually turned her face slightly, letting me kiss her on the cheek. Then as she backed away, opened the rear door of the cab, said "Bye", and got in – barely suppressing a laugh throughout the entire maneuver – she didn't break eye contact for a second.

So far this is a very happy story. So far.