Clive knew he should feel grateful to his daughter and son-in-law for their kind invitation to stay the weekend. Emma and Neil’s house was more spacious and better appointed than his, and they were attentive hosts. They’d even bought The Guardian, so Clive could do his beloved cryptic crossword. But he still couldn’t settle. He couldn’t even get started on the damn puzzle.
“Swipe right (11)”, read the clue to one across.
Something to do with a dating app, perhaps? He messaged his pal Steve, who shared his crossword obsession.
‘Have you got one across?’
Steve responded immediately.
‘Yep.’
‘Smartarse,’ muttered Clive.
His phone pinged again.
‘Begins with A.’
‘I know,’ he lied.
He went outside to where Neil was washing his car.
‘You know that dating app – Tinder? What does “swipe right” mean?’
Neil looked at him dubiously.
‘You do know I’m married to your daughter, don’t you?’
‘I wasn’t suggesting you use it. I just thought you had your finger on the zeitgeist.’
Gesturing with the dripping sponge, Neil said, ‘Do I look like a man with his finger on the zeitgeist?’
‘Point taken. Anyway, do you know what it means?’
Neil plunged the sponge into the foamy water and resumed washing the windscreen.
‘Like, I think. Or is it dislike? Fifty-fifty chance, isn’t it?’
‘I need to be a damn sight surer than that,’ said Clive, retreating into the house.
Emma found him in the kitchen, staring blankly at red lights flashing on the coffee machine.
‘What on earth is this about you using Tinder? I know you’ve been lonely since Mum died, but I thought you and Jean were getting on so well. She told me recently you might be going on holiday together.’
There was so much to unpack there that Clive wasn’t sure how to respond. First, he was pretty sure he’d never told anyone how he felt since Alice died. Second, he liked his friend Jean – she made him laugh – but holidaying together? Had he agreed to that? And third…
‘Why the heck shouldn’t I use Tinder if I want to?’
He saw Alice’s face in the look Emma gave him.
‘Oh, Dad. Do you really think it’s appropriate?’
‘Appropriate? What business is it of yours?’
Back in the living room, Clive took out his phone. Fingers stabbing the screen, he installed the Tinder app.
‘Bloody cheek,’ he muttered, ‘telling me what’s appropriate and what’s not.’
But by the time he’d finished setting up his profile, the fire inside him had died.
‘You silly old sod,’ he murmured.
He deleted the app, tossed the phone aside, and picked up the crossword again. The solution to one across came to him immediately.
‘Of course: appropriate, appropriate. Two meanings, verb and adjective. Nothing to do with Tinder.’
Clive silently saluted the setter; if he’d been led astray, it was his own stupid fault. Before long, the puzzle was complete. He messaged Jean.
‘How about treating ourselves next weekend and going away somewhere?’
[END]
Awarded Second Prize in the Beacon Lit Flash Competition July 2022
Cheesewring 