Because the bar was crowded already when they went in, Matt and Rona were left with no choice but to stand. It's a good thing, thought Rona, that I've been sitting down all day. And it's a good thing I didn't ride - it's bloody stuffy in here. Nonetheless, she wasn't too pleased about having to stand - as the first hour progressed steadily by she started to feel tired, and shuffled her feet uncomfortably. Matt didn't seem to be bothered - she supposed he was used to standing for long stretches, working in a shop as he did. She suddenly felt a pang of concern for him, and then for herself: should she have suggested somewhere else for the date? Somewhere they could sit down? "Are you okay, standing like this?" she asked him.

"Yeah" he replied, "I'm okay. Why, are you getting tired?"

"No no" she said, cheerily. She looked around the busy bar. A stranger laid his hand on her shoulder to let her know that he was squeezing past on his way to another part of the bar. "Still" she said, talking loudly over the piped music and the noise of all the other people talking loudly over the music, "it feels a bit awkward standing around here. Like two shags on a rock."

Matt laughed. "That sounds like something my grandmother would say" he said. A sudden look of horror spread across his face as he realised how this might sound. "I mean . . . She's English, so she says stuff like that, I mean. I didn't mean . . . Well, I wasn't trying to say . . ." He floundered, realising that he was in danger of digging himself deeper into trouble.
Rona raised an eyebrow and put her hand on her hip. The effect, combined with her extremely closely-cropped hair - and, strangely, her short stature - made Matt even more flustered. Rona held the pose just long enough to make him uncomfortable, and then suddenly broke into a laugh, and the bubble burst. Matt laughed as well, and shrugged his shoulders, and took a sip of his beer.

Those twinned laughs changed the tone of the evening. The fairly standard small-talk that had dominated the date so far now suddenly gave way to a more heartfelt, less halting conversation: Rona explained all about why she'd moved down to Melbourne, why she did what she did, her frustrations with Si and with the magazine - she apologised instantly when she realised she was complaining, but Matt just laughed gently and said that that was okay, placed his hand on her shoulder gently and said it was okay. She asked him about himself: he'd told her earlier, when she'd asked, that his sister was okay now; now he told her all about their childhood. "It's funny" he said, "to be talking about childhood like it's some ancient thing. I mean, it only happened - what? Ten? Fifteen years ago? What's that in a person's lifespan? It's nothing. Not really."

"Yeah, I suppose so" Rona replied. She could have told him that it was her birthday the other week, she could have taken the opportunity to guilt him a little bit, but she decided not to.
Before she knew it, Rona was yawning widely. "Oh, god sorry" she said, "I think it's past my bed-time."

Matt checked his watch. "Whoa, it's got pretty late!" he said with surprise. "I've gotta work again tomorrow, so maybe . . ."

"Yeah, sure" nodded Rona with understanding. "Ahh . . . Well how about we do this again some time? Do I have your number?"

Matt smiled - it was all he could do to prevent himself from breaking into a grin. "Yeah" he said, "I mean no, you don't have my number. But yeah, let's do this again some time, I'd like that."

Rona smiled back, and dug into her pocket for a pen.