When a guy, running for the tube, fell to the floor of the carriage with an ankle trapped in the closed door, I was slow to react. I was closest to him yet the woman sitting opposite me, whom moments before had closed her eyes, jumped up to press the button and pull the door open. ‘A similar incident happened to me the other day,’ my friend Sylvie said during group dinner that evening at Born 1983. ‘A guy had a heart attack in front of me and I had no idea what to do. Luckily there was a doctor close by.’
However, my torpidity didn’t stop there. A 50-something sporting a stringy grey ponytail sat next to me during my following tube journey. After a couple of minutes of small talk, during which time he told me he lived in Holland Park, he gave me his business card and asked for mine. Instead of saying I didn’t have one on me, I gave him mine. ‘I can’t believe I gave him my card but not the hot youngster whom I deemed too young,’ I admitted to my friends.
‘Let’s see his card,’ Liz said, between mouthfuls of braised beetroot. I dug around in my handbag and found it. Liz held it near a candle. ‘It looks a bit cheap,’ she said. ‘And look at the PO box addresses for New York and Dubai. He probably doesn’t have an office.’ Within seconds she phoned Chip, pretending to be me while putting him on loudspeaker as he suggested meeting for a drink. We giggled like kids until Liz imitated a crackly line and hung up. Chip called back. Tom answered Liz’s mobile and played the role of the meathead boyfriend before hanging up.
‘You guys are so mean,’ Sylvie said. ‘He could be a decent chap for WLG.’
‘We gave him an ego boost,’ Liz replied. ‘He thinks a pretty girl is interested in him but he daren’t do anything about it because she has an aggressive boyfriend.’
‘He’ll call back,’ Sylvie warned. She was right. When I arrived home I discovered a couple of missed calls and a text message asking if I was okay.
I relayed the story to Monique over brunch while sitting in the sunshine outside Phillies the following morning. I suddenly stopped mid-sentence and grabbed the menu from the table next to me and held it in front of my face. ‘What are you doing?’ Monique asked.
‘That’s him leaving here,’ I hissed. ‘Chip. This is my comeuppance for behaving so wickedly.’
‘He really was punching above his weight,’ Monique said, looking him up and down.
Liz laughed when I updated her later, ‘He’ll think you’re stalking him now. What was he doing?’
‘He probably uses Phillies for meetings,’ I replied.
‘You and Chip sound like destiny,’ Sylvie said. ‘He might be a cool fella after all.’
