It had been in my local supermarket of all places where I first crossed paths with the man who I am currently enamoured with. A rainy Tuesday evening in Bolton was the setting for what would turn out to be an unexpected but pleasant evening as I made my way into the store with Chloe, pushing a trolley and reminding her not to touch anything as we browsed the aisles.
It was on aisle three when I was approached by the handsome man carrying a packet of chicken.
‘I’m sorry. Can I ask you a question?’ he said to me.
‘Of course,’ I had replied, expecting him to ask me if I knew which aisle the pasta was on or something else utterly banal like that.
‘It’s just I really fancy chicken tonight, but I’m useless when it comes to recipe ideas. Any suggestions what I could do with this?’
He flashed the packet of poultry at me, and I laughed before mentally trying to come up with not just the most appetising recipe I could think of but also the one that might make him think more of me.
Did I mention he was really handsome?
‘You can’t go wrong with a chicken curry,’ I eventually replied, deciding that was a safe bet to go with for a guy. ‘And you could wash it down with a nice beer. They have a good selection of Indian lagers on aisle ten.’
‘I like your thinking,’ he had said, flashing me two rows of perfect white teeth. ‘I’m glad I asked you now.’
I’m glad you did too, I had thought at the time though it had nothing to do with the topic of what to have for dinner. I wouldn’t mind if you asked me something else either.
After five minutes of flirty chit-chat in which we moved from talking about supermarket shopping to what we had planned for the weekend, I ended up pushing the trolley away with a big smile on my face because that man’s number was now in my mobile phone. Who would have thought I would have got lucky in a supermarket on a rainy Tuesday night? Not me, and not even Chloe, who had giggled at me all the way around the rest of the store that night while saying things like “Mummy’s got a boyfriend.”
I had laughed her comments off at the time, but it turned out she was right. The man I met that night in the supermarket became my boyfriend. And now he is at my front door again.
‘Hey,’ I say, feeling that familiar rush of endorphins that I always get when I’m in the presence of Tim.
‘Hey to you too,’ he replies, flashing the two pizza boxes he collected from the takeaway around the corner.
As we take our seats on the sofa and tuck into our pizzas (a large pepperoni for him, a small ham and pineapple for me), we chat about what we have been up to in the two days since we last saw each other. I fill him in on my usual travails as a busy parent who is also trying to complete her training to become a police officer. When I’m done, he updates me on his daily routine, which mainly involves him fixing cars at the local garage and sorting out the finalities of his divorce from his ex-wife.
I still don’t know the full story of why he separated from his last partner, other than the bits he has told me when I have felt confident enough to try and coax a little more out of him. The gist of it is that they were arguing a lot, and eventually, it became too much for them both, hence why the reason for the divorce on the paperwork has gone down as ‘irreconcilable differences.’
I’m sure there is a little more to it than that. Somebody usually does something wrong to get to the point where divorce lawyers are contacted, but maybe I’m wrong. They could have just argued every day over silly little things, which eventually turned into big things. But I suspect the ex-wife was a feisty character because Tim certainly isn’t. He’s so laid back and calm, and I really find it hard to imagine him raising his voice and arguing with anyone. Then again, I’m a similar type of person. I barely shout at Chloe when she has done something that she shouldn’t have, so I’m hardly likely to go shouting at him too. I guess that explains why our relationship so far has been a very enjoyable one without a single disagreement in sight. Tim has been nothing but caring and attentive to me and Chloe ever since we met that night in the supermarket, and I feel fortunate to have found him.
As we devour our pizzas and Tim somehow manages to finish his enormous one before I finish my smaller one, I ponder again the topic that has been on my mind for a few weeks now. I’m thinking of asking Tim to move in with us when his divorce is finalised. He is currently crashing at a mate’s place while he gets his finances sorted again, having been the one to move out of the flat that he shared with his ex and her six-year-old daughter.
Some might take that as a sign that he was the one who did something wrong, but he tells me it was because it was way easier for him to go and sleep on a friend’s sofa than it would have been for his ex and a child to do the same somewhere else, and I can see that. I haven’t mentioned anything to him yet about the possibility of
